Perspectivizing the Queen

I was feeling sad and got in my time-travel machine to January 22nd, 1901, East Cowes, United Kingdom, the home of Queen Victoria. That’s the day she died. When I’m feeling out of sorts in anyway, I like to go where I can cheer someone up who’s doing worse than me. I call it perspectivizing. The great thing is that no matter what shit I’ve found myself in, there’s always someone who’s worse off. Like yesterday when I had that maddening headache and I went and cheered up Joan of Arc when she was about to be burnt at the stake, and my head felt better right away.

So there I was at the foot of Queen Victoria’s bed. She was coughing and wheezing. She could barely see. I got out my harmonica and played, while doing a jig. I was wearing glittery clothes as a sure way to additionally grab her attention. She stared at me as if I were an apparition. I started to sing, “Well, hello Queenie, Yes, hello Queenie, it’s me, yes, I’m really, really, really here!” The Queen was swept over with delight and began to clap in time to the words and my dancing. She took over the song and sang, “I’m the Queen, you bet your bootie, I’m the Queen, snooty, hooty, pooty!!”

At the end of the verse she died. A great smile shone on her royal visage. My sadness evaporated into the nothingness.

Things Brooks is ready for you to know about him

1. I like to stir water with a wooden spoon. I can do it for hours and never get tired. I use a big blue bowl that holds about a gallon of water

2. I sometimes get tired and need to lean against a tree. I can’t lean against a building. I did once and the building fell over. Luckily no one was inside.

3. My right eyebrow talks while I’m sleeping. I don’t hear it, but others have. Here are some of the things I’ve been told my right eyebrow has said, “I like to stay loose and snazzy.” “It’s my right to demand onions on that.” “Let’s get a posse together and catch the no-good Olsen.”

4. I was never born. I’m alive and all. But I never had a birth. I grew out of the ground. The people who ended up raising me thought I was a turnip and pulled me out of the ground. They put me in hot water for soup. I cried out. They quickly took me out and apologized.

5. I can hear things two seconds before they happen. It’s a lot like watching a movie where someone is talking and the sound is slightly ahead. It’s been this way since I was ten. At first it was disconcerting, but now I’m used to this.

6. If I’m agitated, I sit on a block of ice, and quickly calm down.

7. Grass talks to me when I walk on it. I shouldn’t say talk. Actually the grass says, “Hey, get offa me!!”

8. I used to live in the White House during the Nixon administration. I was there on a tour, when we passed the Lincoln bedroom, and I realized I was tired. I stepped away from the group and lay down on the bed. I fell asleep. When I woke up later, I went downstairs to the kitchen and made a chicken sandwich. I lived in the White House for a year and a half, until August 9th 1974, when Gerald Ford took over after Nixon resigned, and he asked me to leave.

9. Every 10 minutes I think, “Mustard!”

I finally sold a painting!

I haven’t been able to sell my art. I’ve tried in little ways, but I’m a timid marketer. It hasn’t stopped me from making art though. I hang them up around the house and they kindly keep me company.

Though, yesterday I got an inkling of a way to perhaps make some sales. I packed up all my paintings and took them and me in my time-travel machine to Brussels 1878, and the art dealership Galerie Goupil. I had to wait in the reception room but I soon got to have a meeting with Theo Van Gogh. He was very upbeat and friendly, and apologized for the wait.

He asked what I brought with me. I showed Theo the stack of my paintings. We went through them one by one. He didn’t seem bored, or try to rush me. He had a way of taking them in, as one would eating a meal, savoring each bite. I didn’t say anything, but secretly I felt that was worth any money he could pay me, which could explain why I haven’t sold anything.

There was one painting that intrigued him. He picked it up, took another deep look, and started to cry. He held away the painting from the tear drops. I thanked him for being conscientious. He said he would like to purchase it. I said okay. He took out his wallet and gave me 390 francs.

He looked at the painting again. He said it reminded him of his relationship with his brother. Here’s the painting he bought:

 

The Oatmeal’s Fool and the Maître d

The giant came down from the clouds and clumsily walked around, smashing homes and stores with his malodorous feet. Finally the giant got tired, and lay down to sleep. Of course more homes, stores, and also forests were flattened.

My home wasn’t. But the giant’s head was right next to my home and his snoring made it impossible for me to focus on the book I was reading – Migen Plockner’s, The Oatmeal’s Fool and the Maître d.

I went outside, climbed into the nose of the giant (I had to hold on tight to his nose hair’s in order to not be blown away), then up through his sinuses, where I took a feather out of my pocket, and tickled the sinus walls. The giant sneezed, blowing me out, and waking himself up.

I was blown into my swimming pool, so I was okay. The giant got up and walked on, far enough away so that I couldn’t feel the ground shake anymore. I dried off, went inside, and back to reading.

I guess I should try and make a difference

I sit around a lot and don’t do much. I’ll read a little of a book, but I get bored fast, and I go back to doing nothing. Today I thought, I’m going to see if I can make a difference. I got in my time-machine and traveled back to April 14th, 1865, and the city of Washington DC, Ford’s Theater in particular.

It was evening and a lot of people were heading into the theater to see the production of The American Cousin, including President Lincoln. I wore my hat pulled low so he didn’t notice me. I have often time-traveled to visit Lincoln when he was growing up, when he was a rail-splitter, and in the White House, but I didn’t want him to see me at this time.

The show started and I remained outside. About 45 minutes later, the actor John Wilkes Booth approached the theater. He was trying to not be noticed, but I’m Lincoln buff, and there’s no way I could miss him. I stopped Booth and in a panicked voice and with tears and sobbing said, “Mister Booth, have you heard?! The President had a stroke and died, right here in this street, less than an hour ago!” Mr. Booth was stunned. And then I noticed a relief pass over his eyes.

I asked Booth if he would join me for a drink in the saloon, “To help soothe our frayed nerves.” Booth at first resisted, so I went back to sobbing and he agreed. I read once that if you cry like a baby, everyone wants to help you because you activated their biological response to want to sooth an infant. We went to The Stewed Toad tavern.

I plied Booth with a great deal of Pount Touty brand whiskey. He opened up that when I stopped him earlier, he was on his way to kill the President. I pretended I didn’t hear and asked him to speak loudly. He yelled his assassination plans. A local constable at a nearby table overheard and took Booth into custody. Though he had a difficult time carrying Booth out because of his stupor.

I left the tavern with the feeling that I had finally done well. I time-traveled back home, and lay in bed in the dark. I began to run through all the events I could change and possibly make the world a better place to be. I must have come up with about thirty-five which I wrote down in the notebook I keep by my bed.

When I woke up in the morning, I couldn’t read what I’d written the night before. I lay in bed for a few hours. Then I got up and went to the living room and sat on the sofa for four hours.