26.2.11

 
Rando-mize:
This surfaced and was too good not to share.
Circa: 1993 Here we are. What a day, and we look like wrecks.
And what of it? 
I was art directing. We had stopped for a ‘buddy’ shot during the 
plexi-painting photo. From left, someone-you-know, Ann Cunningham, Terry Koepsel and Lonnie Hanzon, looking as though he is trying to talk the photographer out of this one.

Any monkey can do what I do…
“Well, that may be true, but do you realize how 
long it would take to train a monkey?” -L

‘Drew is listening to the song One More Day from Les Miz (colloq.) when his sister comes in asking  hurried questions about this and that.
He raises his eyes to heaven in mock disgust,
“The moment is ruined! START IT AGAIN!”
He cracks me up.

The only part of costuming I do not like is taking time opening safety pins.

Where there are possibilities of too many double letters in one word, I usually get the spelling wrong.
And another thing, the ‘i e’ rule doesn’t.

Matching furniture is a clue to adulthood.

I’m wonder about things ...  not in the least is, when did my generation get use to listening to mini sound speekers instead of the steady boom of a Klipsh Belle?

Lonnie has a visual parade happening over at his place...!

21.2.11










 Muse 7
Well, well, well.
I would have lost that three-penny bet. Your grand escape. I will mash the reset button on this meander and now believe you work by installment.
Linear stories are tedious, why should lives hook up to parallel?
Your riff on this theme will be getting tedious soon.
Make it exciting or else.
Is ‘mob’ psych what makes folks look at something interesting and miss the obvious?
Moving on from to,
Wheeze

 Muse 8
 After breaking into your abandoned attic apartment I pulled aside the heavy Victorian drape to view the painting, expecting some Dorianesque nightmare to be revealed. However, it was simply an empty frame. The prize had been removed.
Animal debris was all over and about.
There, on the roll top, was a to-do list of mundane wants and needs. Some were ticked off, others scribbled over as if importance had asked priority to change its mind. The other things not left were all the books of cruelty she had never written. Noticeable because of her absence. Because of your weighty absence, too.
Whatever you find ‘there’ at the moment, and being careful what you wish for here, it becomes comical when realized it matters not where you are.
All moves forward together.
Being here is not being there, so how should I know?
Till I decide otherwise,
TW

Muse 9
Once again, my dear, Repillee Scooter’,
Catching is like chasing a phantom, yes. Moreover, phantoms are often
self-imposed, self-promoted and self-capitalizing. This seems random.
Just don’t get your percocet and pudding mixed up. They do opposite things to the body.
A linear story rambles off my pen and changing history would mean I could change the story, and that’s not going to happen. Truth is not a new situation.
But the truth is not easily handed.
Not having found it does not make up for needing to.
I’ll be summing it all up, somewhere and I’m sticking to it.
With a nod to Dylan’s tarantula & with your leave,
I still am,
Teansie Wheeze

17.2.11



Muse 4
Finding my favorite stoop, I sat to retrieve the letter. The swashed bugs on the open page proved a your letter was written En Plein Air and confirmed you are still on-the-lam.
Like so many other possibilities, I have committed it to memory.

‘My dear friend,
What is it called when you dream of wildfire and awake to flood?
When you invent something so intriguing in your dreams, but cannot bring it to the light of day?
What is it called when you have the pen and paper but not enough light?
What is it called when you can finish it in an evening or you could finish it in a night and what you really want to do is never finish it at all?
What is it called when someone purchases a better something but the other wanted something they thought lesser?
What does it feel like to be thinking-of-nothing and write a book?
When you realize you are outside of realism?
I may/not be her.
I am. And will be.
Repillee Scooter’

Yet another device. The old diversionary tactic.  Logic will be of no use on this one, so let it go into percolation mode.  It stutters a click of a breath, sputters two words like a candle going out and retreats to touch the back of the stage wall til the encore.
Not liking math closes doors and eventually seals them shut, as I have noticed. (Teansie me)


 Muse 5
Okay,
Instead of eating the letter I added it to a Borofsky exhibition down in SoHo. Jonathan would never notice because of all the garbage covering the floor in his installation. Artful trash is another story for another time.
All that now remains is the faint odor, just a trace of ambergris on my palms and cuffs from the stationary. I will not accuse, though weren’t you in the wake as she entered with that perfume wafting behind her. That, before she told the reporter she was vegan. This morning? Or later. Depending which continent you're sitting on.
Which side of the road you are driving on and where you put your accents.
I will continue this process when I figure out the sequence.
Again, 
TW

Muse 6
Repillee,
I DID recognize her picture in this mornings paper even though it was 150dpi black and white. The story did not read as a space Iliad. However it is epic in its confusion. A light force expelled her. The release was printed before your letter and am assuming you are not on the ship. But then again the 'finger' prose wasn’t delivered by you, so no tellin.  Squinting my eyes and at the appropriate distance from  the photo I recognized the ring on her right hand near the jet window. How strange it looked like your knuckles. As if knuckles could be unique.
It was in the New York Times. God and everyone else knows that demands belief, as evidence that  paper is taken seriously as a bloodhound.
Looking for the jump. The page was ripped. Literally.
Wheeze

7 8 9

7.2.11


River of Mnemosyne 
10th Daughter of Memory
Muse 0 1 2 3 



 
 muse 0
Greetings to you my acquiescence,
Regarding your last communication.
Yes, she had walked into the room and a minor chord went off in my head.
Regarded as a threat. Respected as a possible ally.
With this sound of doom impending I was already backed up against a wall so I had nowhere to go when she marched up to me, held out a hooked finger close to the corner of her eye,
“GOTTA LIGHT?”
I didn’t cotton she was asking for an idea. At first I reckoned she wanted to shoot up carbonated water, then thought better.
In addition, yea, I saw a cliché the other dream. It was you kneeling in the silver light.
I need to know what you will tell the police when they come around. You know, collaboration and all that.
Never forget there are entire books written without using the word gypsy,
See you in the ones I love.
I’m glad this is not a telegram or I could not afford it.
Don’t get up when there’s not a place to sit down,
Probably sooner then later.
Yer buddy in the alleyway and byways,
Teansie  Wheeze

Muse 1: 

Hey,
Your arrogance appalling and your loudly ignoring my correspondence, annoying. Transmit word to me, via post or send a gram. Either way it will be too late. To my advantage, I will be notifying the authorities of your ‘specialty' out in the street.

You must know that putting strangers into the deep sleep and sending them into deep space puts you indeed into deep …  Well, you get the picture.

If the road up ahead bends to the right and keeps I’ll be seeing her black leather and purple lipstick soon, just not counting on it. As you are three steps ahead of her and she is two ahead of me that makes… well, just know I have lost sight of her and the entourage. They appear and disa in the most precise way, seemingly a herd of zebras skewing into camouflage at the right moments.
Quite unnerving.
Don’t answer the door if you’re not sure who it is, and only eat out of a can.
Yours,
Weazie

Muse 2:  
Even I will admit that putting Gavroche into a theater seat so when he gets shot onstage later it seems much more real, that he was’ just here’. The urchin did not wear noticeable armor and he was tragically mortal. However, all devices don’t go so smoothly. Some Burma-shave have gotten hit and may be pointing the in the wrong direction And any way the boy was simply a toothless angel in rags with his hands in his pockets and toes curled under at the edge of the stage compared to what prize you’ll receive. 
The Dada like messages require Dada like packaging if they are to float.  
The rub is not always coherent at times. 
It’s not over, 
TW, just another reluctant Titan. 
Or perhaps T. V. Titian? 
The brushes are wet, not sure of the subject, we’ll see before too long.

Muse 3:
Okay so I received your message. It was delivered in the CafĂ© Lutroo. The waiter placed it in front of my water glass and raised an eyebrow in expectation. The small envelope had been folded into the ‘finger’ suggesting the universal insult.
This bit of clever origami surprised me. Certainly not by the mundane message, but how clever you could be.  The way the stamp was placed as the fingernail pointing up.  I was not angered, but finished my victuals before handling the work. By that time there were a few inquires and zappers looking over my shoulder. Not wanting to disappoint any one but keeping within a spirit I put it in my jumper and skedaddled.
Gotta literally go,
Your Weazer