Foto by tgw, "Moon in the Window," New York City, 2010
"That Damn Moon Is Mooning Me"
At 5:30 this slippery moon came rolling through a veiling of misty clouds to be hidin' and peepin', peep, hide, hide, peep, "anyway you wanna let it roll"--and it was rolling, a rolling moon. I thought it was laughing at me. Me, the full-moon worshipper. "Why me, my supernatural moon?" I tried shooting it with my old Toshiba digital camera but the shots kept turning out moon-blurred, or with triple-image moons, as though the damn moon was mooning me. I stretched down almost to the floor of my apartment to try and shoot it full face. There was no man or woman in this rolling moon. It was faceless. "Of course," I wised up, "that's not the face of that moon, it's that moon's ass, bared and glaring mistily ghost like at me as this rolling moon peeped and hid--its face winking from the other side--winking in gleeful prankster success. A mooning moon. A mooing cow jumped over the mooning moon ass backwards, a feat of udder surprise.
And, yes, I am purposely trying to write nonsense. Nonsense that makes sense. But does nonsense ever make sense?
I tried reasoning and then writing like a well-educated chimpanzee.
Interview With a Chimpanzee Writer
Q (from the The Daily Growler on-staff monkey interviewer, Panzee Poo): Should I keep asking you questions in Chimp or do you know English?
A (our on-staff monkey interviewer is interviewing Chimpy Spillane, a Chimp hard-boiled detective-story writer from Moline, Illinois): I speak 5 different monkey dialects, but I prefer English...so, yeah, make out like you are interviewing Cheeta or J. Fred Muggs, Chimps who were so humanlike they managed to allure worldwide fanship with their best Chimp-style-acting antics.
Q: OK, English it is--do idioms bother you?
A: Idiots bother me, yes, but not idioms.
Q: Touche, on that one, Mr. Spillane, we, too, here at the Growler have our idiot firewalls constantly up and running. Are you into computers?
A: No, I'm still using an old Underwood typewriter the Yerkes people gave me after they gave up trying to get me to express myself in simpler terms than I had evolutionarily advanced to using. Like rather than, 'Would one of you jerk offs hand me one of those bananas?' they wanted me just pressing this yellow button on this machine and grunting something like, 'Unn--unn--hoo--hoo--arhrumph-arhrumph,' and hitting that yellow button and then beating on my chest like a god-damn gorilla. That's the only way these academic bastards wanted to award me with a banana.
Q: Are bananas your main diet?
A: Hell no. I'll eat anything really. I've known brother and sister Chimps who ate their own feces. Some of us older Chimps develop a taste for meat once or twice a year. For this meat, the more desperate hunters amongst us go wildly after those little cute monkeys that live way up in the tallest branches of the tallest trees in the tribe I'm from--Gibbons maybe. The demon-possessed Chimp hunters scramble up into those upper branches and start shakin' monkeys down out of those trees. These hapless monks fall down into the meat-maniac frenzy of Chimps below who grab a just-ground-hit-fresh Gibbon, baby or grandpa makes no difference, and start tearing it meanly limb-from-limb gnawing off and gulping down that fresh bloody relative meat as they go, ripping it off those freshly ripped apart arms or legs and gut-exposed bellies. The best part, and I could mention Idi Amin here, but I won't, is the brains. They'd crack their skulls open on rocks and then suck out the brains. I had an uncle, my Uncle Spike, was insane for monk brains. He loved monkey brains so much, he sometimes went out at night by himself and caused a frenzy in the treetops, though he always was up early the next morning with a full belly and a big smile on his mug. Myself, I've eaten meat, but it was leftover ground meat the Moline Monkey House got given them by a local hamburger meat processing plant--vulgar smelling stuff, but, hey, it was mighty tasty to me. It could have been the ground up meats of some of the little monkeys who died in the famous Moline Monkey House fire set by a pyromaniac Chimp named Queen Isabella a few days before I first ate some that stuff. But then, hell, you barbecue any kind of meat and it tastes good. Remember, as a child, I grew up on fresh jungle fruits and nuts and leaves, with an occasional grub worm or termite thrown in for flavor. My mom was a good provider. My dad, he was into perpetual masturbation. Became so addicted to it, the tribal council had to socially outcast him--exile him to a freakish corner of our territory--where the gay and prostitute Chimps congregate, though, there's still plenty of public displaying of monkey masturbation in the main square by some of the testosterone-jived-up young monks out looking for attention.
Q: Do Chimps have morals?
A: Damn right we do. We aren't allowed to have sex with our mothers. That's pretty moral isn't it? There are no motherfuckers in the Chimp world I grew up in. Fatherfuckers...now that's a whole 'nother ballgame.
Q; Do you believe in God?
A: I believe in God spelled backwards. Hah, hah, a little Chimp humor there. God? No. Chimps don't have any concept of God. Maybe a couple of Chimps with mental disorders claim they are King Kong occasionally---I met a Chimp at the Moline Monkey House who'd been treated pretty badly by a cheap two-bit circus trainer with a back-alley circus out of Fort Wayne and this Chimp, his real name was Pugs, one night announced he was Jesus Christ. The rest of us shouted really loud, "WHO THE HELL IS THAT?" We had no concept of Jesus Christ...Messiahs...that Jewish stuff. Funny story though, some of my tribe were used as lab Chimps and one Chimp, Izzy, testified to the fact that one experiment at Yerkes hooked him up to electro-magnetic probing machine. They probed his brain via getting into it by going in through his eyeballs. Izzy said after one of those brain probes to project just how far he could advance in learning a human language, he came away from it knowing an amazing number of Hebrew words and phrases. He said he was scheduled to be crucified by a scientist interested in Chimp reactions to extreme forms of punishment but was rejected because the fact Izzy could "speak" Hebrew so righteously it gave the scientist, Dr. Yael Gooseman, the holy willies...I'm rambling now. We Chimps have a habit of rambling. Blabbing. Just sitting around picking fleas and mites out of our buddies crotches while just blabbing away. Rumors galore. "Did you hear about Lady Puck and that Chimp who calls herself Lips, how they got into a cat fight over that new male who just joined the tribe, Long John Thomas he calls himself, prancing around on the balls of his feet like he's a fucking ballet dancer."
Q: You never really answered my question...do you believe in God?
A: God, no. Chimps don't have the capacity to transcend their mental stance at the bottom of the primate ladder...the capacity to take in the idea of a huge human monkey who lives way up there in that void--Chimps you know don't know stars from holes in the sky--and who sent his only son who was born of a virgin--I mean, come on, how could a common ordinary Chimp think up such complicated bullshit as that?
Q: Well, Chimpy Spillane, we have a copy of your latest book here, The Prehensiled Hand Murder Case, and we notice it's another Detective Ohgee Uhf Uhf mystery.
A: Yep, again Ohgee's helping the Moline Police Department solve a murder case.
Q: I don't usually associate Moline, Illinois, as the murder capital of anywhere much less the USA.
A: Hey, I'm writin' fiction here. Fiction doesn't have to be accurate. Would you believe Ohgee more if he worked with the Bourbonnais, Illinois, Police Department?
Q: Hey, you got me there, boy...my mother was from Bourbonnais...small world, isn't it?
A: The world ain't small to a Chimp. Think about it.
Q: So there you have it book lovers, an interview with Chimpey Spillane, the hard-boiled detective story writer from Moline, Illinois. You still at the Monkey House there?
A: Yep, still at the Moline Hilton, as we call it. By the way, I'll be doing a reading from my new book there on the 35th of Loo-ug...er-ah, I mean the 15th of August...I'll do a book signing, too, at the same time. Remember, The Prehensiled Hand Murder Case on sale now at your nearest zoo bookstore. I've got to go now. I have an interview over at The Daily Howler later.
How's that for being rediculous?
for The Daily Growler
PS: Speaking of Hebrew and Detectives: Check out L Hat's post of yesterday: