NUNT Command Centre
About Mingus Tourette
Links & Props
Mission Statement

Nunt: The Book
Publishing Details

Tourette's In Progress

Daily Mingus Archive
July 2007
December 2006
November 2006
October 2006
September 2006
August 2006
July 2006
June 2006
May 2006
April 2006
March 2006
February 2006
January 2006
December 2005
November 2005
October 03 2005
September 19 2005
September 05 2005
August 22 2005
July 25 2005
July 11 2005
July 04 2005
June 27 2005
June 20 2005
June 13 2005
June 06 2005
May 23 2005
May 16 2005
May 09 2005
May 02 2005
April 25 2005
April 18 2005
April 11 2005
April 04 2005
March 28 2005
March 21 2005
March 14 2005
March 07 2005
February 28 2005
February 21 2005
February 14 2005
February 07 2005
January 31 2005
January 24 2005
January 17 2005
January 10 2005
January 03 2005
December 27 2004
December 20 2004
December 13 2004
December 06 2004
November 29 2004
November 22 2004
November 15 2004
November 08 2004
November 07 2004
October 04 2004
September 27 2004
September 20 2004
September 13 2004
September 06 2004
August 30 2004
August 23 2004
August 16 2004
August 09 2004
August 02 2004
July 26 2004
July 19 2004
July 12 2004
July 05 2004
June 21 2004
June 07 2004
May 31 2004
May 24 2004
May 17 2004
May 10 2004
May 03 2004
April 26 2004
April 19 2004
April 12 2004
April 05 2004
March 29 2004
March 22 2004
March 15 2004
March 08 2004
March 01 2004
February 23 2004
February 16 2004
February 09 2004
February 02 2004
January 26 2004
January 19 2004
January 12 2004
January 05 2004

THIS WEEK : Art for a
Different Species
--------- --------- --------- ---------
0022 ::: The Man in Black
0020 ::: Return of the Gander
0018 ::: When Things Go Strange
0017 ::: LitSLAP Ago-go
0015 ::: Funeralis
0014 ::: Me and JP
0013 ::: And Grappa Fades to Black
0012 ::: Inebriation
0010 ::: Ridgeback
0009 ::: Warback's In Town

WM_0015 ::::::::: Funeralis
June 02, 2003

I never did explain what exactly happened down there in Cowtown, which has led to a certain instability in my current situation with old Chloe.

You see, I didn't exactly warn her about the article, and she in turn, didn't warn her parents. I met them the first day we got down there, a Thursday, and I was introduced to the parents as a nice intellectual student sort of writer, who hoped to someday write the Great Canadian Novel. It was a short visit and we were able to leave fairly quickly after Chloe and her mother'd had a decent cry.

We spent that day and the Friday after in a cheap hotel room watching throw away porn, drinking red wine and smoking weed and fucking uncontrollably. Chloe was, as I had predicted, dead set on trying to drown out any sound of death with her own echoing voice. It was fucking fantastic.

Of course, Saturday came soon enough, the day of the planting, and we were up early to get to the house to make sandwiches and shake hands. We smoked one last joint before getting out of her car and walking in.

The parent's house was way more crowded than Thursday, and this time I was quickly introduced to several uncles and a sister-in-law whom I was to understand were all involved in cattle ranching of some kind. While Chloe went to see her Grandma, I was left standing in the kitchen with the uncles. The room was perfectly fucking silent.

Eventually, one of the uncles spoke.

Uncle Number 1- So you're a writer.

Mingus Tourette - Yes.

U1 - Who do you write for?

MT - Sorry?

U1-Who do you write for, what paper?

MT - Oh no, I don't write for a paper.

U1 -Well then, who do you write for?

MT -At the moment, I do some work for a company called the Abattoir, but mostly I work on my own material.

U1 - What kind of material?

MT- Novels, screenplays, poetry, that kind of thing.

U1 - Like Tom Clancy?

MT - Sort of.

U1 - He's a good fucking writer, eh? You ever read The Sum of All Fears?

MT - No, no I haven't.

U1 - It was a good movie.
So you write books? What's your books about?

MT - It's sort of difficult to explain - I guess it's partly autobiographical, some political commentary, social commentary...

U1 - Sounds sort of like the shit that Jew from Quebec writes. The Frog Jew. What's his name?

MT - Sorry?

U1 - He sings, too.

Uncle Number 2 - Leonard Cohen. He sang that 'I'm your Man'.

U1 - Yeah, that's him.

MT - I don't know if he's French.

Sister - inLaw - He's French, but I think I read somewhere he's a buddhist now.

MT - I don't think Cohen is French, actually. I think you're thinking of Mordecai Richler. Wrote Duddy Kravitz?

U1 - Nope, it's the singer. Who's Duddy Kravitz?
You mean Lenny Kravitz. He's a jew, you know. Black jew.

MT - No, Mordecai Richler wrote a book called Duddy Kravitz. Richler's a Montreal Jewish writer, or at least, he was a Montrealer Jewish writer, but he died a couple of years ago. He wrote Jacob Two-Two and the Hooded Fang.

U2 - I read that book! It was fucking awesome. Loved it!

Sister-InLaw - Passed away.

MT - Pardon me?

SIL - We're trying not to say 'died' this weekend. It's 'passed away', or better yet, 'passed on'.
(bows head briefly, crosses herself)

MT - I'm sorry.

U1 - There any money in poetry?

MT - Not much, at least, not yet. Unless I can sell a pile of books.

U1 - You know, there was some fucking writer in the EdmonChuck paper that Laurence brought down who was bitching about how little money he made. And get this, this guy was dressed like a fucking Iraqi, with the gasmask and everything. Fuck, you should read this.
(yells to backroom)
Hey Laurence, bring that EdmonChuck rag out here. I want to show this young writer something.

Laurence - What young writer?

U1 - The one that Chloe brought down, does it fucking matter? Get off yer ass and bring me that piece of shit, will you?

MT - Oh, don't worry about it. I can check it out at home. It's no big deal.

U1 - No, you should see this. This guy's a regular fucking asshole. Thinks he's funny.

Laurence brings out paper. Laurence is the youngest uncle, just over thirty, wears glasses and works as an accountant clerk and farmer. He comes in, helps himself to coffee, puts the paper down on the table. Uncle One goes through it, pulls out the Ed Magazine. I am on the front cover in my gasmask. It is an absolutely thrilling moment to see the photo - words on the chest came out perfectly, caption reads 'One day writers will be treated like rock stars - Mingus Tourette'.

My excitement is shortlived, however, as he opens the paper, and I see my face on the second page of the article. On the rest of the photos, I am wearing the gasmask, but The Uncle also sees my face on the paper, and looks back at me. He looks back at the paper. He looks back at me and sees that I see it, and that I see him.

There is a long fucking silence. Nobody says anything. Laurence bumbles around the kitchen. Uncle Number One reads the article again, carefully. It's as though I have cut a rancid fart that smells nothing like the family fart, and everyone knows it. Eventually, the mother and father and grandmother enter the room with Chloe, and everyone's in black and solemn and waiting to grieve. Uncle Number One, finishes the article and speaks without looking up.

U1 - Hey Chloe. Your boyfriend's in the paper. Take a look.

At this point, Chloe and mother and father huddle around paper excitedly. The father nods at me approvingly, before looking at the paper. Chloe is confused, raises her eyebrow. Turns to read the paper. More silence as they read the paper. Chloe looks up first, her face red, eyes wide. The mother turns up her head, not really understanding. When the father raises his head, he is obviously disgusted.

Mother - What's a nunt?

At that point, there was more stuttered conversation, poor explanations that beat around the point, more long silences, more confusion and lots of disappointment. Chloe didn't say much, and I didn't ask her about what she thought of the article. We stayed high as much as possible for the weekend and she cried when her grandfather went into the ground, and I cried, and maybe that was a little redeeming, 'cause she wanted more Mingus that night, and nobody mentioned the article for the rest of the weekend, but there was certainly no heartfelt conversation about writing or life or death or future endeavours, and when I left, the handshakes and the thanks were limper than they should have been.

And now, since we've come home, Chloe and I haven't seen much of each other, except late at night, when she calls around eleven or so and wants me to give her a solid once over. Earlier this week she didn't call one night because she had to go for coffee with her old boyfriend who happens to be an accountant and is thoroughly acceptable and was well loved by the family. They were just going to catch up, because he had heard about Grappa and was being a nice guy.

So that's all fine and fucking dandy, but I can smell the fuckover just around the corner. I can already hear the conversation when she's suddenly reconsidered the accountant's proposal and weighs his paycheck, house and straight teeth against a lunatic who doesn't have a proper job and is mostly embarrassing in public, and whose only real value lies in his ability to balance a woman on his thighs in a standing lotus position after drinking three bottles of red wine.

If I had to bet, I would say that I shall soon be found wanting and Chloe will be marrying off her old accountant. I have run this gambit before, but it will still surprise me, as all betrayals do, grand or small. But I want to make it clear that I know, because I know how people work. I can see it coming. And that's all I know. And the reason I'm saying this is to say that I know and I don't want to look like a fucking patsy, so this is simply for the record, and not at all because I'm starting to get attached and that I'm worried about it falling apart and that if it happens I will be far more alone than before.

Nothing like that at all.

back to top