Wednesday, May 14, 2003

I burn up Koo nightly in my imagination wondering about the sound of no control. I wonder about the sound of no control because my sweet, silly Momma for whom this blog is written dragged me off to be with a bunch of crazy pentecostals. Granny warned her. And I heard a little glossolalia. Pentecostals like to root glossolalia to the early church, but while there be nothing new under the sun, I would suggest - say if I'm speaking at a conference in North Switzerland on Religious Themes in Sci-Fi Southern Goth to an audience with at least one perky tittied bottled blonde academician in a Missoni suit - I would suggest that widespread Speaking in Tongues is a New World phenomena resulting from Bible Crazed white children rubbing up against Heart of Darkness Negroes. Syncretism. Voodoo. Glossolalia into Jazz, and "Jazz", etymologically: "Fuck Music". Ukuleles join this curious romp somehow after sailing with Marlon Brando on the Bounty after paradise. Kirk Douglas, who is Jewish, I think, will play all the male parts in the Empire of Dr. Bienke Episode #17. I mean he's gonna be dead, poor boy, by the time I get a budget together, but ghost movies is best anyway. 'Anarchist Home and Garden' is a metaphorical speculation on the character of a jazz aesthetic which is to say it's synonymous with 'nigger-rigged.' Everybody I know writes easier than me, draws better than me, sings nicer. And they don't do nothing. I think this has something to do with artistic paradigms formulated around control. Artistic paradigms of control are so Nineteenth Century. They are designed to keep your white trash servant face to the wall. That's not something I thought up; that's something you can read in books that rich folk spend a lot of money sending their children to University to learn in between messing with Geronimo's skull and stuff. I don't know why. The why of rich folk is mysterious to me. Granny used to say that. Granny warned Momma not to take me around them Preachers but Momma didn't pay attention and poor Momma got herself a damned child of Satan. Poor Momma's gonna have to live out her dotage years with a Big, Goddamned Red Q on her because she has the shame of me dropping from her vagina. Kirk Douglas is gonna be everybody in the Empire of Dr. Bienke except me. I am gonna be Marlon Brando. Sometimes I'm gonna be a fat Marlon Brando screaming about the Jews in this Industry with their horrible Gone With the Wind paid for Disneyland Guilt Trip of a Middle East country but mostly these days I'm gonna be that Marlon Brando in Last Tango looking for tawdry squirts of my aging dick and a bullet to lay me down. Tell you a secret. I never much liked Marlon Brando. I don't much like myself for that matter. Glossolalia intrigued me, but evangelism left me cold, because I am Faithless right down to the core, right to my bitter hearte of Withee. I am interested in paradigms of losing control. That's where the tulips are gonna grow. I have written alternative Bibles. In one of my Bibles my Granny is Job and when God comes down (you might imagine Graham Pulkingham playing Yahweh), when God comes down Granny tells God to smurf off and he does and that Bible is over. Thusly the Book of Jude never gets writ so I get born and get to have a happy life. Y'all who have it in you, you should pray for me. Send me prayers. Contemplate my sin that you might avoid it. Everytime you see a springy clothespin say: 'damn, I hope I don't turn out like poor Quin'. 6:29:32 PM    comment []