Friday, January 08, 2010

Nymburk Brewery

They were thick as Thebes. Everywhere they went they went together. The girl on the steps of the Church of the Perpetual Sinner had black peppercorns eyes and a leggy aquiline nose. Her da worked for the Nymburk Brewery and took extra shifts at the Middelheim Ziekenhuis Tool and Die Co-operative. Over the door to the Nymburk Brewery is a sign that reads AZ ÉLŐSKÖDŐ, and on the wall next to the toilets the names of relatives who are infirmed at the Montessori Asylum: Pergalė Smith, Kjærstad Maslow, Sigizmund Frills and Jõgeva Riel to name but a few.

(There’s no forgiveness for the empty and disorganized). All of this is a lie: a tale told by an imbecile, a crank, a halfwit. The more I lie the more I believe the lies I tell. Over the door to my bedroom is a sign that reads, ‘Passen Sie Auf, Ein Idiot Lebt Hier!’ And over the transom to my toilet a wag of cardboard cautions ‘Merda Em Seu Próprio Risco!’ “Alone old Baubo’s coming now; She rides upon a farrow sow”(fawning Faust did say). And now to sleep with the torture of my thoughts. I think often of Santa Pérez and Seignosse Aquitaine, two characters I have yet to make the acquaintance of. Perchance soon I will find a place for them in this moronity.

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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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