Text artistically pilfered from Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace 
Edited, read and soundscaped by Dr ML Godin
Music seized  out of  Arthur H's cover of Jacques Brel's "Sur la Place"


Here find the super helpful David Foster Wallace Wiki on the Madame P pages:
http://www.wallacewiki.com/david-foster-wallace/index.php?title=Pages_181-198


Madame Psychosis On Air

Excerpted from his speech in The Symposium by Plato
Adapted from the  Penguin Classics translation by Christopher Gill

The soundscape by Dr ML Godin was originally created for Against Yourself, a wild short film by David Lowe & Caroline Kasnakian:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gbaPIAGLq-E


Aristophanes explains The Origin of human longing

Dr ML Godin (pronounced like sculptor Rodin or, if you are afraid of the French nasals, you can call me Leona!)

Haunted is inspired by the clash and clatter of benevolent voices!

Haunted


Words by Henry Miller (Tropic of Capricorn, 1938) 
& Dr ML Godin (From Homer to ME, 2014)
Soundscape by Dr ML Godin
Music pilfered from "Attention" a song by Christina B - you can check out her current awesome band Starlight Girls here on SoundCloud or at: http://starlightgirls.net/


Henry Miller on Cunts & A Woman's Reply

This is the one year anniversary rewrite/remix.
Words by Dr ML Godin & EA Poe
Soundscape by Dr ML Godin 
Music from alabaster rhumb's incredible "room with a view"

The Bat: loss, madness, blindness and super hero dreams

I sing of arms and of a woman,
Of armor new my shell, 
Of beatings and a man,
Under covers, we yell:
Look! I'm blinded by the light!
Right. What?! are you listening to me? 
Deaf too and mute? 
Nice. You unfeeling--
No Touching! Feel Me! No Touching!

I'm Not taking on any more blame from you
Not going blind or even lame for you
No more playing Helen for you 
Not just another pretty face 
Launching--
A thousand shits,  
The Great Schism, a whole fleet of feces.
Oh my god!
What god.  No Gods here
Satan then? Satan Really? 
How cliché.
How many heads on this beast?
Are we the whore of Babylon?
Have you no sense of decorum?
We are not discoursing thus.
You beast, you brute, you barbarian!

Goddamn this endless stream of conscious, antagonistic, agoraphobic, 
Paranoid, paraplegic, verbal vertigo! 
Stop hen-pecking my liver.

You've strung me up with all those bitches!
Horny handmaids hanging there, like doves--
More like ravens. Some birds of prey.

This sparring speak is oppressive.
This mindless mouthing eats my heart out.
This war between us is epic.
Debilitating. Deliberate?
Why? It is not desirable.
Not a homecoming or a win,
Not even a funeral pyre of possessions,
Of yours, of mine, of our determinate history.

Armoring now, slow & hard
A chimerical force with fleshy innards.
A Great Bird of Prayer:
Oh God--
Which God? 
Please, guard the guts, 
Keep them soft
Let not the soul matter calcify
Let not these eyes turn to stone
Listen! and you will hear--
What, a trumpeting of last days?
No, my retreat into darkness.

---

Words & Soundscape by Dr ML Godin
Trumpets pilfered from Mark Fullmer's "Kyrie" 


The Tortoisebyrd (A Scatological Eschatology)

I write to you, Stravinsky
 Because he for whom you are named 
Is nowhere to be found.
You sit on my desk next to keepsakes
From his short life 
And are easy to take care of
Therefore  easy to love.

Let me tell you how you came to occupy
This tiny exalted place...

Three days after I lost him
 I cleaned mindlessly
I brought out the vacuum and went to work
Being blind helps forgetfulness
 Out of sight out of 

BAM CLATTER 

I hit the aluminum dog bowls
 And probably shrieked.
I picked up the two bowls
As if they might bite or squirm
And dropped them into recycling
Then i went and cried in human arms.

In those arms 
Deep within my sobs
I conceived a ritual from nowhere 
A rite of spring.
 
I want to go buy a plant tonight
 I will name it Stravinsky 
Spirit of Igor.
 
I picked out and washed the water bowl.
I  set it on my desk.
Another empty vessel.

At the florist i asked for a plant 
That was easy to take care of
The woman named  one
And I asked if it was viney.
She said No 
That one stood straight up like a tree
A popular plant
Recommended by some celebrity doctor
For its air purification properties.

I was not interested in pure air.
I wanted prehistoric leafy tendrils
Of encroaching flourishing
With minimal fuss.

Like all dark relationships 
Ours Stravinsky is complicated.

I might have hated plant life
Since green grass tempted him
And led him to swallow the neon vine

That stuck in his stomach and led to the surgery
That sliced  the tiny incision
That led to the microscopic sepsis
That led to the systemic failure
That led to the pneumonia
That gave final cause for his
Being Nowhere to be found

But i do not believe in fate 
Or in the culpability of nature
Any more than i believe you to be 
A fit substitute receptacle
 For my i love you's.

Even so i love you Stravinsky.
 In his bowl I keep you healthy and happy.
 It is easy to water you every ten days.
 Gratifying to have your reachy growth
 On this simple expanse of desk.
Still if you do not outlive me
I doubt i will cry at all.

-----

Words & Soundscape by Dr ML Godin

Please consider a donation to the Frank Lloyd Guide Dog Fund at the Animal Medical Center in NYC in honor of Igor GuideDog, who passed away suddenly on September 13, 2013.
Every little bit counts! Please follow this link to donate:
http://www.amcny.kintera.org/igorandmillennium/

 And, as always, thanks for listening!


To Stravinsky

Words & Soundscape by ML Godin
Inspired by my boyfriend Freddie Nietzsche

A pain named dog

i have given a name to my pain and call it dog
i can tell it  to sit, lay down, roll over play dead
 ,  i scold it and shame it and pretend it's my bitch! 
and though it  worries my carcass and growls and spits
It gives me a leg up on profundity. 

i have given a name to my beauty and call  it snake
i hold it in my hand, delicate as flowers,   ferocious as fangs
 i tell it: pulse danger! swallow blind mice!"
and though  its little murders do not ripple the still-watered universe,
  it's all about ego, feeling  groovy..

i have given a name to my fury and call it cockroach
i fatten it with booze and candy; it waxes petty and cruel 
i chase it to squash it, curse its very existence
And  though it incites war in the bowels of men,
it keeps those guys  in check.
  
i have given a name to my disease   and called it devil
sad devil, mean spirited, jealous, and cruel
I shout hazah! with the rest at its silly bravado
why not? so appealing to the masses:
the fiend named devil, the blindness called life.

I have given a name to my sadness  and call it god
i tell it: you are dead. long live you?
i command, "Sit! Stay! Roll over - at least fucking play dead!"
And it  is just as obtrusive, entertaining and shameless as any other god
thankfully  there are others.


A Pain Named Dog

Words & Soundscape by ML Godin

The Tortoisebyrd:
A Scatological Eschatology 

I sing of arms and of a woman,
Of armor new my shell, 
Of beatings and a man,
Under covers, we yell:

Look! I'm blinded by the light!
Right, the blind card again?!
What?! are you listening to me? Deaf too and mute? 
Nice. You unfeeling--
No Touching! Feel Me! No Touching!

I'm Not taking on any more blame from you
Not going blind or even lame for you
No more playing Helen for you 
Not just another pretty face 
Launching--
A thousand shits,  
The Great Schism, a whole fleet of feces.
Thanks. Oh my god!
What god.  No Gods here
Satan then? Really? How cliché.

How many heads on this beast?
Are we the whore of Babylon?
Have you no sense of decorum?
We are not discoursing thus.
You beast, you brute, you barbarian!

Goddamn this endless stream 
Of conscious, antagonistic, agoraphobic, 
Paranoid, paraplegic, verbal vertigo 
Stop hen-pecking my liver!

You've strung me up with all those bitches!
Horny handmaids hanging there
Like doves--
More like ravens
Some birds of prey

This sparring speak is oppressive.
This mindless mouthing eats my heart out.
This war between us is epic.
Debilitating. 
Deliberate?
Why? It is not desirable.
Not a homecoming or a win--
Not even a funeral pyre of possessions,
Of yours, of mine, of our determinate history.

Armoring now, slow & hard
A chimerical force with fleshy innards.
A Great Bird of Prayer:
Oh God--
Which God? 

Please, 
Guard the guts. Keep them soft
Let not the soul matter calcify
Let not these eyes turn to stone
Listen! and you will hear--

What? a trumpeting of last days?
No, my retreat into darkness.


The Tortoisebyrd: A Scatological Eschatology

"The Tortoisebyrd", a mini epic, was inspired by my blind brother Homer...

Then thus the prince: "To these shall we afford
A fate so pure as by the martial sword?
To these, the nightly prostitutes to shame,
And base revilers of our house and name?"

Thus speaking, on the circling wall he strung
A ship's tough cable from a column hung;
Near the high top he strain'd it strongly round,
Whence no contending foot could reach the ground.
Their heads above connected in a row,
They beat the air with quivering feet below:
Thus on some tree hung struggling in the snare,,
The doves or thrushes flap their wings in air.
Soon fled the soul impure, and left behind
The empty corse to waver with the wind.

- -The Odyssey of Homer, from Book XXII, translated by Alexander Pope, 1726

Odysseus Hangs The Bitches

Words by ML Godin & EA Poe
Music stolen from "A Room With A View" by Alabaster Rhumb
Soundscape by ML Godin

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over the fate of my career, as a super hero blind?!
While I nodded, nearly napping suddenly there came a flapping
As of someone fucking with me, fucking with me from behind,
‘Tis some evil bastard fucking with me because I’m blind,
Paranoid? Oh, never mind.

Ah, distinctly I remember it was a rather um, hurricaney October
And each separate night of drinking left me half out of my mind,
  Eagerly I wished the morrow, vainly I had sought to borrow
From my booze surcease of sorrow, sorrow for my murdered kind
For the murder of my kind friend, I swear I will avenge though blind,
Beware villain, thou wilt pay in kind.

And each separate news flash breaking, o’er the internet was raping,
My sad mind, binding it  to awful memories, dreadful to remind
Blind or not, I said out loud, I will kill the killer who killed my friend, 
Then I will set out to rid the world of such fiends as I find,
Thus, the agitation which has haunted me will loose its grip upon my mind,
Bloody thoughts I have though blind.

But here’s the rub: how does a fledgling super hero select an outfit without a mirror?
Even one with perfect vision must find costuming for such occasion designed
Without plagiary or hack, difficult in the extreme,
To create a look that strikes terror in the criminal heart and mind,
To create a look that says, “Villain! Your balls I’ll find and grind!”
Well, it just boggles the mind.

Hence, the question of my look, my alter ego, my crime fighting persona, 
Was upper most in my mind when I heard the flapping from behind,
A winged creature I thought with dread, it flew thrice around the room then alighted on my head, 
True, it merely perched and sat upon my head, but how it fucked my mind!
I really wanted to scream, or at least I should have whined, 
But a vigilante I wouldst be, so never mind.

Slowly, tentatively, I reached up to touch the creature, after all it’s human nature,
To be curious about what’s sitting on your head, and fucking with your mind,
‘Twas weird, small and fuzzy, with wings but surely no bird or raven
A bat! I cried with delight. fellow of my own kind!
Make yourself at home up there, your sonar criminals may help me find 
We will be the … dynamic duo blind!

While he chirped, content atop my head, I, below, formulated plans,
Our dark winged aesthetics would surely terrify the world of crime, we the dynamic duo blind!
Would sniff out, I mean echolocate, our foes, and destroy arch villains,
Very powerful and scary we’d be the bat wonder and me entwined! 
But I fear tis a bit silly sitting on my head, perhaps the shoulder would be more refined?
Quoth the bat, “never mind”   

Much I marveled this tongue clicking bat to hear discourse so plainly,
Never mind? I stood repeating, might we not perchance rewind?
“Is shoulder riding an insult, provoking your dismissal?”
Or, sad to contemplate, might the whole notion of the dynamic duo blind
Be somehow demeaning to your chiropteran kind?
“Please explain yourself,” I pined.

I waited and sat, in the hopes for more words from this wondrous bat,
I wanted to hear him agree, to say he was indeed with me inclined,
Then suddenly, holy bat shit! The bat shat! What a rat!
He could have stated politely that our partnership he was not inclined,
But noooo instead he took a dump on my head, “Why?” I whined,
“Never mind” the bat opined.

“You little fucker I would have given you succor!
But now we are forever divided in enmity and, this must be underlined,
You may be my mascot, but you’ll never be my friend!”
I reached up to grab a hold of his little neck, to wind
My fingers round him, to throttle and crush his spine,
Not stopping till death the bat supined!

But my threats echoed vainly and my hand stretched forth lamely
For the bat atop my head I would never more find.
Although he still flits, still sits, still shits in this our dark room,
And although his endless pulses and buzzes are driving me out of my mind,
The dreams I dreamed of fighting crime as the dynamic duo blind,
Are each day squashed anew by his never – “Never mind,”
We are but dust and blind.


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