Installation 01.09.96

"I think she's the prettiest lady I've ever seen. Her hair, it has meaning and volume and such a sheen."

1.

I arrived at crisp sunrise on the back of my dark horse to the doors of Summer's Castle. Getting down from my horse, I was keen to avoid dirtying my fresh leather boots, for which the market had seen a pretty penny from me. I avoided eye contact with the mercenaries on either side of me, tarantula hands on their holsters. I made haste up the stone steps to the computer. I removed my leather glove and swiftly typed in my title and number. Upon opening the door, the cacophony of the crowd inside overtook me. Beggars, peasants, and mercenaries screaming and crying about insurance, wages, and legal matters. Some were drinking heavily from their bottles and some shameless ones were even fornicating. In fact, a great many were engaging in some sort of sexual act. The guards did nothing. I rudely pushed and shoved my way through the rather smelly group, assuming my needs and wants were of a higher standard. I came into the golden sunlight shining through the beautiful windows. The King Jasper and Queen Chloe were sitting, nay, laying in their gilded thrones, barely awake, mumbling denial and murmuring rejection. Their tired eyes suddenly fixed themselves on me, the son of a gun who deemed himself more important than the other village people and walked himself up to the feet of the King and Queen themselves. The slumped, unshaven King awoke out of his sleepy reverie and blustered his way into words.
"Markus! Grab this damned fool and throw him back to the groundlings!"
I was shocked, not knowing the rules of the royal hall, never having been there before.
"Forgive me, your Highness! Forgive me! I-", I stammered, but it was too late to save myself. Markus, the stoic figure seated in the dark, sighed and got to his feet. He firmly grasped my shoulders and literally threw me backwards with surprising strength, sending me into the air. I fell hard onto a wooden bench which tipped over and sent me rolling onto a group of lowly laborers, sitting in awe of the catastrophic exchange. I clamored back over the bench with eager energy and attempted to explain myself, silently forgiving Markus in light of the matters at hand.
"Forgive me, Royal Jasper! My manners were beside me! I come to you in much emergency! I ask kindly for your listening ears."
He made no response, his head propped up lazily by his fist. I took this as approval and I drew a long breath.
"Your Highness, I come unto you in great distress. I-"
"AS WELL AS THE ENTIRE BLEEDIN' VILLAGE YOU SELFISH PRAT!", shrieked an elderly woman from the crowd. I ignored her and the cheers she received.
"Beautiful Queen Chloe, I understand you have a soft spot for young men looking for love.", I boldly proposed. Her silken song of a voice...
"Even in your young testosterone years, you have lost your mind's keen edge. I have no heart for hormones."
"Oh...But, I have a fair woman in mind."
Jasper let out a deep laugh. "Boy, you've come to the King for a wench? You and your lack of brains can enter yon whore house and buy yourself a girl!"
"Jasper, have some respect for our noble boy here!", his wife snapped.
My sullen face grew a shining grin of hope.
"Come with me, boy."

But she didn't move. She led her glowing hand through the air and directed me to a chest beside her. I scaled the steps and reached for the box, but she snatched my arm with a firm but soft hand.
"Wait..." She feels my heart beat, and her eyes open. She produces a golden key from around her neck and unlocks the chest. It is filled with small bits of parchment. She motions me to take one. I took the smallest one I could find.
"Do not look upon it until you have left the castle. Good luck."
Her husband looked on, seemingly perturbed. My mouth agape, I folded my bit of parchment, slipped it into my pocket, and went on my way.

The sun glowed golden on my hands and I stood on the dirt road, feeling so much the cold morning. I mounted my horse. In the sunlight, I took the parchment and looked upon it. Digitally printed in ink were the numbers, 070496, and this poem:

Oakwood, cedarwood, ashwood,
He did and had done all he could,
But broken apart are they.

White and green and all over red,
She falls lightly on the bed,
But broken inside is she.

Never fear her gator tears,
Beautiful dove, graceful deer,
But a thorny rose is she.

Bedroom eyes lay into thee,
Done and done, you'll never see,
But a thorny boy are you.








 

Counsel Car. ****

"And I's been dying, the body found but my soul's left to drown."

I look for you in every passing car, and with every passing car I want an end. I'm finished drinking your cold water but I need to know how your story ends. So please, story time at nine for the sick childrens who've behaved well in their beds. I doubt that it very well went, or that it went or should have gone by. They will not let me leave? Maybe I'll settle in and sit this one through.

This boy, calls himself Crash Blizzard, has been sending me written messages, tells me how he used to know me as a child, tells me I'm his future and he is mine. He walks me through a hurricane at night to the apparition of a blue house that is but a swelling of the ground, cut in half by an earthly oak, with dim flickers inside. I can't see anything though, the rain's too heavy. He'll send me pictures of Nintendo machines and dusty carpets and Christmas lights and stained ceilings.

I love the Dirty Projectors. Their insane rhythms and beautiful melodies/harmonies have boroughed their way into my head.

Arabic coffee is keeping me sane, sunrise. I've been vandalized hanging there, my parents can't walk in because the press is taking pictures of the bloody scene. It's sad. Mr. Dunthorne's quavering voice as he makes the announcement, I've been hit by a car and I need assistance. You would be in my thoughts if I had any more to give. Hillary Clinton needs a song sung and maybe I can be chauffeured around in those black limos that take you all the way to Sea Isle City to dine finely with Caesar dressing all over. There is an answer. They delay me, wrapping me in red tape so I can't possibly be pulled from the wreck, blue depth. Nope, not a feeling. Some fool's been putting blindfolds around my head. Is that you, Michael? Is that you, Mommy? So, I've been calling the same number and knocking on the same door for years, my hands have gone numb and my ears have rung night and day from dial tones. I'm looking up in the morning, yelling about how I had to be the kid who fell through the cracks, but even I can't hear myself anymore so no one comes to help. I should just take this down and hang it on doors that hold in babes that can be saved who will grow up with toys of plenty and loving mother hens and chanticleer's arms around them before bed. Tuck me in.

 

I would love to sit and talk with you one day to figure out why you are or ever were thought to be someday a person of interest in and/or around the perimeter of my heartbeat and the meaning of this northern peak staring down and up before us.  

"I have given you my soul, leave me my name!"

Do you have the time?

"I'll see you along the way, baby."

Haha, but i'll never smile again so don't pick me up and suck my blood. 3 vials containing 16 little moons so they can see my heart and what's become of it. Oh, and your majesty calls upon me again. What will I be but damned to this darkest cave outside the village borders? This dance so still they put me on wheels, jingling skeleton rolled down halls and tossed into bed. I bled out a bloodless death years ago it seems, before I went to the woods to live deliberately and only with the essential facts: I can see and I can breathe. I'll lose each sense until the air rejects my lungs. A lost cause, blackened hands, put your arm out and let me find the vein. OH GOD, and there's the Secretary of State, giggling and loving me in the eyes! What will become of this? It hurts when angels dip down and tickle our ears and disappear after we fear that our hearts will peer around dangerous dear corners again. Fools! Look into my eyes and see your future. We see a lot of anger when they first come in, so we like to-----------

Wir bedauern, Ihnen mitteilen der Autor ist nicht mehr verfügbar.

Thanks Be To You.

"You've got to wait for me."

Well, here it's been near 2 months and still no sign of 15 moons' glow melting blue swellings away, the soggy, wooden construct standing firm. But crooked smiles and baby blues are somewhat something but are killing me again, with love.

And then I went to sleep and all was washed away for 10 hours.