1001 Nights Cast

Sunday May 07, 2006

Dear Ewen, you N and UN,

Hold the elevator. Let’s chew the fat.
In the absence of language, who ya gonna call?
In the absence of language, there’s Beckett for babies, there’s Kabuki for seniors and there’s Kafka for kids.
With no yadda-yadda-yadda there’s just I’ve-had-it-up-to-here, or la-dee-dee la-dee-daa, or Why I’m gonna…!

In the absence of language expect severe Iraqnophobia and fear of frying symptoms and commuting not with but to and from nature.

In silence there’s only lightscameraaction, with blood and kettledrums, starring joyous Nazifiers who dig friendly fire.
In place of mean-muttering mouths there’ll be bed-wetting Himmlers and Furhers who are full of it, and nail-biting commandants who say, Open wide and say Aaaaaah.

There’s always gassings and burnings and shootings and hackings. There’s poisonings and rape, there’s always that instead of chat.

‘I’m wearing black at the nuclear BBQ, what are you wearing?’

In lieu of discussion, there’s always Onward Christian Soldiers for Victory or Valhalla; there’s the Last Train to Georgia (and we mean Georgia); there’s seven times round the ka’aba.

Oompa-pa, oompa-pa, instead of yatter, let’s have Al-Fatah or Al Speer or Al Gore and let’s say Aloha to yer ass. Salaam alay’kum suckers.

In non-diplomatic silence you can still summon hookilicious strummers on cannabis sativa, or Carlos Castenedas and Siddharta Gautama, while waiting for Sodom and Gomorrah and the big enchilada.

In lieu of the lingo there’s the last laugh of Lucifer.

So Ewen, there’s always a smiley-face sticker. Total wellness being blather. The summer’s big blockbusters. Take Me to the River. Thigh mastery and French ticklers (McRibbed for your pleasure). TV Dinners watching Taxi Driver.

So let’s Dial U for Uranium.
Press a button, Mr Bush: Launch or Lunch?
Let’s add some ‘wow’ to the atmosphere like they did to the water.

In forked tongue diplomatic parlance it’s always the same different both neither. It’s in one ear and out the other. It’s slotdka itiodka Intifadas, Hiroshimas and Jeffrey Dahmers, spooks, kikes and snoozeramas.

Call me UN, Call me for a one-on-one. We need to yak, Chew the fat. We need to shoot the breeze or we’ll all be up on the Space Shuttle Challenger blown backwards out of our underwear.
Let’s make conversation, enjoy a tête à tête, before the ultimate deconstruction.

In the absence of language there’s Where do we go from here?

Truth or Dare,
Yours
E=mc2