“That’s what we’re trying to do, old man. Hang on.”
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh! Why? Why? Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS, YOUNG MAN! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
You’ll regret thisaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! WHY! WHY! WHY!
THE AUTHORITIES WILL SOON CATCH UP WITH YOU, MY FRIEND!
YAROOOOOOOO! I SAY STOP IT, YOU ROTTERS! OOOOOOOOCH!
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM??????”
“Do you? That’s what we’re trying to fix. Be quiet, there’s a good chap.”
A A A
A A A A A A
A A A A A A
AAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAA
A A A A A A
A A A A
HHHHHHHHH! said the ex-chairman defiantly.
---Michael Moorcock, The Final Programme
“Well, I am, I am the rain! The rain that dissolves the constellations and upsets the kingdoms, the rain that inundates empires and upsets kingdoms, the rain that inundates empires and macerates republics, the rain that makes your shoes stick in the mud and runs down your neck, the rain that trickles down dirty windowpanes and rolls down to the gutter, the rain that shits everybody up and makes no sense. I am also, pay attention now, the sun that defecates onto the heads of harvesters, that skins naked women, that scorches trees, that pulverizes roads. And I am also the icy patches on the roads, that cause accidents, and the ice on ponds, that cracks under the feet of the obese, and the snow that sends a chill down your spine, and the hail that splits your skull, and the fog that macerates your lungs. Yo soy also the summer months, the spring months that spread venereal diseases, bring faces out in pimples and cause stomachs to swell. Zhur swee the spring, that sells a sprig of lilly of the valley for a franc, and the summer that kills people off because they live too intensely: I’m the autumn, that causes all the fruit to rot, and the winter that sells its boxwood on Parmesan Day. Ich bin the storm that howls with the wolves, tempestuous tempest, the blizzard that blitzes the lizards, the hurricane that hurries you into your coffin, the gale with its hail, the cyclone on its bicycle, the thunder with its icicles, and the lightning that lights life. Eyeamme…”
---Raymond Queneau, Witch Grass
Originally from Dubuque, IA, Andy Roche has worked as an artist and teacher in Chicago since completing his MFA at SAIC. He also plays and records with the band Black Vatican.