Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Apiacées et Quieres viajar

Bespackled in urine the alms man stood on one leg hopping, his trousers soiled through to the cuffs. As he had never been to an opera or seen a putas diva up close, although he’d seen one from a distance through fogged spectacles making her appear wavy and distaff, he felt none the worse for not being invited to the one-time showing of la Pelléas et Mélisande. ‘--all that pale white skin and spoil’ he said, feeling none the better for having done so. ‘--I’d much rather a go-round with the Cutter’s daughter’ he murmured, ‘--even though her moustache tickles’.

L’ombelle Apiacées hasn’t a cruche to piss in. Nor has he a hat to place squarely on the top of his head. He has very little, L’ombelle Apiacées, and prefers it that way.

‘¿Quieres viajar look at this, I founded it hidden under the rector’s cot’.

"In Florence, a rich and famous city of Italy in the province called Tuscany, there lived two gentlemen of wealth and quality, Anselmo and Lothario, such great friends that by way of distinction they were called by all that knew them "The Two Friends." They were unmarried, young, of’ he read on ‘the same age and of the same tastes, which was enough to account for the reciprocal friendship between them’. Anselmo, it is true, was somewhat more inclined to seek pleasure in love than Lothario, for whom the pleasures of the chase had more attraction; but on occasion Anselmo would forego his own tastes to yield to those of Lothario, and Lothario would surrender his to fall in with those of Anselmo, and in this way their inclinations kept pace one with the other with a concord so perfect that the best regulated clock could not surpass it."
[1]

‘--look at her, isn’t she a beauty Quieres viajar- ? ’ L’ombelle Apiacées has many ideas of how the world works, none of which made any sense to anyone other than L’ombelle Apiacées. ‘--fucker’d say anything if he thought it’d get him a laugh’ said Quieres viajar under his breath, ‘--anything at all’. His nose flaring the man in the hat took a step back and took in the circus : L’ombelle Apiacées rubbing shoulders with himmself, recounting how he slayed the tiger that ate his da, Quieres viajar inhaling quids of air then releasing them through pressed lips, his eyes twirling like Mayday batons. ‘--what a fine day indeed’ said the man in the hat, ‘--queer with imbeciles’.

Every so often the world takes a course the likes of which we, the oafish and fisheyed, have no control to alter or ammend. Its at times like this that we (the fisheyed and oafish) need leave the world be, as the world is a disagreeable place (look at her, isn’t she a beauty Quieres viajar- ?) …and one gets what one sows, simple as that.
[1] Ibid

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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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