Column Chronicles: Still more Dadaesque prose

Still more Dadaesque prose

Frank Cotolo
April 21, 2016

The wanton spirit and energy of a painting by a Dada artist, as well as the Won Ton soup I always order from Chinese restaurants, move me to write Dadaesque [sic] prose. So what follows is another section of my classic Dada book, which currently has the title: "No Title."

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I am resting on an iambic pentameter, but question its five elements while ironing my favorite shirt. Could this iron actually take out the wrinkles of the shirt or do I have to sniff bananas in a boxing ring to inhale what life has to offer me? It is not only a perplexing question, it is something to do for the rest of the day and as long as I remember to turn the iron off when I leave the apartment, I will feel well for the rest of the day.

No one walks with me through the fire of the city's human traffic strolling, running, skipping and dancing along the sidewalks like grasshoppers in a chalk factory. I didn't look on a map so I don't know where to find a boxing ring, so I stop at a sportswear store and ask the salesm an if I can try on some catchers' mitts.

"Never call me that name again," says the man with the Bic Pen moustache whose face crawls from his chin to his navel, where he has a tattoo of Paul Revere in a bathing suit.

I thank him and say, "Put up your dukes," posing like Sugar Ray Robinson.

Cordially, he says he did not bring his dukes to work so he could not partake in my game.

Life, I think, is a jaw swelled with puss, waiting to be squeezed and fondled.

Last Tuesday I thought it was last Thursday and then suddenly I took out the garbage, which is what I do on Friday. Someone told me it was Sunday, so then I went to church, where I realized I was not a member of any religion, no less one that built a church.

I wonder how churches become built for days, skipping lunch and polishing my roller skates. It never dawns on me that when the Sun comes up it dawns on me and that is when I realize I am in love with Amy, the girl sitting in the station wagon that passes my apartment every day.

... to be continued.

Frank Cotolo can be found hosting the talk and interview programme Cotolo Chronicles. You can send him an e-mail at this address: frank@148.ca.