The Circular Drawstring Dramatized
These poems are written, in the main, while I'm at work. That explains their absurd nature, although absurdity is also one of the foundations of my art.
Additional Material
This is the map I made at the beginning of this project. The intention behind the project was to combine a traditional novel with a graphic novel. The text part was called "A Record of Noises Made in the Forest" and the comics part was called "Lost Motorcycle Trading Cards." I consider the project a failure from the standpoint of trying to marry the two things, but a success in its own unique realization.
Now I'm going to return to doing a traditional comic strip, which will start next week and start writing a new, regular novel, but written in my usual way, which is hundreds of little pieces loosely interconnected.
Now I'm going to return to doing a traditional comic strip, which will start next week and start writing a new, regular novel, but written in my usual way, which is hundreds of little pieces loosely interconnected.
Page 200---The End
Farmer Wrongseed
And now,
here at the end of the book, you find yourself with me, old Farmer
Wrongseed. Some say I’m a mythical
figure, yet here I am, sitting on my rustic front porch in a weatherbeaten old
rocking chair that you can just go ahead and assume I made with my own two
hands, which I didn’t, ‘cause my hands never did a minute’s worth of that kind
of work—staring, apparently, out onto some lonely dirt road that leads
eventually to a big city far away, but in actuality, just the notion of my
simple rural craftsmanship and self-sufficiency, is a deception, because all of
this (I gesture about myself with backwoods elegance) is nothing more than a
stage set and you are, symbolically at least, seated before me, although we can
assume that, as a meta-character within this tableau you are a passerby,
standing in my yard. Why would you be
doing that, I wonder? The road, as I
conceive it anyway, is way down there, at least a hundred yards away, and that
where you conceptually stand or sit is just off the edge of my porch. Why would you do that? Are you here on business? It’s nighttime—what business would you have
around here at night? Are you up to no
good? I warn you, as the lead character
in this dramatic presentation, I am indestructible. Even if you did manage to kill me I would
still exist as a disembodied voice, narrating the events of the story to its
conclusion, at which time you would cease to exist too, for all intents and
purposes. See? Even now we fade to black and yet my voice
carries on, losing its rural inflection and taking on a godlike timbre.
THE END
.
Page 199
Departments Keystroke and Juggler Were Forced to Listen
to Anthony’s Snake Speech
“I try to
run this operation the way Jesus would run it,” Anthony informed those within
the scope of his supervision. “Or have
it be run,” he added, thinking that perhaps if Jesus was actually around he
wouldn’t concern himself with anything so mundane as supervising such an
operation. But then, thinking further,
Anthony realized that this second thought only made him look bad by suggesting
that his involvement with the job was beneath him. “Because I want to be like Jesus,” Anthony
summed up, collecting himself. He was
about to proceed, to tell the dozen people gathered in the tiny break room to
hear his words of encouragement exactly how such Jesus-like application to duty
was being implemented, when Frisco, one of the coordinators, put his head in
the door.
“Anthony,”
he said, “I want you to give this same speech to some of the other operations
in the building.”
Well,
Anthony was all for that. Any chance to
make his circus-like presence known to a wider range of people. In the event, however, Anthony did not
tell the other departments how his supervisory method was theoretically based
on that of Jesus, but rather told them that, inversely, their own departments
were being run in a “Satanic” manner.
“The snake
has entered the hearts of your supervisors,” he declared.
“I think
it’s all that bizarre 1970’s cologne he wears,” Ned Slipshod, medical advisor
to the company, posited. “It could be
poisoning his brain.”
.
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