Pop Cult Mind Wax - Old Age, Memory, Penile Mutiny
Published July 22, 2006
No doubt Gerry and The Minister've seen manys a hoo-hah or, who knows, maybe even a rogue willy in their time, manys a fine filth they've spun from the threads o' loves altogether far too intense for to be totally numbed by the chippin' and choppin' o' senility.
Probably they remember very little most o' the time, except when the brains get all Goddard with the narrative and start flinging the C and D in the middle of the X Y Z unfolding here and now. There and then they raise the eyes t'wards the ceiling and they call on Margaret or Susan or Michael or Phil, they call and then a nurse says all about how "You ok there, pet?" and they'll pause afore nodding the head and sighing. They're ok.
Few hours afore yon filth-limb debacle, myself and Beautiful Ms Gillian were watching The Notebook, being in the mood for a soppy ol' gangle might get the soul all a-quiverin' and the eyes all a-splurgin'.
The Notebook, what it concerns is a fella attempting for to remind his wife of the love done dangled from every breath they tasted since first they met in the heady days of Period Dress and Classic Pop sometimes around the 1950's. She being in the fiercest throes o' Alzheimer's, y'unnerstann, she has none much of a clue that the tale being related to her by this lovely fella shares breakfast and dinner and mood-stabilizers with her every day, it's none but their own tale, an attempt on his part to reverse the irreversible, take the fire-extinguisher back out the crushed head-mess o' fate and see her eyes all flashin' with recognition again.
The Notebook, it's a masterful piece o' work, and an altogether cripplin' number also.
Fittingly enough, the flick we'd watched afore Nick Cassavetes' beautiful adaptation o' the book I watched a girl read on a train one day, afore that particular article got set for tuggin' at the eyeball spray-pipes, the flick we'd watched hitherto, y'unnerstann, it was a similarly themed affair also concerning the love lost to memory's fickle whimsy and the attempting for to undo the un-undoable.
Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, aye, being my very favorite flick of 2004, being also the finest flick e'er framed about Kirsten Dunst gets stoned and half-naked with a fella looks like a Futurehead but is, in fact, the lad played Steve Flanders in Brian Yuzna's molar-molesting 1996 grue-fest The Dentist.
Myself and Beautiful Ms Gillian, we'd let these four-odd hours of psychosomatic relationship drama rise and fall and flail and flutter in the airways round about the living room. We'd see Jim Carrey in the grip o' a sore insufferable agony racing hither and thither around the mind-wax that he might rescue some tiny portion or other of a beautiful, paradisiacal, pulsing love from being chomped rotten off of the head-screens by the fangs o' a vicious, hasty revenge.
"Would you get it done?" Beautiful Ms Gillian's asking me, after we'd considered whether or not Noah Calhoun woulda been better off putting the notebook down and going for to see what Lacuna Inc. can do about ridding the whole relationship off his brain-plains. Is it better to have thon memories gnawing his shoulders black every time he lays an eye or, god forbid, a hand on his wife, or to have the lot sucked out the eardrums that he might live in blissful ignorance for however long he has left?
- Pop Cult Mind Wax - Old Age, Memory, Penile Mutiny
- Published: July 22, 2006
- Type: Opinion
- Section: Culture
- Filed Under: Culture: Family and Relationships, Culture: Personal History, Music: Country and Americana, Video: Romantic
- 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
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Comments
Gerry and The Minister'I keep thinking..."Jerry (or Gerry) and the Pacemakers"
I think Gerry and the Minister is a right proper title of something. Mark my words Duke! You'll be wanting to use this for something!
Now, to the actual writing.
You do not disapoint dear Duke.
thank you folks! this is a touch longer than i'd expected it to be, but there you go. still, i think i don't dislike it. (i've never heard THOSE words uttered, alas. that'd make for a fine Mind Wax in itself)
mary - i kept thinkin of gerry and the pacemakers too! i was gonna go back and change all the Gerry to Jerry, just to see if it might ease that somewhat. but then, havin Gerry And The Pacemakers flutter front the eyes every so often isn't at all bad.
thanks again, folks.
HA! well i hope you wiped up... and thank you, Sir Brewster!
Excellent stuff! I think you're right, keep the bad memories, for they make the good experiences all the better by way of contrast.
You are insane. hahaha. Now I'll think of you every time I stare at my gangling, flaccid manhood :(
Festive Dave! Saint's preserve us. wonderful to see you here, and i think it's only fair you should think of me in those circumstances, since i surely think of you every time the tweeds shuffle.
and sir fleming, thank you, and apologies for missing your comment. how in hells name did that happen?
I fear you have become a caricature of your own overstressed rhetoric, which delights itself in saying very little at all. All in all a fine display of vocal masturbation spun with the integrity of a child molestor's charm. The cretins will think this a harsh review. Well I say it's not in so much as it lacks detail, but thank fuck, finally someone tells a man what must be said! Indeed that's what I say on the matter and I say no more.
p.s. I'm pathetic in so much as ill be back. Perhaps even with a tale of my own.
Sir Rodney Dinkle, you, sir, have voiced what i myself have been thinking for much of the past whiles. and hurrah that you've given such thoughts such marvellous words to play with. thank you, but i dunno that i delight in sayin very little at all. i try of times to say something. it's with none much delight whatsoever that i find an altogether savage emptiness remaining therein of occasion.
surely you couldn't have said it at a better time! thanks, man.
I must retract my bitter scorn, for I meant no malice and I suspect I have portrayed much. I truly do admire your work and dedication; it is a triumph I lack considerably. A shit day makes me project my own self-loathing onto undeserving others. My review has credit in so much as it reflects the truly shameful nature of its author, nothing more. Forgive me, and do keep writing, your work is clearly a deserving joy to many.
I suggest you, tighthen up your expression, condense your images and refine your narrative into a more fluent and digestable form. At time your articles can be more exhausting to read rather than enjoyable, which is a shame because they harness huge potential. I insist you keep the lyrical tone that pervades your work, but try not to let it, distract away from the precision of the point or emotion your trying to convey - it's a simple matter of subtlelty more than anything. And most importantly use your often brilliant metaphors more sparingly, build up to them with suspense and excitement, so they suprise the reader with original perspective, as opposed to being exhaustively distracting in nearly every sentence. All this will inevitably, i think, make you writing more striking and memorable to the reader as opposed to making them feel with a current of rhetoric compossed, aye, i say of o's and ar's not dissimilar, or very much alike of those, perhaps cast by many, or if not many then one, squibbling sailor upon the spendiforous retreat of unspoilt and afreshly discovered ancient shores, Alas! Or if you will - overwhelmed!


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 







You truly wield a mean 'postrophe,Duke, but I'll never quite think of the mantlepiece in quite the same way again.
Another great read--Thanks.