A key of light,
From outside of here and this, stabs,
Announcing of translation
of possibility into fact.
this is a story of a thing
that happened which you
Zing zing zinnnnnnng
Do you remember
What a free agent!
What was he even advertising? nothing.
He was just *transcendent frog*…
Slipped thru a hole.
through a shiver: a gap in the unifying field
of anxiety that holds this particular universe
A lifeline from a place free of product and
commodity, beamed and completed from some
confederacy of better worlds: 21st century
Soviets, triumphant global Jainists, a Häxannactic
league, et cetera, et cetera…
a tear, from God, long delayed, drippy
Crazy frog, given to us, to sing a free song
liberated from all possible tyranny (meaning,
control, et cetera)
but God’s napkin wiped away their only and
accidental tear: the universal heartbeat of
misery caught back up
our poisoned world gave its answer and
we spurned the frog,
read him as a star, his message to be consumed,
bought his records out of hate, mocked, tore,
shredded, castrated… captured
him, emptied him out, refilled him
and made a cruel and hateful cargo-cultish
effigy from his stretched skin and solid bones, a
vessel from his made-quiet body,
filled with spite and rage,
and called it Pepe: our poisoned World’s answer.
so search, and you cannot find the Crazy Frog
anymore, only the debased image is left.
and what an image!
hear forever: the hollow wattling scream, in tears,
as it transmutes and warps and shits itself, groping
about under an eternal midday sun with its eyes
exemplar of filth,
pawn of turds,
the metonym of this, worst of all worlds,
that never knows the mercy of ending but bores on
and on and on.
U laugh but I weep… weep for the world
and for the frog that was denied
this is not a joke, this is a tragedy
There are no jokes
in the place that the Crazy Frog came from.
digital collage, short story
1080 x 1350 pixels (x8)
Joseph Buckley, lives and works in NYC.