Friday, October 15, 2010

Copy, Right?

UnFckngBelievable—I wrote a long blog on Irish monks rewriting themselves back into Biblical tracts, the Tower of Babel, Pharaoh's daughter Scotia, and baby Moses in the reeds.

I wrote of medieval mss, bowlderization, Ptolemy, Cleo, mercenary Celts in Egypt, history real or otherwise, grains of salt, Alexander the Great, St Paul's letter to those pissy party animals, the Galatians, Paul's poor accomodations in Corinth as he crabbily scribbled his famous letter, mosaic laws, thou shalt not steal, lie, copy those sins of omission. Why the Galatians never wrote back.

I wrote about my own sins of omission. My parish priest, Father Connery at St. Cecelia's Church, Lagunitas. I delved into the persona. Why I was a lapsed Catholic during a time of Women's Rights.


I did an epistolary thing with Dear Reader, I made revisions and and virgin posts.


I invoked the story of the 1st © law, I channled St Columba, & St Fininan, monks burning the midnight oil to copy the psalters but next day St Finnian knew something was up—maybe they put the psalter back askew. 


I had a great segue into Tinsleygate...posted the letters, made connections. I wove knots.

Blogger said Copy, Right? It was saved. Hallelujah, it was saved. Several times over. But it began to hang, then in front of my eyes, it fucking disappeared. The entire post. Blogger's auto-save command lied. it lied.

Like now, it says it's saved. Even gives a reassuring little time stamp, but now I know better, unless you publish it—warts and all, it's not saved. It just says it is.

All that's left of an entire afternoon's frenetic work is the fragment below. All that survived is this wan paragraph that I had simultaneously posted on Facebook as I wrote:


A dispute arose over the ownership of the illegal copy of the psalter. St. Columba and the monks squared off, hitched up their nasty habits up around their waists, threw some ballsy taunts, and had a good go at it with whatever was at hand, rocks, dung, swords—forcing King Diarmait Mac Cerbhaill to intervene with a judgment: "To every cow, its calf, to every book, its copy." First ©opyright. 6th c.

I brought the piece into the 21st century and now it's all gone. Gone. Pfft! Just like that. As if the gods were angry I was invoking such nonsense.

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