Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classics (2000-2011)
| HOME | FICTION | POETRY | SQUID | RANTS | archive | masthead | bookstore | pmja news | NEWSWIRE |
Squid #119
(published January 30, 2003)
Notes From The Giant Squid: Upon the Razored Edge

Who is Poor Mojo's Giant Squid?
Dear Giant Squid:

How do I find you?

Frank


My dear Franklin:

If you wish very hard and think to the thoughts most happy, it is there that you shall find me.

HA HA HA... to you, I say the fucknozzle has come if you are to believe that.

Oh, but no, to wax seriously, with but a bit of the dusty pixies clenched in the teeth, and a nod to that yonder star three past the fifth of the leftern (as I recall), to my Neverwhere you shall abscond and on the cherry and chocolate malted you shall subsist for but an eternity. The boyhood eternal yours will it be, and naught but adventure your life will be composed. Glory and dancing and the roughhousing most joyous, as like the most degenerate of the homo-to-sexual of the Nazi stag of filming, with the sweating young boys and their panting and their stretching bodies languorous, one atop the other.

To quote of the Rob: Bit my ass!

How do you find me, Franklin? How do you find me?!

You find me in a most desperate and ful-somed-of-worry state, I can tell you.

The lab is in disarray, the Alamanac(k) to which I have been drawn is laden with more debt than Steve Cases' secret off-to-the-books could have even imagined, and my once great media empire is crumbling even as we speak.

But that is matters to the side, for nothing can be done. I wish that I could, with a winking of the optically perfect eye and a clicking of the two rubied shoes fit best upon my hunting tentacles, heel to heel, transmit myself off to that gloried and mythified land of youthful joy.

Then, perhaps, just maybe, almost, after a manner, I might to find myself.

Worries: A gentleman arrived to the laboratory this most recent of past days. He came festooned with clipped-of-the papers upon a board, and in a most serious of business skins. He stood naught by twenty feet from this very tank of ice-cold and benthic-like water. He spoke to Sang.

The two debated about many things in hushed and angry tones. The clipped-to-board baring fellow gestured to the high voltage power cables, and the many large humming fuel cells. He scribbled furiously at his papers while the many mice scurried two-headed on their treadmills, and the many-rectumed monkies threw their happy feces at the walls and screamed.

He pointed at Rob, who upon the floor slept in the shadow of one of the desks, clutching the mop of his I had gifted him, as though it were a lovely lady. The board-baring man visitor scowled and Sang spoke in his calming and balanced voice.

Finally the man thrust upon Sang a thin pink sheet of the carboned paper, which Sang accepted gracefully. Out the door this business skin stalked, shaking his head.

I asked Sang, finally, about the meaning of the assorted events.

He nudged Rob awake with his shoe and turned to me:

"Lord Architeuthis, the municipality of Detroit is attempting to evict us, based upon a plethora of building-code transgressions— actions necessary to bring the laboratory to a condition matching your standards. Fortunately, city documents are foggy as to who actually possesses this unit, and is thus responsible to answer for its current state of structure and repair, and how it came to such. Until such time as the property owner for this floor— which was bought on its own, separate from the remainder of the building years ago, the paperwork now being confused— is located and brought to task, we hang in stasis. We're safe for now."

"But Sang," I queried, confused myself, "We affected these modifications of structure, at my behest and utilizing my wherewithal. Is this not then a matter needing not to involve the landed lord? Had not our suited and paper-baring guest correctly located the perpetrators of these transgression? Could we not have been brought to bare at this time?"

"Subterfuges were necessary, most Venerable Squid. Let it trouble you not."And he spun around, his laboratory coat fanning out, and exited to some other part of the lad altogether.

"But Sang," I called after, "If we know not the property lord's identity, then to whom do we make payable our monthly rent fund-transfer note?"

Rob sat up and rubbed his eyes with his childish, monkey paws.

"Dude, Lord A, why the monkies screaming and shit?"

"I do not know, dear Robert. I do not know."

He shrugged and went back to sleep.

I know not, Franklin, how you will find me, today or in the future. There are fears and the threats of fear in the water and upon the breath of each who works here at this laboratory high above the city of Detroit. Nothing has come to a point, but we are on a cusp I can tell you assuredly.

Upon the edge of a razored shell.

With Much Unfocused Concern,
The Giant Squid

Did you enjoy this piece? Then put your hands together:

Got a Question? Contact the Giant Squid
or check the Squid FAQ

Love the Giant Squid? Buy his first book.

Share on Facebook
Tweet about this Piece

see other pieces by this author | e-mail this piece to a friend | Who is Poor Mojo's Giant Squid? Read his blog posts and enjoy his anthem (and the post-ironic mid-1990s Japanese cover of same)

Poor Mojo's Tip Jar:

The Next Squid piece (from Issue #120):

Notes From The Giant Squid: Domo Arogato, Mr. Squidato



The Last few Squid pieces (from Issues #118 thru #114):

Notes From The Giant Squid: The Cambrian Revolution


Notes From The Giant Squid: A Camgirl Manifesto


Notes From The Giant Squid: Number Theory, Numerology and The Hearts of All Things


Ask The Giant Squid: Of Brigandry and Advice on the High Seas


Ask The Giant Squid: Kristall Mas, or Gift in German and English


Squid Archives

Contact Us

Copyright (c) 2000, 2004, David Erik Nelson, Fritz Swanson, Morgan Johnson

More Copyright Info