Pop Cult Mind Wax - New Love Grows On Trees
Published June 20, 2006
"Who the hell was that?" says I, when she leaves us for to go grab a coffee. "I dare say I've never seen such a glorious sight in all my time spent wandering these chambers o' direst pretension."
"T'is Ms Gillian", says Ryan H.
I give an "Oh" reeks of lust all boiling back the filth-switch. "She's ninety-nine colors o' lovely, that lass."
Many's an hour in many's a day since then I've considered acquiring her phone number from friends whom I know to be in possession of such articles. But what, pray tell, would a fella say? Something insufferably stupid about wanking, no doubt, and anyroad, the hell would she be doing with the likes of me? What are the chances that such declarations would be met by anything but a lash o' the tongue carves the night sixty strands o' Go Fuck Yourself Sonny-Jim? None much likely.
Edward D. Wood Jr., he scowls at this. "Oh fuck off back to MySpace with your Poor Me emo bullshit."
I apologize and feel all sortsa ashamed regarding the length of my fringe all a sudden.
"The facts of the case, far as I can see, are that you either tell this woman of your affections and notions, or you don't, and spend the rest of forever writing songs nobody cares about concerning the sway of her hand this way or that." He takes his wig off a moment, gives it a good patting down. "Cigarette ash" he says, by way of explanation.
Replacing the hair-piece he continues thus; "I could've let Bela Lugosi wander on by back in the day. I could've sat in the back room smoking and writing pretentious prose about I wish I hada asked him to be in my picture about I wear women's clothing. Or, maybe I could've held off in case maybe Bela was in possession of some tremendous telekinetic ability or other, and maybe I wouldn't have to do anything, see, because he'd know, certainly, from the time we spent discussing the in's and out's of his work, he'd know exactly what I wanted to say and would answer me accordingly, freeing me from any discomfort or potential embarrassment." He takes a puff on a fresh cigarette. "But the fact is if I hadn't asked, Bela would never have known, he'd have gone off to bounce back and forth o'er those narcotic highways stretching back his brains, we'd have lost contact and, well. Who would've pulled those strings?"
Nobody, is who.
"You're right" I said, eventually. "I could be squandering my own Plan 9."
I woke up in time for to get to doing whatever I was doing a few paragraphs back, hitherto the Edward D Wood Jnr dream.
- Pop Cult Mind Wax - New Love Grows On Trees
- Published: June 20, 2006
- Type: Opinion
- Section: Culture
- Filed Under: Culture: Personal History, Music: Indie Rock, Video: Classics, Video: Horror
- Part of a feature: Pop Cult Mind Wax
- Writer: Duke De Mondo
- Duke De Mondo's BC Writer page
- Duke De Mondo's personal site
- Spread the Word
- Like this article?
- Email this
Save to del.icio.us
Comments
savage drunken arse-melt
I think I had a bit of that at Waffle House once.
Good gawd Duke, that was marvelous. Good luck with the lady and all that too.
Duke, some of your most beautiful and elegant phrasing can be found in the above lines. Great work man... and always grand to see a bit of happiness filter up there into the great Northern Irish lands !
Just wonderful Duke - glad Ms Gillian could read your mind. : )
Tis a wonderful story - Jimmy Stewart should play you in the film adapt. And perhaps Faye Dunaway circa-Network for Gillian.
I've said it before, but congrats on the whole thing!
And D minor rules!
You mention your insomnia so you may like a story I read aloud last nite at the local coffee house.
I asked if they wanted a short story, a really short story or an extremely short story.
They asked for the latter so I gave them this:
woke.
She did not.
I passed out.
She stayed dead.
This was not going to help my insomnia.
The end.
Cute story.
You're a brilliant writer.
I just hope you removed that cigaratte before you kissed her, dont ya know.
At least a dozen pardons for not getting to this until this morning. For a change I have the excuse of having put off reading this until I finished some actual work I was doing (shocking, innit?).
Duke, this combined with the previous volume of Mind Wax is some of your best.
This is so good I'm about to suggest some friends read it.
Dare I ask what a blood pipe is?
Hi folks, thanks for the wondrously kind words! my own thoughts on this particular screed are all sortsa dishevelled at the minute, but i am rather fond of at least 56% of it, so there's always that. the last half coulda been better, though, no doubt about that.
but anyway. yes, thank you, and to scott, that short story was not only extremely short, but marvellous also! i re-read that comment a good couple dozen times. and the blood-pump and blood-pipes malarkey refers to matters of the heart. obviously i couldn't be using words like "h***t". a fella with a mangled yap like mine can hardly get away with anything of the like, unless maybe in a medical setting.
Somewhere, Edward D. Wood Jr. was shaking his head to the tune of "You sneaky bastard."
Pure class. Congrats man, and a fine screed it is too.
Ooohh, I thought the arse comment, the blood pump was speaking of appendages and body parts where sexual things might occur.
I was trying to think of how I'd describe you since I told a few people to come by and read you.
I said "Think Tom Robbins meets James Joyce meets Nick Hornby and they all speak as if they are in Clerks."
Damn you write purty, I dare say worthier than a frosted buffalo's ball-bag. But then, I like to fancy that I understand every fourteenth word you say. May the Mind Wax never Wane--pull those strings!
So what does your new lady friend think of
this piece?
Greg and Gordon, thank you! Scott - thank you no end also for suggesting this to friends! All sortsa lovely, that is. And the lady-friend liked it, i'm pretty sure. She seemed plenty pleased with it all.
Ah dear oh dear, i dont know what i think of your piece of prose - pish or perhaps rather pleasent. It's nice to think of the girl with a overwhelming smile when she reads over your reflections. But i think the vulgar backlash of irresponsibilty and short sightedness on your behalf throws your writing into a pool of romantically imbelished slosh.
Im afraid it seems that in writing of a rather fond memory, the effect of seduction and enchantment can't be found far from the thoughts of your female counterpart. Even f it was never your intention what kind hearted girl wouldnt been tickled by such an unashamedly public declaration of love. But the treacherous torch of love often burns those who get too close - if you see what i mean. So im not trying to be scathing of you piece with these comments but Id like to offer you a bit of practical, perhaps even moral advice to reflect on. Indeed thoughts which have been thrown up by your writing in the very first place.
Is it irresponsible to potentially enhance the pain of a past and parted lover by publically declaring your devotion in such an imaginitevly excessive (some would say poetic) manner?
In essence how would the girl you speak of feel if everything gets fucked and she knows along with the rest of the world how you felt at one time, but do no longer.
Your declarations of love seem to be of the sort a girl suceptable to a dose of melancholy and enthusiasm, will take instantly to the heart. Theres no problem in that im sure many will think. But if the day comes when the two of you split to go your seperate ways, and i must say it would be foolish to think it will not as opposed to can not. Then how will you and the girl feel of these posts declaring how good things were in contrast to what they have become.
My point is this; if you love this girl you would not be so forth right in declaring it with such embellished romantic rhetoric for two reasons. lol sorry thats perhaps the worst and best line ive ever wrote. Anyway
1. If it all goes tits up. Gillian will look back on this and probably decend into a darker pit of despair knowing such sweet words are no longer applicable.
2. And moreover if everyone knows all about it the sting has to be sharper i would have thought. So treasure those intimate thoughts, which will become all the more valuable if private.
Should we Be-careful of the words which talk of love, always considering the much sadder effect such rhetoric, written in the heat of the jovial moment, could wield to the loved one in the days ahead. It's a slippery situation, declare your love in the essence of its spirit, or be cautious of such a spirit because it may be kinder even more loving to keep it subdued. I don't know what is best. Pro and cons of both, but therin lays a moral conundrum to ignore or obey.
All the best, hope all is well between u two.
Mr or Ms T**t (it's fine for you to refer to yourself as such, but i don't know you and so for this reason i'll refrain from anything of the like), your comment was much appreciated, and also thank you no end for takin the time to read the article up yonder.
Your thoughts to large extent chime with my own. There is, perhaps, a great degree of irresponsibility involved in discussing the in's and out's of the day to day in such excessive detail and flinging the lot to the web-net for whoever to see. Even if none saw it but the folks in the text, there is still the chance, as you say, that it could serve as some sort of emotional black-mail type device sometime in the future.
All i can really say in defence is that the day-to-day adventures and foibles are what this series was intended to relate, although obviously with an eye towards exagerration and poetic licence and attempting (and possibly failing) to make the lot highly amusing and what not, and it would be altogether very bizarre if i DIDN'T make mention of such events as those related in this piece.
For my part, what I do is i ask if i can discuss these matters aforehand. My friends and mine lady-friend know very well the depths of my self-obsession and also the need to write at great length about these sorts of things. i don't know that any real harm can come from anything i've scribbled, though, even in a worst-case scenario like that which you've put forward.
my goal with most everything is to wrap the thoughts on the pop culture around the trivialities and occurances of the everyday, for i consider both to be linked to a great degree in anyone's critical take on these things. this kind of screed is probably not a great example of that, on account of sometimes a fella gets caught up in one or the other.
sometimes i maybe say more than is altogether decent, but i DO put these things forward to, for example, Ms Gillian, before i make any of it public.
certainly it would be wrong to assume that EVERYTHING gets put out here or there. Only a tiny tiny fraction of the day to day ever gets mentioned becuase as you say, some things are intimate and mean more to all involved when kept as such.
Some things just lend themselves to fine stories of an evening. Which i suppose is what happened here.
with regards your last comment, i don't know what is best either. but certainly if it seemed anything might cause any sort of hurt to anyone, i wouldn't for a second consider it worthwhile to write. Who knows what happens in the future times? Sometimes though the present is just fillin a fella's head too much for him to be able to write or think about a damn thing else.
thank you again for your comment, and sorry for the somewhat muddled nature of this response.
A jolly good response. I like you more everytime i come back. As for knowing me, i cant think of any reason why u would want to bother, seeing ur having a grand old time. And long may it continue is what is silently say. So strangers it is, best for all concerned. Chit chat is often such a terrible bore.
Am I coming across as a slightly camp-er stephen fry? haha maybe not. But one must dream of possesing such wit and fortune sometimes. CT.


The Duke (Aaron McMullan to his parents and the clergy) is a Northern Irish writer, performer and insomniac currently residing in London. He is the creator of 



Both I and Zombos think you are insane. This just proved it. However, now I know what you get if Joyce, Salinger, and Hemingway slept with the same woman, and in some bizarro world time screw-up, all three's sperm slammed together to conceive at the same time: you would get a Duke De Mondo.
Not saying that's a good thing, but that is what you'ld get.