surreal abstract prose tale dedicated to the guru of abstract surreal prosetry
– Now die to your heart’s content – And tell me you can’t fetch wood … –Russell Edson, “The Fetcher of Wood”
A man is chopping wood in the forest, his wife approaches and tells him … So you don’t dare to drop dead like Edson’s old man, in order to avoid chopping wood today.
He says …Edson’s old man was a sissy and chops her head off.
I decide to enter this lurid place whirling like a dervish.
‘Who’ is now trying to bury the cadaver, ‘who’ sees me as I approach and says … What are you doing here? I say something, I guess I also say … I saw everything, no you are not a sissy, but now I will have to call the police.
‘Who’ says …Stop whirling around, I want to chop your head off, as I am not a sissy.
I stop whirling and let him do it and I start talking and I am now a talking head …I am whirling around the axis of I’s imagination, while ‘who’ stains with poisonous slime the borders of unreality. Nothing changes what ‘who’ did, ‘who’ places my head on the wood and accurately splits it into two twos to stop it from talking.
I pretend I am dead, watch him burying the dead flesh of everything he ever.
Fictitious days later, we return, arm in arm, but ‘who’ doesn’t see us. He is now ‘Whoever’.
Has nothing to.
I’ve found her another man at the other end of, a man that was a sissy who, but first I cut off her tongue that.
She gladly let me do which, for a pen under the delusion it belongs to its axis, is right, in return..
(and this started the Dummies series, with two installments and then The Chosen Dummies poems)