Friday, May 02, 2003

Obviously we make of our minds fictions to go with the incessant soundtrack. I have heard it rumored that Gore Vidal wrote the speech Michael Moore spoke at the 2003 Oscars, a rumour stranger than the liklihood I'm guessing, but I need neither nor Baudrillard either to tell me that Freedom in America kind of a working out of literary theory and a lot of it French. Literary theory and rich kids messing about. They say, one time baby Jesus went out to play and he and his poor boy chums were having a good time when some rich kids from down the way like West Houston came around and started being nasty the way rich kids are and so baby jesus, he made the levee break and he washed them damn rich kids away but when he got home his Ma was mad and she blistered on his little holy bottom. In the Empire of Dr. Bienke just this morning has developed a Manichean dualism twixt ukuleles and electric slide guitars. Even as I blog away I worry about the electricity burning up and would rather be on a manual typewriter in some store window doing a Kerouac act: Every half hour the artist appears his vaudvillean prose to caper? Ukuleles and electric slide guitars, are they not represenative of a cultural branching: The Paradisical South Seas versus the concrete Cowboy Modernism? The Empire of Dr. Bienke is designed to be a Big, Big Contemplative book like a soft sears catalogue which you can leave around in the Bathroom for Occasional Transportation. In it the eternal engine of dialecticals is represented by a feud twixt the devotees of Ukulele and the devotees of Electric Slide Guitars. We could sell Hawaiian Ukulele Tulip Seed Soap. We'd order it straight from the Dr. Bronner plant and have stories written on the Bottles. I mean people got to have soap and crates of it could tastefully decorate the store window in which the Artist will appear at one thirty for performance piece/manual typewriter and then we drum up some interest in our live ukulele telephone recital the following Tuesday. The summer of 93 we were coming back from Maine and we pulled off at the Elvis Room in like Portland New Hampshire and it was one of the first alternative vibe coffee shops. They had Big Empty Books you could write in and while I was already thinking about a novel "RoonzTm" I didn't then have the kind of instantaneousity which I have since come to believe is the ticket in Jazz, which is Smurf Music girl. I'm guessing there must have been a Smurf Music girl in that Elvis Room make it stand in my memory but I can't remember. "You'll be my little Smurf Music girl, you'll set my temperature in a whirl, you'll make my ukulele, strum out oh nightly, daily.." I mean if you found this typed as a letter in a strange envelope with a dog drawn on it wouldn't you pay a dollar for it? You you you. There are tulips prodigious in the Park. I study ukulele. Bye. 1:06:42 PM    comment []