Christopher Hart Chambers
Caspar David Friedrich

Brandishing punchy felons the doyenne marched imperiously forward. Her teeth were all a’ mashing. Her garden dress smashed upwards plume-like. This isn’t when it all started, though. It really began with the momentary flash of puckered memory crossing the path of Dead Donk when he crossed San Francisco. It wasn’t so amusing at the time. That is also when she was freed from the yoke.

That barren baroness honorably mentioned us at the conference. “It was truly an honor, you know,” she said, steeling herself against the gale forces thrust down from outer space in meteoric fashion. “Weather be damned!” cried the captain! “Anon, anon, motherfucker!” The financier shrank away reluctantly. His recalcitrant bushwhacker’s mustache twinkered restlessly as he scurried into the kitchen. “Beeswax damnit!” He screamed triumphantly. “I always knew I was right. Oh the hardships I have endured. The emotional wildernesses I have braved! The impecunious humiliations. And now on to the heralded epiphany granted only to those as deserving as thou art in heaven!” Thus went on the lenient refurbishments to Regal Crown Towne Theater.

Bagels for lunch,
rice for dinner.
I have a hunch,
but who’s the winner?

“I’ll whack you with my scepter, right upside your face and you’ll like that until tomorrow,” cried out the Jack of Spades. “Then to off the! At last, Usurper!” “Blue bellied grouse’s widow,” he grumbled. “Wine for lunch and tea for dinner,” he spat vehemently. “Trouble at breakfast . . .” Black wings flying around the stricken tide. Flappy noiselessly against the granite emulsion. Mute bricks posed nonchalantly alongside, nonplussed by the extreme screeching. Porcupines play with tardy bench warrants.

A porcine porcelain stagecoach shifts wildly on a retarded mountain path. Its occupants engaging in ludicrous babble inter- laced with intermittent stabs at smarmy wit. He sat down heavily, shaking our entire branch of the precipice to the point of collapse. “A terrible thing,” sighed the queen to her quiet daughter in at- tendance at her bedside. “A shakedown,” murmured the serf, who nobody had noticed was there until just then. “And so it shall be,” announced Her Royal Haughtiness. “Say what you will, yet I shall prevail.” “I suppose it’s true,” we all demurred. Even the proprietress okayed the challenge. So then stop it. Even little cats. “Not a single farthing, you flouncing bastard,” exclaimed genteel Emily, who had presently returned from the wake, pleasantly concealing her true motives. “Where do you think you’re going? You fickle prick.” She thought to herself secretly while disavowing aloud, “Of course I’ll wear my pink gown. Harness me that red sportscar.”

There is no monetary justification for having that jubilant rabble hanging about the bungalow. Morning, noon and autumn, those parasites come slinking along. Their motley expressions linking Sodom to Gimmy Mora. So if you see, any reasonable man would have been done with them, utilizing the most violent means at his disposal, in order to insure that you know what doesn’t come to pass. For the safety of all concerned, fer Crissakes, Please can’t you see, it is an imperative. I implore you, beseech thee, and so on. Eventually the cows did come home, but it was too late for the movies. The rankled celebrity blew his nose, also violently.

"This sort of thing must be an awful lot of fun."

“Better than fishing,” we gleefully agreed. “Be it for better or worse.”

That’s why every other firelight inked on satin. The bending winery all around the bend still lit fire torching air and every neighborhood. Stars fully clothed, their frost driven snowflowers biting back tears of joy. It was sent down the sand in a blithering worry. Still morning wakes by that side. Evening dew. Fresh from the farm with daisies. Fell out of patch hard then went hard. It’s still rain- ing there but there is only sky it is dry. The cargo wasn’t with the shipment of portraits from the yard, we can far find a battle. Loud bursts of canon FIRE awaken roosters, cocks, hens . . . Gladly than up. Downward spiral of enmity. Duty lies in abundance. Clearly all fields lay over. Chilly fair with sorry lighting. Ghosted clowns bite shivering dogs. Police brats erupt from a cave backlit night. Green, shiny and clean squirts in my face some sloppy goo ‘til it gels down there all wet and frozen and really on. Time gets wet too and then gets it for all time better than it gets in the daytime or noon. Dewy fronds in your wary smile offering evidence but returning what I cannot give you. Thirty girls in stand single file. Wearing petticoats and black bald hosiery♥Like a billy goat gasses and goes. Big ears pricked to the wind. Bucket twitching while sniffing and all the while I’m pleading like a jigsaw, “Please! Do that witch won’t or might.” Was the oven shouting at us? Wasn’t it the other day’s tulip igniting your greasy front lawn? Well, it shall remain brown. My little archipelago, so stingy with your rosy toys.

Pale graces and also fortunate ones: smiling toothy and squeaking enormous debt, sinking minor grievance and squelch- ing sundry ode. Anon. Huzzah. Fatuous frequently fractured far boots instill judgments and whatnots Georgian aplomb if it’s stark moonlight. Basking in your shadow. Startled by your surprise. Shrinking in your eyes and a fart gloom growing corn.

Dank and silly jack. We were at thine silly jack. You shout to thine stinky joke. And are feely? Too sizematic and jolly, Yo? Magnetic boundaries waver in the sun. Humble Jimmies gasp at this. Frankly, Johnny it was you. Foreshortened lament cracks good sky. Crucible of tanked townies in their floundering crafts. And boats. AND still you fight! Free jerk on the water! Oh, la la la. It can fraught Sallie shards until obstinance asks also – bring dinosaur in a shark’s tank. This shall be edifice: one-quarter grand; three fifths b i t t e r s ; a n d a h a l f p i n t s o u r. It isn’t always that way. “Shiner.”.---------------------------------Flaky flack jacket ‘nd no mosquitoes running. Ahh, those fried flamingoes were the lovely, and so contrary, alas>. Ahoy! The fair thing strutting bandit all. Are gainful in thin task, sure? Since it all is of an ilk until the killing. Then the fire started and yes it blazed.

Naked from the strain, breaker stopped at half past nothing. Eight AM is lunchtime. The paratroopers eat it on the way down. Vain motorcar monstrous in defeat, glorious in glory. When I met you I had nothing to lose now you are all I have. Truculent troubadour that, so inappropriate dental lubrication was revealed despite daily erasure. – Blathering incessantly, the bridegroom carefully makes his way down the long cascading staircase to his awaiting transfixion. Slowly the loving couple emerses themselves in vulvic rot. Interplay becomes limited to never on the sixteenth Thursday. Gusts of lust sweep by the courthouse like leaves leaving a sinking ship. Grisailled mammalian breath always tastes good on Tuesdays. Maybe even more friendly on Friday.

Finally the warlord slowly rose to his full height. Looming above us on the dais he began, “With heartfelt misery I congratulate all who have succeeded me. My friends and enemies laid before me now, I see you all as a robin sees a worm.” Then alarmingly he swooped upon us in a dastardly rage. “How dare you digress you simpering floozies!” he demanded, his eyes alight with lunacy. “Haven’t I always been your protector? You little shits! Didn’t I nearly fall off the meat cleaver for you?” We glanced at one another nervously for a spell, edging towards the padlocked doors.

Suddenly Magilla Gorilla came crashing through the skylight. “Hark and Heaven’s Hell!” he bellowed like the deranged simian that he is. “I’ll trounce you all in a fortnight, see if I don’t.” Well, that calmed us all down a bit, seeing as there was no impending doom awaiting us, other than what we expected, anyway. So Ranger Bananas and his lot scampered out the back way and we begrudgingly got back to the more pressing matters at hand and foot.

After we got back to the village mercy was forevermore. Harmonic hail floated friendlessly to the Earth where that certain someone was waiting patiently in a tutu.

“Blaine? Blaine! Where are you?” demanded Melanie, her plea sounding throughout the land. “The car’s parked and kids’re in bed,” she announced joyously to anyone who might be
listening. “The turtle has cooled off and the sun has set. The frogs are jumping and the floor is wet. The flies are fishing, the toad’s gone home. Lady Matriarch is all alone.” “This can’t be!” shouted our favorite doyenne. “They promised,” she sobbed. “How could you ...” “With ease and pleasure,” shouted back the commando waiting in the wings – or to be precise – behind the curtain. “We have been having a fine time, your remorselessness. Sunday isn’t for almost a week, and anyway we can’t find it.” So Melanie continued on her way crying out every few seconds, “Where are you, where arrrrre yoooooo?” This had been going on for quite some time when the commando burst from his hiding place wielding a giant battering ram. “I’ll plow you over sucker. Hand me that hammer and sickle. I know you’re not feeling well today, but I am feeling quite sporty indeed.” “That will suffice,” concluded our heroine, chewing his cud.

Positive combatants sought shelter elsewhere. Cheery start 4 cherry star. Two gone and nine forgot. This is where it all got that way. Gin Fizz ain’t sweet enough, but that still can’t get illusions. Why you got to or are you is it still? Forging slight forays; bang it down and bang it down. It shan’t stay down forever. Do you believe that? Well you haven’t much choice, Señorita. Eighteen diamonds are well worth a look. “May I have a couple?”

“YES YOU MAY, you can have it all right now if you can figure it out for yourself.” Healthy vicious varmints crawling about eating their vitamins in tanned leather. Sprinkling glitter-dust about the place. Waiting to see who knows whomever. Or why. Or what.

Transfigured plaintiff asks for more. He just can’t quite get there. Time’s a runnin’ and the forecast is late. Pleasant cherry fox. Startled butchers ask for more. Frightened hedgehogs wept gluttonously. Flowerpots fractured the silence by chanting, “away with you, be gone with you ” again and again. This also continued in expectation of the great event, far in advance of the coveted proceedings. As the carriage went careening around the bend, I tried my best to retain my composure in the face of almost certain death, or severe bodily harm at the very least. I observed two purplish poplar trees to the left of a grand cathedral. The whole ruminative scene reminded me of that day in the post house, when the birds were set free. They dashed upwards towards the roof and circled frantically in search of an escape route before settling in an angry flock on the rafters. We threw open the barn-style doors and ushered in the new day, whilst the winged frenzy scuttled past our shoulders, one tossing a tidy turd my way. A gesture of gratitude, one supposes. Once outdoors in the fresh blue they happily resumed their chattering and clucking as they flew off. The cacophony still rings in my ears to this day.

Since the trouncing began it has all been rather ethereal. Moguls slither by enshrined in penile fabrications, spewing from ear to gut. It’s a visceral thing, and a quagmire of rhododendrons isn’t enough to satisfy the desperate race to sigh in relief. We kill everything that we eat. Except salt. Water is arguably alive. Trees taste good. Big ones are better. Full throttle monkey hangs from
a branch exposing himself to the gaping spectators below. “Jump! Jump, you fucking monkey,” they holler in unison, faster and faster mounting towards a final crescendo so magnificent in all its glory as to be without end. Golden towers appeared on the horizon. There was a sort of hazy scrawl of sinewy, melancholic clouds ensconced in a withered dreary. Cerulean widow arching over the shore cracks and bolts out the door like a shotgun was leveling to aim. “Afore- shoot! Aft and to the main.” The galley slaves were restless. It was not the rowing that bothered them, but want of ice cream. The dearth of amenable women didn’t raise a wink with this crowd, crowded together in selfless ecstasy, heaving and hawing in a tittering, titillating right of bondage. The smell was unbelievable. Like an olfactory ambrosia it filled the commodore’s senses with rapture. “Row on lads,” he barely choked out the words, “for I know we must make landfall before ten ‘till then.” Disheartened by the ensuing fracas, our emotions attenuated and aching, shaking, rattled and rolling, we fell into the gloomy slumber. It awaits you when the brown thunder blows in the northern fields.

Zarathustra’s Junction is just beyond that mountain, young man. Chop it down with the edge of your hand that we might be on our way. “Stubborn tyrant,” the unrequited champion muttered grimly, “Stay back from it, mind me.” “Lest ye topple about yer noggin’ perchance dear foible,” chimed in the frogs and toads consecutively. “And don’t forget the beeswax. You know how much we care about your happiness.” Without beeswax the doyenne and matriarch couldn’t face the day. An absolute addict. You’d never know it from looking at her, but her habits are repulsive. The serf timidly spoke up once more, “Darling may I offer you . . .” Shut up!” she blasted. “You know I hate that ” “But I only meant to . . .” “Don’t even,” our heroine admonished. “There are plenty like you simper- ing for a morsel. Commodore! He’s all yours. Have at him.” But for once, perhaps for the first time, the man of arms declined. He merely glanced up at her sleepily, rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and spread his legs (geared in green tights) like a bullfrog and offered her his lucky charms, “they’re magically delicious.” “Oh doll, I am ravenous for your heavy, plodding, lugubrious love, but Serf here has been screwing me for eighteen hours solid, in fact we just stopped before you came in,” she confessed, straightening his bowtie and her lingerie. “Why that little plague, constantly scurrying about underfoot and all the while he was immersed in the voluptuous fruits of your bosom. I should do him as you suggested a moment ago, but I have another plan.” He called for Melanie and Blaine to join him in coitous and they did peremptorily, right in front of everyone and performing admirably under such conditions, I might add, rutting like hogs in the slippery slimy mud to the beat of the hand clapping and torrential “Go. Go. Go.” “That’s indecent,” complained Dead Donk to the financier. “It’s boring’” moaned the Jack. Not even Emily approved, and she usually goes in for that sort of thing. The proprietress said that we’d all have to exit straight-a-ways if we didn’t cooperate, so that’s why we came around with such alacrity.


Christopher Hart Chambers

Christopher Hart Chambers was born in Manhattan where he still lives and works, a very long time ago. He quit school and has earned his living as an artist ever since then - scanty at times, but nonetheless, he remains, independently healthy.

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