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Love.
You must do something for me.
Have Rychard record you reading these.
Your reads are so so so damn good. These pieces
are so much the sweeter to me because I can hear
you reading them. It would be good to get your
works on audio all nice and sample-able.
You could drop a link to the spoken version of each.
Only good will come of it. Ponder...
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Yes I agree completly.
I will put a state of the art recording studio and a professonal engineer (me), at you disposal for free whenever you wish. (no pressure...)
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posted : 2005.Jan.23 @ 12.01am
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The inspiration for this next piece can be found here:
http://homepages.wmich.edu/~cooneys/poems/Field.frankenstein.html
and here:
http://movieweb.com/dvd/dvd.php?082551739523
___________________________________________________________________________________
Frankenhooker
~ For Edward Field
The suburban mad doctor, who is really an electrician,
sees his overweight fiancee kill herself with a remote controlled lawn mower.
She goes to pieces in the grass ~ big messy pieces.
He saves her head and comes up with a plan to bring her back to life.
It involves a lot of electricity and some estrogen-based jelly.
He uses Playboy centerfolds for blueprints.
He figures, "If I'm going to bring her back, she may as well be stacked."
Unlike the Baron, he sets his sights on the living for replacement parts.
He doesn't even consider a trip to the cemetary.
The nearby city is a huge salvage yard full of hookers, well equipped
and eager to sell their parts.
In his garage/laboratory, he manufactures the bait ~ Super Crack.
He drives into the city and makes a deal with Zorro the pimp,
nine of "the best girls in town" upstairs for an hour.
He brings a stethoscope and measuring tape.
"This leg is perfect," he says.
He puts a check mark on the most appealing ass.
One of the hookers finds the crack. The pipes come out,
and the women start acting like kids with rock candy.
They get so high that they explode.
Breasts, legs, and heads scatter across the room.
The mad doctor puts the choicest parts in plastic bags and goes home.
My wife gets up from the couch and turns off the VCR.
"This is so sexist," she says.
She looks pissed, so I nod in agreement,
then without thinking, I say, "But, it is kind of funny."
I clamp both hands over my mouth.
Too late.
She falls apart.
Her arms drop to the carpet.
Her breasts bounce off the coffee table and land at my feet.
Both of her legs continue standing on their own.
Her head floats in front of me, reciting a litany of feminist verse.
She quotes each and every one of the saints of oppressed women:
Betty Friedan, Kate Millett, Susan Faludi, Mary Daly...
I dig into the fabric of the couch and beg for forgiveness.
She gives nothing.
Somehow she manages to collect herself
and stomps out of the room.
I sit staring at the closed door. It won't open.
I pick up the remote control for the VCR.
Maybe the mad electrician with know
how to put things back together.
~ V ~
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posted : 2005.Sep.30 @ 10.35pm
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These last two are super good.
Recent, yes? Good form, Mr. V.
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