mOre fRom thE MosT biZaRre NovEl eVer wRitTeN

An excerpt from the novel TEN THOUSAND PENISES IN YOUR EAR

By

Wolf Larsen

THE MOST BIZARRE NOVEL EVER WRITTEN!

(Please note: This is NOT a sex novel.)



AIDS begiNs riNgiNg youR doOrbelL. You look through the peephole and see AIDS smoking a cigarette waiting for you to open the door. (The walls of your apartment suddenly become the great lakes of the Midwest. Cargo ships begin plowing through your floors.) AIDS is iNceSsaNtLy rinGinG and rinGinG your dOorbEll aGain and aGian as you watCh him thrOugh the peEphOle. He tells you to hurry up and open the door because he has a lot of people to visit.



That’s when the pope walks through your walls followed by a delegation of crack-heads. On your ceilings Michelangelo is painting little children being sexually molested by priests. And then millions and millions of black people begin calling you on the telephone. Thousands of white people are floating outside your windows smiling at you and waving hello. Your roommate begins poisoning your food. The Virgin Mary walks in through the ceiling and stands above your wife and I. She begins reciting the world’s most beautiful poem. The poem begins with man’s evolution from the other primates and - squeeze? - ends with the invention of the nuclear bomb. dizzy-dizzy-dizzy? The dead cow says –



“uneAsy! lEEr! hoLleriNg! brOkeN!”



- and you’re happy. You’re happy like dizziness! HapPy-haPpy-HapPy like somebody eating a river of hot lava steel!



Your houSe aNd the ciTy hAvE suDdenLy disApPeaRed. You’re standing in the middle of your grave. A procession of ten-thousand black Christs walk by. Each of them is carrying an atomic bomb. They are smiling at you like miles and miles of dead people crawling out of the pages of this book. One of them hands you a ripped up empty can of beer. No wait, they offer you a bowl of your own castrated genitals in a bowl of ice cream. The African people, in thousands of cities across the ocean all turn in your direction and start waving at you. You can see them all. They smile like hurricanes and tranquility. As a result, all of the literary editors have hear t attacks, the dead literary editors say “hello! heLLo-!-helLO-!-hEllo!





On the subway home a brain-infested person was sitting in the next seat and an upside-down person was sitting across from you STARE-ING-AT-YOU-STARE-ING-AT-YOU-STARE-ING-AT-YOU. Everyone on the subway was holding a gun to somebody else’s head. The blaCk peoPle werE screaMing lightNing stoRms and sEas crasHing at thE whiTe peoplE. The whitE peopLe stAred at thE blaCk peOple with reEling visiOns in their eyeS. A church choir got up and sang –



“coLLa!psing! cola!P!sing! raDi!ance!”



- and then they began painting the ten commandments all over their naked bodies. So all the people living in Brooklyn that night were arrested for the crime of living in Brooklyn. To relieve prison overcrowding the entire country was declared a penitentiary.



When you woke up this morning the cars where as big as ants and the people were as big as skyscrapers and the music was summer and summer having sex. You poured yourself a radio of whiskey. The whole world is falling on you.



A woman became a goat. She offered you a subway train but your penis suddenly turned into the rings of saturn. Then JackSon PollOck waLked inTo the rooM and staRted to haNg clocks and mOre clockS on your waLls and floOrs and ceilingS. Your window was a continuous scene of mass executions outside. The corpses laying on the ground were constructing egyptian pyramids with their thoughts. Suddenly, everything in the world turned red. Jackson Pollock said:



“Kandinsky is like an airplane through the stomach of a church”



Picasso said “Pollock is like an ant running three hundred miles an hour and puking thousands of buildings out unto the world every minute!”



A young George Grosz and a middle aged George Grosz and an old George Grosz were all standing upside-down on your ceiling SHOUTING: “we are all cockroaches eating the sun. Soon the sun will only be a pool of lice”



saLvadOr daLi witH his arm choPped off bY Wolf Larsen was coNtiniously re-arRanging the furnitUre in yOur rooM night and daY. TweNty-ninE vOlcanoes erupteD iNside yOu in a sinGle houR. Your fenCe ran awaY to chiLe and sudDenly you werE walking doWn the maricOn (seA promaNade) in guaYaquil, eCuador. All the ecuaToriaNs werE in the philLippines thaT day so the couNtry was eMpty except for a couPle of antS under a deaf suN. ExcePt it waS raining. When the eCuatorians caMe back they mOved the countrY to AfriCa. the ecuatoriaNs built guayaQuil oVer and oveR again acroSs the worlD until evEry inCh of the planeT earth was gUayaquiL. The millions and millions of Ecuatorians a-L-L da-nced aNd sShOuted and SCREAMED-



“subMerGe! roll ? smOther?”



and the chair in your living room responded: “plEase fill mY casket wiThhierOnymUs bosCh mOnsterS”



- sO everYone in thE world heLped builD the biggEst mosT gigaNticness beD ever aNd suddenLy thEre waS an oRgy of bilLions aNd billionS.



- and iT was a bEautiful FridaY evening wiTh musSels in butter sauCe and croWds and crOwds of enRagEd muRderiNg peOple and spLinTering pEople and hoWling scrEamiNg peoPle passing bY. People wEre droWning withiN all the everYthingness of theMselves. MediEval-faCes-imPreSioNsiSt-fAcEs-fauVist-Faces all bUrsting ouT of apartmeNts-stores-reStaurants-highriSes-factOries all juMbled on tOp of eaCh otheR like a biG pLate of liNguini.

Everyone was sitting down in sidewalk cafes and talking myriads of empty rooms and hallways to each other and their faces were a moving flesh dance of expressions and their eyes were planets jumping everywhere at the whole glop of humanity pouring like floods around them and all the faces in all the windows surrounding us were watchtowers into our sprouting thoughts, it was like painting naked bodies and orgies and neon genitals up and down all the walls and ceilings and hallways of the city, and the cars were all driving up into the sky and speeding down a blade of grass and you said:



“Let’s all begin turning our brains into constant paintings. Let’s pour gravestones into our beds. Let’s have a big orgy of eight million new yorkers now!”





Copyright 2004 by Wolf Larsen



I give you all a novel as bizarre as the world we live in. I do not engage in political preaching in my prose and poetry, but there is no such thing as normal. The economic/political system we live under is not normal. The U.S. and much of the world today is characterized by endless wars and poverty, huge stockpiles of nuclear weapons (in the U.S. and Russia), racist lynching (in the form of the death penalty), domestic violence, the oppression of minorities, immigrants, and women, homophobia, union busting and strike breaking and I could go on and on. There is no such thing as “normal”. Why should writing be “normal”?



(I also wrote this under the influence of… Schoenberg and Anton Webern.)

 

This might be good, but I'm not going to read it because whenever someone says they've written the most bizarre novel ever, I get angry at them and think they're obnoxious.

 

I like novels to be in some way coherent and entertaining.

 

If there is anyone that knows of a novel more bizarre than Ten Thousand Penises in Your Ear please share an excerpt with us. That's one book I want to read!

Cheers!

Wolf Larsen

 

The title is interesting enough. I'll check out this book.

 

I really wanted the incongruent capital letters to spell out words.

It's got a kind of Burroughs vibe, although a big part of his appeal is that his weirdness often made a frightening amount of sense. Ditto Finnegans Wake. However, in terms of the experience for the reader, I'd say House Of Leaves is a lot weirder.

The problem here is that, without any kind of normality within the weirdness, there's nothing for the reader to latch onto or empathise with. Kinda reminds me of Edward Lear in that respect. In order to create a sense of the weird in the reader (as oppose to just the author), one must provide reference points for a context of normality. Normal is what you know, and unfortunately, if you are just unrelentingly weird, that becomes a kind of normality in itself.

 

Another excerpt from the novel

TEN THOUSAND PENISES IN YOUR EAR

By Wolf Larsen



WARNING: THIS MAY BE THE MOST BIZARRE NOVEL EVER WRITTEN!





The plot jumps a train going to Chengdu China or to Thessaloniki Greece or maybe to Vera Cruz Mexico but the train decides to become a cliff in Valparaiso Chile. Meanwhile the plot has been left in either Hong Kong or Athens or maybe Mexico City. So the reader and the writer fly together to Hong Kong Athens and Mexico City. We land in all three places together at the same time.



We walk through all the sUrgiNg and rElenTleSs and sOaRing of hoNg kOng and all the fiRe and crOwdS of aThenS and all the sEethiNg and viOlEncE and vAStneSs of meXicO ciTY. We hear a rumor that the plot might be in Istanbul. So we fly into all the jUmBled and enTanGlEd and diZzY of iStaNbuL but the plot has flown to America. We start SCREAMING at the plot as the plot sits happily in the sun on a beach somewhere. The plot eventually feels guilty and flys back to Istanbul to meet us but we’ve already left. The reader and the writer are on a plane to Calcutta or maybe New York or perhaps to Lima Peru. You ask me –



“So there were thousands of lunatics in bed with you?”



I said: “What did I say? What is a word? perhapS her vagiNa is croWded with citiEs and bUs terminAls and thOusands of cemetaRies. Thousands and then hundreds of thousands of little men swimming up your vagina just as fast as they can? What if alL the CattLe in noRth ameriCa were growiNg in yOur wifE’s wOmb?”



you said: “i’m inSide thOusands of a doG’s bRains at the moMent - Wolf, couLd I pleasE leT yoU coNsider tHe graY sideWaLk sir.”

I said: “I like dancing with all the atoms circling and circling inside your brain.”



you said: “we are circling and circling around each other’s brain cells buT wE’re iMpregNated bY a sEntence oN the pAge.”

I said: “pLeAsE rEaDeR hElp mE tO diG tHe gRaVeS oF tHe hUmAn rAcE? ”



a sunken ship said: “do we take pills to gravity and the skies now?”

and I SCREAMED “why is each person so much like millions and millions of words running away from each other?”



- so your wife’s ovaries were slithering down the walls of the plane. Genghis Kahn began walking back and forth on the plane’s wing as the plane flies through the air. Genghis Kahn doesn’t fall through the air because he didn’t understand airplanes.



Meanwhile, the plot had turned itself into the rug in your living room. However, you realize you don’t know where you’re going. The plane is headed either to Belfast or Montreal or Lagos - you don’t know where the plane is headed to! you start SCREAMING dysentery at me but I pull out a knife. Suddenly, you’ve forgotten where you live. YOU CAN’T REMEMBER WHERE YOU LIVE - you don’t remember what city you live in - you can’t remember what country you’re from either! Now you’re starting to forget the only language you know how to speak! You start YELLING at me but I can’t understand because you’re speaking in extinct languages.



Copyright 2004 by Wolf Larsen. All Rights Reserved.



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