Perhaps I, unlike that other mammal the whale, am talking out of my blow hole. The term 'postcard absurdist' is surely a made up name?
By gad sir, you are right. It is. I know 'cos I made it up!
Well, what else could I do? When what you write is bloody daft then it stands to reason what it is called is bloody daft too - Postcard absurdist.
Of course absurdist writing is nothing new. Absurdist knitting is though. How many stand-up comedians do you know who can purl as they gibber?
There is a list as long as a Blue Whales willy of notable absurdists, Franz Kafka and Albert Camus to name but two - all a bit serious for my tastes. We have Carroll and Lear and Lennon and good old Spike of the Milligan. Of course it must be said that they were all more 'nonsense literature' than abusudist but the two forms are closely linked. There is also Ivor Cutler of whom I am very fond and of course Monty's mob the Python's.
The whole sub-genre seems related in many ways to Dada and Surrealism. There is the same sense of being 'dislocated' from reality or perhaps being an outsider looking in and seeing things from a different perspective.. It allows you the freedom to be wilfully silly whilst at the same time questioning, or perhaps illustrating is a better word, how absurd real life is.
This from 2008 (and without proper punctuation or capitals)...
the grumble of the razor blade humbled the fine growth. the shadow filed down to a suave stain. Ernest Piplove splattered some stale cologne onto his rash ravished face and grinned a toothless grin into his shaving mirror. behind him the egg yolk sun shot a reflected glare into the glass unsettling the cat that sat by the faucet. a humble day presented itself with undue fanfare and shine.
'i don't mind', said the geeky Ernie, 'i have my rum and raisins to break my fast and a pint of widows finger fer lunch'.
he swung his rusty leg into the awaiting pants and straddled his gussets like a milky thief. water cascaded down from the basin and onto the floor whereupon the cat lapped at the warm foam its face filling with a tarnished frill.
the noisome tang of industry smarted their eyes as the pair stepped out into the bright buckle shine day.
'oh foer a tram to take us toward the factory gate', said Ernie.
'feckle fit and flitch bick', said the cat for he had a bad limp and a vocal impediment the size of Belgium.
the trams rattled a confusion of the populace forth and back each and every day and today was no different being Monday.
Spike Milligan invented modern day British comedy. Without him there would have been no Monty Python's Flying Circus, no Fawlty Towers, no Blackadder, no Mighty Boosh, no Ab Fab of even Vicar or Dibley, certainly no me. We owe him everything but thankfully he's dead so doesn't need paying
King Milligan on sale here....
King Milligan on sale here....
all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy.To view my books on Amazon/Kindle go here: https://www.amazon.com/author/russellduffy -- For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?