Radim at the reading

[imomus]

When I was in Prague last month I met Radim Labuda, an artist who turned out to be a friend of two of my SF friends, Roddy Schrock and Hikaru Furuhashi (who now lives in Greenpoint).

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Radim videoed my gallery performance -- a reading from my forthcoming novel The Book of Jokes -- and has now posted the first part on his website.

"It snowed and it snowed. My father was playing chess with his penis. He'd set up a low table and two stools by the glass wall that faced the garden. His penis sat on one stool, its back to the window. My father, who was the more patient of the two, was playing with care and skill, but the penis -- a hothead -- played all sorts of wild and risky moves..."

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Most enjoyable Nick. Thanks.

wewillbecome.com

[(Anonymous)]

The penis was the hotheaded one, eh? Fancy that! Your novel sounds like it's going to be a teeth-grindingly bad parody of some 1930s surrealist. Or maybe that's the point.

wild and risky moves..."

[pay-option07.livejournal.com]

Is it a luxury/necessity to travel and try out new material as to work the kinks in or out?

Re: wild and risky moves..."

[imomus.livejournal.com]

Well, it's always interesting to see which lines get laughs.

Re: wild and risky moves..."

[(Anonymous)]

Personally I'm looking forward to 'the Book of Jokes'. Any sign of a publisher in English yet?

Personally, would be prepared to type the whole thing into Word and get Google translator in the works... but it'd probably lose a lot... anything sorted? Publishing dates?

Managed to acquire the Ultraconformist album yesterday and, frankly, am pretty spellbound. Probably my third favourite Momus album. Thanks.

[thomascott.livejournal.com]

Most people's idea of a joke seems to be a simple call-and-reply punchline based affair, character and situation get chucked in favour of the twist of wit, the dreary word-pun.
I prefer the anecdotal joke, where the situation has poignancy and the character flesh.
You do this narrator/storyteller performance very convincingly, I know it's not just a purely comedic act but you do it with a refreshing lack of 'professional' polish, that works for me.
There's also something very bloody funny about a guy relating a tale concerning his Dad's murderous lust for a goose...

Foie Gras-tification? Muhatma Gander meets Pâté Smith?

[(Anonymous)]

Or just fowl?

[imomus.livejournal.com]

Any resemblance to persons / geese / pigs living or dead is purely coincidental, of course.

vronsky's goose

[count-vronsky.livejournal.com]

This dark tale jiggled loose an old memory that I don't think I had thought about in 20 years. Growing up we lived near a junior high school, aptly named "Hidden Valley". It was an easy walk through the woods, a mile at most, and the neighborhood kids would meet there to throw football or frisbee, the usual kid's stuff. One beautiful summer evening I walked to the school with not a ball but a book, looking for a quiet spot to read, or a Bodhi tree to sit under. I was a strange kid, into esoteric religious philosophy, and poetry, and literature that was just above my understanding. I can't remember what book it was, but I remember being lost in reverie, and that the evening star was shining so brightly it could have been easily mistaken for a plane, or a u.f.o. The light had begun to fade (the sky began to bruise) so I got up, stuffed my book into my knapsack, and walked down the hill to go home. From across the field, I saw something strange coming towards me. It was a goose. fat and white, and running at top speed with a funny goose-waddle straight towards me. I wasn't sure at first if it was attacking me but it ran up and just started honking and shaking its feathers with obvious delight. Like I was its long lost friend! I played with it a bit and then decided to go on home, but the goose would not leave me. It followed me everywhere I went. I even tried to yell at it to get it to leave, but it just looked at me with these loving happy eyes, honked and seemed to shiver with delight.

It followed me home, at my heels every step of the way, across back yards, steep paths, and curious neighboorhood dogs. My parents came out and were just as amazed as I was. Made jokes about the boy with the golden goose. We sat out on the patio and the goose stayed steadfastly beside me, laying its head in my lap, letting me stroke its feathers. Eventually we all went in, and left the goose, but it was there at the front door as late as midnight, just before I went to bed.

It was gone in the morning, and we never saw it again, but I will never forget my friend the goose. Vronsky's goose, if only for a night.

the last spalsh

[(Anonymous)]

spinning ina wishing well
my friend
speak german to me
and ramble on and on
but i dont listen
the ripples
the ripples tomorrow lets talk about
how this world is truely in love
with me
and all the make up in washington
lets

Re: vronsky's goose

[imomus.livejournal.com]

Aw, sweet!

Re: vronsky's goose

[count-vronsky.livejournal.com]

Sweet yes, but don't miss the deeper meaning Momus -- that geese can be strangely and compellingly affectionate -- so maybe it's not all your Dad's fault.

^ I love it when the anon's get poetic! Keep it up anons.