Tagged: apocrypha

“Please,” I Begged

  • k-avataryet oddly not hard
  • a huge eel lay on the table
  • like a slender cherub
  • slowly and most wickedly
  • don’t be cruel to me
  • her brows, nostrils, lips

“Please,” I begged, “don’t be cruel to me.”

Her response to my supplication registered slowly and most wickedly in tiny movements of her brows, nostrils, lips, and ears. Finally she marched her fingers across my exposed thigh, her dainty hand looking like a slender cherub.

A huge eel lay on the table beside me. Being dead, it wasn’t strapped down. Being alive, I was.

The woman’s fingers had crossed my lap and attained their objective, curling around the haft of a long knife. It was hard to believe she meant to eat me, yet oddly not hard.

“At least tell me your name,” I stammered.

“Minerva,” she sighed, carving a thick steak from the eel without taking her eyes off of mine.

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Hieronymus Warhol Wandered the Arid Australian Outback

  • by jenonly this wasn’t a dolphin or a lion
  • a certain rock
  • It’s the fever
  • the sparkling synapses
  • tiny bubbles from his angelic lips

Hieronymus Warhol wandered the arid Australian outback in search of his spirit guide for three days before discovering a certain rock that spoke to him. By that time Hieronymus was naked, hungry, sunburnt, and severely dehydrated. The sparkling synapses in his overtaxed mind misfired repeatedly as the rock, the beautiful gray rock, told him where to find his spirit guide.

Hieronymus had been expecting a grand and noble creature to guide him on his quest, only this wasn’t a dolphin or a lion. It was Donald Trump.

It’s the fever, Hieronymus thought as he gazed upon Donald Trump spewing tiny bubbles from his angelic lips.

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“No, no, no, no, no, Chico!”

  • by jenhe was like a cat pouncing
  • immobility his eyebrow moved
  • noticed the colour of your dressing gown
  • rather the Latin temperament
  • Not even a compromising bequest!
  • a most awkward mistake
  • They die, yes

“No, no, no, no, no, Chico!” screamed Thelonious Tharp, and Chico Desideria knew that once again he had made a most awkward mistake. Chico both admired and despised his choreographer and mentor, Thelonious. Admired him for the way that when he danced he was like a cat pouncing, despised him because he possessed rather the Latin temperament and made no move to disguise it.

Chico knew what mistake he’d made this time. He was supposed to prance and cavort, leap awkwardly in time to the arrhythmic music, and then freeze. But despite his required immobility his eyebrow moved. Thelonious was livid, as usual.

“Chico, today when you left the dressing room I noticed the colour of your dressing gown had changed and I hoped that your attitude had changed along with your sartorial choices. I was wrong! You are as useless as ever! And you know, don’t you Chico, what the parents of one as unimpressive as you do? They die, yes, die! Of shame! And they leave nothing to their disappointing offspring, Chico. Not even a compromising bequest!”

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Thelonious Tharp’s New Jazz Dance Spectacular

  • by jenso alike and yet so different
  • that question? Plum
  • commentators were criticizing
  • we packed our biological agent
  • both punk rock and rap

Thelonious Tharp’s new jazz dance spectacular, We Packed Our Biological Agent, is what the commentators were criticizing.

“Why did he incorporate both punk rock and rap?” asked Kent.

“They are so alike, and yet so different from the jazz music he should have used!” cried Jen. “What could he possibly have been thinking?”

“How can anyone answer that question? Plum, the professor, did it in the conservatory with the candlestick. That’s all I know,” said Reggie.

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Devlin du Mauvais Addressed the Lecture Hall

  • by jenwe will use the celebrated diagonal method
  • “just another human being”
  • blur the distinction
  • Jeepers creepers!
  • there is nevertheless always some intangible abstract quality
  • Indeed, the brains of anteaters

Devlin du Mauvais addressed the lecture hall full of nubile coeds and continued his thought, “There is nevertheless always some intangible abstract quality that allows a demon to tell exactly what it is dealing with. ‘Just another human being’ it will think, its amorality allowing it to blur the distinctions we humans make amongst ourselves. Demons care not whether we see ourselves as good or worthy of salvation. Indeed, the brains of anteaters hold more interest for them than do the minds of humankind.”

Jeepers creepers! thought Edna Calfdimple from the doorway where she lurked, eavesdropping. He’s so handsome! I have to take this class next semester.

Dr du Mauvais dismissed the class, and Edna lurked until all the students left, hoping to pluck up the courage to speak to the dashing professor. But before that happened, a trio of sultry raven-haired women entered the lecture hall and surrounded Dr du Mauvais with their identicalness, cooing and touching him.

“Tonight darling brother,” they said in unison, “we will use the celebrated diagonal method.”

Edna blushed furiously and fled.

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Reggie Was Growing Disenchanted

  • by jen“Blowing hard on his face,”
  • from a roadside zoo in Florida
  • order his midnight niblets
  • or ugly or evil
  • his particular phobia is length
  • forced to labor in the vineyards
  • Attacking me, mind you!

Reggie was growing disenchanted with the casting process for the Hieronymus Warhol movie.

“Does he have references?” she asked of an actor hoping to play the hero.

“Yes,” signed Jen. “But they’re from a roadside zoo in Florida.”

Reggie snorted and tossed the headshot aside. “He is not outrageous or ugly or evil-smelling enough, plus his particular phobia is length, if you know what I mean. He’ll never work as Hero.”

“He should be forced to labor in the vineyards until he no longer desires an acting career,” agreed Jen.

Jen picked up the next headshot from the pile beside the margaritas. She whistled and handed it to Reggie.

“Blowing hard on his face,” Reggie said, “is how I would like to start my morning.”

“Why don’t you order his midnight niblets and see where it leads?” said Jen.

Reggie smirked. “I would if I didn’t need to worry about Naveen’s jealousy attacking. Attacking me, mind you! If Naveen’s jealousy would settle for only attacking this handsome actor, it might be worth a try.”

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“And That’s How I Came To Write The Flying Nun”

  • by jenmuttering they strolled
  • well, he looked obscene
  • came to write The Flying Nun
  • only a naked young girl lying spread-eagled
  • raging in his aged skull
  • I know you’re part Indian!
  • editor of this lunatic volume

“And that’s how I came to write The Flying Nun for half a season,” Devlin du Mauvais said, then added, “They fired me for obscenity.”

“Obscenity?” asked Delight. “Do tell!” She loved everything obscene, especially Devlin because, well, he looked obscene even fully dressed.

“It was only a naked young girl lying spread-eagled on the altar, but they took offense.”

Delight giggled at Devlin and the wickedness raging in his aged skull.

“I found the most remarkable book today,” she said, and showed him The Saga of Hieronymus Warhol. “You’re a character in it!”

Devlin snatched the tome and riffled through its pages. “I must find the editor of this lunatic volume, as well as the authors, and eviscerate them!”

While he continued muttering they strolled into the bedroom where Delight was to perform an erotic skit for her demon lover.

After donning her chaps and spurs, she began. “I know you’re part Indian!”

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Dear Diary

  • by jena more than brotherly kiss
  • chewed my lips nervously
  • the real moneymaker
  • Let’s say “funny”
  • if it really is shiny
  • gives me that slimy smile of his
  • I had tripped over a face

Dear Diary,

I love it when Devlin gets an idea and gives me that slimy smile of his. He’s the real moneymaker in the family and his ideas invariably lead to more riches. Mine are less reliable, as we both know. Remember the time I had that grave-robbing scheme that nearly got both my darling brother and myself buried alive, because I had tripped over a face in the crypt and knocked over the support column? I’m not sure how to refer to that. Let’s say “funny” instead of stupid.

This morning Devlin gave me a more than brotherly kiss, then lingered and chewed my lips nervously. He’s worried about his aura again, and what he’ll do if it really is shiny yellow like the Old Gypsy Woman says.

But I’m not worried. Devlin’s aura is still a black hole.

Love, Minerva

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Have You Ever Heard of Hieronymus Warhol?

  • by jensluggish and contented
  • didn’t have bathtubs
  • He died in 1970
  • tooth and toenail
  • I’m vain and I’m lazy
  • put him at a cobbler’s bench

Have you ever heard of Hieronymus Warhol? He died in 1970, sluggish and contented, in a poverty-stricken neighborhood in Rio de Janeiro where the inhabitants were so poor they didn’t have bathtubs. Or so rumor has it.

What really happened in Rio was that Warhol ran afoul of a politician by making unwanted advances at the man’s wife. Warhol was famous for saying, “I’m vain and I’m lazy,” so the politico had him kidnapped and put him at a cobbler’s bench where he was forced to make the lady in question a pair of stiletto heels using only tooth and toenail for tools.

In later years Warhol called it one of the most grueling and sexually satisfying ordeals of his life.

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During the Later Stages of the Elbows Installation

  • by jenat the bottom of the sea
  • Every skin-diver and shrimp fisherman
  • no sound disturbed his semiconsciousness
  • later stages of the Elbows installation
  • the speed of a middle-aged jogger
  • you won’t be sorry

During the later stages of the Elbows installation, Hieronymus Warhol’s drug addictions overtook him with the speed of a middle-aged jogger training for her first marathon in poorly fitted shoes, and he would often slip into a trance-like state while on the job-site.

Every skin-diver and shrimp fisherman from the nearby wharf was called upon to shout salty profanities, and fling rocks and shells found at the bottom of the sea in an attempt to rouse the great artist and compel him to complete his pipe-cleaner masterpiece, but no sound disturbed his semiconsciousness.

When eventually he came back to consensus reality of his own volition, he looked at the curator with bleary eyes and croaked, “You won’t be sorry.”

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