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Still
Hunting Moby Dick
Queequeg
boatless;
Lost
without Ahab.
He
wades miles of mud
To
where the whale may come:
To
Shi Shi,
A
beach sacred to the Makah
(A
whaling people).
He
stands poised in surf,
The
fire-hardened tip of his RockWacker cocked,
Awaiting
the whale.
Queequeg
waits.
Queequeg
waits, and wills the whale.
And
waits.
Perhaps
only in powerful imagination,
The
called whale comes,
And
Queequeg casts his magical harpoon.
Then
he gives it away.
Wordless Television
Clem
Tillion, RockWacker in hand, was towing a Radio Flyer
wagon containing a big rock. Finding himself on stage before a cheering
audience, he thought, "Thank goodness I'm wearing tow shoes."
With
that, he dropped the wagon's handle and performed a series of
pirouettes, around and around, the RockWacker
held various ways to describe different arcs in the air.
Then
he towed his rock to one side of the stage, dropped the handle again,
and beckoned a princess from the front row to join him. Demonstrating,
he wacked the rock, then handed the RockWacker to her.
After
some hesitation, she gave the rock a mighty wack, unleashing surprising
violence. Meanwhile, Clem was wordlessly waving others forward until
there was a queue of people wanting a wack. He left them and crossed
the stage to sit with Craig
Ferguson.
No
telling whether the crowd was cheering Clem, Craig, the RockWackers, or
the guy holding the sign that told them to, but after quieting them
down (the guy lowered the sign), Craig turned to Clem and said,
"So...... I'm told you don't speak."
Clem
stared with a grin at Craig, with bewilderment at the crowd, with
perplexity at the skies. He laced his fingers together and stared at
them. A balding man in a suit, tie askew, was wailing wildly with the
wacker, punctuating the silence.
Craig
spread his questioning arms, palms up. His eyebrows went up and down.
Clem finally looked back.
"That's
true," he said.
People
laughed.
"Of
him," Clem added, gesturing over his shoulder as Batum Schragg slid
onstage.
Batum
the breakdancer bellied and backed. Schragg spun on shoulders, elbows
and fists. He hopped and he hooked. By the time he was done, people
were cheering again. He made his way to the rock, and put on a display
of unmatcheable RockWacking. The stick hung as he spun, then he
snatched it out of the air and wacked one more time. Then he stood back
and handed the RockWacker to the next in line.
Meanwhile,
back at the desk, Craig asked Clem, "What can you tell me about The Wordless?"
"Nothing,
obviously," Tillion retorted, "but I can show you something." With that
he stood up, unbuckled his pants, and dropped them, thus displaying his
Wordless
boxer shorts, "How about you?"
"I
know nothing about The Wordless," Ferguson fumbled, "and I'm not about
to display what's under this kilt."
"Perfect
truth," Clem countered, "and I know because I woke up inside your head
this morning." He buckled up, but neglected to raise his zipper before
sitting back down.
"Whoa,
whoa wait a minute," freaked Ferguson, "I've woken up in some strange
places, not knowing how I got there, but what were you doing inside my
head?"
"Well,"
mused Mr. Tillion, "I guess I was just going with the wonder of it, and
the terror."
"Terror
I'm sure," Ferguson fumed. "You shouldn't just go around waking up in
other people's heads, should you?"
"It
hasn't happened to you?" queried Clem.
"I
thought it did, a time or two," mused the host, "but it turned out to
be just me."
"Just
you!?!," exclaimed Clem, "In case you forgot, your head is a wondrous,
terrible place to be. But I'll tell you, I want to make sure I don't do
anything to make it worse, just in case I wake up there again."
"Well,
I sairtainly appreciate that," declared Craig.
"And
while I'm here, I'd like to do what I can to fix that guy's attitude,"
declaimed Clem, gesturing to a sullen speciman in the audience, "just
in case I wake up in his head."
"Well,
I've been doin me best as well," pronounced the pensive pundit.
"On
the other hand," Clem claimed as he stood up (Wordless boxers bulging
from his fly), "there's that guy way in the back there." He pointed to
a ten year old kid. "Anybody would want to wake up in that little guy's
head."
He
laid his sleeping head to the side on palmed hands, then opened his
eyes. "Music!" he exclaimed. "Another day in a world of MUSIC!"
Tillion
ended up arms spread wide, head back and face to the sky. His Wordless
Boxers bulged hugely from his open fly. In the audience there was
tittering, a couple tiny screams. The RockWacker cracked, a man in a
skullcap wacking for water with gusto.
That
brought Clem back from his reverie. He craned to look down at his
exposure. "Oops," he said, turning his back to the audience and zipping
up. He snuck a guilty glance over his shoulder as he slunk back to his
chair.
Cringing,
hunching his shoulders, he smiled sheepishly at his host.
"Well,
no harm done", said the Scot, "the camera stayed low."
"Maybe
so," said Clem, "but our guy with the attitude there got some bruised
ribs, from his wife's elbow. 'See that, honey,' she said, 'Do you think
that's real?' and he had to say: 'No, I already told you, you've seen
the best.'"
"At
least I wasn't wearing The
Critterthong," he added.
More
cracking from the Wacker; this time a nun was having at it.
"Can
I try to make up for it?"
"What
do you have in mind," queried Craig dubiously.
"Well,
I want to keep that kid rockin, but he needs a piano, and a teacher,
and a place to play. So I'd like to auction off that RockWacker, now
that it has so much audience juju in it."
"Lets
do that!" Ferguson enthused.
"OK,"
responded Tillion, "but Batum will conduct the auction, so it will have
to be of the silent variety."
NOTE: Craig Ferguson is a
wholly fictional character. Any resemblance to anyone in the
shared dream of reality is entirley synchronistic.
Though the names Clem Tillion
and Batum and Schragg may be attached to entities out there, they are
fictional too. RockWackers are the biggest fiction of all,
but they can still sock a knob on your head.
Only Radio Flyer's are real, as
they have always been.
And music: "Where
words fail, music speaks." Hans Christian Andersen
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