Claude Aspère (The Sayings of Claude Aspère):
Art is vomit, uncontainable, trajectory’d, hurried up by fever. Think only to the projectile vomiting of children and addicts to ascertain its “naturalness” in the cosmick tremelo of all things. Art is a ridding, no more. To scoop forth another man’s vomit and label it parcel of one’s own: that is not art. One’d as well do to collect scabs and make a mosaickal history of this sad world. Yea, to fall to the earth dog-like and purge oneself well, that is the function of art.~
Shanghai’d by lexickal impertinences out of Johnson's Dictionary:
[vomitoire, Fr. vomitorius, Lat.]
Procuring vomits; emetick.
Since regulus of stibium, or glass of antimony, will communicate to water or wine a purging or vomitory operation, yet the body itself, after iterated infusions, abates not virtue or weight.
Brown’s Vulgar Errours.
Some have vomited up such bodies as these, namely, thick, short, blunt pins, which, by straining, they vomit up again, or by taking vomitories privately.
Harvey on Consumptions.
To VO•MIT. v.n.
To cast up the contents of the stomach.
The dog, when he is sick at the stomach, knows his cure, falls to his grass, vomits, and is well.
To VO•MIT. v.a.
1. To throw up from the stomach: often with up or out.
As though some world unknown,
By pamp’red nature’s store too prodigally fed,
And surfeiting therewith, her surcrease vomited.
Vomiting is of use, when the foulness of the stomach requires it.
2. To throw up with violence from any hollow.
Or O.E.D.’d (oedevotee, oedevious, oedelicious, oedamn’d):
1. trans. a. Naut. slang (orig. U.S.). To drug or otherwise render insensible, and ship on board a vessel wanting hands.
1871 N.Y. Tribune 1 Mar. (Schele de Vere Americanisms, p. 347), And before that time they would have been drugged, shanghaied, and taken away from all means of making complaint.
1887 S. SAMUELS Forecastle to Cabin 46 To be carried or forced on board of a ship in this manner is what is termed in sailor parlance being shanghaied.
1909 Chamb. Jrnl. July 440/2, I have got the Grand Duke pretty well shanghaied.
That mistake of letting a post-repast shut-eye go late, only to find oneself buzzing with wakefulness at midnight. Scoot’d through more of The Fortress of Solitude, with no inclination to collect tidbits, though I think it terrific. Up to the mid-part, a dozen or so pages call’d Liner Note between the childhood chapters of Underberg and the (presumably) chronologically distant chapters of Prisonaires. Thinking how it thus mimicks the structure of both Sula and To the Lighthouse. And what’s the notorious sentence or two in Flaubert’s Sentimental Education that “solves” the problem of time’s passage? “They _________’d, they travelled.” (Revery of reading that book in Albany, adhered to the dirty porch-couch one whole slayingly hot summer. Who would’ve thunk that that skimming the flat pancake of my brain’s stone off a paragraph I’d been instruct’d to see as instructive would . . . oh forget it.)
Valéry (Monsieur Teste):
The words I and Me point to our central ignorance . . . and evoke it.
It is impossible to think “of oneself” otherwise than in one particular and particularly sensitive way.
Observation: It happens that the knowing-knowledge moment (which is a kind of act) may be remarkably meaningless . . .