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postmodern poet RIVER OF HALLUCINATIONS!
postmodern poet
A Giant lizard with Fifty Heads and Hundreds of Eyeballs and Thousands of Mouths Interviews Wolf Larsen
The Giant Lizard: So why do you jump from the earth to the moon and then into outer space?
Wolf Larsen: It’s like writing tidal waves of imagery all over the walls of the world.
The Giant Lizard: Each page is crashing and the sky is crashing and the world is crashing?
Wolf: The words fly off the page like flocks of birds. Each phrase is hordes of screaming cannibals devouring the reader’s mind – every reader should be delicious!
The Giant Lizard:: So you enjoy devouring the reader?
Wolf: Grab sledgehammers and attack the moon! Ride all the tornadoes laughing and laughing in your brains! All the emotions and wars and lusts and violence of the human race splashing out of your pen! Each page is oceans of humanity all having an orgy together!
The Giant Lizard: Is it like words smashing through the sky and crashing into the earth all around you?
Wolf: Tornadoes are fun! Riding a tornado around and around the room and the earth and the universe! It’s like rolling the words up into a canvas and smoking the canvas while you’re eating all the magical sculptures that are growing out of the walls!
Wolf and the Giant Lizard together: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
The Giant Lizard: I see, and what about all the p*ssies floating in the air?
Wolf: That’s more like bashing and bashing all your thoughts and the planets and all the cities together into a huge violent peace that breathes on the page – because all pages should breath!
The Giant Lizard: Wow! Whoopee! Hurricanes!
Wolf: Well, it’s like you’re trying to fight your way out of a painting, and then you’re stabbing and slashing at all the hallucinations eating through the walls of your house! And then some woman’s gigantic p*ssy swallows you and you’re trying to find your way out of her body but the inside of her body is a labyrinth of staircases through different levels of hell, and well, you’re trapped!
The Giant Lizard: But why do you swallow the sky?
Wolf: Well, it’s because yesterday I’m Chinese, today I’m white, and tomorrow I’m black.
The Giant Lizard: Oh. That makes sense. And bashing the words together into delirious-hollering sculptures?
Wolf: It’s sort of like breakfast. The human race runs out of your breakfast cereal and all the politicians are screaming “She’s hiding weapons of mass destruction in her p*ssy! Let’s invade! Invade! Invade!” and everything is the slow quiet peacefulness of a violent now while we wait for the madmen in the White House to push the atomic button. But World War III probably won’t happen for another decade or two – maybe even three – so there’s still plenty of time to have fun!
The Giant Lizard: Yippee! Let’s have fun!
Wolf: So in the summer when all the breasts are frolicking and laughing up and down the street and all the phalluses and anuses and vaginas are an entangled sculpture walking out of a canvas – do you kiss all the planets and stars?”
Wolf and the Giant Lizard together: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
The Giant Lizard: Well, that’s when I climb inside my own anus and play the harmonica.
Wolf: Oh wow! WHERE’S THE P.C LIBERAL CENSORSHIP?! LET’S SLAUGHTER EACH OTHER AND DEVOUR EACH OTHER ON THE EVENING OF WORLD WAR III!
The Giant Lizard: Yes of course. After I eat all the paintings in my head. I was wondering, do you jump off the sky and land on an asteroid shooting into the poem?
Wolf: Well, poems are to be eaten. The dialogues of plays are meant to be spoken with a saxophone. Of course, the saxophone is a big phallus which spurts poetry all over the audience.
The Giant Lizard: Oh, that’s so sexist, because there’s sex in it! You should censor that! And the children – oh my god – they might figure out they didn’t come from no motherf*ckin’ stork! Oh no! Let’s make some immaculate conception together – whoopppeeeeeeee! We should sing! Sing to the grizzly bears! Sing to the sun and the planets! Sing with your genitals!
Wolf: Yes! Sing! Sing! Sing! In the last century, when I spent thousands of years living in a painting, and I was screaming sculptures at all the passerby on the street. The passerby’s faces where notes in a jazz song played by millions of madmen that are all standing on different planets that are floating through your mind.
The Giant Lizard: Oh yes, that happens to me all the time when I grind my poetry into coffee and it tastes like World Wars I, II, & III on my lips.
Wolf: Yes definitely. It’s like riding your own spermatozoa through the poem into the play and out of the novel.
The Giant Lizard: You know… I can’t ask the next question because I can’t find my head! I think my head has become a planet revolving around a different sun in a galaxy of raspberries!
Wolf: Look, while you run around the universe searching for your head I’ll just chisel naked sculptures into the sky and write my poetry all over the future generations and my plays will drip out of everybody’s penis as they walk from poem to poem.
The Giant Lizard: Oh look! There’s my head! I found it! Let me look inside my head – oh look – there’s the Andes mountains and the Sahara Desert inside my head – oh there’s the North American continent inside my head too – everybody in North America inside my head is waving at me!
Wolf: Yeah, sometimes I jump on one of the question marks floating through the air and I float to worlds of exclamation points where all the people are naked and all the naked people write the rivers of poetry gently flowing across the landscape and they bath naked in poetry they throw their arms up and create skies of poetry and the naked people make poetry together as the sun shines poetry all over them.
The Giant Lizard: Yeeeeaaaah… that’s like grabbing all the buildings and streets and people and throwing them into a bowl and as you smoke all the buildings and streets and people Genghis Kahn and his invading whores – I mean hordes – are having a Brazilian carnival on the streets of the South Side of Chicago.
Wolf: Yeah, I had an experience like that last month! But all the huge gargoyles growing out the mirror where all screaming “WORLD WAR III IS COMING! THE WORLD’S RULERS ARE VIOLENT WAR-MONGERS!” so I ran off to a phrase of poetry and me and the phrase of poetry made beautiful love together.
The Giant Lizard: Hmmmmnn… You have to watch out! All those P.C. liberals and religious conservatives keep erecting watchtowers and barbed wire and searchlights in our minds and in the streets and all over the sky!
Wolf: Yeah, pretty soon even defecating will be illegal.
The Giant Lizard: Defecation! Oh my god! Everybody who defecates is considered a terrorist now that they passed the Patriot Act! And the Dixiecrats voted for it!
Wolf: It’s more like falling off of Alaska and melting all over New York City while thousands of your eyeballs are bouncing and bouncing all over a phrase of poetry that runs and runs around the sun for millions of years.
The Giant Lizard: I disagree. It’s more like we take our laughter and we build our laughter into thousand story plays – and each brick in that play is a poem – and every window in that thousand story play is a open view into your mind that’s stretching and streeeeetchiiing across the cosmos.
Copyright 2006 by Wolf Larsen
If you would like to read more you may go to:
Wolf Larson
postmodern poet
A Giant lizard with Fifty Heads and Hundreds of Eyeballs and Thousands of Mouths Interviews Wolf Larsen
The Giant Lizard: So why do you jump from the earth to the moon and then into outer space?
Wolf Larsen: It’s like writing tidal waves of imagery all over the walls of the world.
The Giant Lizard: Each page is crashing and the sky is crashing and the world is crashing?
Wolf: The words fly off the page like flocks of birds. Each phrase is hordes of screaming cannibals devouring the reader’s mind – every reader should be delicious!
The Giant Lizard:: So you enjoy devouring the reader?
Wolf: Grab sledgehammers and attack the moon! Ride all the tornadoes laughing and laughing in your brains! All the emotions and wars and lusts and violence of the human race splashing out of your pen! Each page is oceans of humanity all having an orgy together!
The Giant Lizard: Is it like words smashing through the sky and crashing into the earth all around you?
Wolf: Tornadoes are fun! Riding a tornado around and around the room and the earth and the universe! It’s like rolling the words up into a canvas and smoking the canvas while you’re eating all the magical sculptures that are growing out of the walls!
Wolf and the Giant Lizard together: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
The Giant Lizard: I see, and what about all the p*ssies floating in the air?
Wolf: That’s more like bashing and bashing all your thoughts and the planets and all the cities together into a huge violent peace that breathes on the page – because all pages should breath!
The Giant Lizard: Wow! Whoopee! Hurricanes!
Wolf: Well, it’s like you’re trying to fight your way out of a painting, and then you’re stabbing and slashing at all the hallucinations eating through the walls of your house! And then some woman’s gigantic p*ssy swallows you and you’re trying to find your way out of her body but the inside of her body is a labyrinth of staircases through different levels of hell, and well, you’re trapped!
The Giant Lizard: But why do you swallow the sky?
Wolf: Well, it’s because yesterday I’m Chinese, today I’m white, and tomorrow I’m black.
The Giant Lizard: Oh. That makes sense. And bashing the words together into delirious-hollering sculptures?
Wolf: It’s sort of like breakfast. The human race runs out of your breakfast cereal and all the politicians are screaming “She’s hiding weapons of mass destruction in her p*ssy! Let’s invade! Invade! Invade!” and everything is the slow quiet peacefulness of a violent now while we wait for the madmen in the White House to push the atomic button. But World War III probably won’t happen for another decade or two – maybe even three – so there’s still plenty of time to have fun!
The Giant Lizard: Yippee! Let’s have fun!
Wolf: So in the summer when all the breasts are frolicking and laughing up and down the street and all the phalluses and anuses and vaginas are an entangled sculpture walking out of a canvas – do you kiss all the planets and stars?”
Wolf and the Giant Lizard together: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
The Giant Lizard: Well, that’s when I climb inside my own anus and play the harmonica.
Wolf: Oh wow! WHERE’S THE P.C LIBERAL CENSORSHIP?! LET’S SLAUGHTER EACH OTHER AND DEVOUR EACH OTHER ON THE EVENING OF WORLD WAR III!
The Giant Lizard: Yes of course. After I eat all the paintings in my head. I was wondering, do you jump off the sky and land on an asteroid shooting into the poem?
Wolf: Well, poems are to be eaten. The dialogues of plays are meant to be spoken with a saxophone. Of course, the saxophone is a big phallus which spurts poetry all over the audience.
The Giant Lizard: Oh, that’s so sexist, because there’s sex in it! You should censor that! And the children – oh my god – they might figure out they didn’t come from no motherf*ckin’ stork! Oh no! Let’s make some immaculate conception together – whoopppeeeeeeee! We should sing! Sing to the grizzly bears! Sing to the sun and the planets! Sing with your genitals!
Wolf: Yes! Sing! Sing! Sing! In the last century, when I spent thousands of years living in a painting, and I was screaming sculptures at all the passerby on the street. The passerby’s faces where notes in a jazz song played by millions of madmen that are all standing on different planets that are floating through your mind.
The Giant Lizard: Oh yes, that happens to me all the time when I grind my poetry into coffee and it tastes like World Wars I, II, & III on my lips.
Wolf: Yes definitely. It’s like riding your own spermatozoa through the poem into the play and out of the novel.
The Giant Lizard: You know… I can’t ask the next question because I can’t find my head! I think my head has become a planet revolving around a different sun in a galaxy of raspberries!
Wolf: Look, while you run around the universe searching for your head I’ll just chisel naked sculptures into the sky and write my poetry all over the future generations and my plays will drip out of everybody’s penis as they walk from poem to poem.
The Giant Lizard: Oh look! There’s my head! I found it! Let me look inside my head – oh look – there’s the Andes mountains and the Sahara Desert inside my head – oh there’s the North American continent inside my head too – everybody in North America inside my head is waving at me!
Wolf: Yeah, sometimes I jump on one of the question marks floating through the air and I float to worlds of exclamation points where all the people are naked and all the naked people write the rivers of poetry gently flowing across the landscape and they bath naked in poetry they throw their arms up and create skies of poetry and the naked people make poetry together as the sun shines poetry all over them.
The Giant Lizard: Yeeeeaaaah… that’s like grabbing all the buildings and streets and people and throwing them into a bowl and as you smoke all the buildings and streets and people Genghis Kahn and his invading whores – I mean hordes – are having a Brazilian carnival on the streets of the South Side of Chicago.
Wolf: Yeah, I had an experience like that last month! But all the huge gargoyles growing out the mirror where all screaming “WORLD WAR III IS COMING! THE WORLD’S RULERS ARE VIOLENT WAR-MONGERS!” so I ran off to a phrase of poetry and me and the phrase of poetry made beautiful love together.
The Giant Lizard: Hmmmmnn… You have to watch out! All those P.C. liberals and religious conservatives keep erecting watchtowers and barbed wire and searchlights in our minds and in the streets and all over the sky!
Wolf: Yeah, pretty soon even defecating will be illegal.
The Giant Lizard: Defecation! Oh my god! Everybody who defecates is considered a terrorist now that they passed the Patriot Act! And the Dixiecrats voted for it!
Wolf: It’s more like falling off of Alaska and melting all over New York City while thousands of your eyeballs are bouncing and bouncing all over a phrase of poetry that runs and runs around the sun for millions of years.
The Giant Lizard: I disagree. It’s more like we take our laughter and we build our laughter into thousand story plays – and each brick in that play is a poem – and every window in that thousand story play is a open view into your mind that’s stretching and streeeeetchiiing across the cosmos.
Copyright 2006 by Wolf Larsen
If you would like to read more you may go to:
Wolf Larson
postmodern poet