dead ones

Dr. Zork here, present and counted for. I am here for one and one reason only. I am not here to sing to you a new jazz critique of the jazz music of yore. I am here for the reason of relaying to you the latest breathless accounts of the animation work of one J. Akre, a fictional animator, at work on his latest and fatest production, an animated feature film called Wargoon Flishe.

Yesterday he twisted out some work before and after his paid job schedule. Just a little bit of work. And then he left his computer to render out the goodies over the night so that this morning he could check his work and edit it into place.

His latest animation scene deals with the death of a character. The father figure, the big Boom of the company, dies at spear point. There is red in his palette. There is a spear, golden of tip. There is sadness, perhaps, but death is always upon us. It strikes the mighty, it strikes the lame. It comes with good measure and it comes insane.

Death in animation is the lack of movement. It is the sameness frame by frame. It is the breath of imagination leaving the outlines, thick and thin. It is the narrator telling us so. It is the X in place of eyes.

There are the spots of red that foretell death. There is the spear that makes death. There is death all around us, but that is what makes and nourishes life. There is eating and there is dying. There is the rolling circle world.

Enough of that animation talk. Now it is time for the Pome.

fiddle faddle
the earthquakes rattle
the movie stars look very nice
rizzle razzle rice

bimming borming
the cars are global warming
the people are denying
sizzle sighing

humming hinging
the power plants are singing
and people blame politicians
malediction milly molediction

ridness radness
who forgot the madness
the world within us rolling
spilling spalling spolling

Written in sincerity and with fingers,
Dr. Huber Zork