SUMMUMBONUMBOOJUM

Someone asked me:

Admittedly, I am not the sharpest knife in the
drawer but I
truly did not understand this, or the linked page
with the
foul language.

And I said:

SUMMUMBONUMBOOJUM began as an exercise to draft 1000 words in my mind
before I wrote it all out and sent it to the ibob list in the summer of
'94:

http://search.bikelist.org/getmsg.as...10407.1014.eml

I've written a number of versions of different lengths and with
different titles since then, and then I got deeply emotional with it
this past Labor Day.

"The linked page with the foul language," as you described it, begins
with eighteen words, and these eighteen words are the most important
words of the Labor Day SUMMUMBONUMBOOJUM, to me, for these eighteen
words were what compelled me to write the rest, compelled because I
felt the need to:

"After LABOR DAY passed, and after he labored over the number of times
he overheard the word "******.."

Black or white, who in America hasn't "overheard?" Or said? Or thought?
And what does this have to do with 2005 going on 2006?

And who am I to raise this issue how I have, where I have, and when I
have?

I am someone, of 44 years time, who has been the target of racists, and
will probably continue to be the target of racists, for not being
racist with them.

And I happen to be someone who relates well to, and likes, 60s and 70s
soul music, and the musicians I mention in 2005's SUMMUMBONUMBOOJUM are
a pretty good sample of that, with some good gospel, funky jazz and
no-bull**** rap to round out the story.

SUMMUMBONUMBOOJUM, as metafiction, is representative in too many ways
to count, but if you offered up a topic of conflict, I've probably got
it covered somewhere in my thought compressions that comprise
SUMMUMBONUMBOOJUM. I mention bicycles 42 times, directly or
indirectly/relationally, but thoughts on gay marriage are there too,
for example, and others, thoughts jotted with brevity, such that if one
wanted to, one could turn most any single sentence of SUMMUMBONUMBOOJUM
into a thousand words or so; but then the same is true for anything
anyone says, so it's nothing special, except to me.

Joe Starck,
madison, wi



-------- Original Message --------
Subject: SUMMUMBONUMBOOJUM: 2005's valentine's
day/blackhistorymonth/lent REMIX of 2004's labor day
original release on the ibob label
Date: 12 Feb 2005 20:01:37 -0800
From:
Organization: http://groups.google.com
Newsgroups: rec.bicycles.tech


After Ice Cube adjusted his bicycle's saddle a half
millimeter upward and a whole millimeter forward,
Gil
Scott-Heron rode James Brown's bicycle out to Token
Creek, where, in the slow shallow inlets, Mavis
Staples netted about a pint of tadpoles.

When The Temptations got to Wes Montgomery's
apartment, near downtown Madison, Bobby Womack got
some butter and garlic going in a pan to saute,
added
the extensive list of secret ingredients, and then,
slid the wrigglers in.

Hank Ballard unfolded a one-foot-square sheet of
cheesecloth onto the kitchen countertop, dialed The
Stylistic's timer for the usual eight minutes, and
walked to the back door to set it ajar.

Tina Turner went into the living room, removed Al
Green's shirt, and settled into a recliner.

Billy Preston felt his newly-clipped chest and belly
hair, from sternum to central member, and wondered
if
Barry White should go with Honjo hammered or
nonmetallic fenders for Patti LaBelle's bicycle.

Cube picked up The 5th Dimension's notepad to jot
down
some phrenetic flashes that came to The Delphonics
during The Funky Meter's ride, and outlined the
beginnings of "Extralinear Meditative Prose for
Framing and Building the Psyche," in three parts:

1) A cafe called "The Zygote."

2) A bicycle color'd Female Cardinal with Male
Cardinal trim, both on badge.

And,

3) The influence of Phillippe Starck on evey small
town's fireman's park.

The timer chimed and Stevie Wonder popped up from
Curtis Mayfield's recliner to check on Donald Byrd's
cooking.

The pan beheld the same results -- tails, nothing
but
tiny snippets of tails -- and again, the glaze of
garlic-butter tracks on the stove and countertop,
across the kitchen floor and out the back door.

Aretha Franklin recorded Otis Redding's results with
another round of photos and the usual pertinent
notations in Bobby Timmon's binder, for it is The
Philadelphia Internationl All Star's intention to
rebuke Harold Hill's seminal and still preeminent
work
in evolutionary biology, "From Goo To You By Way Of
The Zoo."

Les McCann contends, as a result from Eddie Harris's
ongoing in-kitchen experiments, and in a 73.5 degree
departure from Hill's ancient assertions, that
cataclysmic events throughout history really did, in
fact, speed up the adaptive evolutionary process of
certain species.

Billy Paul aims to prove that one particular
swimming
species urgently adapted to land as the direct
result
of the over-warming of shallow seas due to the flow
into these waters of volcanic lava. Parched and
willed
to pop limbs and crawl out of the burbling, torrid
waters onto cooler tracts of land, this species
decided Johnnie Taylor liked Prince's new talent,
and
henceforth crawled and crawled, from generation to
generation, across deserts and gardens, up and down
mounts, through locusts and maggots, flies and hail,
by crosses and Torah pointers, Ouch!, and finally to
the present time the species settled at a place a
stone's throw from Lake Monona, where Martha Reeves
could jump in if The Vandellas wanted to, having
never
forgotten how to swim, but Solomon Burke has grown
accustomed to an anatomical position of comfort and
style on Donny Hathaway's bicycle.

The Four Tops scooped the buttery batch of tails and
garlic onto the square of cheesecloth, wrung the
viscous liquid from the mash into a paper cup, and
then poured the liquid into a small squirt bottle.

Aaron Neville then propped Wilson Pickett's bicycle
onto Bill Wither's home mechanic's repair stand,
directed the squirt bottle towards the links of
Bloodstone's chain in motion, and lubed 'er up good.

Dionne Warwick pedaled down to McDonald's, silently
shifting through the gears all the way there with
nary
a croak, where Eddie Kendricks had a Big Mac, fries,
dessert, and a coke.

Segments of Time paged through "The Onion" as
William
DeVaughn ate, and paused at the odd ending of an
interview with an up-and-coming filmmaker:

Q: ...Hitler?

A: Because this country...

Q: Are you Jewish?

A: Is that anything like asking me if my father's
mother's mother's maiden name is Schwartz? Or would
a
"yes" reply to your query require purer blood in my
veins?

Jr. Walker then went straight to The All Star's
favorite column, "savage love," and spooned the
hot-fudge sundae with nuts.

The Watts Prophets finished and went outside to
Percy
Sledge's bicycle, where The Spinners found a sight
that shuddered Gladys Knight's soul from The Pips
skin
and froze The Drifters solid.

Perched everywhere on The Soul Children's bicycle,
were a multitude of ultra-frog-like creatures with
big, bulbous, orbital eyes agaze at S.O.U.L.

Having never before been the object of so many
yellow-moon peepers of intensity, Aaron Neville
almost
shrilled "What?", but was too frightened of what
then
might happen, and instead managed to twist Herbie
Hancock's rigid body to the left, in three jerks of
acute angles, stepped quickly away, out of sight,
around the corner of the building, and with
Screamin'
Jay Hawkin's back against the brick wall, Thelonious
Monk slid down to the concrete below to think:

"Cook a tadpole; cook a story."

"Cook a story; cook the books."

"Cook the books; cook the goose."

"Cook the goose; ?"

"?"

"Able to see beyond Abel(l)?"

"One el(l) or two?"

"Both, we wouldn't want to miss anything."

"I see."

Sly Stone's no fool, logic's a powerful tool, and
so,
with Grandmaster Flash's decision made, Melle Mel
reapproached The Fabulous Five's bike, and was
stunned
to see that the wwwrogs had seated themselves, close
together, a-e-r-o-d-y-n-a-m-i-c-a-l-l-y, on the top
and bottom tubes only, of Isaac Haye's bicycle's
frame.

Of like minds then, John Coltrane and his passengers
set out back to Token Creek -- all eyes cast fore.

The Chi-Lites rode the time-trial of Parliament's
lives, with an intrepid reserve of intensity,
endurance, and resolve, and with certainty intact,
all
the while there, back to the homeland of the
wwwrogs.

Upon crossing the rural finish line separating
asphalt
from field, Harold Melvin zipped down the gravel
shoulder of the road, pushed the pedals hard the
remaining seventy-five yards, dismounted, and leaned
The Blue Note's bike against a tree, near the bank
of
the creek.

The O'Jays waited, expectantly.

The wwwrogs didn't move.

The Sons of Slum walked to the road to light a
cigarette.

When Dyke finished, The Blazers lit another.

Charles Wright returned to The Watts 103rd Street
Rhythm Band's bike.

They hadn't moved, still again.

"Well then...sink or swim," were Larry Graham's
final
words Graham Central Station repeated to the
wwwrogs.

Randy Crawford's steps crunched the gravel along the
edge of the county road as Jimmy Smith began back to
Madison.

Charles Mingus lit a third cigarette and whispered,
"They looked like they needed it more than I did
tonight. Some kid'll drag it out of the water
tomorrow. I hope he grows onto it."

"And?"

The Brothers Johnson looked deep down both ways of
the
midnight road before crossing.

"And I won't cook again."

William "Bootsy" Collin's shadow, cast by the moon,
would have been all Kim Weston needed to keep Earth,
Wind & Fire company for the long walk home; but
Richard "Groove" Holmes had more.

Ruth Brown had almost a full pack of Sedona
cigarettes.

And -- The Neville Brothers had the casual bellows
of
large trucks, shifting through their gears,
somewhere
outer there.

Several hours later, nearer to Madison, all the
members, past and present, of WAR could make out the
lit dome of The Isley Brother's state Capitol, and
Wilson Pickett's fortitude doubled, for Tina Turner
now had two beacons of light to lead Mick Jagger's
way
home.

Al Green had a far way to go to The Temptation's
state
house of laws, and so, quite naturally, Ice Cube
passed the miles and minutes with wonderment and
wordplay, composing a five-legged query quo modo
quodlibets ABOUT the people's most passionate
political divides -- under Etta James's state's dome
-- under The Staple Singer's planet's moon.

And so, as Cube walked, Cube wrought, and foresaw a
great gathering ahead.

There, the Madison legislators would seat, who'd all
come forth to hear, Cube's backroads-born beat.

They'd heard of Cube, of Cube's most sapient seat of
thought, and of Cube's just-cut query; this then, is
what Cube wrought:

"Behold! Learn to converse in extralinear verse!

1) What, ABOUT, a cafe, called, 'The Zygote?'

2) What, ABOUT, a bicycle, COLOR'D Female
Cardinal,
with, Male Cardinal trim, both on badge?

3) What, ABOUT, an all-girl band, called,
'Nately's
Whore?'

4) What ABORT an insane acronym,
L.O.U.D.E.E.T.E.R.?

5) And, WHAT ABOUT birds of a feather,?" Cube
uttered, as an apt epitaph, to end Cube's terse
verse,
unto the perplexed politicos, as they returned to
their halls, and pondered throughout, Cube's edicts
to
learn, ABOUT.

The forum cleared.

More hours passed, and Marvin Gayes's trek finally
came to an end, upon the Capitol square.

And although Grandmaster Flash was just about near
Aretha Franklin's home, James Brown climbed up the
steps to the base of the building and sat himself
down, exhausted, on the one seat of quarried,
polished
stone.

The rising sun burned Ray Charles's tired eyes and
he
closed his lids for a spell.

When he opened his eyes he noticed a woman coming
his
way.

He watched her come nearer until she was within
forty
feet, a distance which beset his chi to flow, his
passion to percolate, and his toes to tap inside his
white Nike Air Jordan sneakers, as he could clearly
see she was the Persian beauty he'd seen, of another
day.

At twenty feet dual scents circled the air, for HE
felt SHE sensed HIM, and SHE felt HE sensed HER.

Within eight feet, he silently intoned to her, "Come
on, give me your eyes."

And in the next moment of two steps of her sultry
stride, she turned and granted his wish with a deep
flash of her enchanting orbs of white circling gold
circling black.

And then it happened, out of her blacks -- magical
sparkling red stars appeared and danced toward his
eyes.

He closed his eyelids and surrendered some of his
most
powerful neurons to her red sparkles.

Two by two, he paired off his knightly neurons with
her dancing stars and allowed the new couple private
places in his brain to bed.

He rose, tugged at his Michael Jordan Jockey boxer
briefs 'neath his jeans, and stretched to the new
morn'.

He stepped into a bookstore for the latest copy of
Al-Jumuah, bought a box of Nat Shermans, and headed
down State Street to the nearest cafe.

Along the way,

(http://search.bikelist.org/getmsg.as...10409.0544.eml),he
caught a glimmer of, stopped, backed up, and looked
at
a bicycle hanging in the window of the Yellow Jersey
bicycle store, for sale.