fpf?+26: The meaning of my life is like the lid of the superglue that is stuck to the superglue so I can't open it

(written 28 January 2010)

And the prize for Best Kiddy-ism 2010 goes to William Schwarer!
So the kook has 2 cookbooks checked out from the local library. Nut-crunch muffins and peach cheesecake. Many biscuits with chocolate and oats and nuts and cupcakes with a variety of bears, raccoons and dogs in icing which we weren’t able to identify without looking at the labels. “Light Meals” like tossed greens and quartered cherry tomatoes in vinaigrette – how uncool is that in a kid’s cookbook? So she sits on the couch and reads each recipe and exclaims each picture. “Dad! Wow – this looks great” “Dad wow – we’ve GOT to make this one”. She finds “Dad! Chocolate Declares!” which seem like a very good idea and is fast-tracked through the parental approval process. And then, as we slip suddenly into the universe by Dr Suess:


From the depths of the house
comes the lad with his voice,
from his bedroom he throws:
“Kooks! See if they’ve got,
how to make Strawberry Ducklings in there!”
“ - what?” asks the Kook,
“Why that big pink-ice thing
That they had at the place –
on the weekend, you know?”
Now he knows that I know
that he knows that I -
that all that we’ll need
is some rum and some ice
some strawbs and a straw
and a big sundae glass
And a slim slice of lime
Just to make it sublime.

Oh waaaaitor! I’ll have another Strawberry Duckling – and one for my friend Patrick here.


The Christians
In 1977 a fairly sublime gent named Milton Glaser created a pictographic device for the New York tourism authority, with an “I” and a “♥” and then an “NY” below that, and this logo is really frikken brilliant and concise and it fits together in a square just so and you get the message without having to piece the parts together to create meaning – and pretty much that’s what’s known as a thing of beauty. Well now trust the Christians to go and fuck it up: I♥THE CHURCH OF THE LIGHT OF JESUS CHRIST THE LORD just so totally misses the point so completely I can’t believe it. I mean how mind-blisteringly convinced of your shit do you have to be to press play on that one? It’s like the Listerene Advert and Modern Artists: Sometime you don’t need anyone else’s help to fuck yourself over.

And then sometimes on a dark and stormy night you drive home and are a little bit drunk and you write a poem and you don’t know why:

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Come on home
little jimmy-come-clean
Come on home
When you turn nine teen
with a sack-string harp and a leather-back tie
and a double-deck-asparagas cut knee high
fall in the rain - fall down the hill
fall off the mountain and make that kill cause
I've got a knife and I've got a wife
and I've got an alley to take your life

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Tom is my name, sticky tape is my game