Thursday, July 31, 2008

The Stillwater Book of Whoring

Yesterday morning at 27½ minutes past the hour the sky fell a second time. ‘…culls de wreck…’ said the legless man, ‘…not again…’. ‘…everything falls in due time…’ said the alms man, ‘…everything…’. (skies are made from blue paper and paste).

The sky was a garish blue-grey the day the man in the hat found the whore’s glove in the park. That day the man in the hat was reading a back-issue of Popular Mechanics, July 30th 1959. He read Popular Mechanics on Thursdays and every second Monday, all other days he read whatever was at hand, reissues of reissued National Geographic, Fan Magazines and the Stillwater Book of Whoring, a book he was particularly fond of. The day he found the whore’s glove (which he figured had something to do with his fondness for the Stillwater Book of Whoring) the man in the hat felt a twinge in his cull de sacrum. The last time he felt such a twinge he found a rotten apple core under a fichus tree. The time before that he found a copy of National Geographic under a cork tree with an advertisement for Bolin’s vapors on the next to back page (Bolin’s vapors, relieves the pain and embarrassment of goiters, boils, crows’ feet, jimmy-legs, swollen ankles, fallen arches, enuresis, cowlicks, coopers’ thumb, alopecia, hirsuteness, tendinitis, split-lip, Coober’s stenosis, tapeworm and a persistent cough).

The next day at ½ past the hour the sky stood up and bawled. At ¼ past ½ past the hour a moorhen licked past, a coopers’ thumb in its beak, a reissue of National Geographic, July 30th 1959, floating like a vapor in the blue azure blue sky.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz
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