Kicking out the props is not for everyone.
J and I met over a game of darts at The Wobblie Wonk. She
kicked my butt and emptied my wallet. Later that evening while licking her clit
I slid the second and third fingers of my right hand into her cunt and asshole
and found the fourth finger of that hand entering a hole the likes of which I
had never before encountered. Much later, in an aside, she confided, “It helps
in processing interstellar vapors.”
Before leaving the next morning J told me she was an exo-musicologist
doing postdoctoral work and asked me to meet her in Bushwick that evening to
hear an ensemble I had never heard of that featured musicians on kithara,
crychord, and chromelodeon. Most nights we went out to hear music, and
afterwards we went back to my place.
We dated for six months and neither of us had an occasion to
reference this hole again. It did, however, play an important role in our
lovemaking. Oral and genital stimulation of the hole triggered the most intense
female orgasms I have ever been witness to.
According to J: “There are three essentials for concocting
the perfect Dry Proustini. First, use a top-shelf gin like Plymouth or
Magellan. Second, add in two hundred micrograms of Clear Light. Third, use only
freshly baked madeleines for dunking. And always remember that one Dry
Proustini is enough.”
The only person in my world I introduced J to was my uncle
Paolo, a critical theory intellectual who was involved with the Situationists
in ‘68. He makes odd connections that seem perfectly obvious once you stop to
think about them. Over lunch at A.O.C. on the day he and J met he compared the
Occupy Wall Street protesters to Jerry’s Kids from a vintage Muscular Dystrophy
telethon. He called them Michael’s Kids. I believe he meant Moore. He even
sang, “Look at us we’re marching/ Looking at us we’re squawking/We who’ve never
marched or squawked before.” He enunciated “marching” and “before”, with an
extreme old-fashioned New York accent, as “mawching” and “befaw”. J cracked up
laughing at his performance.
When I saw Paolo the following week he was in high spirits
telling me about the scandal stemming from his uncle Beauregard’s will.
Beauregard, my paternal grandfather’s older brother, was the black sheep of his
generation of the family. In 1936 he went off to Spain, ostensibly to fight the
Communists with the Jefferson Davis Brigade. He actually spent most of his time
in Madrid cafes seducing young Phalangist soldiers. Once the United States
entered the war he stayed on in Madrid with the OSS, and later on he joined the
CIA where he stayed until retirement.
Beauregard, I learned from Paolo, was one of the pioneers in
the field of holography. He made dozens of holograms but he never tried to have
them shown in a gallery. Given the content of many of them, not only would they
have offended public decency at the time, they would also have gotten
Beauregard fired from the CIA.
The most scandalous ones consisted of holograms of men’s
anuses before and after sexual penetration. His working title for this series
was Assholography. Each pair of
holograms had a name, and many were purported to be of people famous in the art
and literary worlds, such as “Allen”, “Truman”, and “Andy”. Beauregard’s estate contains letters
from all three that seem to indicate a sexual connection with him.
Now it appears that Beauregard’s Assholography show is going to be mounted -- isn’t that a funny
word to use in this context? -- at Wastrel Gallery on 26th Street,
thanks to the intervention of Beauregard’s niece Laurel, the co-executor, along
with her sister Lisa, of his will.
Laurel is commonly referred to as “the evil sister”. Lisa is “the good sister”. Beauregard’s
death prompted Laurel to venture out of her lair in the Idaho Panhandle. For
the past three years she had been hiding from the feds who want to question her
about the activities of her 501(c)3 organization. The Columbine Foundation
proclaims in its mission statement that its goal is: “to put a handgun in the
locker of every school kid in America”. After losing its tax-exempt status
Laurel changed the name of the organization to The Columbine Brigades and
disappeared into wack-job country.
Paulo agrees with my contention that the political
dispersion in our family resembles no other family so much as the Mitfords.
Paulo, like Jessica Mitford, represents the far left. Beauregard, like Diana
Mosley, represents the far right. I’m still not sure which extreme Laurel is
on, but whether of the left or right she is the most extreme one in the entire
family.
My site piece titled “Whirlpools” consists of a dozen fifty
foot long steel tubes four feet in diameter that have been embedded in the
earth, each filled with a different color paint, with the contents set in
motion by wind-generating equipment that simulates whirlpool-like motion…
