A LATE , LOVING LETTER TO THE IRISH SOCIETY OF SUICIDOLOGY
Well, are there some amongst us who cannot now draw these e-threads together into a Benozzo Gozzoli golden cloth – of – email ?
Yes, we had male parthenogenesis ( rare enough, it must be admitted in QueenÂ´s County ) ; then we stitched in fatherÂ´s fatherÂ´s similar auto-erotic achievements. Go easy on the next cloth-of-gold stitch. ( The Great Scream, my unworthy and washed two typing fingers feel it here, is being propelled not down but up the chimney-vortex. Keep it clean, young filigrain stitchers; watch and wash your tongues, no patchwork, please. Enter composed film-music by The Young Chief Cassidy ( – I said keep it clean, will you ! ) Himself.
No, Benozzo GozzoliÂ´s cloth-of-gold will not of itself remake Sainted BenÂ´s painted gold archbishopÂ´s mistake in a matter of humble causality, – eg. who caused the screamerÂ´s scream ? Who did, as a matter of proven fact, eat my Great Aunt BridgetÂ´s roasted pony ? Had it been roasted for her only ? Golden error happens.
Weave into our golden passacaglia eleven tones: Hypothumotic stitchers, prove it; prove we are all ready. Finis; even great stitching dies. Ladies, come, all, to the potty ! Then, I remember it very well, we stitched in nothing. God is no thing. Capitals is better. Squirt the left tit again!
No. Our little embroidery job isntÂ´t quite finished. Weave in the one big auntie, a damned good concertina-player; – actually, her will has had it, she was unravelled smartly, unfairly ( she claimed she was very weak ) , out of the Big Design. Last story: ( the good old first person singularis, jugularis ) weÂ´ll stitch in my golden cousin, cloth-of-gold . Stitch in the ” nea” between her microtonal accordeon tones . Stitch in her “HOW NOW! ? !” womb-cancer, as youÂ´re at it.
Short is our needle, our tea-break, your e-painting patience, Bennie Gozzoli. . Certainly, I googled you – it was for my dead, concertina-playing cousin – we will carry in couchant our Painter Benozzo GozzoliÂ´s Last Will And Testament ( ” O filii et filiae ; now the cancer raceth up my Renaissance painterly-stiff shoulder ” ) .
” I , Benozzo Gozzoli, courted painter of, chiefly, angelsÂ´wings, all sizes and specifications are to get an Umbran welcome, I do bequeath to this, still my (?) world all my coloured swirls, my slashes and oil wisps and half-finished Monte Falco angelic wings and rainbows and yeÂ´ll have great fun with. Try to cap that. ”
O filii. Now they race through his now forever stiff painterÂ´s shoulder: yes, he had painted that golden archbishop and my killing, cancerous cousinÂ´s concertina with the three final chords which finished off weak composer, Strauss, Richard, and his Four Last Songs. Listen: itÂ´s C Minor, B Flat, E Flat. There now. Easy now . Lay down dat brush.