3206. BEETHOVEN IN YOUR FOOL'S CAP

BEETHOVEN IN
YOUR FOOL'S CAP
( an abstract : in the aerie)
There are so many layers of
what's to come, and to date
I can't find a thing. All the signs
and directions said it was Beethoven
in your fool's cap. I saw (by my own
mis-direction, that) there was no
end in sight. The kernel was the
corn of the matter, and, then, not.
-
I was reading your summation and
all I could say was - 'the bathroom was
the edge of the shelf, no?' That's how it
seemed anyway - and, and - I did
not have a Christian artifact; no blood
on a towel, no thorn from a crown, and
that was not wood of the cross in your
third-floor aerie. I was there. I saw.
-
A knock on the door from the KGB.
High-powered professionals and their
ideology. Putrefied remnants and bastards
at heart, it all becomes apparent : when
everyone writes, no one listens; when
everyone writes, no one reads. And what
is this life, then, for you, I wonder? 'A
constant struggle between good and evil?'
No, no, that's far too pat by far.
-
I have learned that the Balkan people
are descended from the Bacchae : (now
get this) : still sinking their teeth into
humanoid animals, into roast ox on the
spit, into an ox's stomach filled with a
finely-chopped offal, into a roasted sheep's
head out of which they lasciviously suck
the large, sad eyes like efficient, little
vacuum cleaners.
-
And these are only things I've newly
learned. There is no sepulchre like
Death, yet there is no Death like
what-has-been. We surmise so
much from so little. (That really
was Beethoven in your fool's cap).