I sold David Copperfield a two-headed duck today.

He also bought Blackbeard’s Booger, and Pancho Villa’s trigger finger.

I love working where I work. I also met Yakov Smirnoff the other day. It’s very surreal. I’m surrounded by incredible circus banners and sideshow gaffs and the old fortune telling machines and magic tricks and cards and things. The blue and gold macaws are always squawking and talking. I work with and for wonderful people. The shop is always filled with wonders and flowers and golden light.

Magic, indeed. 

In other news, I saw Jaws again, which I hadn’t seen since I was wee.

I was really interested in Great White Sharks for awhile.

It’s still such a hysterically great film. If you like sharks a lot.

I like this one, in particular:

In other news, I dreamt I had spiders in my nose last night.

They were kind of flesh-coloured, with large thoraxes and spindly legs. I pulled a mashed-up one out, and then later a live one crawled out as well. I was wondering if they had been nesting in there whilst I slumbered. Hmmm.. Curiouser and curiouser.

And I remember when I read this in a love-letter:

“CHRISTY (encouraged). Let you wait, to hear me talking, till we’re astray in Erris, when Good Friday’s by, drinking a sup from a well, and making mighty kisses with our wetted mouths, or gmaing in a gap of sunshine, with yourself stretched back unto your necklace, in the flowers of the earth.
PEGEEN (in a low voice, moved by his tone) I’d be nice so, is it?”

Oh yes- and I’m working on all the queries, fear not. All in good time.

Alright, folks- here it is: an impromptu interview conducted by the illustrious
. I don’t normally go in for such memes, but in this case I was piqued by the eloquence of the interviewer, and was not to be let down- as the questions were most entertaining and thought provoking. Do excuse the excess of self-interest, but I suppose that’s what these things are for, no?
1. We share the trait of bulbous eyes. Were they always lovely? If not, did your face eventually grow around them, like two eroding obelisks in a swooping river?
Were you picked on as a child for them?
I suppose they always have been like this, odd alien fishbowl eyes.
They certainly don’t work very well- might as well be made out of pine-tar,
as I’m truly blind as a bat. My vision is negative 13 or negative 11.
I forget, something ridiculously bad. I think they’ve only gotten more pronounced
as I’ve grown older. Maybe they’ll eventually fall out. That would be awful.
They were usually obscured somewhat with a giant pair of thick, unwieldy spectacles when I was a child, and I was picked on in general for many things, but the glasses didn’t help, particularly. They change color also. People tend to comment on them, and seem to like them, but I do wish they worked better.
2. Shit. You made a slight slip. You’ve just insulted the hostess, by accident, at a party you were attending. She is one of those people who always demands ‘satisfaction’ when in her cups and cries, “Pistols! Pistols at dawn!” flailing her massive and quaking arms in the air. Your bowels shudder, as she’s a fantastic shot. However, the guests at the party remind her that since you’re the guest, by the law of hospitality and the shabby pineapple you brought by pure luck, she is not allowed to pick the utensil of the duel. What do you pick? It can be a weapon, any weapon. Or if you’re feeling abstract, it can even be a game. Scrabble, Don’t Wake the Dragon, Set, you name it. It can’t be overly abstract, though. Like a triptych-off, anything like that. And who would be your ‘second’, given the choice of duel you pick?
Oh dear, how thrilling! Only after days of pondering and strategising
was I able to come to a decision that is both honest and well, deadly.
This would be, I’m assuming, a duel to the death- not just first blood, right?
Or is it terribly rude to kill the host? Doubly rude, if I’ve already insulted her to begin with. In that case, I would have to say it would be a game of Mumbleypeg.
It would have to begin sometime after 3 o’ clock in the morning, and a sizable bottle of decent whiskey would be put to hand. The weapons would be from my own armoury, (or desk drawer) being as they are both, by day- mere letter-openers.
But by night- they are fierce weapons of dexterity and foolhardiness!
One is a black baby goat’s foot with a sharp silver skewer at the end.
This one is mine. The other is a miniature jeweled scimitar with a mean curve to it. There is some obvious disadvantage for my rival here, both as far as knives go- and also because when in my cups, I tend to be frighteningly good at Mumbleypeg- in a Bishop sort of way. The first one to seriously disengage a finger loses. As far as seconds go, I’ll always accept, and even thirds at times- though in this case my choice would be based on proximity, bravery and loyalty, as well as superior hand-eye coordination.
(I must add, after some consideration, that though I do play a mean game of Set, (which I carry on my person at all times)- that a triptych-off would really being far preferable to all this bloodshed, if it were to be allowed..)
3. Why the love of bees? The bee is a revered image, but why for you? Have you ever been stung? Have you woken up to find a bee in your mouth? Is it just queen bees and royal jelly, or is it more? Drones as well?
I have always charmed bees, and been charmed by them. One of my first memories is of sitting in the sun and feeling something land on my head. I reached up thinking it was a dead leaf, but was surprised to find something alive and buzzing angrily in my little clenched fist.
I don’t think it could’ve helped but sting me, which it did- but I was thrilled!
It didn’t hurt much, and I ran in shouting that I had been bee-stung. I was very happy to finally experience a bee sting for some reason, though I was sad for the bee.
Since then, bees have always landed on me, and seem to take great delight in crawling all over my person- though I have never been stung again since that day. They’ve crawled in my ears, down my dress, and tickled my nose- but no, I have never awoken to find one in my mouth- yet. I would love to wear a beard of bumblebees, or a fancy, buzzing hat!
I dream of one day having an apiary and raising bees, and one day I will..
I love everything about bee colonies- the queens and the drones alike- they have such remarkably complex societies. And of course I adore any sort of bee product- honey, royal jelly, bee pollen, beeswax et al. Bees appear often in my dreams, usually as an emblem of memory.
“The honey-bee that wanders all day long The field, the woodland, and the garden o’er, To gather in his fragrant winter store, Humming in calm content his winter song, Seeks not alone the rose’s glowing breast, The lily’s dainty cup, the violet’s lips, But from all rank and noxious weeds he sips The single drop of sweetness closely pressed Within the poison chalice.”
“O bees, sweet bees!” I said; “that nearest field Is shining white with fragrant immortelles Fly swiftly there and drain those honey wells.”
4. Most of the adjetives people toss about when talking to or about you, and I’d uncreatively say the same, are “elegant”, and “ethereal”. In another time. Does this ever wear thin? Are there ever expectations of wonder to perform and fulfill? Do you ever just want to walk into a room with soulless Ikea furniture and ‘Modern Women’ magazines and have a (urg) vodka and Sprite? I know you wouldn’t, but you see what I’m saying, yes?
Oh golly, oh gee- well, hum. This one’s a bit tricksy, eh? I am perplexed at times, by people’s perceptions of me- since I tend to be a bit of a chameleon. I like costumes of all sorts, but essentially yes- I am mostly a devoted anachronist. A lipstick Luddite, you might even say! And although modern furniture and vodka both repulse me, I do have a fondness for a few modern conveniences, such as my wonderful flushing toilet, my lovely faucets, and also this enchanting machine which occupies so much of my free time. I have issues with things like carpets and venetian blinds, and bathtubs without clawfeet. Many modern things are unattractive, and made to fall apart. This makes me very sad. I need a time machine very badly, so I can get back to where I belong. Around 1919 would do, I think. There’s a very good reason I live in New Orleans- I am not assaulted by ugly archictecture and aggressively cutting edge crap on a regular basis here. I’d rather things be crumbling and beautiful.
5. This question might be unanswerable, but only if the game of ‘hide and go seek’ is commonly played in your home. You have a large group of folks to your apartment/chateau. The Charades are done, and nobody can seem to find the white ball for carpet bocce, so someone recommends you play hide and go seek, or some such variation. You have the first pick of places to hide, though you are restricted to your house. What is the most fantastic spot in there? Is there such a spot?
Well, I doubt I could cram myself into the cupboards or the fireplaces..The balcony is wide, but unless I was willing to risk some trapeze stunt, I wouldn’t advise it. The closet is of course too obvious, but then once I was safely ensconced it would take some serious spelunking equipment to dislodge me from the enveloping heaps of old coats and dresses..
I had a strange dream once that there was a secret passage in that closet that led to a cellar, a secret room. I went around for days afterwards thinking it might be true. Maybe there’s a trap-door I hadn’t noticed..If so, I’ll be hiding there, so don’t tell the seeker.
So, I am apparently beholden by the rules of this game to post them below. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to ask any questions, at least not ones as witty and creative as the ones above, but I will do my best. It may take a bit, so have patience, do.
THE RULES:
1 – Leave a comment, saying you want to be interviewed.
2 – I will respond; I’ll ask you five questions.
3 – You’ll update your journal with my five questions, and your five answers.
4 – You’ll include this explanation.
5 – You’ll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed.

Yes, it’s true- Dada lives, once again!
We will be meeting to to plot, plan and conspire for the next show
this Wednesday, the 4th at 8pm.
The meeting will be held at Z’otz Coffeehouse (2003 Royal St.)
Cabaret Revoltaire is an experimental surrealist extravaganza,
an interactive Art Opening and Chaos-Salon featuring static art,
visual and performance art, experimental music and installation,
pranks, invisible theater, inexplicable fashion, participatory painting,
and interactive surreality of all sorts. Come not as you are, but as you dream.
Inspired by the Dada and Surrealist movements,
our goals are to revive and expand on the good work of our forebears-
to achieve consciousness expansion, collective mind-fucking,
collaborative art, interactive (rather than passive) social experiments,
orgone stimulation, random acts of madness, et cetera, ad nauseam..
We are planning a revival of these events that took place
a year ago for seven months running on lower Decatur.
The new locale will be Cleopatra’s Old Alamo on North Rampart.
The date for the first show will be Saturday, March 27th.
This is an open call to artists, musicians, performers, pranksters,
puppeteers, shy geniuses, sideshow freaks, dissolute writers,
starving artists, loose women, pickpockets, malcontents,
dissidents, doctors and nurses, psychotic bureaucrats, circus girls,
talking dolls, voodoo spirits, blessed mothers of jesus,
harbingers of war and destruction, red creatures, mechanical ballerinas,
robots, serial killers, curators, dead poets, dancing bugs,
wide-eyed photographers, monsters, heavenly creatures,
drunken rabbits, or experimental post-humans out there
looking for an open forum for creating an experimental
artist/performer/literary collective.
Add YOURSELF to this strange mélange, and you have…DADA!
NOTICE: Dress to Transgress – Come as you aren’t.
Updates, information, questions and propaganda will be posted to:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/revoltaire/
I reccomend that if you have an interest in participating in this event
you hie yourself there toute suite, and join.
Check regularly for further instruction and transmissions.

A few films that make me very happy indeed
One I had never seen before- BATTLE ROYALE

Every year a school class picked at random will be cast away on a lush deserted island to fight it out among themselves. The rules are simple: it lasts three days, everyone gets water, food and a weapon and only one may survive. This of course results in SCHOOLGIRL BLOODBATH MAYHEM! It’s so beautiful.

Tonight we also saw Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure for the 317th time. I don’t think I could ever get tired of seeing it, I still laugh like a maniac every single time!

Showing Next Week:

Lemora, A Child’s Tale of the Supernatural

(This one is good to watch when you’re nine, every Saturday afternoon on Shock Theater and act out all the roles with your little sister.)

And also, if I can find a copy..

The Blood on Satan’s Claw

It took a few days to recover
from such an exceedingly marvelous party,
such an absurd excess of treats and tricksiness..
Now the house is quiet and empty
but for a few little sleepyheads,
strewn with streamers and bits
of brightly coloured confetti,
champagne poppers and south african golden coins filled with chocolate..
I was woken to a sumptuous breakfast in bed
and showered with unimaginable gifts from me beloveds.
Did I just write that?
The next time I’m in a dreary mood, I need to remember to refer back to this-
to remind myself how goddamn lucky I am. But really.
Birthdays so perfect are only meant to happen to
the little girls in fluffy dresses in films with horses in them.
Isn’t that so?
I suppose not.
Anyhow, yes, positively showered with sweetness by the all the lovelies present-
and my heart is officially a melted pool of plum ice cream.
With those little candy metal pearls on top.
My land is full of delights- Saint Dymphna in her bloody cradle
with stargazer lilies and green roses and chrysanthemums..
Seahorses with petals for wings and rhinestone eyes.
Here’s some visual documentation as evidence:

The candy skull cake had black sugar eyes.

Freiherr von der Goltz presented me with this charming book,
which is apparently about warmongering pigeons.

This is the liminal lemon, otherwise known as “Cthulu Citrus from The Depths”.
I don’t know what it is exactly. It was on my breakfast tray,
and smelled lemony but looked like a squid.
We played with it until a tentacle broke off
and then it started to mold and decompose at a rapid pace.

These are my leetle dears. They need new names..
My employers calls all of his “Lyle and Erik”,
I think after those rich parricides. They eat baby bees only.
I may perish from all the cuteness.

Oh lord. Just go ahead and shoot me now so I can die happy like this.
It’s been a rough and strange year- but if this is
any indication of the time to come, then I have a notion
that it will be something to behold indeed..
A multitude of thanks and tendernesses to all
who made my heyday so ridiculously great.

Hi Kittykats-
You are all invited to my birthday party, which is tomorrow, Saturday, the 10th day of January. It is the whelping anniversary of when I was a leetle jaundiced larva.
If you can make it- we’ll be going to the zoo, and then eating sushi (at Wasabi around 8pm) and then going to see Baby Rosebud and Quintron at the Matador (prolly around 10pm or so)and then more endless frolicking into the night!! Come and play with me and we will have so much fun on my birthday, hooray!
Love,
Angel

I am up too late with pounding head in the night
too full of hopes and wishes and sorrows for sleep.

It makes me want to run out naked in the cold
down to the muddy river banks and dip my hands
in virgin black honey, in candle wax, into the beehive..

Here are the things in my head, in no particular order:

My little frog Yaroslava died.
I found her hanging from a branch
legs extended at a sick angle,
her little head lifeless-
submerged in the water.
She was my leetle friend
and I am missing her so.
I really loved her a lot
even though I know it’s silly
to fall in love with such tiny delicate things.
Still, I cried and cried.

Her brother Gustav is as fine and fat as ever.
I think her goaded her into it.

Also, I have found a new appointment,
joyfully relinquishing my post slinging sushi
at ristorante japonais and find myself
moving on to greener pastures..
I was offered a quite delectable position
at Sideshow, a delightful cabinet of curiosities
and circus freaks and magic tricks which I hope
to purvey with great aplomb.

The other is that my birthday approacheth.

I have decided just now that perhaps to celebrate
I would like to have a birthday party
and go to the zoo, and get a balloon..
And fill the house with flowers
and eat lots of tasty treats..
Champagne and Cassis Lambic!
Salmon Roe and Squid Steak!
Fanciful Frocks and Fascinating Fragrances!
Hazelnut Birthday Cake!
And a crown made of bees..
It shimmers in my mind like a dream
keeping me awake with silver flashes of light.
It is good to have a dream like that.
And you are all invited.
Please to come and frolic with me.

This newborn year is filled with
a multitude of auspicious beginnings
and strange endings.

My grail overfloweth, and all.

A summation of days, nutshelled and cracked open:
I count them out in dreams, pale wisps that float at my periphery..
The First – I find a strange new species of carnivorous plant-
They resemble tiny blunt trees and shift colours
iridescently as if made of mercury and peacock ore,
moving in a slow, gelatinous way.
Mlle. Threne is going to meet me for Thai food and chocolate,
only I’ve forgotten she lives so far away.
I’m looking for more of those lovely plants
and instead find an old trunk filled with
the books and photographs and gold teeth
and the bloodmoney. Someone is raving,
in a mad froth at old deeds, left undone.
The Second – I am walking in a tunnel with Mlle. K__
It opens out onto an artificial brook or stream..
It becomes difficult to describe the formation of the water,
but it was as if it had walls, or was somehow solidly shaped
and also coloured a rusty tangerine shade.
You could see the shadows of large, slow-moving fish
moving through the orange sheets of water-
At intervals it was pierced through with sunlight
and their brilliantly metallic colours became visible..
The Third – In which I was shown how the world would end.
This one I had while curled up in the back of the car,
driving back from Texas. It was early morning, and mist
was thick and white over the swamps and cypress stumps..
This may have been my most vivid and frightening dream to date-
I have never been so perfectly aware of imagined physical sensations before.
I am standing next to the car on a deserted country road,
bending over and stretching my legs- smelling the early morning
scent of dew on dry grass, asphalt, cattle; very clean and familiar.
As the first reverberations of an immense impact are felt,
first my legs, and then the road turn to rubber.
I cannot unbend; it’s as though I have been punched in the stomach
with a lead weight- my body is taffy and I am choking, shaking, suddenly deaf..
I don’t know what’s happened exactly, only that nothing looks changed yet-
but everything feels it, at the most base level.
It’s amazing that I am not killed instantly-
that I am still standing and have not yet
disengorged all of my internal organs.
The laws of physics exact a slow torture-
the smash, the reeling all happening so slowly
that I have time to be sick, and wonder..
I hold my knees and look east, towards the sunrise
and enormous rose clouds of dust exploding upwards..
The horizon roars and rolls forward, an earth tsunami-
I can see it coming over the hills, the road buckling
and running towards me.
This is how the world ends.
Earth covers earth.

“I knew nothing of the horses, nothing of the thresher..”

Ahoy there Crescent City Mateys!
We will be closing Z’otz at 7:00 pm on New Year’s Eve
and be having an intimate soiree starting likely around nine.
Bring party favors and art supplies.
It should be luscious and flavorful.
Speakeasy style, the password is..
LEGBA
be there with bells on…
xoxoxo,
Mlle. AET