By ALAN SCHERSTUHL
Each Thursday, your Crap Archivist brings you the finest in forgotten and bewildering crap culled from area basements, thrift stores, estate sales and flea markets. I do this for one reason: Knowledge is power.
License to Kill
Author: David Perkins
Publisher: BkMk Press, Shawnee Mission, Kansas
Date: 1973
Discovered at: 2nd Chance Thrift, 7740 Wornall
The Cover Promises: Poems about either mosaic tiling, James Bond, or both.
Representative Quotes:
Page 9: “Here. There. You. Them. The space between you and this page.”
Page 11: "I haven't taken a bath in weeks."
This chapbook of loose, chatty, beat-influenced, table-napkin poetry is a study in just how much white space an author can squeeze onto 24 pages and still claim to have produced something other than a sketch pad. It also trumpets, in its sad bleating way, the end of its own decadent age. Perkins' verse is to the freewheeling, no-revision, the-impulse-itself-is-the-art thinking of the early 1970s what a Hardee's Monster Thickburger is to the eat-yourself-diabetic days of the 2000s: the final sign that something desperately needs to be rethought.
Take the enigmatic “Mexico”:
Or try “Hammer,” which reads less like a poem than it does an unpunctuated transcript of a bad round of Password.
While “Hammer” suffers from a lack of Mexico in its jeans, it has been laid out to kinda/sorta upside-down resemble a hammer. This should appeal to anyone who prefers art that looks like what it's of.
Highlight: The book is padded out with the ink doodles of Mark Roeyer:
More art that looks like what it's of. Here, we see a magical hotdog doctor resting his lion's paw on the shell of a slug. The slug, with a roll of its giant eyes, expresses discomfort. Perhaps it wonders why the hotdog wears a robe fashioned from an escalator. With its third eye, one crowned by a bristling brow, the slug gazes up at the tiny flame flickering from the hotdog's extended index finger. That flame represents the creative spirit.
Also, the hotdog's feet just kind of float there.
Bonus Crap!
Enjoy Your Pigeons
Author: None listed
Publisher: The Pet Library, Ltd.
Date: None listed
Discovered at: City Union Mission Thrift, 1229 E. 63rd Street
Representative Quotes:
Page 5: “Finally, the pigeon, with its multi-colored plumage and proud chest, has always delighted man.”
Like Aleister Crowley or that Fight Club guy, the anonymous author of Enjoy Your Pigeons is dedicated to challenging your deepest held assumptions.
Especially the ones related to pigeons.
Here's a couple fancy ones.
And here's those unexamined beliefs of yours that Enjoy Your Pigeons assails:
* That you feed pigeons correctly, and that shouting in caps in not effective communication. Page 18: “No matter how nutritious your meal of mixed grains is to him, THE NUTRIENTS WILL BE LOST IF YOUR PIGEON CANNOT DIGEST THE GRAIN BECAUSE HE HAS BEEN GIVEN NO GRIT.”
* That questions have answers. Page 32: “Some people may ask why you fancy the pigeon as a pet. There will probably be no simple explanation ... You do, and that should be enough to end any query.”
*That you detest hygiene.
Actual caption: "A pretty sight; however, the practice of feeding street pigeons from your mouth is not recommended."
* That your poodle can't fly, and that you already know your monkey.
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Hey Scheuerstuhl, just wanted you to know who you were mocking here. I hope you have a long and distinguished career like my friend David did and years from now when someone digs up your work they are kindler and gentler than you were to this talented writer and thinker who dared to create rather than sneer
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David H. Perkins was born in Kansas City, KS, on November 27, 1940, and was a lifelong resident of the Greater Kansas City area. He received a B.A. in literature from UMKC, and an M.S. in Journalism from the University of Kansas. David worked for many years as a free lance writer and editor. He was editor of The Chouteau Review, a fine arts magazine, book reviewer for The Kansas City Star, a columnist for the Kansas City Business Journal, The National Catholic Reporter and a contributor to several other journals. His collection of reviews and short essays, Wrapped Minds, was awarded the Thorpe Menn Award for Literary Achievement. He was twice awarded creative writing fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts. He served as president of the South Plaza Neighborhood Association, on the board of the Kansas City Arts Council, and on the advisory board of The Missouri Arts Council. He was a longtime member and supporter of the Nature Conservancy. David was the 4th of 6 children born to Charles and Ida Perkins. Survivors include his sister, Marceline Peacher, two brothers, Leon and James Perkins and numerous nieces and nephews. There will be no service. Memorials may be made to The Nature Conservancy or to St. Benedicts Abbey, Atchison, KS. (Condolences may be expressed at: www.porterfuneralhome.com. Arrangements: Porter Funeral Home & Crematory, 1835 Minnesota Ave., Kansas City, KS (913) 621-6400.)
Read more: http://www.legacy.com/obituari...
I'm getting the slug and the magical hotdog doctor tattooed on my ass. Like having a pet pigeon, there is no simple explanation. I'm doing it, and that should be enough to end any query.
I'm getting the slug and the magical hotdog doctor tattooed on my ass. Like having a pet pigeon, there is no simple explanation. I'm doing it, and that should be enough to end any query.
Are we sure that License to Kill wasn't penned in secret by William Shatner in his "Rocket Man" days? Heh, I don't know about you, but I'm hearing it.
I can't claim to know what "Mexico in my jeans" consists of, but I am willing to bet that some function or another burns.
Oh and the Pigeon picture... well... in reality that is Ozzy in his younger years and should be titled, "The Dark Prince, looking for a snack".
Peace...
"The password is ... 'a working knowledge of arcs.'
Hey, Penis. the monkey didn't say anything. He just saw something he wasn't supposed to. Probably a hotdog molesting a slug with boobs for eyes.
Did you notice the look on that monkey's face? He just said something he should'nt have.
That�s BULLSHIT!! I see no hammer.
Also, I dig that �slug�s� tits! What�s �sup, slug? Wanna get wrenched? Don�t worry, I can shatter that hot dog�s Al Gore shaped dome asunder. He won�t say shit.
Also, you don� know me�you don��you just don�. There ain�t no book that can tell you how to know the monkey up in this wrench, yo!
Reading this Blog is like having Mexico in my jeans...or feeling the erotic tongue of a pigeon in my mouth: it makes me feel kinda funny in a way that feels good.
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