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banana musings of the beatnik kind by conzo |
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| I just wrote down a sentence to start a story
with.....I like the sentence a lot for some reason : "Having blundered into the middle of nowhere, somewhere in Germany, Papst Shmearnoff decided to visit the banana museum." I just don't have a fucking clue yet what the hell the story should be about....I have that all the time....thinking of great sentences, but no stories to stick them in. |
| So...let's try to invent a story, shan't we ? |
| Let's start with : Who the fuck is Papst Shmearnoff. Well...should I attempt to show of my cleverness by deconstructing the maelstrom of remote references that's packed in that name ? I might, but if I do, you might find me an arrogant prick or -only slightly less nice- an unbearable smartass. |
| Not that I 'am' either of those, of course......Of course ! |
| Interestingly (to me) names, clues, sentences, pop in my head whenever I seem to need them (even though I forget that whenever I sit down and actually try to write). I only think of all the meanings and obscure references after it has popped up. Usually they're heavily linked with my particular mode of thinking, which tends to use all possible interesting methods that I can think of, in order to solve a particular problem. |
| Interesting to me, of course.......Why not ? |
| Why not indeed. |
| Back to Mr. Shmearnoff....Or Mrs. Shmearnoff. You see, I just realize I haven't even consciously decided yet if sHe 'is' a woman, or a man. I sort of automatically assumed hIr to be a man, but never actually thought about it. |
| How typical...I very often work from some kind of idea and just let things happen and make it up as I go along. It has a very high failure rate, because many ideas are just not 'good enough for me'. (Pissoffyoufuckingarrogantbastard). But if one is fertile, it tends to result in something that I really dig myself. It's a great feeling to dig your own creations. Having the luxury to give every single choice of wording, musical patter, conceptualized stain of watercolour, your personal fiat (the mental vrrrooommm factor). No nagging points where you know something is done only because of an external reason/concession (might a concession be regarded as an 'external reason' ? Note to self : chew on that for a bit). Be able to immediately change anything you're unhappy with. |
| Sounds a lot like : "Fuck my audience", doesn't it ? |
| Well...duh...it does. But that formulation is
not necessarily the best way to convey my meaning. I love it when
people dig something I made. And I am sincerely happy with any
criticism that stems from people who actually read/listened to it. I
like asking people for their opinion. One of my heresies is that I
reserve the right not to implement any advice from anyone, if I
happen not to agree with the advice. This includes the heresy of
knowing pretty well what I'm doing at any particular time in the
creative process, even though I just wrote down a sentence to start
a story with.....I like the sentence a lot for some reason : "Having blundered into the middle of nowhere, somewhere in Germany, Papst Shmearnoff decided to visit the banana museum." I just don't have a fucking clue yet what the hell the story should be about....I have that all the time....thinking of great sentences, but no stories to stick them in and I might often not even be sure of why I'm doing it. |
| Spontaneous copy-paste-hitsomefuckingkeycombobyaccident made to fit through the circular hole. It can be done, but you have to say bye bye Euclid for a bit. Skid along the grid, lift the lid from the pit, be a kid and oh shut up we got the point. |
| We still aren't detectably closer to Papst Shmearnoff, are we ? |
| We know however, that on July 12, 1977, he got off a wrong train, and tried to find his way back to where he took the wrong train. |
| This finding includes a stopover at a local pinchey |
| (meta-editor's note : a pinchey 'is' a trilingual joke) |
| to get a beer and mull over his memorial databank in order to find out where he took the wrong train. |
| "Now I remember vaguely some little village called Fliegendekinderscheissensheim that blitzed past me when we were about 10 minutes enroute from Bramms (Knödel), which was supposed to be my stopover station, but for some reason I'm very sure I was driving past Bramms in a train so how the fuck do I get on the 'right' wrong train even before I was supposed to have a chance to get on it and what the fuck, a banana museum ?????" |
| A banana museum indeed. |
| "Endlich ist es wieder soweit: Die Schatzkammer der Nation öffnet ihre Pforten in Sierksdorf und bietet die Möglichkeit die rund 10.000 Exponate umfassende Sammlung zu besichtigen. Der Eintritt ist natürlich frei!" |
| Finally, it's that time again: The treasure
room of the Nation opens its doors in Sierksdorf and lets you visit
the Collection, containing approximately 10.00 pieces. OF COURSE entry is free!" |
| "Für ein buntes Rahmenprogramm in Kooperation mit der Tourist Information Sierksdorf ist gesorgt. Die musikalische Untermalung liefert "Elvira Cardenas Streichtrio" live. Gelbe Leckereien gibt es frisch vom Grill" |
| For a bound window program in cooperation with the Tourist Information Sierksdorf is cared. The musical underpainting delivers "Elvira Cardenas Streakthreesome" live. Yellow deliciouseries gives it fresh from the grill. |
| Papst Shmearnoff consults his watch and checks the date against the one noted on the poster. DAMN, it's only next week. And next week I assume to have found Bramms (Knödel) again. But wait, there's a little tag saying : "open on saturday and sunday, 11h - 14h" stupid europeans with their 24h clock, is it so frigging hard to bloody remember ah what the fuck, let's see if the door's open. |
| rattle....rattle.....dingdong............silence.........dingdong dingdong dingdong dingdong........more silence |
| oh fuck, it's the wrong button trrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiinnnngggggg |
| crrrrrreak. |
| Servus ! |
| Hello. Have I succesfully found the banana museum behind this green doorbell ? |
| Herr sir American ? |
| Not in all technical senses, but for the duration of our interaction we can safely assume I am. I would also appreciate it if we could talk in english, because mein Deutsch leider nicht so gut sein dass ich sprechen can ohne machen a Dummkopf aus mich selbst. |
| Yes, is banana museum....Come in, come in ! |
| (author's note : I forgot the author's note I wanted to insert). |
| The door swings open, and Papst enters a place he never had imagined existed. |
| (author's note : I just remembered... : "author's note : Hej, there's something.....Papst is american ! Don't let yourself be fooled as to whether I picked hIr gender...I'm just running on the automatic assumption of maleness, but in fact if at any point I decide I'm going for a missus, then I'm willing and able to switch to 'she' immediately. Don't say I didn't warn you") |
| (author's note : The part I just remembered is only the first part. The part about not yet having picked the gender just occured to me as I was writing about the nationality) |
| The yellow bananas shine pale-blue-ish under the mixture of white lightbulbs interspersed with an occasional purple uv-like ceiling tube. The contrast with the very dark, but still noticably green green wooden walls is very poetic. This must be where vegetables go when they die and have been a bad vegetable all their lives and have been unrepentant till the moment they were peeled. Damn my pussy itches and I feel like I need to pee, but I just went and jezus sometimes I wonder if my mind works too much like a male's brain god what an ugly fuck, but let's listen to what he has to say. |
| Sir seems to have sprouted a set of...erm....yaggyaggyukyuk how shall I say it.....TITTEN hahahahaha (insert noise of flushing toilet). |
| Yes, you are correct, I do seem to be a woman now. But let's go on with it anyway....you were saying ? |
| The Banana is very famous vegetable here in Thuringhia. It is symbol of our repression in GDR days and of our Freedom afterwards. Banana is so important to me, as a person, that I even say it with a capital B. |
| I can hear, yes....please continue. |
| Banana was very rare in GDR days. Banana was fruit of all evil, capitalist tool. They say "The capitalists want to invade our countries and fuck us with their Bananas. If you eat Banana, you get the seed of capitalist greed in you, and you turn enemy of the people." They even have many jokes about Banana and GDR. Well only one I can remember, but many...many.....You know why Banana is bent ? Because it had to go around the GDR yukyukyukyukyuk |
| Papst stifles a yawn. |
| Is true though....because after Wall fell, Banana got into our cities, and we could eat banana. And every true freedom-loving citizen here now eats Banana every day in honour of our fathers who could not eat Banana at will. |
| So do you have some different banana... |
| ...Please respect my ancestors and say Banana with capital B, we fought hard for our freedom and Banana is very important... |
| i'm sorry, different Banana species, I meant. |
| No. |
| How do you mean no ? Do you have some interesting things to look regarding the growing or marketing of bana...I mean Bananas ? |
| No. Is just Bananas. Many of them. All the same, bent and yellow. |
| But this is a museum, right ? |
| Yes sir, is Banana museum, welcome to Banana museum, sir. |
| Say, you're Russian are you ? |
| No sir, it's just that I like this accent more. |
| Ok, whatever......But erm why the hell am I still standing here with this freak and hey nice boobs, wish I'd noticed them earlier and damn, I'm still a guy mentally because boys notice boobs and butt first and what the hell are WE supposed to notice when WE see a guy, is it truly the butt WE notice ? or do WE look at boy-boobs too ? That guy is ugly in a unisex way though, and god he smells like he hasn't washed since washday on sunday last week |
| Sir, I think I have a train to catch. |
| No you stay ! You must here more about Banana, is about freedom, must respect our people ! |
| No I go now. |
| And Papst whips out a Magnum, points it at the obnoxious little twat's ice |
| (meta-editor's note : that one was a Freudian typo that was so beautiful that after 'correcting it' to "eyes", I 'corrected it back' to its original spelling) |
| and stabbed with all the venom she had in her body. |
| The cold yellow creamy crap cluttered down his face crammed with cracked chocolate chips. |
| That was not nice. |
| I know that. Now go fuck yourself. Use a banana....SORRY : Banana |
| Smashing the door behind him, Papst walks out of the Banana Museum, and find his train, Bramms (Knödel), the right train (translated along the timeaxis, so only 'right' in Euclidean three-dimensional space), a pinchey, his destination, a beer and some directions. Not necessarily in that order. |
| Jeez that was a weird village. Or was it ? I didn't see the village and jeez what is that white light all around me, things are fading all over the place and I seem to be getting into some kind of void hey I get it, I just walked out of that short story I blundered in, ah well, I always suspected it to be a story, because in the end it's a lot of work to imagine who I am and what my motivations and daily actions and the targets of my unlimited pointless activities and thoughts are and well, I don't mind being used as a cheap skeleton to hang a story from, in fact I'm honoured that there's actually stories written about me even though I don't exist but still the more people read this the more I get back in existence and popping out of it and getting reborn in every reader's mind and hello Willie how are you doing today ? and boy this light is beautiful I'll be back (for sure) same place, same time just not in regular space time and total mental fugue bye lets go into the great unknown for me bye for you enjoy your return to your own head byeeeeeeeee |
| *poof* which is the sound of an elephant with an enormously big trunk, blowing this story to wherever it came from AND to you dear reader. |
| Thank you for your attention. |
