Sanctioned by the Association of Nimble Twee
(Fade Out / 8 channels of noise : one channel of noise drops out every 30 seconds until there is silence)
Voiceover In Search Of A Film: Soft antennae entertainment turned minds to mush. Mush was the preferred texture of pablum eaters the world over. Overcome with cathexis via parapraxis trying to gauge the thickness of the Foley catheter.
A: Catheter? Did you say catheter?
S: Are we talking about the indwelling and suprapubic type catheters?
A: This isn’t your typical prime time fare, you know. You know it must be.
S: It must be. Isthmus B? Be you choosing Isthmus B? Isthmus of Perekop?
A: Are you insane, man? You can’t get anywhere near that today—mines, errant shells, ravenous drones on the prowl for heat signatures . . . No. New.
S: New world Isthmusesesess. (Did I just neologize?) what about the Isthmus of Panama?
A: Why has this turned into some sort of geography thing? What is this about?
S: What is anything about?
A: About 6 feet 3 inches, 224 pounds—a strapping lad!
S: You, my friend, have lost your yarbles.
A: You mean marbles?
S: What’d I say?
A: Yarbles . . . Maybe that’s the parapraxis, and this is all about quasi-urinary tract issues.
A: Where were we?
S: I think we’ve lost the plot.
A: Was there ever one?
S: One is born and then one dies.
A: Dies? What about all the other stuff in between?
A: In deed?
A: I’m sorry I have to stop here. You’ve put me in a sad state of mind.
S: Mind you, pal. Go on with your bad self. Scat.
A: Boop-be-boop. Wada, wada, wap, doo, wah. Wee, do, do.
S: What the fuh— What are you doing?
A: I’m scatting.
S: Not that. Not that scat!
A: Well, why didn’t you say. (Drops his pants)
(Rimshot heard off stage / Silence / Fade In)
What I’m Reading:
“I got a feeling like scenic railways in the stomach—”
— William S. Burroughs / Nova Express