The Women of Elder
Diaphragm
When I
first proposed a tribute of sorts to the women of Elder Diaphragm, some of my
friends thought I was talking about the Deal Sisters. Perhaps I disabused them of this notion with
unnecessary heat, but their confusion seemed a humorous put-on, one calculated
to piss me off.
“I don’t
know what you got so upset about,” one of my friends, the one in the Opeth
t-shirt, later grumbled as we examined our vending options. “They smoke and they have brown teeth.”
“Hey!” I
snapped, causing my friend to push the wrong button. Instead of a bag of Funyons, he got some new
kind of potato chips apparently made with Kellogg’s Special K, judging by the
packaging.
Note: Kellogg’s has the sound of breakfast about it.
“It’s rare
that I find anyone in the… Arts,” I threw my hands out in deference to the
word’s imprecision and general lack of suitability, “That I both like and
respect—“
“I bet you
wouldn’t like them if you actually met them,” my Opeth friend interjected,
sniffing the contents of the incorrect purchase. Should he add milk?
I sighed,
more a huff, really.
“And even
rarer that it happens to be a woman,” I continued.
“And twins
at that,” Opeth man added.
I walked
away, leaving him to sort out his snack.
“So who are
these ‘Women of Elder Diaphragm,’” another friend asked as I puzzled over the
Pixies once again.
The story,
as told to me one crazy night when the number in the circle, taken as a
symbolic whole, corresponded to characters neither described as yet nor firmly delineated
as either real or fictional: “Sometimes,” the old man began, “A character can
be both real and fictional at the same time.”
“Bullshit! Bullshit!
Bullshit!” I screamed, running outside with my hands over my ears, loath
to hear such heresy.
Such looseness of form, a hallmark of MODERNISM, with all of its attendant evils, like stream-of-consciousness and amorality, was beyond my comprehension. I didn’t even know the difference between Kim and Kelley at that time.
Such looseness of form, a hallmark of MODERNISM, with all of its attendant evils, like stream-of-consciousness and amorality, was beyond my comprehension. I didn’t even know the difference between Kim and Kelley at that time.
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