[Seven by Nine Squares home page]
[Ackerman]
[Neoist Path]
Jan '94
As a founding member of my local chapter of Jolted Cans Clatter,
I was
filled with excitement upon reading certain portions of your most
recent
letter, and filled with remnants of the Elks' Club in Elkhart,
Indiana, upon
reading certain others. Our offices are ever on patrol for the
bright long
days of fried potatoes and fried cabbage and the vows are the same as
those
without this silence characterized by the blood you have lost like a
poetry
lesson begun too late. Commentators found evidence in Russia for
whatever
positions they wanted to take.
But my real reson for writing is to talk about "KaREN (uh, pardon
me, I hit
the wrong key in my drunkenness) "Karen's Mattress," this opera I'm
in the
process of writing, with the help of Karen herself, whose story it
is.
"Karen's Mattress" is, in a word, the story of a beautiful young
woman and her
shall-we-say rather overweening fondness for her mattress.
Specifically, she
likes to use her mattress for purposes of masturbation. A noble
theme, and as
the opera begins we find Karen and her mattress climbing (Christ and
cross
theme); then they pause to wash and drink in a mountain brook (not
necessarily
in that order). Green finches come, and a cocky little ogre runs
back and
forth over the acorns, shying quick stones to keep his feet in line,
and a Yoni
appears, bringing up the rear and looking perhaps for its Lingham,
perhaps for
tendencies that still keep the barn stacked high with that good pure
sensuous
form (Pyrola Uniflora). Startled by all the various presences, Karen
and her
mattress skip away downhill to meet Mike Gold in Soviet Russia. At
this
juncture the following duet between Karen's Mattress and Mike Gold is
sung
(Karen meanwhile remaining in the canyon):
- MIKE GOLD: In curling hair, the seeds of Capitalism call it a
nest!
- KAREN'S MATTRESS: From where I carry feathers you'd think
other than which
YOU carry that which is other than which I carry -- call it a nest.
- MIKE GOLD: The next second-men stand in the midst of grim
lunettes, the
sun shines madly, why couldn't we have seen our knees clapping
together asking
for cigarettes!
- KAREN'S MATTRESS: With occasional lighter veins and edges
[Face down, this
night's juice sets us apart] --
- MIKE GOLD: -- and two yellows: yolk and wee --
- KAREN's MATTRESS: -- [and the lone and languid Voyage ending
asleep,]
lulled within, knee caps mysterious as Gary Cooper's pellets --
- BOTH TOGETHER (with operatic vigor): Two knees lulled within!
Knee caps
mysterious as Gary Cooper's pellets! And two yellows: yolk and wee!
And two
yellows: yolk and wee! Two yellows: yolk and wee! And two yellows:
yolk and
wee! AND -- TWO -- YELLOWS.... YOLK! and wee.
- PASSING CYLINDER LAR VAE HATCH: Well -- if you insist.
(Proceeds to crouch
and fry an egg while wee.)
Meanwhile, back in the cave with
the [many]
porters, Karen gives no formal teaching or training but redeems all
beings by
the very paltriness of her wardrobe (a sort of grass hula skirt and
inner
tube.) With elaborate hand movements she does the DANCE OF CAGED
RIBS AND
INADEQUATE BLADDER CONTROL. The porters, who have been standing
around passing
an army uniform back and forth between them, are amazed by Karen's
dance.
- FIRST PORTER: This one beats a rat.
- SECOND PORTER: Disorder yourself, brother.
- FIRST PORTER: Alright. (Proceeds to disorder himself.)
- SECOND PORTER (turning to the third): What did I tell you?
- THIRD PORTER: When?
- SECOND PORTER: As a dose to the business man --
- FOURTH PORTER (breaking in excited): I dated his sister! The
summer spoke
to me from a hot street of tawny declaw! My smooth bitten-down
fingernails
scrabbled into the street, lamenting my six or seven arrests--
- PASSING CYLINDER LARVAE HATCH -- appearing in ... --: The
lone and languid
Voyage ending asleep etc.
- THIRD PORTER (standing back): Are you Soloman Birk?
- KAREN (sweating from the exertions of her dance steps toward
the
footlights and sings an aria):
Galoot in the double peach tree
Reaching for the double
peach
Mouth hole eating laundry fast,
and yeah
and passed fat's
chewed very deep down
same chin you drooled
down, but depends,
could be
pasture wanders and nobody notices
the spat-glittery hat means
all lotioned wrists
and whoring the body
of a pustule
you chilled
while cracking up;
eating mildewed laundry's a sure
sign that your
brain's sizzling
doing a disappearing act
----
That disappearance took
longer than it
should
have;
Get fixed yellow light
in 4 parts tear apart
All
non-concupiscence! Till you may feel
Sure a wet towel from a hotel
bathroom
In Quebec sick as a pilot
Who crumples stiffly after
mistaking
Touch a romantic new perfume by Fred
Hayman Beverley
Hills for a shot of
Vat 69 in the dark had been used
To close
her eyes to this world. And yet there
Was no mark of strangulation
on MY
NECK. I took the phone call,
The news of your arrest,
calmly enough,
My vatic gaze undimmed, my concupiscence
Pure
and undimmed as war and madness
It's interesting, the idea that
concupiscence
Doesn't count, if it happens again and
again.
Does concupiscence kick in when you say,
"She had been
with a woman for five years,
I had been with a bullfrog for six."
Tell
Me about your favorite concupiscence,
The concupiscence
that makes you realize
You made the right decision in becoming a
gnat-eyed little
butt-stringer. Problem:
I lost half my hair
to concupiscence
When I developed an overweening fondness for my
Flow-Bee....
* * *
So
that was some of it.
Sacco and Vanzetti as leftist heros, etc.