Welcome to our digital studio! All the Cunning Stunts started this blog as a working space for Woahmancester (A Road Movie of Intrepid Dimensions), a public image work visible along Manchester Street in Ĺtautahi/Christchurch, Aotearoa/New Zealand (24 March - 23 April 2016). You will also find parallel projects weaving in and out of the conversations documented here. Comments are open and faq's welcome, but sexist, racist, homo- and transphobic trolls can go jump in the lake.
I wrote a poem last year that riffs off an old-school personal:
Closure
It’s true. I did once draft a personal advertisement ‘To Oak’. I did not conjecture in any way the facts. I admitted that the suspense was killing me. I’m not ashamed. I didn’t send the advertisement. It didn’t come to that. I threw it on the fire and when I realised I hadn’t lit the fire I lit the fire and watched it burn. What kind of bastard takes you to the circus and promises he’ll never leave you? When is it ever hard to return with refreshments! At the time of writing this all down I was afraid. No, I was tempted. At any moment, I felt, I might accept one of the offers of marriage that were coming in almost daily. I had paid for an advertisement. That’s what the clerk at the newspaper told me on the phone. I may as well stick something in. Did I have any other messages I wanted to get out? Nothing, I said. Nothing? Nothing. Half an hour later I rang back. Take this down, I said. ‘To Oak, Ivy is no longer single. This is not a metaphor. I am married to a very nice editor.’ Which paper? The clerk interrupted. ‘A man with scruples and a shelf full of novels. When he divides up a mandarin he always gives me eight parts.’ That it? the clerk said. Yes, I said. Did you get the eight parts? Of course, the clerk said. How many parts are there in a mandarin, then? How should I know, I said.
These are so great!!!
ReplyDeleteI wrote a poem last year that riffs off an old-school personal:
Closure
It’s true. I did once draft a personal advertisement ‘To Oak’. I did not conjecture in any way the facts. I admitted that the suspense was killing me. I’m not ashamed. I didn’t send the advertisement. It didn’t come to that. I threw it on the fire and when I realised I hadn’t lit the fire I lit the fire and watched it burn. What kind of bastard takes you to the circus and promises he’ll never leave you? When is it ever hard to return with refreshments! At the time of writing this all down I was afraid. No, I was tempted. At any moment, I felt, I might accept one of the offers of marriage that were coming in almost daily. I had paid for an advertisement. That’s what the clerk at the newspaper told me on the phone. I may as well stick something in. Did I have any other messages I wanted to get out? Nothing, I said. Nothing? Nothing. Half an hour later I rang back. Take this down, I said. ‘To Oak, Ivy is no longer single. This is not a metaphor. I am married to a very nice editor.’ Which paper? The clerk interrupted. ‘A man with scruples and a shelf full of novels. When he divides up a mandarin he always gives me eight parts.’ That it? the clerk said. Yes, I said. Did you get the eight parts? Of course, the clerk said. How many parts are there in a mandarin, then? How should I know, I said.