Seven Weeks of Rain

Seven weeks of rain
from babbling brook the fluent fluids grew
to become an articulate river — liquid language
irrigating the dumb savannah
with flowing oratory.
Where nothing had grown now
each leaf a tongue or veined
page, a library of volumes took
root, birds conversing in the lexical
branches.
Dry tongues grew loose lapping the water
and stories flowed forth in unstaunchable
flood.

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Routine No. 1

I had the idea this morning that, whatever we do, it might be interspersed with stand-up comedy routines. Funny peculiar / funny ha ha. E.g.:

ROUTINE No. 1

Peter : My earliest memory is of taking a walk with my parents on a winter day in Forest Park in St. Louis. I tied a carrot to a string to drag behind me to catch a rabbit. I was sure a rabbit would hop out of the woods to get the carrot and I could take it home as a pet. Throughout my childhood, I had dogs, cats, frogs, gerbils, mice and a duck. But no rabbit.

David: I had a pet carrot I used to take for walks on a lead. It was always getting attacked by rabbits.

A Vision of the Future

As the scene opens, two Armchair Travellers: Bellini and Salomé, are seen sitting in thin air as if on armchairs. We are in a virtual world. The future. When people need a vacation from reality, they go to special theatres to “catch a COLD” as the saying goes. A COLD being an acronym for a Collective Oneiric Lucid Delay. They buy a ticket, and are ushered to seats in the dimness. Sounds of deep breathing, snores and the steady hiss of leaking gas. They sit back among their fellow passengers and allow themselves to be collectively gassed with Travelling Gas. Sleep. In this sleep the passengers “catch a COLD” as the saying, born of endless ad campaigns, goes. A COLD being an acronym for a Collective Oneiric Lucid Delay. (The Collective Oneirics Company, [CO Co.] is the vast entertainment conglomerate which provides the populace with escapism, offering a way out of the world into a single long continuous communal dream in which one “pays to play” a part, dreaming that one has free will in one’s role.) This is the virtual world we are in. It’s an oneiric soap opera and it has run for longer than The Archers. Bellini and Salomé are in it now. It’s evening. Bellini and Salomé have met at the neighbourhood bustop. (With other passengers coming home from work, Bellini has just stepped off a bus which we see behind him.) Salomé has been waiting to meet Salami, her husband. Bellini and his wife, Baloney, are their next-door neighbours. Bellini and Salami work at the same plant. Belini tells Salomé that Salami hadn’t been on the bus this evening. They duck behind a bush for privacy. Salomé blurts “Belly,” Bellini sobs “Sally,” and they fall into each other’s arms. They’re both very refined and classy. But they’re cheating, (Salomé on Salami, Bellini on Baloney), having an adulterous affair. Unbeknownst to them, of course, their respective spouses, Baloney and Salami are having one too. They are as coarse as Bellini and Salomé are refined. Salami tells Baloney “I wish I’d met you before I met Salomé. She doesn’t understand me. You and I have so much more in common!” And when Baloney tells Salami “all I have in common with Bellini is the assonance of our nomenclature.” Salami: “I feel the same way, Belly!” And they clinch. Cut to the other couple clinching.

Art

From: Peter Blegvad <peter>
Date: July 29, 2011 4:14:48 PM GMT+01:00
To: David Thomas <pereubu>

Subject: Re: Art

I attach a few documents — time-related — from the archives.

I’m hoping the 3 Elements (Road, Tunnel, Bridge) — symbolizing the Present (Observation), Past (Memory) and Future (Imagination) respectively — might “rhyme” somewise in someone’s mind with Eisenhower’s autobahn.

What about “The Fermata” by Nicholson Baker???

Occam’s Razor

Occam's Razor
My folks bought a farm for their retirement. Out in Pennsylvania. Up on a ridge. Out in
the wilderness. I'd visit and walk in the fields. Up the hill in a remote area one year
I found a patch of stunted wild apple trees. Not laid out in an orderly manner like an
orchard but in a crazy, mixed up tangle. I always wondered what the story was. How they
got there. What was going on. I thought about it a long time. I finally figured it out.

The postman drove a Caddy,
a sunburnt green, rusted out old land-tug of a car.
It was seen to race across the ridge trailin' clouds of dust and dogs.

Now, I saw the fact.
The driver was a dog.
The dog had a hat.
The hat went flat which made it look like a rat.
The rat was on fire. 

Somehow I knew there was trouble bound to come. 

Now, that fire attracted the eye of a neighbor,
who turning away,
shook his head as he was heard to say,
"I don't wanna know why."
Which confused his pig
that knocked over the mailbox
that spilled the letter
lost by the post office for manyyears
happenin' to have been written by Albert Einstein.
The pig ate the letter,
but at this point that didn't really matter,
as you will see.
Somehow I knew there was trouble bound to come.
Now, in his declining years,
Mr. Einstein had divined a device from common household items
	which,
by harnessing hitherto unknown forces in the universe,
could put a chicken in every pot
and, by the process, make it so that everyone would live a long, long time,
	thus,
	without any trouble at all,
saving mankind from certain self-destruction
and enabling him to keep on going more places forever. 

Now, understand,
that whether or not
this device would actually work
was a matter of absolute conjecture
seeing as how Mr. Einstein had buried
the only plans and working model
in a hole in the ground. 

I knew there was trouble. 

"It seemed like a good idea at the time" was,
	in fact,
what the letter did say.
But, now, would the recipient, a Mr. Tesla,
please go out and dig it up right away?
But not to worry because even if this self-same letter
was to be lost in the mail
you couldn't miss the two-foot high Martian standing there
who'd promised to wait and not even budge
	for many years
	if he had to
but then he really had to get going.

"And by the way take him a couple apples
	because he really likes fruit.
Sincerely yours,
Albert Einstein."

Somehow I knew there was trouble bound to come.