A
Love Story
The
futile weather-beaten pen failed to portray the agony she had been through. The
tangerine sun took a dip in the western ocean and for a while all turned
auburn. Just counting the numbered pages of life she scraped the rotten ones
and went steadfast descending the dungeon. She safely carried it in a
china-bowl, her marshmallows of love. All through the elusive years she had
been looking for it in the ashen pages of a pretty consumptive life. Battling
for it every time she lost ground and it continued to haunt her. Delirious
and painful she hovered from one pit to the other only to find herself
vanquished. The red hibiscus in the garden bathed in the fleeting rays of a
dying sun, seeking refuge in dreams. She felt a sharp twang of pain, of a kind
of jealousy which gave the sinking sun a sudden velvety splash, an over
indulgence. Its sheen was descriptive of her inner essence. A thousand thoughts
flooded the mind and vied with each other to reveal itself. Some
snow-capped some smoldering -- Oh! the shifting
paradigms. Somebody was calling her over the phone she couldn’t discern
as her mind was too placid for a moth-eaten response. The flippant twilight
benumbed her. It was more than serene. The iridescence ushered by an
apprehensive moon ate up the qualms in its wake and her palms gathered its rays
into the clean still air. She could not have done more than that -- a question of
life and death it seemed an innocuous pleasure. Luna sent her pristine rays
into her blanched soul. She sang the moon and madness. She hung it round her
neck – a crystal. A thousand stars prophesied their destiny each time they bowed
to touch her feet. Her vagina created history. The trees could bear semblance
to the fruit she birthed -- an avocado, fig, pine or eucalyptus didn’t matter.
What mattered were the countless ramblings of a sensuous heart and an insane
mind. These were the ramblings on the dog-eared pages of a crumbling
love-story.
The Book of Love Parts 1 & 2 -- Cornelia Tersanszki
(inspired by the Magnetic Fields song)
Stephin Merritt named his band The Magnetic Fields after the André Breton/Philippe Soupault novel "Les Champs Magnétiques," the first work of literary Surrealism. Published in 1920, the authors used a surrealist automatic writing technique. (It is considered to be Surrealist rather than Dadaist because it attempted to create something new rather than react to an existing work. The division between chapters was the point where the writers stopped writing at the end of the day. A typical paragraph: "It was the end of sorrow lies. The rail stations were dead, flowing like bees stung from honeysuckle. The people hung back and watched the ocean, animals flew in and out of focus. The time had come. Yet king dogs never grow old – they stay young and fit, and someday they might come to the beach and have a few drinks, a few laughs, and get on with it. But not now. The time had come; we all knew it. But who would go first?") The group's 1999 triple album "69 Love Songs" (1999) included “The Book of Love” written by Warren Davis, George Malone, and Charles Patrick; parts of th lyris are incorporated into Tersanszki's paintings.
ReplyDeleteThe book of love is long and boring
No one can lift the damn thing
It's full of charts and facts and figures
and instructions for dancing
but I, I love it when you read to me
and you, you can read me anything
The book of love has music in it
In fact that's where music comes from
Some of it is just transcendental
Some of it is just really dumb
but I, I love it when you sing to me
and you, you can sing me anything
The book of love is long and boring
and written very long ago
It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes
and things we're all too young to know
but I, I love it when you give me things
and you, you ought to give me wedding rings
I, I love it when you give me things
and you, you ought to give me wedding rings