Sunday, May 09, 2010

Moulineaux Twins

The framers were known to buy eels and Irish Moss in bushels and skids. ‘you must be crazy mad to think like that’. ‘none’s the worse’. ‘crazy mad’. ‘bushelfuls skidfuls’. Overnight at los Colonia Etchepare the matron nurse gave Paul de Cock esquire a saltwater enema, bilging and deflating the bag with both hands. Unbeknownst to the matron nurse Elmer Rosales hojead té ligón casta empácame, té por fallo a bróker clocó {by failure to broker cocoa you leaf through chaste tea…}. This can’t go on, it will go on. It will, it must. Go on: go. You must.

Los Colonia Etchepare was built on the north side of the aqueduct hidden amidst the fichus trees, some felled some standing, and the dogman encampment. It was here, among the fallen and standing, that the dimwitted and half-cocked lived in 20-people dorms with low windows and high ceilings. The ceilings were high to foil the half-cocked from jumping up and hitting their heads; the windows low to daunt the dimwitted from jumping up and out of them. The dimwitted found it difficult to jump down, jumping up less daunting, facilitating a cleaner clear and less discomfited landing. The half-cocked wouldn’t dare jump up higher than 12 ½ meters, anything above that height mitigating vertigo and ankle spurs. The Moulineaux twins gave birth to quintuplets; the eldest twin Edwina abandoning three, Emma, the youngest, abandoning all four. Edwina and Emma were sent to los Colonia Etchepare where they were to remain under lock and key until they admitted their twin wrongdoing. Go on: tell them! Admit it! You must tell them! You must! Go on: you must admit: you must go on.

Lela met the twins at the Feast of the Redeemer, the year the rector abandoned the church and took up with a puta enferma with glaring coal black eyes. ‘one day longer and I would have taken my own life’ said the rector, ‘the church has become a behemoth, a place of trickery, incest and mirrors…’. Tearing his collar from his neck the rector said ‘there is nothing here for you! You must save yourselves…and quickly, before its too late’.

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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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