Monthly Archives: November 2006

RANDOMagic

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IF A is for Alphaville than B is for Bergman:Gregory Vershbow provides a haunting coda to todays randomagic. music is Jonathan Richman


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“This is so good,” she said, holding flacid flap of yellow at the end of her gesturing fork. “So fucking good.”
“THank you,” he said watching the yellow egg arc and streak like the lit end of a cigartte at night. “I told you I know how to make an omlette.”
“You do you do you do.”
He smiled now and his heart filled up and floated over the seas like the Goddyear blimp.
What’s in it? she asked.
“You know the usual…Eggs, of course, milk, ham, or was it speck, les onions, du fromage…ummm what’s The French for mushroom?”
“Chantarelle?”
“I thought that was a specific type of mushroom?”
“I don’t speak French,” she said and parted her lips and did a burlesque of French Kissing. It was meant as a teasing joke, but it still sent a frission of desire down his spine that settled in his lower chakras. Blood began to flow towards his member.
“Anyways….,” he said struck suddenly dumb by lust….”Ummm…. two kinds of Mushrooms.”
“Two?” she said.
“Right we had two kinds in the fridge from the Migros.”
“No I bought one at the migros.”
“Yeah you bought your funny asian mushrooms and I bought cremeni… but what’s fungus among us?”
“I bought cremeni mushrooms,” she stopped and her face went blank and her smile arc fell into a frown arc. “You fucking drunk,stoned idiot….You don’t even know? IDiOT!”
“What are you on about?”
“YOU dosed me. You don’t remember that guy giving you magic mushrooms last night?”
“NO.”
“I wouldn’t let you take them because you were way passed due already…shit, they’re Mexican magic mushrooms…You made us an hallucinogenic omlette”
“You’re mistaken,” he said. “These were in a nice little plastic containnter with brand name and… well it was written in German, or something… ” He grabbed the package.
“Dutch.”
“Shit, you’re right… they looked like mushrooms.”
“Fancy that,” she said.
“….. people are enitrely too efficient over here. You can’t tell where the food falls off and the pharmachology begins.”
She started laughing and laughing and laughing, “Those bastards really won the House and the Seanate?”
“Yeah. Turn on CNN.”
They watched and drank coffee and slowly the world changed before them.
“Next thing,” she said. “Is to get rid of Rumsfeld.”
Bush’s face came on the television and he looked like worried image of his mother as a drag king.
“Asshole,” they said at the exact same moment.
She laughed and she began to parade around the chalet like a munchkin form Oz singing, “Ding Dong the Witch is dead… which old witch, that rich witch bitch!”
“It’s like beginning of a sea change,” he said staring at the television which went to an image of Rumsfeld.
She marched over to the t.v. and screamed at his face: “You’re going down Rummy…. That gasoline smell in the air…it’s victory!”
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Moby Bop

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He closed his eyes and remembered the Catacombs under Paris and all those skulls and all that death and he had laid down on his back on a bed of bones, high on mushrooms stairing up at the arch vaulted ceiling, watching the shadow’s play against the ribs of the arches and it occurred to him all in a moment, that he was Jonah in the whale staring up at the inner gullet of a great fish swimming under Paris and that further more, that signature stroke of Roman technology, the arch and the key stone were nothing more than the ribcage and the vertabrae turned over on its side… It was so obvious. Why hadn’t other civilizations seen it? Hadn’t killed big enough fish maybe… still, leave it to the Romans, he’d thought, to turn carnage into an urban infrastructure… all that water all that sea all those aquaducts and ampitheatres born out of a ribcage like Eve and he had read Moby Dick out in the deserts of Utah and Arizona and Nevada, while camping out in the National Parks. He’d actually started the book at Moab and was struck by how it sounded like Ahab and on a rafting trip past red rocks he’d heard the guide talk about Uranium and the Manhattan project and how it had all been mined out of the red Moab earth, the color of an Indian. The rest of the trip, reading as the sun set against the desert stones, next to a juniper fire with a can of river cold Budweiser, he had imagined he could see the whale breaching white above the horizon line like Shiva in the moonlight. At Lake Powell by the Hoover Dam, he started trying to write a novel… Not just any novel, “A Great American Novel” It was set against the backdrop of Las Vegas and contained the central image of a great pigmentless fish that had been living deep under the Moab stone in an enormous underground aquafer. The Americans had accidently woken it up and it crawled out of it’s cave… A mamal, it slouched arcross the dessert like a great walrus towards Los Alamos and beyond. He’d never gotten much past the third chapter, but the image came rushing back at him as she talked about being a cave salamander.

“I should try to finish my novel,” he ejaculated.
“What? What novel? You have a novel?”
“Unfinished… I started one after college…didn’t everyone?”
“No. Everyone has a screenplay… or an internet start up… How old are you?”
“Ageless and all knowing,” he said. “Call me Ishmael.”
“Just don’t call me late for breakfast.”
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The Rabbit Hole

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From gundanasu u zeneize from The Library.
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“It’s a bit of an anticlimax,” she said.
“What is? The omlette?”
“No. The omlette is a climax,” she said. “I love the omlette. I’m talking about the election.”
“You really love it?” he asked puffing up like a fugu fish.
“I have been living in a sort of cave, or tunnel and It has blocked out all of the sun for so long that I’m like one of those lizards with no pigment… “
“Salamanders.”
“An anti chameleon.”
”They’re salamanders,” he repeated.
“What?”
”They’re not lizards… not reptiles at all. Amphibians, actually… but you’re right about the pigment.”
”Who the fuck cares if they’re lizards or salamanders? I’m trying to tell you about how I feel about my country.”
“I just thought you’d want to be scientifically accurate… besides, you’re Korean. It’s not really your country… you just landed there because of the war.”
“Fuck you. Fuck you twice…. Who cares more about America than people who CHOSE to live there?”
“I don’t know… I’m Swiss.”
“You’re not… You’re as American as I am.”
“Which isn’t very much, is my point… Neither of us are all American. We are always outside of it… and We have ways to escape when and if the empire falls… we have our JURUSALEM somewhere across the desert… We have a way out.”
“I don’t feel that way… Korea is insane. It’s foreign to me. Switzerland, from what I can see, is maybe even more insane… America has always felt like the last best hope… HOME… and to see it succumb that way… no way out… I’m just saying I felt like pigmentless… what do you call it? ….salamander. Okay? SALAFUCKINGMANDER…. Now I’m scared of the sun….”
“Sun’s no fun when you have no pigment. Ask the swiss yellow lady.”
”Are you trying to piss me off?”
“A little.”
“I don’t know how to feel,” She said and took another bite and spoke with her mouth full, “All I’m saying is this whole election… I was waiting for a real candidate 2008… or I’d given up hope.”
“Keep hope alive,” he said in his best Jessie Jackson voice.
“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes. “All I’m saying is that this whole thing is like fucking you.”
“What now?”
“An anticlimax,” she said.
“You don’t have to be mean.”
“You’re trying my last nerve… and I’m hung over ,” she said.
“We all are,” he said. “We all are.”
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The First Breakfast

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When she’d dried off the shower and hung the clothes upon herself like onaments on a tree she came down to the kitchen and he presented her with eggs and she said,” What the hell is this then? It looks like Jabba the Hut.”
“It’s an omlette,” he said, deflating a little like a balloon.
“It looks like Dick Cheney on crack,” she said.
“Some one woke up on the wrong side of bed,” he said.
“That I’m awake at all is a small miracle… I had to drag your insane ass through half the train stations in Switzerland last night and you kept trying to yodel and buy more beer,” she said.
“Really?” he asked… “It’s all a bit foggy for me now.”
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Collab with CM3

“It tastes good actually,” she said chewing the first bite and he inflated a little again and said:
“Good news… They got voted out.”
“Who?”
“The Republicans… the Democrats took the House and maybe the Senate.”
“I’d almost forgotten all about the mid terms.. I vowed not to vote again untill the Democrats ran an actual candidate… ” chew chew chew…”How much money did I give to them last time?” chew chew chew “And you were out there volunteering for the idiots…” chew chew chew “Best thing I’ve eaten in weeks,” she said chew chew chew.. “Or is it that I feel I can hold food down for the first time in years…?” chew chew chew.
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From Double You of The Library Project.

Autumn Leaves

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collages from The Library Project
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She getsdressed and spends a long time trying on the various clothes she’s brought with her in the luggage. She has a sort of modular outfit method that she designed to maximize her limited travel wardrobe.. The unfortunate side effect of the system is that the potential permutations of each outfit are nearly infinite. She winds up spending much longer than usual trying on this pant with that shirt and that shirt with this dress and on and on twisting in front of the mirror like a Rubick’s Cube.