i have punchy wunch on line 2…

80572479-3E3A-48D9-AE9A-BEE6AD410052

sometimes little bull fights:

I recently received this transmission via email.  I don’t know who sent it.  It came from The Ether Foundation.  And while I’ve never heard of the foundation or know of anyone who knows said foundation, the e-missive had such a force of purpose behind it, that I immediately followed these instructions:

On Nov 13, 2019, at 12:54 PM, PUNCHY WUNCH <punchywunch@theetherfoundation.net> wrote:

Hey You!

Sorry not to see you today.  Hope the venereal disease is shining like crazy where you are. 

Here‘s the work for next time.  You need to do this.  You have no options or recourse:

1) take a small image and make it large 

2) take a large image and make it small

3) interpret what you did in a different medium 

4) go to a website building site and play with the tools. See what they prompt you to do.  Take pictures of what you do. Delete the site if you like but keep images from your efforts. 

5) write  for 5 minutes three times this week using prompts to help you free write. Prompts we came up with: cleanup in Aisle 5; window washing; where do balloons go? Where do socks go?; how did I get there from here? 

Have a swollen neck week!  Here’s to your mumps!!

THEE ETHER FOUNDATION

So here is my work.  My assignment from beyond.  I hope to find comfort and solace (maybe even succor)  in these humble assignments done.

 

1) take a small image and make it large:

IMG_7688 (1)

 

IMG_7688 (1) 3

 

2) take a large image and make it small

D9BAADF8-1D40-4768-94C3-E5E37A58027F_1_201_a

 

IMG_7471

 

3) interpret what you did in a different medium 

C4D2D813-95E0-45B3-93DA-88E884415728_1_201_a

 

4) go to a website building site and play with the tools. See what they prompt you to do.  Take pictures of what you do. Delete the site if you like but keep images from your efforts.

See here, Punchy Wunch!  You’re looking at it.

 

5) write  for 5 minutes three times this week using prompts to help you free write. Prompts we came up with: cleanup in Aisle 5; window washing; where do balloons go? Where do socks go?; how did I get there from here?

 

I.  How did I get there from here?

“Nonlinear. Discontinuous. Collage-like. An assemblage.”

— David Markson / Vanishing Point

 

II.  Cleanup in Aisle 5:

I remember on the first day of school he said:  “… carousing will not be tolerated.  We are a Jesuit school and you are upstanding young gentlemen, and you will act as such.  The pride of a country in exile rests upon you.  You are being watched, and you will not embarrass us while we are here in the United States.” 

And I said: “I was born here.  I’m an American, and I’m not going back to Cuba.  I’ve never been there.  I want nothing with the miserable island.  Or the miserable old people who talk talk talk and do nothing.  Buy a boat.  Call it Granpa.  Fill it with 50-some odd people, and lousy guns, and start a counterrevolution.  Why don’t you shut up and do something.  I’m not a Cuban.” 

 

III.  Where do balloons go?

Sex dwarf… Gnathonic dwarves luring disco dollies to a life of vice.  Sex dwarf.  Gnathonic dwarves…

“Politically incorrect and pompous!  Say fawning little people or some such.”

“I don’t love you anymore.  You always accuse me of being improper, coarse, politically incorrect, a whore.”

“Well, you are a whore. The biggest whore that ever lived.  Look at your whorish make up: that runny mascara, those grotesque lips painted like a Pity Party clown…”

“Hey, look who’s being politically incorrect now.  Pity Party clown?  Really?  That’s disturbing.  Don’t you dare call me a clown.  Pitiable?  Yes.  But clown?  No.  Do you really have to bottom feed.”

“Madam, I’ll have you know I’ve fed on the best bottoms in the world.  The idea for 2 Girls 1 Cup was mine.  All mine.  I spawned a subculture.  The uber-sub genre.  I am the king of the despicable.  The emperor of grotesqueries.  The baron of bizarre.  I am trans-species extraordinaire… but I am merely a man.  Made of the same organic stuff as you; as the rest of them.  And you, dear tart, will rue the day you spoke to me that manner.  You, dear slovenly woman, are a harrowing harlot.  A mere trinket of Tristesa.  And I will beg you to leave me alone.”

“Well, I never.”  She produced a taser from her purse.  “See this, you fuck?”  She aimed it squarely at his groin.

He took a step closer to her.

“You’re a defiler.  A debaser.”

He mocked her.  “Ooh, you’re a deee-file-her.  A deee-bay-sir!” and he thrust his groin out at her.  “Ooh, don’t tase me, bro,” he said, arms akimbo.  “Don’t tase me, ‘ho!…”

***

The deus ex machina does not exist, dear reader.  From here you must devise your own denouement for these two characters who are in search of a fourth reel.

And now the film is trapped in the gate and is blistering.  Melting.

Now I’ll have to call the projectionist at home, and pay him overtime, because I have cellulose triacetate all over the xenon arc bulb.  God damn it!

Do you know how much this is going to cost me — to fix this projector?

Oy!  I should have gone digital when I had the chance.

God damn cheap films.

And you… YOU!  All of you!  What are you looking at?  What are you doing here?

And take that balloon out of your ass!

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s