Modernist Holutherian Interlude

(originally posted on myspace here) 

 

"Take a seat please, place your papers in front of you on the table. The following interview is taking place under controlled conditions and may be recorded, have you understood everything I've just said."

Actually I'm going to take a break from the paperwork here (and the frisson... oh the frisson... If this totalitarian interrogation gig teaches me nothing else it's taught me how slugtrail-low a threshold I have for frisson...) to plug the written works of Erik Satie.

This afternoon I went to an architects' tea party in Stoke Newington, the same party where last year I'd finally had Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle explained to me (and more importantly, the principle behind the principle, which is that reality does not necessarily SPEAK OUR LANGUAGE). Today I'd rolled up with a far more basic question to which I'd suddenly realized while fuming about creationism the night before I could not begin to provide an answer, namely "Why IS the center of the Earth hot?" And while none of the architects this time could give me an answer (it might have something to do with once being part of the sun... I should really know) I DID learn that Erik Satie once wrote poetry - because somebody had brought some along - and that these poems had been collected in something called A Mammal's Notebook, and that they were hilarious, and that they read a lot like Ivor Cutler... really, an awful lot. What a guy! Here's an example filched from the internet, see what you think (image courtesy the echinoblog. Oh P.S. I'm very excited to hear that tomorrow sees the location filming of my Abraham and Isaac sketch. I won't be seeing it - I'll be in the Dungeons - but I'll be keeping an eye open for cloudy skies):

Dried Embryos

1. Of Holothuria

Vulgarly known as "sea
cucumber." Holothuria generally
climbs on stones or pieces of rock.
Like the cat, this animal purrs; it also
spins a revolting kind of silk. The
action of light seems to upset it. I
observed an Holothuria in Saint-
Malo bay.

Out in the morning. It is raining.
The sun is in the clouds.
Little purr. What a pretty rock!
It is nice to be alive.
Like a nightingale with
toothache.
Back home in the evening. It is
raining.
The sun is not there any more.

As long as it never comes back.
Mocking little purr.
It was a really good rock. Nice
and sticky.
Don't make me laugh, bit of
foam: you are tickling me.
I haven't any tobacco.
Lucky I don't smoke.