Quisgillous: "made of garbage" from Forthright's Phrontistery; also, quisquillian: "Consisting of trash and rubbish" from the Grandiloquent Dictionary, or "trashy" from Luciferous Logolepsy.
Why? because I'm a pack rat. I have a fascination for things other people throw away. I am curious as to what contributes or detracts from something's worth and how this process of valuation works, whether said thing or said worth be physical or conceptual; and how this all translates into (or derives from) one's sense of "personal worth".
If I'm lucky, in my ramblings I'll manage to touch on that "aha!" moment of trash-to-treasure transubstantiation -- that fleeting glimpse of enlightenment between the status quo and the reversal in good haiku, that transitive moment between sentences in Waiting for Godot: "I can't go on. I must go on," here adapted to: "It's not worth it. It's worth it."
And if you haven't guessed, Quisguillous is also the place where I can go sprawling and lolling over my fustian word-hoard like a dragon on a particularly filthy bed of lucre.
And if you think that's purple prose, then you should check out the results of the 2002 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest ("Where WWW means Wretched Writers Welcome"). Violaceous!
Posted by edgar at September 25, 2002 05:49 PM