Popcorn,
Aisle 7; Beans, Aisle 15
by E.W.
Wilder
Originally intended as the verse introduction to Bean Newton’s
unfinished prose-poetic essay on the nature of hip-hop, fast-food, politics,
and Arsenio Hall’s “funky finger” in the framework
of the postmodern, “De la Suck” almost stands on its own.
Recalling the invocations to the gods that were characteristic of the
beginnings of classic epic poetry, Newton lists the various spiritual
essences he wishes to evoke in order to accomplish his goal.
That the project was abandoned in 1996, two years before Newton’s
death, could be an indication of his relative success at appeasing the
Supernatural Realm.
De la Suck - An Introduction
by Bean
Newton
Some kind of deep mercantilism of the soul;
Some kind of cheap merchandising of the shoal;
Some kind of weird wing-walking of the stove;
Some kind of loose canonization of the sloe;
Some king of French morals for the soul;
Some kind of freakshow;
Some kind of knit-brow archeology of the show;
Some kind of linked-target moss-making system of the soul;
Some kind of chalkboard eyetooth of the historical seasoning;
Some kind of ghastly manioc of the soul;
Some kind of paleolithic retinopathy of the soul;
Some kind of rainwater displacement program for the snow;
Some kind of apeman monstergiblet of the blow;
Some kind of rubberized moshpit;
Some kind of existentialist mea culpa of the brainwashwaves;
Sure kind of ethical chasm, regurgitating the raw bits of drowned sailors
Of the soul;
Of thee,
I sing.
Of thy animistic dinoflagellate, of thy megalomaniacal pantyliner, of
thy sullen teenager sulking in her stinking hole of a bedroom slowly
sucking a bong and listening to Morrissey (of the soul) sing I.
Of that outraged soul fart,
of that fish-mongered womb-pit effervescing measles,
of that wretched cerebral refuse,
of that Dickensian nightmare of dashes and half-lines,
of that tea-leaved divinated workhouse,
of that tatter-leafed wormhole,
of that psychotropic corn-palace seething in sidereal steam,
of that drag-queen charity ball,
of that simian sex pump of festering god-goo,
of that refried bean purveyor of greater Newton,
of that angry moleskin,
of that hypoxia,
of that long and lone and law-forbidden soul creep I speak.
