Date: Tue, 20 Apr 2004 19:20:09 -0400
Subject: Re: The Tractor of Pain
Status: RO

In alt.religion.kibology, yoof@jwgh.org wrote:

For some years I have prided myself on being one of the world's foremost
experts on that variety of Art known as Crying Clown Art.  Certainly
many have seen and enjoyed the Velvet Art, as some refer to it -- but
how many have traced it to its roots in Medaeval Memphis, or have
familiarized themselves with variants such as the Beaming Hobo, the
Woman Carrying Celery, and the Crying Elvis?  Only I!  And yet
recognition has largely eluded me.

It was with some pleasure, therefore, that I received an invitation from
the reknowned scientest and art connoisseur Dr. K___; he wished me to
come to Bloomington for Carnivale to discuss the Velvet Arts and enjoy
the sights.  I immediately sent him a telegram accepting, and a few
dozen short micromillenia later I found myself being picked up at the
Bloomington airport by Dr. K___'s servant, a tall, silent, mechanical
fellow with what seemed to me to be a sinister tendency to erase
magnetic media if he got too close to them.  (Fortunately, I was
forewarned and had my portable NeXT laptop with built-in optical drive
with me instead of the Amiga that is usually my companion on long
trips.)

When I arrived at Dr. K___'s mansion, he greeted me warmly and made me
feel at home at once, and immediately took me to see his collection of
art.  It was astonishing; never had I seen so much painted velvet
collected in one location at once, unless it was at Buckminster Fuller's
series of public dissertations on the Dewey Decimal System.  (My, what a
voice he had; the memory still brings a tear to my eye.  But I digress.)

I tried with halting words to convey my gratitude to Dr. K___, but he
would hear none of it.  "This?  This is nothing," he said.  "I amassed
this collection as an exercise to test an early version of my aesthetic
classification system.  Certainly I've gone beyond that now."  His voice
rang with sincerity, but I could scarcely believe it -- a theory bigger
than velvet?  Bigger than weeping clowns?  Bigger even than velvet
representations of our Lord himself, suffering for the good of humanity
as he takes the stage to sing 'Love Me Tender'?  I urged him to explain
more, but he put me off.  "Relax.  Make yourself at home.  Go out and
see Bloomington a bit -- although of course I would not recommend
venturing forth during the height of Carnivale.  There will be time
enough to speak of all of this tomorrow."

My mind reeling, I stumbled out onto the streets.  Already revelers had
started to take over, engaging in a ritual I learned went by the name
'Commando Tuesdays'.  After taking a few pictures, I hastily returned to
the mansion to re-order my thoughts, and after eating a light dinner I
fell into a disordered sleep.

On awakening, I found Dr. K___ in his study, which was decorated with
primitive representations of spiky fruit.  "Ah, I'm glad to see you are
awake, Doctor," he said.  "Perhaps now is as good as any to describe my
theory."

"I'm all ears," I responded.  He looked at me oddly, but went on:

"As you are aware, the classification of Art has been considered
complete for some time.  You have your Velvet Art at the pinnacle of
course, with the obvious subcategories, and then there are Landscape
Paintings, Abstract Sculptures, Naughty Postcards, and so on.  Each
category on a different medium, each with a different set of subjects,
and each with the excitation of a certain emotion as its goal."

I nodded and replied, "Certainly.  For instance, the representation of a
sad clown is supposed to evoke a specific variety of melancholy, whereas
a velvet painting of some dogs playing poker evokes merriment."

Dr. K___ smiled.  "Of course.  However, it occurred to me that this
system had some gaps.  For instance, what if somebody made a painting of
a sad-looking puppy, but used a canvas instead of the velvet you are
familiar with?  What effect would that have?"

My mind reeled.  Such a combination seemed grotesque and unimaginable,
and I said as much.  The good doctor continued:

"Yes, such was my reaction at first, and yet I have done this very
thing!  And I have done more than that!  But I have some tasks to tend
to, and I see that you would like to do some thinking on this subject.
Pardon me, and if you have any desires, please say the word to my
servant and it shall do its best to comply with your wishes."  And with
this he walked out of the room, a superior look on his face.

I paced the room anxiously.  Could he be serious?  A puppy on canvas?
Could such a thing be?

Abruptly I decided I must leave this madhouse.  Without even pausing to
get my top-hat, I strode towards the front door.  As I made for it,
however, the doctor's mechanical servant smoothly interposed itself
between me and the egress.  "APOLOGIES, SIR, BUT CARNIVALE IS IN FULL
SWING.  THE MASTER HAS ASKED ME TO PREVENT YOUR DEPARTURE UNTIL THE
WORST OF THE EXCESSES ARE OVER -- YOU COULD WELL BE TORN TO SHREDS BY
THE BACCHANALIAN HORDES OF CO-EDS GONE WILD."

Disappointment crept over me, but I supposed I could at least try to
learn more about my prison if I couldn't escape it.  "Do you know of
your master's projects?  What can you tell me?  What is he trying to
accomplish?"

"MASTER NOTES THAT EXISTING ART FORM IS DESIGNED TO STIMULATE A
PARTICULAR RESPONSE.  MASTER SPECULATES THAT ANALYZING EXISTING DATA
WOULD ALLOW HERETOFORE UNEXPLORED REACTIONS TO BE EVOKED THROUGH
COMBINATIONS OF EXISTING THEMES AND MEDIA.  EXPERIMENTS ARE GOING
SATISFACTORILY."

I digested this.  Could it be possible?  Could a poster be designed,
perhaps one with a cat hanging precariously from a branch with the
legend 'Hang in there!', which if displayed in schools would eliminate
the problem of drop-outs?  The possibilities seemed limitless!  Finally,
I asked:

"Can you show me some of the the completed projects?"

The servant did not respond but began to whirr away, and after a
moment's reflection I decided I was to follow it.  At last we reached a
hallway with a series of alcoves concealed by curtains.

I flipped open the first one, showing a black silouette of a seated nude
woman.  Instead of this icon appearing on a rubber truck mudflap,
however, it had been intricately painted on the exterior of a Fabrige
egg.  I looked at it, bemused, but noticed no other reaction.  Finally I
asked the servant, "What reaction is this supposed to evoke?"

"BEMUSEMENT," replied the servant.  I nodded, and moved on to the second
alcove.

This contained a beautiful oil painting.  The subject matter was the
whorls and logos more typically found on the cellophane wrapping of a
package of Hostess Sno-balls.  I studied this for a short while, and was
embarassed to note an unaccountable physical reaction in myself which I
will not describe, as ladies may some day read this account.

"THAT ONE IS SUPPOSED TO MAKE YOU HOR--" the servant began.  "Yes, yes,"
I interrupted.

I had to admit to myself that the doctor's theories appear to be
completely correct.  Moreover, my experiences so far had been unexpected
but not really unpleasant.  Emboldened by these reflections, I twitched
aside the next set of curtains.

Here, an anatomical diagram was replicated in needlepoint on fine silk.
What could this possibly accomplish?  Were the doctor and his servant
trying to make a fool of me?  I glanced at the robot suspiciously.

"THIS ONE'S PARANOIA," it explained.  As if I could be taken in by so
transparent a ploy!  I let the curtain fall back in place and started
towards the last alcove.  With a contemptuous sweep of my arm I cast the
curtains aside and stared upon:

A motorcycle.

And on the motorcycle's shiny frame was printed Hello Kitty.  Over and
over and over.

I screamed and screamed as the agony filled every particle of my body.
I continued to scream as I perceived, as through a veil, Doctor K___
hurrying toward me, a worried look on his face.  As the needle drove
home, I scremed still.  And then, merciful blackness.

I am almost fully recovered these days.  I only rarely wake up
screaming, and I'm told that someday soon I may once again be able to
don pants without crying.

But still, I do not care for this "modern" art.

-jwgh

-- 
"Kibo/DeLaney 2004: More sex with pans. For the children!"
   -- Steve Christensen on alt.religion.kibology 12 March 2004