CHAPTER KAA—THEME 1
“He yelled, he sniffled, he barked; his rrr rolled; his body, his hands vibrated with the rhythm of his words, flabbergasting, hypnotizing his audience.”—Kate Steinitz, Kurt Schwitters: A Portrait from Life
Noon, September 4th, 2010
Dada Invasion of West Haven
West Haven Beach, Connecticut
Psych-med interaction, seizure, ambulance fuck-up.
The first seizure is the most dangerous. Sam will not have a second.
He was twenty-three.
It’s two weeks later.
People look unreal. I’ve started wearing sunglasses.
Rebecca is in Seattle for niece Chani’s wedding. Bailey and I have driven the hour-and-a-half from Holyoke. We’re strolling from the van to the bandstand, where Landino in white gown, Bob Wilson, Pronoblem in grass-covered camo coverall, Steve Lindow, Denis Luzuriaga, and DJ Glove are testing mics and plugging together gear.
Pulling on his leash—Bailey has seen a squirrel.
Landino calls over, “You okay, Andy?”
“I’m fine.”
He comes off the stage and hugs me. “Four months,” he says. “You’ll be okay in four months.”
“I don’t know about it,” I manage.
What a terrible thought, that I should ever get over losing the person I loved more than anyone in the world.
I’m sitting at a picnic table. Bob Wilson joins me, offering, “My friend was twenty-five when he killed himself. Schizophrenia. His mom gave me his guitar.”
I smile. “That’s great she did that.”
Wow, people do not know what to say to me.
The group is warming up onstage, but I can’t do that. I crouch on the ground, blowing trumpet-blasts through my gardenhose. Bailey barks and howls. Landino bends a mic down. I share it with Bailey.
It’s time to start. I climb onto the bandstand, tying Bailey’s leash near my feet.
Performance-poet Stephen Lindow is standing in for Rebecca. A few days ago, we ran through the text. He doesn’t particularly know Ur Sonata, but he’s a great vocal improvisor. Depending on how I hold up, he may find himself carrying the show.
Guitar, synths, and tuba build a bed of sound. I’m glad to be adding a few saxophone notes. Last week, my old roommate Tobias wrote me a Facebook message: “Play a sax solo for Sam.” I will when I can.
I glance at Steve; we lean into our mics.
Slow, forceful, melodic: “Fümms bö wö tää zää Uu, pögiff, kwii Ee; Ooooooooooooooooooo.” We’re off.
We’re swimming.
He’s enjoying this, so—me too: I’m in tune with his enthusiasm. I’m suddenly all Ur Sonata, bouncing familiar dialogic syllables back and forth.
“Fö.”
“Bö.”
“Fö.”
“Bö.”
“Fö.”
“Bö.”
“Fö.”
“Bö.”
“Fö.”
“Bö.”
“Fö.”
Bailey has been growling; now he yips and jumps.
“Böwö.”
“Fümmsbö.”
“Böwö.”
“Fümmsbö.”
“Böwö.”
“Fümmsbö.”
“Böwö.”
“Fümmsbö.”
“Böwö.”
“Fümmsbö.”
“Böwö.”
“Fümmsbö.”
“Böwörö.”
Bailey’s got a pattern: bark twice, wait, bark twice, wait, bark twice. Thrice!
“Fümmsböwö.”
“Böwörö.”
“Fümmsböwö.”
“Böwörö.”
“Fümmsböwö.”
“Böwörö.”
“Fümmsböwö.”
“Böwörö.”
“Fümmsböwö.”
“Böwörö.”
“Fümmsböwö.”
Bailey’s now barking in erratic clusters. On hind legs, he strains his muzzle up—barking, barking.
“Fümmsböwötää.”
“Böwörötää.”
“Fümmsböwötää.”
“Böwörötää.”
“Fümmsböwötää.”
“Böwörötää.”
“Fümmsböwötää.”
Bailey’s now mixing bark-clusters with jumping and howling.
Steve and I have been voicing this as a quarrelsome conversation, but we’ve switched to flirtation.
“BöwörötääzääUu pö.”
“FümmsböwötääzääUu pö.”
“BöwörötääzääUu pö.”
“FümmsböwötääzääUu pö.”
“BöwörötääzääUu pö.”
“FümmsböwötääzääUu pö.”
“BöwörötääzääUu pö.”
“FümmsböwötääzääUu pö.”
Howling, howling, howling, Bailey, firmly seated, howls, howls, howls.
“BöwörötääzääUu pö.”
“FümmsböwötääzääUu pö.”
“BöwörötääzääUu pö.”
“FümmsböwötääzääUu pö.”
Steve and I blame each other for ruining the love, but--we desperately need to make up.
“FümmsböwötääzääUu pögiff.”
“BöwörötääzääUu pögiff.”
“FümmsböwötääzääUu pögiff.”
“BöwörötääzääUu pögiff.”
“FümmsböwötääzääUu pögiff.”
“BöwörötääzääUu pögiff.”
“FümmsböwötääzääUu pögiff.”
“BöwörötääzääUu pögiff.”
“FümmsböwötääzääUu pögiff.”
“BöwörötääzääUu pögiff
True confessions:
“FümmsböwötääzääUu pögiff.”
“BöwörötääzääUu pögiff.”
Silence.
Bailey yips. We forgive:
“Kwiiee.”
“Kwiiee.”
“Kwiiee.”
“Kwiiee.”
“Kwiiee.”
“Kwiiee.”
“Kwiiee.”
“Kwiiee.”
“Kwiiee.”
“Kwiiee.”
“Kwiiee.”
“Kwiiee.”
Bailey is prone.
