Monday, May 26, 2003

Koo walks out of that cornfield in his birthday suit and I don't know if Matthew Haney - the cousin of Sherriff Haney Scott but Matthew on the Negro side of the family so he and Haney don't Thanksgiving together or nothing - I don't know if Matthew has ever had occasion to see a white man so nekkid and sunburnt. I shall have to think about it. As nekkid as Ursula Hodel is in some of her pictures. Ursulahodel.com used to be up and I think I'm spelling it right. Sometimes, because of that dice playing scene in Return of the Native, and because Momma's Daddy Jap had a fondness for dice, and because of wherever it is that sixes thing shows up, Revelation I guess, I have given Koo the ability to always roll sixes. I have Matthew Haney idling on his porch daydreaming and setting up a rhythm with those number bones cupped in his hand and out walks a bright red nekkid man from the cornfield (those crows are calling to Koo: 'hey scary boy') and Koo gambles with Matthew for some apron overalls. Up here in the City sixes ain't viewed as menacing as I remember down in Dallas. One of the local boy scout troops is Troop 666. I swear. They used to sell Christmas trees down on 86th. Weird me out. Went over to the Whitney yesterday. About nine baby goons on the door with machine guns - all of 'em look about twelve to me. Firepower like we was in Mexico or Ianni's in the Eighties. Ever since the Shrubbery family get back in power with their West Houston Mob this town gone Poisonville. I liked it better when the gangsters were private sector. It beats the hell out of me why the rich folk on Madison and on Fifth want to live in Socialist Gangsterland. If I was a rich folk I'd be thinking about how to pull the plug on this madness. I'm gonna Paint a Healing Charm - a Hoax - and put it up on E-Bay. I'll let you know when. Soon. It'll probably go for about ninety nine cents but you know I have given up on Realist Fiction, I have given up on Realist Non-Fiction, and I have given up on the Fiction of Represenative Democracy. I got no control over this shit so I'm gonna Jam on my Ukulele and Paint me some Lucky Charms. The clothespins I knew growing up were always the springy kind. The split wood ones that you can make soldiers out of I only saw in books and magazines. I figured they must be expensive. The Fourth Floor of the Whitney sorta fun. Shooby n Diller or something like that the artists. They got some old toy robots being supervised by security cams and getting x-rayed. They got a mess of suitcases suspended mid-air with postcards in them telling where those suitcases have been (cept the suitcases are actors - I don't think they really been those places). They got some stereoscopic views of how Lawns dialogue with each other. If somebody was visiting me I could take them to the Whitney's Fourth Floor and I'd even spring for coffee and a cookie afterwards at Via Quaddronno (sp?), a place I've been avoiding because everything so pretty there it's addictive and I can't afford it. Avoiding the News in particular and Contemporaenity in general the Nation of Two has watched Karloff's Fu Manchu four times this weekend. This morning I woke up and composed Koo's Biggest Hit Ever. It's a version of Shenendoah. Shannondore. I've seen lots of different spellings. Some of it goes like this: "Fu Manchu, I love your daughter. Roll away you lonesome river. I never do the things I oughta. I'm bound away. Bound away. Cross the wide Missouri...That Chinese girl she ain't no maiden. Roll away... In my canoe my notions laden. I'm bound away... That Chinese girl she is a hummer. Roll away... Calls me her little white boy drummer...I'm bound away...Oh Fu Manchu I read you daily. Roll away.. Read you and play my ukulele. I'm bound away...." I left the river the Missouri (sp?) but, if I was writing directions on the sheet music, in Italian I'd write: think of the Thames in my idiot cousin T. S. Eliot's Wasteland. Think of the Thames when Marlow is telling that story about Kurtz. Shenendoah considered by such as I've consulted an authentically American tune. Pops up about the time of the Eerie Canal. 'Drummer' can mean Travelling Salesman. 'Notions' (like Novelties) are what Berniva calls 'what-nots'. Drumming is prominent in the Celtic music I've heard. That could be a recent phenomena but rather I'm guessing the anti-drum laws extended to poor white folk. They said: "y'all might as well be niggers so y'all lay off them drums. Only guys in Uniforms get to play drums." The banjo is a drum in stringy tonal camoflauge. 11:00:14 AM    comment []