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from The Book of Leonard
chapter 1
5-9-01
triplet donkeys emerge from the sack he is carrying,
three big shit-
eating grins on the donkey faces, noses stuffed with honey
and apples.
they are dessert for the giant donkey-eating walruses of
North Dakota.
you must believe me. you must not be a hard-ass. you have never been
to North Dakota.
it is a realization that will come slow or proudly. his name is Leonard,
he carries
the sedated donkeys 3400 miles from Mexico. he is paid well,
doesn’t question.
Leonard is a pharmacist during the week, but he is fairly dumb
and Walgreens
is the only place that will hire him. several minutes pass,
the apples
or the honey falls from ceilings above his penisula. his home
is quaint,
very much because of his coke habit and art collection;
with his salary
expenses can be merciless, like terriers. but more importantly
it is quaint
and quite monotone in the midst of much donkey space. the drama is not
as it seems.
if Leonard shakes his ass amid acres of land, it is a gesture
to the heavens.
it’s his world, his pace, the jobs come and go, sure, but he lives
with spirit
and walks the earth, shaking his ass as he goes, never in fear of
giant walruses
or donkeys drooling all over his garbs. he is Leonard. Leonard
the Lovesick.
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from The Book of Leonard
chapter 2
The dildo was bought for the good girl, the one with a hairpiece
for her cat.
It’s red and bushy and makes the cat look like a furry hell mushroom.
Getting cold.
“brrrrr,” shouts Leonard, with his transmutator cacto-absorbent
ice-pond prober
stuck in a jagged oval hole broken through thin ice. He is taking samples,
will not reveal.
“Antarctica shore is a bitch,” standing next to Gretel. “Next time we’ll
hit the shores
of somewhere darned warmer than this here darned coldhole, those
wretched bastards!”
They were sent here by the Republic of Believers in the Ice Cactus.
Paid 27 grand.
You thought Leonard was a specialist. Nope, Leonard is a generalist.
He does everything okay.
His coke habit and art collection are the only matters of tangible importance.
And travel.
He bought a dildo for his companion, as was mentioned earlier.
That’s another place,
not for here, although it’s likely that when stories are mixed
the juxtaposition
can become the best device, but not in this case. Leonard steps out
of the space station
to fix something gone wrong with the UT-54FE oxygen-modifier fuselage.
We’ll never make it
to another Galaxy, was a popular statement in the 21st century.
Up To
54 Fuckin’ Elements – We figured a method to split protons and electrons
from molecules;
The periodic table was thrown away in 2189. We can snip off hydrogen
from anything.
But this is mostly 23rd century bullshit; you’ll have no idea what I’m talking about
until then.
Here, Leonard plays blackjack in Las Vegas with a big fat joint hanging out his mouth.
He’s a philanthropist.
The post-hypnotic jettison of his underlying potential never caused him
to panic.
It is a realization that knocks him around from time to time, but the engagement
of himself
to the world, how it could diamond his facets by just letting go of the dreams
pre-instilled
and re-investing in the new franchise, the Leonard System, made of his ideals,
without disrespect
(at least blatantly) to those that fundamentally coerce him to make mistakes,
the unliving
the disguised, the common trustees of the established panacea, the makers of new
without intention
the alter-Leonards that make it go, the Rudy Malcoots and Janet Harveys,
the graters
of great, the you and I, the impossible designators of a cosmic policy, the drifters,
the drafters
the colossal and the minute, the time-traveling ghetto honkers, the Bunny, the Elvis,
dynamite salesmen,
bottle collectors, safari leaders, secretaries, generals and whimsical surgeons
of not-just-body.
What about Leonard? Of course! He belongs in petroleum topics, he’s reinvesting
in himself.
It just goes on and on and goes to show that this show, Leonard’s show, is going
on and on
until it stops in The Underneath-The-Sink. “Hand me the crescent wrench.” Leonard
the Plumber.
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