theatre of papaya
a wayward papaya puppeteer vendor knocks like a windshear about the upperfloor luminosity at least it knocks galadap infers to brumy and theres some faintly audible chuckling its going to come in anyway says brumy and brumys right and the peddlar glomps down toward them like a senior senator
you may think from my reputation and it wouldnt be outrageous that i only deal in papaya puppets or puppeteers the ambiguitys to my advantage but and here i share with you what ive shared with none my passion from the earliest days has been the seeds those perfect black wee shiny bitter squishy spheres that slide down the throat as easily as chironex fleckeri and are partners with wormwood in digestive passage ive been so obsessed with them since birth i cling to the papaya puppet trade to allow me to never stray far from my beloved seeds so they are perpetually intimate and i feel their dreams and pains more than mine they are my mentors foods slaves art langwich for no one believes in communication anymore its extinct as dinos brumys scales flutter langwichs now the province of mangos and kohlrabi kamut and hedgehogs and nothing of whonyms whove abandoned language and only mimic in their deaths what was once a vitality reciting fossilized scripts from cultural middens and so i listen to my papaya seeds like a shaman listens to the trees
how much asks brumy offended by its extinction
oh you misread me dinorama says the dealer
what a waste of meat mutters brumy
i hear that says the dealer
look says galadap we cant quite say you broke in but youre definitely here without a permit and notwithstanding our common belief in the communality of things were all forced to function in seemingly abiding structures that decry such belief and hence make its practice vaguely schizophrenic and pervasively random
we dont need more cartesian superciliousness wearing love makeup in other words says the dealer
thats not quite what ı was saying says galadap
what shes saying says brumy is that youre a charlatan
im a humble mage of the seeds of papaya says the dealer how could i be a charlatan when i offer my wonders for free your accusations a projection of your inexperience in the worlds of our trade
there are no snakes in iceland says brumy
of course thats not true and never has been says galadap there are snakes in the alþingi & alþingishúsið snakes in the kirkjuþing & kirkjuráð snakes in the safnahúsið and of course wyrms of all kinds distributed equitably among all the myriad spaces
wind and ice are snakes says brumy
all the more reason to advance to the langwiches of seeds says the dealer may i offer you some
the gap between the narratives of media and the narratives of art is now so large dinosaurs can get through it says brumy
all the way from the triassic says galadap
to announce themselves in the present as necessary abominations says brumy monsters of integration
lets say i give you nine half for each of you and the only thing i ask in returns that you watch a short little papaya puppet play of my own composition its called theres just not enough in its void and it was created when microdosing a concoction of methylenedioxymethamphetamine cannabis lysergicaciddiethylamide psilocybin and pharmahuasca in a treehouse on a coracle on the ganga
theres just not enough in its void
or
blood squirt
a very short tragitragedy
in nine acts
by
a wayward papaya puppeteer dealer
characters
many papayas and their pulp
fire ice air theusual
sonics & the senses
smoke n fashion
darkness
... and starring ...
papaya seeds
setting
an altered preservatory in the house of mama
a country road some numbers
the eternal crepusculars
acts one through nine
the dealer disappears in a mirage of smoke in the preservatory
and in their place a firepuppettheatre
the spectators gather around its heat
a parade of papayas walk on the sea of fire without harm and take positions
the nine papayas are donned in garish warrior ice outfits but do not melt
cacophanous lights and atrocious darknesses
screeching and irreconcilable sonics
smells to faint by and a clammy energy creeps throughout the room
the nine skin one another and their pulp whirls into the air
the seeds of the nine form iridescent constellations of suggestive semantemes
we loved it squeals galadap
speak for yourselves says brumy
we were brumy oh well take some
are you degeneratively insane says brumy
and the dealer crumbles to ash and the ash vibrates into nine papaya seeds and brumy and galadap divide them among themselves
well regret this says brumy
regrets the new joy says galadap
that may be says brumy and if it be joys also the new desolation
and desolation the new giddiness
and giddiness the new abominably unimaginable affliction
nothing fried nothing pained
a witch in rhyme saves nothing
a word of the sand births doo in the tush
the evils in the fairytales
the gnarly turd is the norm
youre a bite for bored ewes
and the friends eat their allotments and brumys eyes get big as bromides and they transmogrify into a flagitous papaya with teeth the size of a spinosaurus and it tears galadap apart like bánh tráng and theres neither evidence nor memory of galadaps existence and brumy settles into the house of mama like a tapestry
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