e·phem·er·a /ĭ-fĕmə–ər-ə/ n. pl.
“The full novel was written in August in seven-day tour of Ireland, intending to be a trip to work on his forth coming “Interaction as Being and Emergent Expression. before departing to write an Opera in Kyiv, Ukraine.”
What occurred was something else entirely. From his preface to the Irish Ephemera, Scott writes: ”
“I came to Ireland with the intent to finish my novel in progress entitled In Bohemia from my forthcoming two volume work: Interaction as Being and Emergent Expression but quickly found unable to write for I was met with a vast and all-consuming land. I entice you to breathe life into the following moods, stories, and images with the curiosity and imaginative manifestations of a wanderer chasing unknown desires, the
soul of Ireland mixed with the soul of myself sleeps as sediment deep within these stories. I hope you’ll find as much of that potent combination as I have found to be useful, for your reading will contribute a final experience to the mix creating a triple combination of souls peppering our glorious subject of the book from the finite to the infinite inward: the grand, old, Irish Ephemeral.”
Art must resemble architecture to Scott. Rather than utilizing brick and mortar: he creates grand palaces of the mind in a novel or symphony.
A note on how to read the Ephemera:
“The ephemera is written to be experienced as a train of thought, but it is not meant for story tactics as other writers use such narrative devices; rather, it is a copy of pure time, a copy of music that is meant to teach and condition a frame of mind that encourages a susceptibility towards the voice of the world that speaks to us in every second and a dilation to your experience of it. Ideally one is to read it in a single sitting as if they were the thoughts to come upon oneself, both scattered and jumbled as well as clear, directed and organized. It is something not to be struggled with. The words speak on a subconscious level. One must be sure not to take any word nor page nor section too seriously. It is an organism, and if taken as a whole, one feels the breath of it, the breath of life, without busying themselves with the cells or the organs of the body, their functions, their makeup. What emerges is a flash of being. Pasted like thoughts l, and the idea, the mediation: a personal struggle of good and evil, and all the specific manifestations of being, all the senses and sense data, all the thoughts that swirl and watch and stare and sometimes even listen, are something that is to be stored. And iceberg of my specific formulation in which the words puncture and tear open your ego of iron. To let the water of the world: complete experience and a fully dilated excitation wash over every second. It is not what floats on top that does such damage. Not the specific words, not one bone in the body that accounts for the emergent effect of the complete text of itself. It is the organism of this work of art that emerges as the hole which you are afforded passage through into the highest realms of awareness. It is not good and evil I speak of, merely the connotations of the words point this way. It is nothingness. And in nothingness there is everything to gain in the world of individuation where nothingness and everything-ness yield two distinct properties, where light is separated from dark by the random unhindered scatter of photons, where position is determined by relative space and time, where Happiness and sadness are an entangled pair, eternally coupled and striking cause for ravenous appetite, a world where the quality of good and the quality of evil are only separated by the relative happiness or sadness one is made to feel by their misplaced expectations of a distant and uncaring world. This book reconciles distance, it bears the property of non-relative locality itself in its nothingness outside of the objective. I have said this before. It is an organism of pure subject, a virus, depending on you to be its host. Connecting, briefly, changing each other in the wake, departing. This book does not bear the qualities of lightness and darkness, but both, together, and in it, neither. This book does not bear nor intend to insight happiness or sadness, but both and neither. Good, evil, all, nothing, we speak to the objective as if it was something not created in our minds. We speak to existence as if it’s not something novel. We grow to see the world in flat two-dimensional acrilic. The coupled wealth and poverty one has before birth remains in them the day they are born and the day they die. And so too both happiness and sadness, and so too good and evil, for all these things are imaginary meant to solve a problem of objective discourse in a subject world of the immaterial. Our objective laws tell us of the conservation of energy. All that is imagined is likewise conserved. It is a symmetry that expands two dimensions to three, stochasicity that yields oil and turpentine: all things emerge so perfectly individuated from conservation, that it is mighty easy to forget the most essential animating nature of our being. This book is such an expression. “
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