Monday, June 20, 2011

The skeleton of pleasantries & silence, animate

Nothing never gets the chance to be burnt away.

I've always been a sucker for melodramatic statements, & I'm imagining Hollywood re-imagining poor young Werther -- no, Troma, & instead of dying via self-inflicted gunshot, Romantic rage causes his head to explode, supersonic wavelets of blood & bone & brain oozing down the linden tree, said rage now giving birth to a hideous new head, one filled with nasty, big, pointy teeth he uses to great effect in righting the wrongs suffered by the peasantry, this folk hero entering the international stage music video style to beat Napoleon back single-handedly & when all the glory was heaped upon that coward Wellington, suicide solutioning (or so the audience thinks, direct-to-video sequels, man) into the North Sea, though what truly rankled this lonely German Hulk if one could peer into the chambers of his heart was not having a delicious beef dish bearing his name for posterity.

Here there be a monster.

Indeed. Or, monsters begetting monsters, who made who existing in that one electro-limey zip-it but unlike them, no one enjoys & we know where that leads.

Or is it simply a case of acids & bases & you know what happens --

-- when they're mixed, of course you do.

Baby basil, you're next. Huh, he pondered, text doesn't fit the music, does it. Damn dollar-store aegis. So what else do I know? Conversation & subsequent, occasionally self-plagiarizing, composing (still waiting to pen my Seventh, should just settle for unearthing the Parmastaniad) is always a balm even when believing in its surprising quality (relative, of course) only means that a temporary gold has been transmuted from the permanent base metals of innocence & experience, this drip drip drip of sentiment being the precursor to dropping hammers on my toes so I should probably read old crap instead.

Enough of that silly place lying beneath my epidermis. 

Let's bring contemplation full circle,
dispensing the monochrome of the drone
for some technicolor darkthroning, solo.


ifthethunderdontgetya™³²®© said...

Very nice...Wax Begonia, Begonia x semperflorens-cultorum?

Beach Bum said...

Will have to return and reread, I was "sick yesterday" and took the night off. You are so far above my head on this one I will need several more cups of coffee and time to collect my loose IQ points, if I can find them.

Randal Graves said...

if, your botanical skills are far above mine, so I'll just say it's red & defer to you.

BB, I hate when I'm "sick" & wake up with a headache. No grand heralding here, just a distracting yet eminently vital combo of joyous moping & mopey joy.

Jim H. said...

Rind Jungen Werthers? Just doesn't sound the same; then again a rose smells as sweet maugre the name.

Nice shoe gaze track, too. Ima get me some. Goes gut mit dem Goethe, jah? Jah.

S.W. Anderson said...

Breaking with tradition, I like the music, and the illustrations are terrific. Your narrative, however, is unsettling. Wellington a coward?

I sense the residual of sleep deprivation from serious gastric disturbance at work here.

susan said...

I mixed acid with a base player once and I can attest the results were quite explosive.

Tengrain said...

Graves, you swine!

Did you have the all-you-can-eat Fathers' Day Special at Ray's? Is that what you're trying to tell us?

Anyway, I hope that your spawn did something nice for you, like get you neutered. The Heir and the Spare don't need no competition to have claimant rights to Stately Graves Manor.



Randal Graves said...

jim, ja, das ist guten tag in die stadt. And that's the extent of my deutsche.

SWA, compared to the German Hulk, you bet. Got the sleep deprivation part right.

Chortle! Susan wins the internets.

tengrain, you mean all my crap that they'll dump off at the Goodwill before the casket's closed?

Jim H. said...

A roast by any other name, eh?

btw: I meant to inquire re: your previous post: did you run to all graves?

[potential answer here: yes, I randal graves!]

Thank you very much! Don't forget to tip your waitstaff.

Randal Graves said...

Good thing he wasn't *too* powerful, or we'd be calling it the 'comedy Wellington.'

Bwah, you all are just full of the hilarity! But yes, a large & pretty graveyard full of many famous and non-famous local affiliates and here's where certain folks (Tengrain) would chime in about Clevelandistan already being a grave.

Demeur said...

Ah if only I had more time on my hands but alas someone dumped timer remover all over them.