Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Friedrich Lumppe

The Yerevan sisters of Yerevan are in cahute with the Canterbury sisters of Kent who are in cahute with the Igualada sisters of Cataluna who are in cahute with the Bangalore sisters of Karnataka. The Cookstown County Women’s Auxiliary and the Tyrone County Women’s Sisterhood are in cahute with no one, preferring an auxiliary to a clearly disorganized flip-flop. Montaigne Poincaré oversees the Cookstown County Women’s Auxiliary, ensuring they abide by the Cookstown County Church of the Convert protocol: to rid the county of mice, dogmen and whores.

According to Montaigne Poincaré there is a compound of albino dogmen living in and around Hoofdstedelijk Gewest; the biggest dogman, Lielvarde of Brussels, and the littlest, Ogres Piltene, who by virtue of his diminutiveness and cunning was awarded the job of overseeing new conscripts, a whole slew of which have come by way of Ventspils through the Albano mountains via the Laziale Lazio canal, wear paper boat hats and speak only when spoken to. This will end soon; very soon. Once the dogmen from the northeast get wind of this, and they will, mark my words, they will see that the Cookstown County Women’s Auxiliary not make it past the five-mile fence; and should the mood take them, smoke Montaigne Poincaré, spitting him from scapula to tailbone.

Friedrich Lumppe lives in a wheelbarrow shed behind the Waymart. He claims to be busy writing a large book, one that will change how we understand the world, although those who have made it close enough to his shed say he is typing gibberish onto long rolls of white typing paper. The alms man spent five days camped out a few yards from Lumppe’s shed, and upon returning to his place in front of the church said he never once heard him say a word, but did overhear him muttering to himself, his voice ranging from sibilant to guttural. Three years later, and under cloak of night, he moved out of the wheelbarrow shed behind the Waymart; never to be seen or heard from again. ‘….daft as he was I had a liking for him …’ said the alms man, the day having begun without him.

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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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