Serenade in Five Movements or The Privatization of Purgatory

PURGATORY

 Sergey Tyukanov 

Russian artist Sergey Tyukanov works in many mediums creating both large and small-scaled, highly-detailed pieces, bringing back a familiar Western Medieval style of art with contemporary themes and subject matter.  Tyukanov currently resides in both Kaliningrad, Russia and Chicago, Illinois, USA.

Serenade de Schubert

Serenade in Five Movements or The Privatization of Purgatory

I

It’s all a load of crap and you know it. 

Get off your high horse and don’t take

any wooden nickels from the chicken man. 

I made the mistake of doing that once

and ever lived it down. 

The problem started with

those yellow shoelaces,

but I guess you know that.

Still, I should have known better. 

I was warned. 

It’s interesting to wake up and find

the third floor of your house missing. 

I tried to explain this to my doctor once. 

He told me to eat more oat bran. 

I don’t like my neurosis

being shoved under the rug. 

I keep tripping on it. 

You can laugh all you want. 

It won’t change a thing. 

They still pick up the trash

every Tuesday.  It’s amusing.

 Carlos visited yesterday

Brought me some bananas.

I will put some on my oat bran

 and think about Dr. Cyborg.

Eventually

everything will fall together and

I will get back to work on my

volcanic cranium simulator. 

The paper is going well. 

Just a few minor details to reconfigure. 

Do you remember the time we crashed

the party at the Teetzleburgers? 

Ronnie shoved gherkins into his pockets

and you played the piano with you nose. 

What was it? 

Schubert’s Serenede?

“Softly my songs implore
you through the night;
down into the quiet grove,
beloved, come to me!”

II

I wish I had more time to explore all of this 

but Nostradamus is calling via that tingly

thing I invented when I was three years old

and you know what that means. 

Dinner tonight or is it tomorrow night?

I will have to tingle him back to make sure. 

He may be out on his snow mobile

just another  of his many toys

purchased at my expense

with brain droppings he scooped

up when I wasn’t looking. 

If only he wasn’t so negative

we might could probably would

make a go of it.  It has nothing to do

with incest but try telling that to

the naysayers down at the coffee station. 

They’re so hung up on taboos.

They see them everywhere then

hunker down and develop code words

which they finagle into Christmas cards.

Like we’re not supposed to know

those messages the elves

leave on the kitchen table

are more than butter wrappers. 

I don’t trust anyone who says

“Use these to grease you cake pans.”

Nope, I’m not falling for it. 

That’s just the way I am. 

I’ll call Nostradamus later.

After my pedicure. 

Petrified in Pink or Furious in Fuschia? 

Decisions, decisions.

“Slender treetops rustle, murmur
in the moons radiance;
dont fear the hidden listeners’
malice, my dearest.”

III 

Up here on the third floor the wind howls. 

Everyone I talk to says ignore it. 

Sometimes that’s hard to do. 

Just because something is missing

doesn’t mean it isn’t there. 

That’s the first principle of

my Hi Ho Silver theory.

Go ahead.  Laugh. 

But don’t come running to me

when it hits you in the ass. 

Of course if you want to you can,

and please bring some of those

wonderful little exploding cigars. 

The one’s you turned me onto in Mississippi.

Ah, I remember, not always fondly

(except for those times

when I forget the details and

only have to deal with the gist

which never eludes me) 

the air was so sweet after the rain

and that hat you swiped from the judge

while he was screaming in pain from

a self inflicted though unintended

blow from his own gavel,

well that just speaks volumes. 

Oh, yeah.  And, coincidentally,

have you heard the news that

our favorite tropical island has been

invaded by the ghost of Annie Oakley? 

I know it’s hard to believe,

and even harder to accept,

but sharpshooters happen

and one must be vigilant and

prepared to dodge bullets

even in Paradise. 

Cough, expletive, cough. 

“Do you hear the nightingales singing?

Ah, they appeal to you,
with their sweet plaintive tones
they’re pleading for me.”

IV

I purchased a new cerebellum. 

Couldn’t resist when I saw they were

having a buy one get one free sale. 

I know, I know. 

But the price was right and I’m

thinking about giving the other one to Nancy. 

Do you remember Nancy? 

That woman who lives on

a houseboat down at the marina? 

Well, I’m thinking,

maybe a new cerebellum will turn her around. 

She’s a fortune teller but doesn’t have a clue. 

The CIA infiltrated her crystal ball. 

She thinks she’s living the good life on the Ganges. 

The whites of her eyes have turned yellow. 

She’s got an evil rash that defies treatment. 

It’s not a pretty sight.

Last time I saw her she was

shacked up with a military man. 

Jumping when he said jump

and hitting the floor much too often. 

Yeah, she’s got great upper body strength

but what good is that when you’re tied

to the pier selling bait and tackle.

There’s no fish in that river. 

She ought to know that. 

A new cerebellum might cure all her ills. 

Of course, I’ll have to

disguise it as something else. 

Haven’t figured out how to do that yet. 

She’s crazy but she’s not stupid. 

Note to self:

‘contact the support team at Biotech Inc.’

“They understand the hearts yearning,
they know the pain of love,
touch with their silvery tones
every feeling heart.”

V

Okay, back to Junior Jackson. 

He’s in purgatory. 

No date set for release. 

Junior says it’s not such a bad place. 

A hell of a lot better than limbo. 

Whoa. 

Hold on a minute. 

Someone just threw a rock through my window.

Hmmmm.  There’s a note attached. 

Hmmmm.  It’s a ransom note:

‘If you want to get Junior

Jackson out of purgatory

say two million our fathers

followed by

one million hail marys

followed by

five hundred thousand glory bes.’

Signed – SayPay,

a division of Whackanut. 

Hmmmm.  Well,

Junior’s a cool guy and all,

but that’s an awful high price. 

Not that I’d mind paying it you see,

but with the recidivism rate

being what it is, Junior would only

be out for a week or two and then,

wham,

his ass would be back there again. 

And not only that, I have certain principles

I must adhere to, like

never encourage, enable or contribute

to the privatization of purgatory.

And besides,

Junior’s doing okay,

getting three meals a day,

listening to good music,

sleeping on the grass under a nice tree,

writing his memoirs. 

“Let them move you too,
my darling, listen to me!
Trembling, I await you!
Come, dearest, enrapture me.”

by Leo