Letter 9. CACOPHONY


 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pPLXNmKvLBQ

 

Chapter manual

Layer the text with even more collaged words.

*Complications: as the firing determination to progress somewhere very close to stand by the great poet is overwhelming - instead of repeating the exercise in the letter “Sustematic Randomness”, try to exaggerate the ‘text typos’ that will be written down in a line. Later support the logical/poetic continuity of those broken words.

 

*Additions: I’ll try to pretend as I've never read “Cloud in  Trousers” and continue the poem, as if Mayakovsky committed suicide at 22 instead of 33.

 




 

‘If you want—

I’ll rage from meat—

and, like the sky changing its tones—

if you want—I’ll be irreproachable tender,

not a man,

but—a cloud in trousers!’

If you want to hand it into your hand

and paint it red -

like a borsch lying on the flat plate

Then go bloody ahead and paint it.

Eat it

until you reach the very end of sadness and despair

Like a provincial middle class

climbing up the great expectation ladder.

Plastering the plaster plastatuate like a plastered plasterism.

Until it breaks

‘ like a nerve falling from bed’

And one by one

like a choir of failure, -

Fall even harder

So Beckett will be glad.

 

If you wish, - I’ll rage on raw meat like a vandal!

Get married then.

‘It’s all right, I can handle it. As you can see, I’m calm, of course!

The pulse of a corpse.’  

Men, crumpled like a bag of cereal into the paste,

bed-sheets in the soya milk hospitals,

‘ and women,

battered like overused proverbs.’

Pulse overused

 (V. Mayakovsky, rewritten “Cloud in Trousers”)



 

The cacophony of pulsating bed, joy of every bed of being young, predicting an incredible bed fall from the self man bed made the pedestal unliftable bed responsibilities, bed not turning away from a radical bed thoughts and bed. Loudest voice in a room hot by its volume but by bed by its tone.

Stop.

 

(stop music)

______________________________________________________

 

 

Dear Julien,

I'm terribly sorry for getting back so late, but isn't it kind of given that the artists paint to Listen !

 

‘Listen,

if stars are lit

it means - there is someone who needs it.’

 

I’m always amazed that the people who appear on your shows try to sing those classics, because doesn't your heart sink? It is like karaoke with production…

EEEEEvertime! I mean I try and remain optimistic, but I'm sitting there feeling completely miserable, that you are murdering one of my favourite songs - fulltime.

 

‘It means - someone wants them to be,

that someone deems those specks of spit

magnificent.

And overwrought,

in the swirls of afternoon dust,

he bursts in on God,

afraid he might be already late.

In tears,

he kisses God's sinewy hand

and begs him to guarantee

that there will definitely be a star.

He swears

he won't be able to stand

that starless ordeal.

Later,

He wanders around, worried,

but outwardly calm.

And to everyone else, he says:

'Now,

it's all right.

You are no longer afraid,

are you?’

 

'It doesn't guarantee you could be a star. You can be popular for a period of time, but then it's all over.

‘LISTEN,

if stars are lit,

it means - there is someone who needs it.

It means it is essential

that every evening

at least one star should ascend

over the crest of the building.’