This cha
l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid
image by Irene Koronas
This cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid
Sit.
Sit. Sit. Stale air. Closed air. Tired in the closed air nothing to say tired
in the closed air nothing to do, tap the tabletop tap it tap tap it how long is
long short forever or never at all head heavy head neck pain drop droop no—‘od
off. Nod off what is done is done and sit tight you will walk free sit tight
bad air the doze nod dark down lean into stale air of his—headswarm so tired.
His
headswarm, Beige walls, Bad walls. Close over and look inside, the headswarm.
Hot. Hot uhhh h ahh hh hhhh 1 2 3 4 5 6 7.5 100; doze full in the headswarm.
Rory.
Rory.
Rory.
Buzzzzzzzzzz
this a Washington’s pope. Written in indionians. Sir Boogaloo’s dratrace. This
cha l’lectric. Lincoln-logged gunsmiths of Oloe. Give that here. This cha l’lectric.
Twill Twon-bee mai end. The how long and what and for how long should I do and.
I can walk right round out of here, so let me. There it is let me. So let me
see, look down, and around—there it is.
The
Band-Aid.
That
Band-Aid.
His
Band-Aid.
The
one didn’t care. Of the both of them didn’t. Or he’d not have ‘n flapping. The
Band-Aid. Wry spot, writhe in chair. This cha l’lectric. Why me why me, why me.
Blew it big time, I did. Twisted and twisting. Oh why oh why could I have put
down the sauce just this here one day. Or the last three. Med-entitate. This cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid. Yah, that’s what.
What got me off track. I could have and most certainly should have. Where is it?
Practiced beforehand. This cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid. It’s lying around I know
it is. Or even sat down with wrinkcil and papyron quiet, in what stands for my
house, eh, and pled for the time to seek ‘roud the floor ‘or it. This cha l’lectric’ll,
Band-Aid. Is it still there no more. This cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid. It maybe
seven times be not there no more and for the good it did do me it may as well
have been nevered. This cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid. But the—what is this now
here is this noise mere’s left just this mercy-seat and not that ‘ve I can see.
This cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid.
It
got to be found and made gone, or I’ll or I’ll not to think, be.
This
cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid. B-b-b’t listen. Not to think be no tot’l not to
think be knowing it could get. On me. Touch me. Gag gaggo yo; Rory.
Rory.
Rory.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
eek zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, what?
Huh?
This,
Max; what the hell was that? No not any nothing for Peter’s. Sake-drunk was I is
mine only and one defense a’fore Rory. This cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid.
Rory.
This cha l’lectric’ll.
Rory.
Band-Aid. R’rory.
Buzzzzzzzz
I never zzzzzzzz knew ever no, Rory. Did you know a Rory, ever did zzzzzzzzzzzzz
you?
This
cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid. So, now. There ought to be a law, because those
with this carry that round with them, quite thee long time, why? To discard a Band-Aid
in front of one like me but, wake up out dis hypnohotgocical swoop! Know being
alone, with hot rooms all around, brings rise to these but that does not make them
any easier. Hic. Hic. This cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid. Listenup! B’ no ahhhhhhhhh,
Rory.
Rory.
Rory.
Buzz
a zz bc zzzz d zzzezzzzz f zzz what the zz hell’s this that zzz I see no speaker
playing get up off the chair look around wish we could but this cha l’lectric’ll,
Band-Aid we can’t. The slob—oh yes I am very sorry, but I had to say something
to the slob. So what he’s the power? Saya more to these this cha l’lectric’ll slobs,
and there will be Band-Aid quite a few less slobs in the world. Nobody likes to
get confronted this cha no one l’lectric’ll, likes to be confronted Band-Aid
called out up off and down down there is the void the void is down there ha ha
mister silly made you look made you look band made you aid look mister Band-Aid
all presto; all hollow; all preedy-gidgical mister this cha l’lectric’ll,
Band-Aid. Yoshi’s lost. Damn right Los we told him didn’t we Los xxxxx oh pppp wait
what the hell no no no, wake up. Lost la la hippynoneducal gaindream got to
stay thinking that God for thinking how on earth would we fill these empty
spaces, if it were not for the gift of thinking?
This cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid.
Look
at my watch but have not worn one at least fifty. Sixty. 1 2 3 4 4 3 2 1, fifty,
maybe sixty. Used to wear one all the time. Nearly everybody did. Even Pat Brucie,
jamalot’s creampuffer-twing-twang, did ever wear one. Even while stabbing! This
cha l’lectric’ll, what would they Band-Aid have thought of today had they lived
until that? One alone did and. Rat. This rat cha rat rat rat l’lectric’ll, rat
rat rat rat, Band-Aid. Jesus Christ, where’s my he she and it? And they’re the
least hell of it. There’s deeper. Like—laugh. They—laugh. This chair is too hard,
I can’t believe been sitting it more than three of those there while spewing hot
over there, to them—laugh. Stay here, they say—laugh. Or, we’ll—prison for you.
Hop! But that was not my name then, so I walked—laugh. I can take any name I
please—laugh. What the Huck—laugh. Laugh. Like you see, you all know, though
you’ve no idea you do. Plug them in this way there each called this, and that.
The insides are stable and the same, but. Pull them out flip them ‘round plug
them that way and they oo la la presto gigo they’re now called that, and this. And,
the insides are still stable and the same, but—laugh. This cha l’lectric’ll,
Band-Aid. Laugh. Why can this also not apply to people—laugh. Cars, styles of
drapery, motorboats, Jaff-Captinery. We are all X. This’ why we laugh. This cha
l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid. We are just X. This cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid. We can all
be this chakala’ll l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid, either senior, or junior. Ella-chakular,
‘oo. Our what we are’s are all empty, just waiting for a plug. This cha l’lectric’ll,
Band-Aid. Yah. Just waiting for a plug. This cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid. But we
can’t even know we have a socket for a plug. This cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid. ‘cause
the only jack we got’s in our backs and there are some parts of us we can never
ever see ‘nless we pass by. An that’s one of them. Holy Moses. This cha l’lectric’ll,
Band-Aid. Pass this cha by l’lectric’ll, ‘til we Band-Aid, pass this coil here
there under all by? Pass it all by! OOOOOh, the spook of it but; only at night.
They only do come out this cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid at night so stay in at night,
go out in the day, and hope in just hopes you do not get some great big-bad slurp
of a prize! Hot this cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aids, Mama!
So
he entered the big craft’s fuselage without protest. He strapped herself down in
its seat and before they rode this defiance of nature up to where—swell!—it ought
not have ever been able to be—one next says, Hey, man, I got to say. This
damned beast of a thing’s like a rocket ship. You been on one these Meester? You
hevr-n-heavely been on one like this here, Meester—and I looked on over, and
the stewardess said, He is right you know, hot dog and dog damn, by all that’s
sweet of nearly all hovercraft, thus damned beast of a thing’s just like a rocketship.
Yah
like a rocketship.
This
cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid.
Oh
yes, you’ll see. Yes you’ll see,
Once
landing in Paris, we all did dances, as per guidelines, and snazzed out our
sillies to make the packie-parade, after all that’s why we’re herefores, after,
go go go go!
This
cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid.
This
cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid.
This
cha l’lectric’ll, Band-Aid.
Yup.
That deedy-is that Hoover Dam That Grand Canyon, too. And all the dead round
the round life perpetuated by Big Farming. Greed. In the west only you know. Greed.
As seen from space too, you know. Only in the west and as seen from space Morgellon’s
be ess phone-himaginary as hell, she says, that way’s only in the west, and.
Hiccup! And as seen from space.
I
think I’ll take that one.
Oh,
great choice, sur. Your taste is better than the smoothest rabbit ever. Ess rappy-rat
even; rabbitry o’er rabby-rat, eat. Eat. Eat. Rabbitry o’er rabby-rat, eat—but!
So
commanded! So eat!
But?
What?
Watch
for lead pellets. That might ‘splain somebad, Lucy. Mayhepsebah heaten’ by
raccident lead pellet. Or one. Or two—mabbe manni—grey dark lead pellets and ah
a sizzle big bangers, the hot parts of them might went up top yo’ brains. Uncle
said that. And uncle Rory—he do knot-not lie. Bristlehoot straight eights be—dammed
up tight-dry, it does sort of feel a bit o’ green ‘ontiac, as told to
Bat-Alberteen Von Der Lincoln, as it feels in the dark of the bed too, not, and
something says without words to roll over Rory, you bean.
Yah
you beans!
Rory.
Rory.
Yes,
Rory! I am after all, your therapist. And here is what he says.
Q
- At this juncture you seem still alive. Do you feel the last pack of civiliantry
you passed through would have viewed you in this same light, Also?
A
– I do feel so doctor but never having seen myself live from afar, but only on
tape, that way, I am no judge of this. So my answer’s, hey, about just a tight
guess may be right may be wrong but—never middled. Hoke?
Q
– Sumimoto. Okay—so now a game. What others before you feel’ve occupied this
here closed-in space? And in that very chair, perhaps?
A
– How can I know, To guess is futility as there are infinite answers, many less
of one of which are quite very certainly
wrong.
Q
– Okay, This wat then. Do you feel one named Rory was present here one day?
A
– Possibly. Why?
Q
– Ah cut that. Here. M’suer Frace De La Supporierre. How abou’ Tim?
A
– Not fair. Trick question. Referee—flag down your man.
Q
– Why?
A
– That French guy who the hell, the big name—or little Tim. Can’t answer both,
it is beyond our capacity.
Q
– No oooooo Rory diss- as you will no doubt contininue on the past to de-concentration,
and over all misplaced hilarity ‘bout I no longer exist, in sweet and dire
imitation of you. How’s that for a high, Mr. Midaskippy la la la la La-Sling-slang-slungo-uarre?
Slango
eh Slango eh Slingingly Slangoed-out n’ in Slango hitchhopper viz. Slangularre—
Enough!
Enough, please.
Up!
Huh—oh!
Wake! Jesus Christ, look at that.
Eh,
lord, wow.
They
were right, all along. Its just—Strasser.
Perk.
Jump, my, God, my God, Strasser!
How
in hell could Kip have forgotten—Strasser—he—jump run to tell someone jump run,
no. ‘f they come and Kip’s not here I’m in trouble, but Strasser.
How
could I and Kip both froggott to tell U about, Strasser?
Bury
head. Bury.
Come
for me please come.
