AH, THE FRAMEWORK OF MY
At the village square the church-clock struck two,
ringing some lethargic pre-recorded belltone that only
ended with two bongs. So quaint, yet artificial in that
faux medieval way - I began immediately to be looking
for the corpses of black death falling down in the center
square; all those frank and ruinous flagellants pounding
themselves with beads and chains : 'Oh! To be alive like
this! Let me live and list this on! Oh God, my warrior!'
Crap like this breaks mirrors, no?
The soundings all ended. I ate my parsley and a purloined
mushroom and bread in secret. I held no glasses for my
eyes and the spectacle before, anyway, receded. Some
parsimonious pious padre, tripping over himself with
words of glee and glory, sent the cavalier nearby setting
straight for a sabre and horse.
This is comic-book stuff; a Kavalier and Clay moment of
my very own - and all those wizened Jewish heroes, now
transformed into superheroes and supermen, sit about to
worry for nothing. Who can I offend by this new drivel?
Anyone who washes. Anyone who cleans a scab with their
prickly-heat mantle of masturbation and gum. Anyone who
has never been anywhere twice. Mark the glee, and mark the
warrior. I do have pennies to put on the dead-man's eyes.