Report by Alberto.
Patrick Cash, Pierre P-Air Purdy, Anass, Lucy Gelman, Kate Noakes, and our featured poet the Dada Jazz Surrealist Maestro Valery Oisteanu:
From the poem “Doctorine” by P-Air Purdy:
“they can’t see Phd but
come to lick blood from
when the meats gone they nip
the hand go in pulsing shards”
Peace, love and taco grease.
Ewan translating Garcia Lorca. Tino. Hiroko Kouno. Kelly. Patrick. James and Dena. Rollin’ on.
Helen O’Keefe from The Angry Lutemaker:
Bartolommeo – My first night at Grimaldi, the DINA agents gave me the bienvenida. You arrive, blindfolded, then ten, fifteen of them, they beat you in silence. They broke both my arms, but I was one of the few whose family could afford to pay for them to be re-broken and reset.
He stretches out his arms wide, in the pose of the monolithic christ of Rio de Janeiro.
Bartolommeo – See look how straight my arms are!
Y – Like a hammering hero in an old Soviet monument. No man with biceps like that could be a capitalist parasite.
Bartolommeo – I wish I could take out my brain, to show you how well it too has mended. My parents sent me to a bourgeois Freud doctor, was interesting, but I told them I’d do better with my art. In Grimaldi, I acted in my head, for example, in isolation, I improved all Tony Curtis’s roles. I would be sitting in ripe shit but really I was laughing on a yacht with Marilyn Monroe. No, I cannot take out my brain, but I can tell you about the roses. I was in a cell with a window for a while, outside was this old rose garden, planted from before. DINA agents took the women and raped them there, even they trained a dog to rape. The screams of the women and the barks of the raping dog would mix with the smell of roses. I could not stand to look out at them, their smell was sad to me.
Then Anne said I must try to enjoy roses again, and so now I have my roses made of silk. Look!
See you next Monday!