and the Devil himself...

and the Devil himself...

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

From Belly to Back, a Naughty, Nasty Tale From the Middle Ages, (Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles)


From Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles: 

STORY THE EIGHTEENTH — FROM BELLY TO BACK. 18

By Monseigneur De La Roche.

Of a gentleman of Burgundy who paid a chambermaid ten crowns to sleep with her, but before he left her room, had his ten crowns back, and made her carry him on her shoulders through the host's chamber. And in passing by the said chamber he let wind so loudly that all was known, as you will hear in the story which follows.
A gentleman of Burgundy went on some business to Paris, and lodged at a good inn, for it was his custom always to seek out the best lodgings. He knew a thing or two, and he noticed that the chambermaid did not look a sort of woman who was afraid of a man. So, without much ado, or making two bites at a cherry, he asked if he could sleep with her?
But she set her back up at once. "How dare you make such a proposal to me," she said. "I would have you to know that I am not one of those girls who bring scandal upon the houses in which they live." And in short, for all he could say she refused to have anything to do with him "for any money."
The gentleman who knew well what all these protestations were worth, said to her;
"My dear, if fitting time and place were given me, I would tell you something you would be glad to learn; but as, perhaps, it might hurt your reputation if you were seen conversing with me, talk to my valet, and he will arrange matters on my behalf."
"I have nothing to say either to him or to you," she replied, and with that she walked away, and the gentleman called his valet, who was a clever rogue, and ordered him to follow her and win her over at any cost.
The valet, who was well trained, promised that he would perform his task, and, as soon as he found her, set to work to employ honied phrases, and if she had not been of Paris, and not the least cunning of the women of that city, his soft speeches and the promises he made on behalf of his master, would soon have gained her heart.
But as it was, after much talk between them, she cut matters short by saying;
"I know well what your master wants, but he shall not touch me unless I have ten crowns."
The servant reported this to his master, who was not so generous, or at least not in such a case, as to give ten crowns to enjoy a kitchen wench.
"Be that as it may," replied the valet, "she will not budge from that; and even then you must use precautions in going to her chamber, for you must pass through that of the host. What do you intend to do?"
"By my oath!" said his master, "I regret sorely having to pay ten crowns, but I am so smitten with the wench that I cannot give her up. To the devil with avarice! she shall have the money."
"Shall I tell her then you will give her the money?"
"Yes, in the devil's name! Yes!"
The valet found the girl, and told her she should have the money, and perhaps something more.
"Very good," she replied.
To cut matters short, a time was arranged for the gentleman to come to her, but, before she would show him the way to her room, she insisted on the ten crowns being paid down.
The Burgundian was not over-pleased, and as he was on the way to her chamber, it struck him that he was paying dearly for his amusement, and he resolved that he would play her a trick.
He stole into her room so quietly that neither the host nor his wife awaked. There he undressed, and said to himself that he would at least have his money's worth. He did marvels, and got as good as he sent.
What with jesting and other matters, the hours passed quickly, and dawn was near. He was then more willing to sleep than to do anything else, but the fair chambermaid said to him;
"Sir, I have heard and seen so much of your nobleness, honour, and courtesy that I have consented to allow you to take that which I hold dearest in all the world. I now beg and request of you that you will at once dress and hasten away, for it is now day, and if by chance my master or mistress should come here, as is often their custom in the morning, and should find you here, I should be dishonoured, nor would it do you any good."
"I care not," quoth he, "what good or evil may happen, but here I will remain, and sleep at my ease and leisure before I leave. I am entitled to that for my money. Do you think you have so easily earned my ten crowns? You took them quickly enough. By St. George! I have no fear; but I will stay here and you shall bear me company, if you please."
"Oh, sir," she replied, "by my soul I cannot do this. You must leave. It will be full day directly, and if you are found here what will become of me? I would rather die than that should happen; and if you do not make haste I much fear some one will come."
"Let them come," said the gentleman. "I care not, but, I tell you plainly, that until you give me back my ten crowns, I will not leave here, happen what may."
"Your ten crowns?" she answered. "Are you a man of that sort, and so devoid of any courtesy or grace as to take back from me in that fashion, that which you have given? By my faith that is not the way to prove yourself a gentleman."
"Whatever I am," said he, "I will not leave here, or shall you either, until you have given me back my ten crowns; you gained them too easily."
"May God help me," she replied, "though you speak thus I do not believe you would be so ungrateful, after the pleasure I have given you, or so discorteous, as not to aid me to preserve my honour, and therefore I beg of you to grant my request, and leave here."
The gentleman said that he would do nothing of the sort, and in the end the poor girl was forced—though God knows with what regret—to hand-over the ten crowns in order to make him go. When the money had returned to the hand that gave it, the girl was very angry, but the man was in great glee.
"Now," said the girl, angrily, "that you have thus tricked and deceived me, at least make haste. Let it suffice that you have made a fool of me, and do not by delay bring dishonour upon me by being seen here."
"I have nothing to do with your honour," said he. "Keep it as much as like, but you brought me here and you must take me back to the place from whence I came, for I do not intend to have the double trouble of coming and returning."
The chambermaid, seeing that she only made him more obstinate, and that day was breaking fast, took the gentleman on her back, and though sick at heart with fear and anger, began to carry him. And as she was picking her way carefully and noiselessly, this courteous gentleman, who after having ridden on her belly was now riding on her back, broke wind so loudly that the host awoke, and called out in his fright;
"Who is there?"
"It is your chambermaid," said the gentleman, "who is taking me back to the place from whence she brought me."
At these words the poor girl's heart and strength failed her. She could no longer bear her unpleasant burden, and she fell on the floor and rolled one way, whilst the squire went rolling the other.
The host, who knew what was the matter, spoke sharply to the girl, who soon afterwards left his house; and the gentleman returned to Burgundy, where he often gleefully related to his gallant companions the above written adventure.

Monday, May 30, 2011

Franz Kafka, Diary Entry - June 21, 1913

The Revolution Will Not be Televised by Gil Scott Heron





“
The Revolution Will Not Be Televised
You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and skip,
Skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by the
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.
There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8:32
or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.
Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.
There will be no highlights on the eleven o’clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be right back after a message
bbout a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver’s seat.
The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.

More about Gil Scott Heron

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Top 10 Twitter Bio's and 6 More



1.  Bruce Sterling 

one of the better-known Bruce Sterlings

2.  blakeley
I was born to rock but then I evolved.

3.  Tim Kern
An unwilling pawn in the game of life.

4.  Darenzia
Illusory Frenetic Cunning Sophomoric I toe the line b/w smug intellectualism & tedious self-deprecation w/a dash of hypocrisy. Sarcasm is paramount! Also, tits!

5.  Rachel Maddow MSNBC 
I see political people...

6.  Michael Malice
I write book

7.  Prince Poppycock
Baroque and Roll!

8.  Samantha
Fleetingly clever.

9.  Elizabeth Spiers
This user does not exist.

10.  Sean Bonner
Misanthropologist

11.  7Deadly Group
We have good ideas on how to sell bad ones.

12.  coy_ish 
Pardon me while I burst into flames

13.  jake sinclair
I feel a lot more like I do now than i did when I first got here.

14.  Roy Gallagher
I can levitate birds. but no one seems to cares.

15.  Michael Burckley
i think...i shouldn't but i do

16.  Seneca_Blues
It's not you. I hate everyone.

Follow me on Twitter http://www.twitter.com/lonesomeliz 

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Writer Gala Darling has a marvelous idea - Things I Love Thursday


"The more we focus on the fabulous, the more of it we get." - G.D.

Here is hers for this week: Gala Darling's Marvelous Blog

My list of things that I love this week:

* Starting a dream journal. I've practiced lucid dreaming off and on over the years, sometimes meaning to, sometimes not. I've decided to return to it and step one is keeping a dream journal. It's been fascinating! Top ten images from my dreams this week: at The Conjure Woman's Corner

* The bike a friend loaned me! Now if I can just get on the bike, lol.

* Exploring Evergreen Cemetery - overgrown with wild roses, honeysuckle and berries, it's like walking through a forgotten world.

* Not finding ANY tics after exploring Evergreen Cemetery.

More things I love this Thursday...

Moroccan oil * indigo nailpolish overlaid with sparkles * cupcakes * pink heels and polka dots from Julie * X-Files re-runs * sun tea * flowers blooming * learning Trapeze Swinger' * afternoon thunderstorms * dancing around the kitchen to Dr. John * video chats with Charlie * seeing friends I haven't seen in far too long * music and tarot feedback from friends and fans * my guitar * learning 'Sunshine in a Bag' * drawing * e-mails from amazing people * braids * hoop earings * Tweepi, it revolutionized my Twitter page in a night * finding my evil eye pendant, again * funky t-shirts * getting other people's perspective * my brother Russ * Scarlatti's Kara Clark photos * Beth Hommel's Molly Crabapple photos * Beth Hommel's Lonesome Liz & Katelan Foisy photos * chats with Katelan Foisy and Sylvia Payne *

" There are always flowers for those who want to see them." - Henri Mattise  

Monday, May 16, 2011

GratefulWeb's Best of the Web, 15 of Our Favorite Websites

Vintage Fortune Teller Sign


1. GratefulWeb.com

2. Official Grateful Dead Website

3. Project Guttenberg near infinite archive of books on-line.

4. WikiLeaks

5. FoodSpotting

6. Paint to music at Labuat

7. The Subsurvient Chicken

8.  Caught Dead In That cool tombstones from around the world.

9. Zombo.com

10. Virtual Pianno

11. Talk to the Cleverbot AI online.

12. Eccentric America

13. World's Most Unusual Restaurants

14. Do Nothing for 2 Minutes

15. Mythical Plants and More at GoodeCookery


Amazing Silent Film - Louise Brooks in Pandoras Box

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Editor's Top Ten Blog Posts

Bellocq, Storyville

1. Don't Make a Drug Shop of Your Body from The American Medical Journal, 1878


2. Last Thoughts on Woody Guthrie by Bob Dylan

3. The Best of Eric Hahn's Five Things

4. More Best of Eric Hahn's Five Things

5. My interview with Don Miguel Ruiz

6. Weird Country Songs and Other Oddities

7. Quotes in the Spirit of James Dean

8. How to Make Hex Signs

9. How to Tell Fortunes With Dice

10. Vanished New Orleans, Bellocq's Storyville

GratefulWeb's Top Ten Blog Posts

The Lonesome Liz Page

GratefulWeb's Top 10 Blog Posts

Ralph Stedman, Kentucky Derby


1. Big Nose kate on Johnny Ringo

2. The Life and Music of Townes Van zand

3. Psychobilly Outlaws

4. The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved by Hunter S. Thompson

5. Big Nose Kate, Doc Holiday's True Love

6. Window to the Wild West, The Shooting of  Curly Bill

7. Old West Outlaws, Hoodoo Brown

8. Southern Gothic Perception Goes North, Lonesome Liz in the Big Apple

9. Lonesome Liz and Kara Clark's Top Ten Things an Outlaw Will Always Have

10. Lonesome Liz and Kara Clark's Top Ten Things an Outlaw Will Never Have

Editor's Top Ten Blog Posts

Friday, May 13, 2011

Friday 13th Midnight Movie, Rosemary's Baby



Links to more scary movies:

The Changeling

The Haunting

More in this blog: The Jar, Alfred Hitchcock Presents

Three Poems by Jack Kerouac

Jack Kerouac

Haiku (Birds singing)

Birds singing
in the dark
—Rainy dawn.

Haiku (The low yellow)

The low yellow
moon above the
Quiet lamplit house

241st Chorus

And how sweet a story it is
When you hear Charley Parker
tell it,
Either on records or at sessions,
Or at offical bits in clubs,
Shots in the arm for the wallet,
Gleefully he Whistled the
perfect
horn
Anyhow, made no difference.

Charley Parker, forgive me-
Forgive me for not answering your eyes-
For not having made in indication
Of that which you can devise-
Charley Parker, pray for me-
Pray for me and everybody
In the Nirvanas of your brain
Where you hide, indulgent and huge,
No longer Charley Parker
But the secret unsayable name
That carries with it merit
Not to be measured from here
To up, down, east, or west-
-Charley Parker, lay the bane,
off me, and every body 



More poetry by Jack Kerouac

Did You Know William S. Burroughs Wrote Poetry?

William S. Burroughs

William S. Burroughs

Cold Lost Marbles

my ice skates on a wall
lustre of stumps washes his lavander horizon
he’s got a handsome face of a lousy kid
rooming-houses dirty fingers
whistled in the shadow
“Wait for me at the detour.”
river… snow… some one vague faded in a mirror
filigree of trade winds
clouds white as lace circling the pepper trees
the film is finished
memory died when their photos weather-worn points of
polluted water under the trees in the mist shadow of
boys by the daybreak in the peony fields cold lost
marbles in the room carnations three ampoules of
morphine little blue-eyes-twilight grins between his
legs yellow fingers blue stars erect boys of sleep
have frozen dreams for I am a teenager pass it on
flesh and bones withheld too long yes sir oui oui
Crapps’ last map… lake… a canoe… rose tornado in
the harvest brass echo tropical jeers from Panama
City night fences dead fingers you are in your own body
around and maybe a boy skin spreads to something
else on Long Island the dogs are quiet.