Technicolor Nocturne
Technicolor Nocturne
written and illustrated by
Tiffany Osedra Miller
©2014
The wily Nighttime Officer was about to commence singing a song he’d written called, Technicolor Nocturne Emission, but before he could begin, the Octaroon-missionary who had been tailing him on his patrol, addressed all who stopped to half-listen to her speech and to gaze un-religiously at her long, tanned, moon-kissed legs as follows:
“Within the disgustin’ realities of an increasingly material, but spiritually impoverished life, brothers and sisters, hardly any of us avoid coming in contact with the contagious diseases of passionate rage, vertigo and severe melancholy, nor can we escape without enduring great heights of injury to the most precious depths of our imaginations. As a remedy and in the name of protection, might I suggest that wherever you go and in whatever you do that you always remember to bring kingdoms? Yes, kingdoms! Lest you end up with more unwanted pain and displeasure or end up giving birth to yet another wailing legacy of untreated despair. You hear? Bring kingdoms. Bring not imperial kingdoms but immaterial kingdoms. Carry them proudly inside your broken heart, be they kingdoms of heaven or kingdoms filled with the red lights of lust transformed beneath the eternal lamps of love. Bring kingdoms of boundless art, immaterial mathematics and science. Bring kingdoms of forgotten paradise, purity and innocence, kingdoms of singing communities choiring in peace. Bring your kingdoms of spiritual secrets, true icons and weathered magnificent, cracked figurines. Bring tiny oppressed island kingdoms, with immense universes of wisdom, fortitude and reverence for ancient, immaterial wealth. Bring kingdoms of roots and herbs, fruits and winged birds. Bring kingdoms of bread, saltfishes, water and wine to feed everyone. Bring kingdoms.”
The Octaroon finished her speech just as the Nighttime Officer introduced his song by impatiently playing a few chords on his stringed instrument, which sounded like the flourish from a bad trumpet. Then, with little to no range in his voice, but a bright universe beaming inside his broken heart, he sang to the gathering crowd:
“Hey sad dumb dumb,
Why not bring your kingdom, come.
Make we bang your drum for fun.
We’ll have coitus first then rum.
The world might never stop getting colder
You may always carry weight upon your shoulder
Wrong may seem right
Right may seem wrong – you ain’t hearing me song –
Listen: when Queen Black Mary asks if I could ever shoot her son
Loud and proud I sing: “I would never kill a king.”
When Sir Larry asks do I, a Nighttime officer, even carry a gun?
I say, “no, Suh! I carry a kingdom.”
If sweetest peace ever seems just a bitter dream, listen, team:
We belong to far greater worlds and paradises
Beyond stars, planets and moon.
Believe me, we’ll travel there soon.
Hey sad dumb dumb,
Why not bring your kingdom, come.
Make we bang your drum for fun.
We’ll have coitus first then rum.
Feel the kingdom nestled there in your big, fine breast
(– Yes, and may I feel it, too? Ho ho, I’m such a mess…)
It’s best to give all that damned complaining a rest
As our struggles will all be over later or sometime soon.
Hey sad, sad one.
It’s always deepest night before light of sun.
Bring your best kingdom.
Give it. Come.”
The Nighttime Officer played the last trumpet-sounding chord on his stringed instrument to great applause. Emboldened, he pulled the smiling Octaroon in for a tender, beef-eating embrace. She slapped the perspiration off him then continued doing as she was divinely called to do.
written and illustrated by
Tiffany Osedra Miller
©2014
The wily Nighttime Officer was about to commence singing a song he’d written called, Technicolor Nocturne Emission, but before he could begin, the Octaroon-missionary who had been tailing him on his patrol, addressed all who stopped to half-listen to her speech and to gaze un-religiously at her long, tanned, moon-kissed legs as follows:
“Within the disgustin’ realities of an increasingly material, but spiritually impoverished life, brothers and sisters, hardly any of us avoid coming in contact with the contagious diseases of passionate rage, vertigo and severe melancholy, nor can we escape without enduring great heights of injury to the most precious depths of our imaginations. As a remedy and in the name of protection, might I suggest that wherever you go and in whatever you do that you always remember to bring kingdoms? Yes, kingdoms! Lest you end up with more unwanted pain and displeasure or end up giving birth to yet another wailing legacy of untreated despair. You hear? Bring kingdoms. Bring not imperial kingdoms but immaterial kingdoms. Carry them proudly inside your broken heart, be they kingdoms of heaven or kingdoms filled with the red lights of lust transformed beneath the eternal lamps of love. Bring kingdoms of boundless art, immaterial mathematics and science. Bring kingdoms of forgotten paradise, purity and innocence, kingdoms of singing communities choiring in peace. Bring your kingdoms of spiritual secrets, true icons and weathered magnificent, cracked figurines. Bring tiny oppressed island kingdoms, with immense universes of wisdom, fortitude and reverence for ancient, immaterial wealth. Bring kingdoms of roots and herbs, fruits and winged birds. Bring kingdoms of bread, saltfishes, water and wine to feed everyone. Bring kingdoms.”
The Octaroon finished her speech just as the Nighttime Officer introduced his song by impatiently playing a few chords on his stringed instrument, which sounded like the flourish from a bad trumpet. Then, with little to no range in his voice, but a bright universe beaming inside his broken heart, he sang to the gathering crowd:
“Hey sad dumb dumb,
Why not bring your kingdom, come.
Make we bang your drum for fun.
We’ll have coitus first then rum.
The world might never stop getting colder
You may always carry weight upon your shoulder
Wrong may seem right
Right may seem wrong – you ain’t hearing me song –
Listen: when Queen Black Mary asks if I could ever shoot her son
Loud and proud I sing: “I would never kill a king.”
When Sir Larry asks do I, a Nighttime officer, even carry a gun?
I say, “no, Suh! I carry a kingdom.”
If sweetest peace ever seems just a bitter dream, listen, team:
We belong to far greater worlds and paradises
Beyond stars, planets and moon.
Believe me, we’ll travel there soon.
Hey sad dumb dumb,
Why not bring your kingdom, come.
Make we bang your drum for fun.
We’ll have coitus first then rum.
Feel the kingdom nestled there in your big, fine breast
(– Yes, and may I feel it, too? Ho ho, I’m such a mess…)
It’s best to give all that damned complaining a rest
As our struggles will all be over later or sometime soon.
Hey sad, sad one.
It’s always deepest night before light of sun.
Bring your best kingdom.
Give it. Come.”
The Nighttime Officer played the last trumpet-sounding chord on his stringed instrument to great applause. Emboldened, he pulled the smiling Octaroon in for a tender, beef-eating embrace. She slapped the perspiration off him then continued doing as she was divinely called to do.
Brought to you by:
Tiffany Osedra Miller
Bassa Bassa Arts
Copyright 2014
all rights reserved.
Tiffany Osedra Miller
Bassa Bassa Arts
Copyright 2014
all rights reserved.
10/13/2014
END