POST-RHEUMATIC MODERNISM

Miller’s-Thumb

I have miller’s-thumb from eating too many mill-cakes lubberly with linseed oil and the blackest black jujubes. I have a disturbance in the hieroglyphic of my head that defies description, and if it didn’t, would surly cause me no end of rehashing and re-calibration. Ciphering comes naturally to me, as I have a Turing machine for a brain and an abacus (with basswood pegs, no less) that eelgrasses to and Frau like an engineer’s slide rule charley horsed with lubricants and macadam. As I write this, this murder of words, Samuel Beckett eagles me from atop my broken transistor radio; a hand-you-down handed down to me from my dear father fader. I have a wrench in my gut, a gutwrench, is it? that has worse manners and a lowlier mien than a PM-ist with rickets and rime disease. I have Melba toast heel pads and millet cheeseparer toe corns that cause me no end of pain and general embarrassment. I am a post partum Modernist, some say, who’s illogical canting and miscreantisms are legendary and subject to approbation. I urinated in the trolley of my pants the other day, Sunday was it? yet could have cared less, or less than less I suppose. I have no neurotransmitters to speak of, and if I did, have them, that is, would much prefer not to, as they are execrable and mean hearted. I do, however, have a nasty gout of miller’s-thumb brought on, no doubt, by cakes, assorted pastries, and the blackest black jujubes, these on their own or as a bland concurrency making up the balance of my treacherously unbalanced diet. I have no money, nor care to, as penury is much less complicated and infinitely more agreeable than finding oneself tormented by pantywaists and Hodo’s. I am a poached Modernist, a word mouser and alphabetical miscreant who has nothing better (or betel nut) to do then chouse grammar and proper syntax. I am a grammatical/syntactical/semantic charnel house of miscues, accidence-sodomy and ear-nettling. Thank you and may Buddha or Jehovah or God or some such phantom broaden your perspective on rationalism, eelgrasses, frontal lobotomies and embarrasing pre-diurnal enuresis. Enough said, I have yet to say enough.