Perhaps -- but so is Motyher!!

Here is an excerpt from a review of one of the seminal books on 'Pataphysics:

"This reality-rejecting text delivers an airy irrational punch of nonsensical negation by tying together methods of insouciant informality with a visceral camp irony: at turns hip and flamboyant, then turning towards the morally outrageous. At times the text simulates the disappearing ephemeral we associate with electronically provided information today on the internet, and the flickering of its translucent form. Still the reader is expected to work devotedly to solve the absurd flatulent conundrums supplied here, to supply mental transitions between the diverse and massive assortment of irrational elements which supply the text its pataphysical hooks. One must fabricate a complicated forensic fairy-tale out of this flatulent mélange, which keeps slipping in and out of idiosyncratic narration. And that recitation keeps turning back into one about stinking death, that strange, incurable and deeply irrational affliction. Baudrillard in fact defines here the rules of the pataphysical game as "narcissism of death, a lethal eccentricity". (p. 8) Yes, I read this text as a meditation on humiliating death in all its undifferentiated fabulousness, by which I mean its essentially nasty comedy. So this is a young man's text about funny, difficult death then, which while pulling down our pants and revealing our soiled undies, keeps everyone laughing (or at least gurgling) till the bitter end.

According to Baudrillard, in Pataphysics "all things become artificial, poisonous, resulting in a schizophrenia induced by pink stucco angels…". (p. 11) But also there is here an awareness of impertinent splendor in the tranquility of flatulent decomposition, which makes it all seem faintly heroic in face of death's inexorability. Thus this irrational text implies an antiphilosopher's knowledge of dumb death's putrid ignobility - but Baudrillard will not give in to that parody either. And this is what gives the work its extraordinary sense of dignity, a dignity which asserts life's primacy over death because death is beyond narration and words.

So this text's irrational gaseous hypothesis is actually fine absurdist Ubu art. (*5) But an Ubu art which does not merely help us pass the time away; it enlivens time if we surrender to its fearful pataphysical difficulty. A vertigo intricacy of which Baudrillard says is "anaemic" (p. 11) and "impossible" (p. 10) as its "procedure is a vicious circle within". (p. 11)"

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Kinda says it all, doesn't it?