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Krokodil

Number 1 November 2007

Contents

Anecdote of the Jar-Jar Binks Wallace Stevens 2

On Being Shat on by a Swan H. P. Lovecraft 2

The Parrot Edgar Allan Poe 2

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Mi-Go Wallace Stevens 5

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Krokodil

1November 2007

Published by Phillip A. Ellis

[email protected]

Publisher's Website: http://www.geocities.com/phillipellis01/

Anecdote of the Jar-Jar Binks

I filmed Jar-Jar in Tennessee,

And crap he was, upon a hill.

He made the rampaging fannish nerdsSurround that hill.

5 The fannish nerds rose up to him,

And wandered round, no longer mild.

Jar-Jar was ground upon the ground

And bits of him tossed in the air.

He took dominion everywhere.

10 Jar-Jar was nude and bare.

He did not scream like Dubya Bush,

But nothing sane in Tennessee.

Wallace Stevens

On Being Shat on by a Swan

With poignant grace the melancholy Swan

Craps on the head of luckless Phaeton;

On grassy banks the feckless poplars fight,Ignore with tender care the wat'ry shite.

5 Would that I drop, should I too be a bird

Of avian origin, a swanlike turd,

When flying high, or waddling down below,

Deposit tributes like the world's a po!

The shitty bird, that craply craps along,

10 Farts all the deeper for his want of song.H. P. Lovecraft

The Parrot

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, drunk and bleary,Over many a Swedish specialist magazine of Sapphic lore,

While I jerked off, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of someone loudly rapping, rapping at the dunny door.

5 " 'Tis some idiot," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;

Only this, and nothing more."

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Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,

And my nose was as red as embers rolling round upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow

10 From my porn surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Seymour,

For the rare and ravishing redneck whom the honkies name Seymour,

Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain whiskies as of Richard Burton

Thrilled me--filled me with the taste of liquors never drunk before;15 So that now, to still the beating of my head, I stood repeating,

" 'Tis some idiot entreating entrance at my chamber door,

Some fool idiot entreating entrance at my chamber door.

This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,20 "Sir," said I, "or sheila, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is, I was wanking, and so loudly you came clanking,And so loudly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That my head was sore to hear you." Here I opened wide the door;--

Darkness there, and nothing more.

25 Deep within the darkness seeing, long I stood there, wondering, peeing,Stood there soiling pants no mortals ever dared to soil before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,

Seymour?, This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,

30 "Seymour!" Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber reeling, like a lout with lots of feeling,

Soon again I heard that tapping, somewhat louder than before,

"Surely," said I, "surely, that is pounding at my window lattice.

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.

35 Let the room be still a moment, and this mystery explore.

" 'Tis some bastard, nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flit and flutter,

In there stepped a gaudy parrot, of the pirate days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

40 But with mien of buxom lady, perched above my chamber door.Perched upon a silver dildo, hung above my chamber door,

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this brilliant bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the many hued decorum of the countenance it wore,

45 "Though thy crest be shorn like abbot thou," I said, "art sure no mascot,

Ghastly, gaudy feathered parrot, wandering from the nightly shore.

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore."Quoth the parrot, "Pieces of eight!"

Much I marvelled this urbanely spoken fowl could speak so plainly,

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50 Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,Bird or beast upon the sculptured dong above his chamber door,

With such name as "Pieces of eight!"

55 But the parrot, sitting lonely on that shiny cock, spoke onlyThat one phrase, as if his soul in that one phrase he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;

Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before;On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."

60 Then the bird said, "Polly want a cracker!"

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so quickly spoken,

"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,

Caught from off a stupid master, whom a warranted disaster Followed fast and followed faster, whilst his words these cliches bore,--

65 Till the birdy of its cage that repertoire of phrases boreLike "Polly want a cracker!"

But the parrot still beguiling all my drunk soul into smiling,

Straight I placed a pillowed seat in front of bird, and prick and door;

Then, unleashing farts all stinking, I betook myself to linking70 Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this many-hued bird of yore--

What this multicoloured, ghastly, cracker-ravening bird of yore

Meant in squawking "Polly want a cracker!"

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, with no belch of mine expressing

To the bird, whose cheeky eyes now burned into my bosom's core;75 This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the pillow’s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,

On whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er

He shall bite, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought I’d eat a curry, whilst I smoked a reeking dhurry80 Rolled by psychopaths whose urine tinkled on the tufted floor.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these madmen he hath sent thee

Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Seymour!

Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Seymour!"

Quoth the parrot, "Who’s a pretty boy?"

85 "Prophet!" said I, "foe of cracker!--prophet still, I ought to whack ya’!Whether Mormon sent, or whether fate had lobbed thee here ashore,

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this shining knob I’ve flaunted--

On this cock by buttocks haunted--tell me truly, I implore:

Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"

90 Quoth the parrot, "Hello, what’s your name?"

"Bird!" I said, "by all that’s holy--prophet still, thou pretty polly!

By that heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--

Tell this soul with sorrowed fancy, if, within the distant Jhansi,

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It shall clasp a sainted pansy, whom the angels name Seymour--

95 Clasp a queen that’s surely a pansy, whom the angels name Seymour?

Quoth the parrot, "Give us a kiss."

"Be those words our sign of parting, devil fowl!" I shrieked, upstarting--

"Bugger off into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!

Leave no green plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!100 Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the prick above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and shift thy arse from off my door!"

Quoth the parrot, "Who’s a pretty boy, then?"

And the parrot, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the shiny silver dildo just above my chamber door;

105 And his eyes have all the seeming of a moron's that is dreaming.

And the crackers that I feed him fall as crumbs upon the floor;

And my soul from out the remnants that lie piling on the floor Shall be lifted--nevermore!

Edgar Allan Poe

Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Mi-Go

I

Among twenty snowy mountainsThe only moving thing

Were the bowels of the Mi-Go.

II

I was of three minds

5 Like a shoggothOn which there are three Mi-Gos.

III

The Mi-Go whirled in the star-wind

It was a small part of the panto.

IV

A man and a deep one

10 Are one.

A man and a deep one and a Mi-Go

Are one.And I can't count.

V

I do not know which to prefer,

15 The beauty of incantations

Or the beauty of innuendos,

The Mi-Go tap-dancing

Or just after.

VI

Farting ghouls filled the bedroom

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20 With barbaric gas.

The shadow of the Mi-Go

Crossed it, to and fro.The ghouls

Traced in the shadow

25 An indecipherable claw.

VII

O thin men of Arkham,

Why do you imagine shantaks?Do you not see how the Mi-Go

Walks around the feet

30 Of the deep ones about you?

VIII

I know noble accentsAnd eldritch, inescapable rhythms;

But I know, too,That the Mi-Go is involved

35 In what I know.

IX

When the Mi-Go flew out of sight,It marked the edge

Of one of many magic circles.

X

At the sight of Mi-Gos

40 Flying in a green lightEven the madmen of Arabia

Would cry out sharply.

XI

He rode over Rhode Island

In a rugose coach.45 Once, a fear pierced him,

In that he mistook

The shadow of his equipage

for Mi-Gos.

XII

The river is squamous.50 The Mi-Go must be flying.

XIII

It was evening all afternoon.

It was snowing

And it was going to snow.The Mi-Go sat

55 In a wayside inn.

Wallace Stevens

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