My soul is a strange factory

My soul is a strange factory
TRY this. Your first sentence is “Time is money” and your last sentence is “Thyme is funny”. Write the story – long or short – that joins the two. Be imaginative, but please stick to plausible leaps and bounds. And while you’re at it, make it a novel, and – why not? – a novel in verse. Use rhyming couplets. Done it? Then you’ve got the hang of the strange “procedure” of Raymond Roussel (1877-1933), a millionaire, an outrageous dandy, a homosexual who liked to stay tightly shut up in the closet and a sincere believer in his own genius. You should now find Mark Ford’s elegant, intense and detailed guide to the many huge works that Roussel produced with his phono-syntactic machine at least meaningful, if not completely irresistible.
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