30 January 2011

Sitting harnessed... (or our Joe Frank / Facebook adventure)

he following was taken verbatim from JOE FRANK's FB wall. the entry was first posted at 15.11 on Saturday 29 January 2011.
JoFra: Sitting harnessed to a high chair, the bitter odor of coffee, the sweet odor of cigars smoke, gazing at the traffic passing on the street before me. People talking and laughing, someone lifts a spoon of custard to his mouth, a valet rushes into the street clutching luggage, hailing a taxi and hit by a colorful double decker bus. (Continues below in comments)

JoFra: Commotion, sirens, flashing lights, police talking on radios, man removes sports jacket and covers valet knee deep in water screams What's the matter with you, you whore. Crowd parts for stretcher carried into ambulance, doors close, helico...pter overhead while sitting in high chair small tables around dance floor where man wearing bandanna sits at white piano accompanying couple dancing the tango and waiter carrying silver doomed tray to table, steps back to reveal cheese souffle.
(photo from steamykitchen.com)
Large broad boulevards, statue of Evita, held in arms of huge crowd that gathers in plaza before 2nd story balcony where a big, fat man with a mustache, wearing a general’s uniform with a plumed helmet and an oversized gold-plated side-arm using a European baby on all fours as a foot stool, a sword hanging from his belt wearing riding boots receives adulation, What's the matter with you, you whore, and marbled buildings, echoing hallways, hushed meeting rooms, green velvet lampshades overlooking boulevard with island planted with shrubbery and flowering trees and outdoor cafes where people sit and talk and a baby in a high chair stares at shiny automobiles visible in a showroom floor

MiBe [JF fan also posting in comments]: It's getting dark now. Across the street a band is playing The Internationale while old men in ancient uniforms watch over the boiling street scene. The flashing lights on the ambulance light the brass section to flash like gold. The neon... lights from the local sustantivo reflect as jewels in the gleaming instruments. The General, oblivious to the fate of his dying valet, stares down with an expression of rage and hate. Momentarily, he considers retiring inside for a nap, but instead, he dials his phone, ordering an attack on the crowd below.

VeKiSto: ...and squints as the fat man laughs out loud, his footstool squealing out of pain but partly out of boredom, and the stomach of a dog the size of a large supreme burrito grumbles loudly What's the matter with you, you whore as it nestled ...uncomfourtably beside a designer wallet, probably a knockoff, a leash designated as humane by the ASPCA, three or four slightly used lipsticks, hand sanitizer, some keys, a folded up to-go menu, loose change, bits of glass, a nearly empty prescription bottle, a pen with no cap, crumpled kleenex, a cellular phone, blinking and buzzing, an iPod, a sports bra, old sticks of gum and one piece of chewed gum, the dog sometimes able to breathe inside the enormous, impossibly heavy imported leather handbag carried by an impeccably dressed, slightly insecure, youthful-looking, college-educated woman in a hurry, with nails manicured, breasts believably enhanced and beginning to sweat ever so slightly because the last time she ate was the last time she

LaHa: [another JF fan post]
It was becoming more difficult for him to fit into the highchair, it teetered, threatened to topple, with his every move. Sometimes the ashes from his cigar dropped into the hair on his chest, that odor was not quite so sweet.
It didn't seem... to matter how chaotic the social order became, revolution, flood, plague. As long as he continued with the charade, agreed upon in a long forgotten past, life continued.
The tap dancers were coming on next, then the tigers, that was his favorite part.

No comments:

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...