Letter 9. CACOPHONY
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.
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.’
(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.
I'm terribly sorry for getting back so late, but isn't it kind of given that the artists paint to 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
in the swirls of afternoon dust,
he bursts in on God,
afraid he might be already late.
he kisses God's sinewy hand
and begs him to guarantee
that there will definitely be a star.
he won't be able to stand
that starless ordeal.
He wanders around, worried,
but outwardly calm.
And to everyone else, he says:
it's all right.
You are no longer afraid,
'It doesn't guarantee you could be a star. You can be popular for a period of time, but then it's all over.
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.’