Friday, July 11, 2008

Sunday Scribbling #119: My Oldest Friend


Tazzle freak, you expect more than mohair collectible teddy bears, you gotta meet some more new people, the frizzle blooms acquiescent and then there’s fiyo in the bayou and you’re starting all over, imitative, scrubs in the piperlime mo-pit of cassowary love. Agents to fill, devils may care, riddles may wonder. The lady does not want the married couple, cast ands crew, analysis, polls, she much prefers the instant yaya, the casual dictates, the overloaded dumpster. My old friend Headwater ambled out one day and we ain’t seen him since: searching was fruitless, he was ever a gadabout, a chili dog, irreverent iconoplasm. Free your old friend and you’ll love the Old Friend shoes, scrobbled on your last play. I had a friend, let’s call her Donny Sunnyside, let’s envision her Joan of Arc, but let’s not play with matches this time, let’s keep it to hypercontextual Barbies, forget the American Girls, they so fey. We connected online and I gave her the futon receipt, the woman book by Tina, and more. She blossomed, old woman friend, varicose novelty act, Serendipity Fading—covers of Tremeloes, Titans of Night, Ars Nova. After the bloom faded, she was back off to Silsbee, corner of Highways 96 and 327. Jiggle the point, you’ll see it, it was actually sent, overland express. I met her in Deer Park, gothic refinery backdrop, acid rain in our coffees, edge to our sleep. Shadow caster sat down beside us, luthier and dental reconstructionist. I passed around the jelly beans, all java jelly, the notion was a hit, we ran that refinery right on out of there. Gifford seemed in my imagination to be looking for me, frantically I tried to regain hold, Ortor of Murkblood was playing second and I hadn’t a clue at shortstop, it was nothing more than Julia Roberts in Notting Hill and we all know what a fiasco of pruned Ovaltine that was, o my brothers. They’ve woven their stories and I’ve told them again, plagiarizing the instep, overstepping my bounds, baring the good news one more time.

Labels: , ,


Blogger San said...

A hypercontextual response to a prompt that could have been oh-so-fey. Love the nonsensical, repetitive logic of "Agents to fill, devils may care, riddles may wonder." Yes, let them wonder. Let them care.

"The notion was a hit." So Berryman. And in a good way. Again you've run the refinery right on out of here.


4:24 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Ms San, good to hear your voice again. I hope the latest retreat yielded a big guavalanche of convergent canvased inventory.

Fey it certainly coulda been: sometimes those scribblers axe too much. I nearly skipped it altogether, then thought of B, my "oldest" friend (82 years and counting) here in Tres Leches, she who greased the wheels for my employ at the Instituto, but thankfully Breton / Berryman won out.

4:49 PM  
Blogger Greyscale Territory said...

As I read this, immediately I thought of the entertaining "Jabberwocky" by Lewis Carroll! There are so many similarities of fun nonsense! But always entertaining!

7:30 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Thank you, GT. I must go back to Mr Carroll again soon.

12:21 AM  
Blogger Lee said...

Still working on some of these images, Paschal. So many of them! And I find so many of them bring up memories in tiny bits or make small connections. Dare I hope that I'm starting to make some sense of rambling senses?

Knowing your love of a good poem and a gorgeous image. Plus this reminds me of the blue neck of your heron, I'd like to ask you to go here. Being introduced to this poet by this lady's blog. Gonna have to go discover a book of his works. Then I'll share with Dad who gave me my first book of poems. :)

Peace! Hope! & Joy!

8:20 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Lee: Reading is always a collaboration between reader and writer; conversely, writing is always a collaboration between writer and reader. How else would you have unearthed Princess Di out of one of my things a while back? Sense doesn't have to be made, but I think your memory bits and small connections is a wonderful description of what it is to collaboratively read/write.

James Wright was a fine one. Can't go wrong there.


8:29 AM  
Blogger Tammie Lee said...

I met a woman recently, she expresses her thoughts much as you. She has a goat farm, four barefoot children, horses and so much more. I sense she comes from great education, knowledge of the arts, chose to have her toes in the dirt and heart wrapped around family more than the great city.

When I listened to her or read your words, I find myself always leaning into the words, searching for the stories behind the stories.

Nonsensical, I doubt it. Mysterious indeed.

12:38 PM  
Blogger Linda - Nickers and Ink said...

Puzzling and fun.

Love the photo.


3:04 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Tammie Lee: Thank you for the story, and thanks always for your willingness to lean in. I appreciate your willingness to walk along with the barefoot fiction. Peace to you.

5:01 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Linda, thanks for stopping in.

5:02 PM  
Blogger danni said...

enigmatic and joyous!!!

12:18 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Gracias, danni.

1:16 PM  
Blogger alister said...

Dude! You’re like Nell with your own fantastico languistico. Yeah, yeah, I’m late as usual. Everyone else is on 120 while you’re on 120 million, and I’m still goin’ “duh” lookin’ at blue-necked birds, thinkin’ scarecrow thoughts. But there’s nothin’ to be done about it ‘til I get to Oz and that might not be for awhile. So let’s just call this “Backwoods meets Notting Hill, Part 1” and be done with it ‘til we hear the sequel’s out, alright?

12:29 AM  
Blogger murat11 said...

MissA: Appearances to the contrary, it ain't no race here, cher. Visits always welcome. That's one hell of a feral bird, no? And based on my time with that atrocious flick (JR, who I used to despise, has redeemed herself sufficiently of late), I'd call it "Backwoods IS Notting Hill, Parts Unknown." Peace to you, sister.

8:30 AM  
Blogger alister said...

Fear-al, for sure! Ain’t no way I’d mess wid it.

“Notting Hill” was truly atrocious, but JR? Oh, mon dieu! She can do no wrong. You’re just sore cuz she dumped your tall-haired Texas boy ;-)

Peace, bro.

11:45 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Chica, I thought he dumped her! And remember, he's the one who gives you your adoption papers ("...Texas wants you anyway..."). I never bought the JR movie star hype, but she redeemed herself amply with Brockovich, the Oceans fun, and Charlie Wilson's War. I'm happy to see her now, but I still don't buy the hype. Of course, the hype's not her fault. Peace/out.

7:03 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home