FROM A LETTER -- April 26, 2006

"Crap Poetry at Sponto Gallery"

by Mao Thing Awf

Here it is three days after Shagsbard's biffday and the multimedia Sundae at Sponto Gallery (Venice), featuring Two (at the door w/ books & DVD's), starring Log and Toylit reading Crap Poetry, Toylit's large paintings, and much intervocal permutation.

Log was barenaked, painted partially green with touches of red & blue by the time I arrived after 8 p.m.. She played the clarinet eventually, wearing her trademark bunny-ears and a black plastic strap-on dildo. She delivered poems and exhortations brandishing a plunger, the tip of the handle of which plumber's friend had had a brief acquaintance with her bunghole.

Earlier in the evening a cheez-whizz crucifix had been done on a large black panel (complete with INRI signage & nail-blobs) labeled Cheeziz; this was plungered into a smear-job by Toylit during a free-form lyric tirade on the uses of religion-art-commerce-guilt-redemption.

A length of T.P. from the printed-up rolls of Crap Poetry from "The Last Nowhere" was used to daub the crack of Log's ass while she sang & played. Audience participation was part of the generalized chaos; Log held a woman bent over by the waist and rhapsodized, plunger in hand again: the rubber cup applied every now & then to the buttocks, "saving us from all things artificial," as Log said.

Shaman-like, she had attendees sit on the floor in a circle. This was a gathering of the Church of the Kablahblah (a mystic branch of Muslim heresy) and there were shouts & murmurs of "Holy Kablahblah" while Miz Log sermonized. A shallow cup of her pee was offered (to bestow immortality) as communioned "holy water of the gay pride Jesus of joy and suffering." And an Afro-American guitarist played abstract riffs on squack-box-amplified while Toylit banged a drum & Log riffed liquid ululations on clarinet.

As the evening wound down, more paint was applied to Log's bare torso; and as she writhed on the floor strewn with large white paper, a new painting was effected: blue, yellow, red.

My "good ol' boy" pal Randy (the car salesman) (Porsche these daze) attended with me and had a blast. Needless to say, it was the "weirdness of its bareassed and unembarrassed spontaneity that most intrigued him.

As Poe says (in "The Poetic Principle"), "Poetry lies in a thirst for a wilder Beauty than Earth supplies."

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