I Have Made a Decision that Affects You and Your Life [Reading Time: forty-one minutes and forty-one seconds]

Dear friends,

My cousin K. and my internet friend “Moments” have persuaded me to publish my masterpiece Table 41 as a physical book.  This will happen sometime in 2018 or 2019.

The novel will be self-published, unlike my previous work, which was released by academic presses and small presses.  Who cares?  The publishing elite is dead, and the stigma with which self-published writing was once inscribed has been lasered away.

In the meantime, please read or re-read the tables [below] and comment upon them.

The first forty-one readers who publish Amazon reviews of the book will receive free physical copies.  I only ask that the reviews not be scurrilous (honest reviews are welcome).

Please watch the video below, which contains a dramatization of one of the passages from the book.

Wishing you the best,

Joseph Suglia

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Table of Contents for TABLE 41: A Novel by Joseph Suglia

The entire novel Table 41 is available here, on this Web page.  It will be published in physical form sometime in 2018-2019.  Please let me know what you think of the tables [below].

Here is a Table of Contents for Table 41.

Dedication and Acknowledgements

Table One

Table Two

Table Three

Table Four

Table Five

Table Six

Table Seven

Table Eight

Table Nine

Table Ten

Table Eleven

Table Twelve

Table Thirteen

Table Fourteen

Table Fifteen

Table Sixteen

Table Seventeen

Table Eighteen

Table Nineteen

Table Twenty

Table Twenty-One

Table Twenty-Two

Table Twenty-Three

Table Twenty-Four

Table Twenty-Five

Table Twenty-Six

Table Twenty-Seven

Table Twenty-Eight

Table Twenty-Nine

Table Thirty

Table Thirty-One

Table Thirty-Two

Table Thirty-Three

Table Thirty-Four

Table Thirty-Five

Table Thirty-Six

Table Thirty-Seven

Table Thirty-Eight

Table Thirty-Nine

Table Forty

Table Forty-One

TABLE 41: A NOVEL by Joseph Suglia

Gott versprach sich, als er den Menschen schuf.

God misspoke when he created the human being.

—Elias Canetti

Je edler ein Ding in seiner Vollkommenheit, desto grässlicher in seiner Verwesung.

The nobler a thing in its perfection, the more hideous it will be in its decomposition.

—Moses Mendelssohn, quoting a ‘Hebraic writer’

Dedicated to Joseph Suglia

Thanks to Friedrich Nietzsche, D.H. Lawrence, and J.G. Ballard.

Reference is made to “Mussel Hunter at Rock Harbor” by Sylvia Plath, “Der Panther” by Rainer Maria Rilke, Tess of the d’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy, “The Lake Isle of Innisfree” by William Butler Yeats, “Decorative Art in America” by Oscar Wilde, and the Natural History of Pliny the Elder.

Copyright 2014 by Joseph Suglia

Table Six: Joseph Suglia

Looking upward, you see young boys perched on the tops of streetlamps—streetlamps that have become leg-tufted trees. Leggy trees. The boys call to you from the leggy trees. You cannot understand what they are saying. What are the boys in the trees saying? What are they saying to you?

You look ahead. In the middle of the street, there is a refrigerator. The refrigerator is egg-white. What is inside of the refrigerator? Within the refrigerator, there are snakes and snake eggs. Snake ova. Oviparous snakes.

Zigzagging serpents—big yellow constrictors, yellow rat snakes—are wriggling and writhing over and around the refrigerator. A brood of vipers, you imagine, squirms within the refrigerator, snaky food.

There is a fire. There is a garbage-can bonfire. A ball of fire, crisping newspapers in the garbage can. Crackling conflagration. The flames do not look like tongues. The flames do not resemble snakes. The flames resemble fingers, fingers of orange crinoline.

You are nearing the intersection of Clark Street and Superior Avenue. You hear the approach of a car. Behind you.

You give a sudden cry. The car comes too close to you. On your left. You back away.

Swinging around the curb, the Sports Utility Vehicle comes to a halt, the ignition is turned off, and the driver yanks open the door.

Turning slightly, you see a man approaching you. The man is the motorist. He is twentyish and blonde-maned. Garbed in pre-faded grey jeans and a thin black-leather jacket zipped to the neck, his eyes shielded by overlarge brown semi-transparent sunglasses, he has the air of an extra from a motorcycle film. A film about motorcyclist zombies. You think him rather affected.

You look at the SUV. The car is packed with marijuana-smoking humans. They are studying you.

The motorcycle man asks you:

—Do you got any money? We run out of gas.

—No, you say, I have no money.

The man does not shrug. He says nothing. He simply turns away and says nothing and strides back to the SUV. What use is cash in a world in which money has lost its value?

Before you, a wad of snakes is balled up and hissing. In the street, a wad of snakes is balled up and hissing. You slink away from the snaking snakes.

You look up at the sky-bound office buildings and imagine that the snakes have invaded the offices, too. The snakes have overcome the maze of cubicles. Snakes are dropping over the partitions and plopping on to the keyboards, the papered surfaces of the desks, and the computers, black asps and adders.

Walk past the nightclub now. In the nightclub, you imagine, mamba snakes are slithering noiselessly over the catwalk.

You see snakes in the grasses that circle the artificial trees. The snakes are throbbing in the grasses and bobbing their snake heads. The snakes are vibrating through the vibrant green grasses.

Reclining in the grass is a motionless anaconda. You can see the anaconda’s head, but not the tip of the snake’s tail.

You observe a mother and son, walking in tandem. A red-headed mother walking down the street, holding the hand of her red-headed nine-year-old son. A nest of snakes is concealed in the foliage past which they walk.

A snake head jumps out of the bushes. The young boy jumps jauntily into his mother’s arms.

You are drifting past a telephone pole. A slithery eight-foot python is wrapping its rubberiness around the telephone pole at an astounding speed, its skin glistening viscously, a glistening viscous yellow, the yellow of yellow gelato.

Coiling and winding, like a disembodied yellow arm, the python winds and coils around the telephone pole, gripping the telephone pole, swirling around the telephone pole, swiftly ascending, flicking its forked tongue in and out of its mouth rapidly. The great python is spitting venomously, viciously, in your direction.

There is a girl—blonde, 21—following you with her eyes. She has V-shaped cheekbones. Her boyfriend is wheeling a shopping cart full of beverages: seltzers, margaritas, wines, Corona Extras. Out of Superior Wine & Liquor, out of the vacated liquor store.

Inside of the liquor store, a boy is kicking the ATM.

Twin snakes are parachuting downward in front of your eyes and mouth, describing sinuous patterns in the air, curling their bodies into soft green whips. Avoid the cartwheeling, somersaulting snakes.

Now you are walking past a vegan diner. There are teenagers in the vegan diner. Sipping vegan milkshakes, the teenagers are morosely silent. There is no longer anything against which to rebel.

The pranksters are now the conformists, and the conformists reveal how neurotic they truly are.

You are floating by a butcher’s stop. You see a matron there, a matron in the butcher’s shop. A boy beside her, begging her for meat snacks. She whisks the unrude boy out of the butcher’s shop, a sausage-shaped finger pointing toward the door. In the butcher-shop window, tortoise heads are snapping at the meat.

The streets are wriggling with snakes; covering the streets is a writhing serpentine carpet. Slow, dreamy streets pass you; the useless traffic lights are blinking uselessly.

Something behind you is hissing. You hear a hissing behind you.

You turn around and see a clandestine meeting between two lovers on the verandah of a condominium building, a meeting between two lovers who are entwined like serpents.

Do the lovers not see the snakes? Hissing vipers are coiled around the stair balustrade.

Copyright 2014 by Joseph Suglia

Protected: Table Twenty-Four: Joseph Suglia

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Protected: Table Twenty-Nine: Joseph Suglia

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Protected: Table Thirty-Six: Joseph Suglia

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