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In Xenia, They Prefer Zeppo The goat, says one, can learn almost anything provided you give it enough time. Like how to play the harmonica? says the other, clearly having access to a much better sort of education. Which reminds me: how can we know the fables without being able to recognize the animals attached to them? Or the bars of their cages? If you look closely enough, they do not resemble cages so much as living rooms. The one spends so much time in his living room, the other begins to wonder if he has been evacuated. After all, a storm came through and it drowned nearly all the midwives. All the filmmakers, still carrying their canisters full of raw footage—what would have become your typical homegrown, grotesque Americana. At least, that’s how some people describe it, when they are feeling particularly demonstrative. Oh, I get it, says the one, there is a pun in there, looking out like a kitten. Or an anemone. The other is much too subtle to get caught out on the record like this. He trundles off with his washtub under his arm, certain the hymnals will arrive in plenty of time to revise them.
Charles Freeland | Mudlark No. 35 |