Alessia dé V.

This is Alessia the sweetest kid you ever likely to meet: clever, talented, friendly, a delight to hang out with during her recent reenactment of a famous movie scene. Alessia has a secret though, a very secret secret, so secret that she herself, may not know it: she has the innate ability and the psychic qualities to perform the art and science of 'Pataphysics: rare! While normal practitioners study and sweat years to even get close to trying to find imaginary solutions, these chosen individuals are born ready with this superb capability (like a gene mutation, like). Alessia is an intuitive, instinctive and intrinsic practitioner who could build a profile of anything real or imaginary from its smell, texture, color, shape, ideas, impressions, memories and vibes. and then totally own the anything real or imaginary.  There are only eight like her in North America and a total of forty-two on the globe some dormant, some awake and functional who scour the world to find their like and activate them. 'Pataphysics has a king called UBU and a prophet called Alfred who walks with a parrot on his shoulder even in low-ceiling rooms. It is said that one may recognize practitioners as they love Wednesdays, all shades of the color green, the number 525 and they are rarely seen eating or drinking but they hate Tuesdays, all snakes and Kohlrabi. Alessia has a cat called Dougie and a dog called Cathy.  

 

Maia Tyddr Isz

This is Maia Tyddr, born in Cynghordy (Pop. 624), Carmarthenshire, Wales. Her mother Raisa (née Kleinhorn) is from Narva, Estonia and married Maia's father Henry when they met and fell in love at the University of Bangor where she took Biology and he took Criminology. They moved to his family's ancestral home for Raisa to give birth (bringing the village's Jewish population from zero to two). When Maia was twelve they came to Canada and settled in Toronto where she now studies Philosophy and Earth Sciences. She told me that she hates the letter "B" and the numeral "4" and that her favorite shape is the triangle (an homage to Immanuel Kant, kind of her idol). She assumes this position, which helps her focus, for inspiration and decision making. Maia is famously very gay and promiscuous.

Recently Maia was in a traffic accident. The cop who sternly asked for "license and registration" mellowed significantly when he saw her name: "Where you say you from?" when she said Cynghordy, he couldn't stop laughing: "I'm from Cilycwm, you must know it." Maia: "Tidy, are you kidding me? I used to bike there twenty minutes to get pizza at Ozzys." So Delwyn (the cop) thought to give his fellow Welsh a break: ”Tell me exactly how it happened, let's see what I can do.” Delwyn knew that the Welsh are not naturally inclined to conceal their emotions so he was not greatly surprised to hear Maia say "I got distracted, see, by this really tidy girl on the sidewalk, the size of her breasts and the shape of her hips, God! It aroused me suddenly with great intensity, so I braked late and hit that car in front." Delwyn decided to go, in his report, with ”distracted, at fault for collision”. He also decided not to ask if she wanted to grab a pizza sometime. Maia got a $290 fine and her insurance was cancelled. She sold the car and bought a bike, a helmet and a parrot that talks (she called it Isz). 

Glen Ray Jr.

Glen was born on August 14th 1992 at the Toronto Mount Sinai Hospital and died four days later due to "not being viable". His parents, Mary and Joe were grief stricken and did the only rational thing they could think of: the "Sharon Procedure" instantly trying for another kid. What you read here is a "what would have been" story with an image generated by www.wemakeupshit4U.org (you should subscribe). Glen was bullied in all his years at school and had no friends, getting excellent marks in all subjects didn't make him popular. It was only when he went to university that he bloomed. He studied Music, Philosophy and History and learned German, Spanish and Italian to go with his already good French graduating with Honors. His took a job as a research assistant at the Musicus GmbH in Graz, Austria. He quickly became the world's foremost authority on Franz Joseph Haydn following his trail from Rohrau to Hamburg, Eisenstadt, Vienna, London and back to Eisenstadt where Haydn is buried at the Bergkirche. Colleagues, behind his back, would call him Frau Haydn recognizing his profound knowledge of the subject and acknowledging his sexual orientation. It is well known that Haydn was a mentor to Mozart and tutor of Beethoven. It was not known until Glen discovered it, that Haydn had a twin sister Edeltraud Maria, twenty minutes older and ten times more talented. They travelled together, she ostensibly housekeeper and cook, but it very well may have been she who invented the symphony and composed or contributed greatly to the, according to Mandyczewski, one hundred and four symphonies (some say 106). When his book "Haydn and I" came out in 2020, the publisher insisted on a world tour and Glen obliged asking only that the first stop be Toronto. After the launch and signings, Glen and his small entourage walked South on University Ave. towards the Shangri-La hotel. Glen, gesticulating agitated to make a point, didn't watch his step, stumbled and fell violently hitting his head on the pavement precisely in front of the Mount Sinai Hospital. They rushed him to Emergency just feet away. The triage doctor pronounced him at nine oh five PM marking cause of death as "not being viable".

  

Renée W

This is Renée as I met her at a theater venue the other day ... she is totally, purely, absolutely and thoroughly authentic (which cannot be said of many). She grew up in a warm and loving family with siblings and many aunts, uncles and cousins. To nobody's surprise she turned out to be clever, talented, hard working and gifted with an inquisitive mind. One day, Renée was about six, at a family reunion, uncle Brett said something that changed her life forever: "Vowels are fried and consonants are boiled". Uncle Brett was known to make up crazy shit like that after he came back from northern Kenya where he helped set up a sanctuary for the Reticulated Giraffe (Giraffa camelopardalis reticulata). Renée took it seriously and started intense research to learn everything she could about vowels. Unavoidably she found "EUNOIA", the famous anthology of univocalics by Canadian poet Christian Bök. [EUNOIA is the shortest English word that contains all the vowels]. When I told her that, in Romanian, I can compose sentences with only vowels, she flipped out (I have the picture) and went onto Duolingo to start learning the language. I smiled and said: "That sheep is hers" and "She takes eggs" and "They take that sheep" and "I take sheep" and "I take her blouse"*. Renée is currently developing an App to play a vowel game ... The New York Times seems to be interested.

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* Romanian sentences made up from vowels only

Kate, Vinicius von Meerschaum and Jake the Snake

This is Kate, I met her the other day at a theatrical venue. We had coffee and I learned her amazing story I feel I just must share.

Kate is a marvelous model, a talented actor, a fantastic singer, a skilled dancer and she is also a poet and a composer. Since she was very young, she knew two things: that she was not like anybody else and that she could smell things others could not (extreme Hyperosmia). What she did not know is that her superb physical body houses three distinct personalities completely unaware of each other in a severe case of Dissociative Identities. Besides the Kate I met, sweetest kid you ever saw, I also met Vinicius von Meerschaum, the best taxidermist in Porto Alegre, Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil who won the gold medal at the 1894 exhibition for his "Cayman kills Tapir" and Yasha Zmeyanski who is a prep cook at Gogol Club at Stoleshnikov Lane 11, in Moscow. Yasha wears a black T-shirt that reads "Jake the Snake" and, in his spare time, with his uncle Pasha, is an assassin for hire. 

While Kate and I talked about music, art and theatre, her face suddenly changed and in a low voice, in perfect Russian, asked for more carrots and beets for the soup. After about a minute, her eyes turned from brown to green (but not completely). She said that somebody near by has used Bowman's Lavender Scented Soap containing Goat Milk, Olive Oil, Coconut Oil, Palm Oil, Essential Oil and Lye within the last twelve hours. When I asked how she knew, she just made a face and that's when I took her picture.

Mr. A. O. Katz

This is Andrew Otto Katz,  so shy I could only sneak in a picture after our bizarre conversation the other day at "The Corner Bar" on Ossington. When I asked what he wanted to drink he replied:

"Diet Dr. Pepper and Jack,

And Pepperoni sticks, just a small pack"

I asked Mama Cass, at the bar, for my usual and whatever he said (we call her Mama Cass because she weighs 82 lbs. soaking wet, real name Cassia Konarowsky), she asked: "Jack and Diet Coke OK, hon?", to which he:

"Sure, no ice, no slice, 

Would sure be nice"

I commented on his instrument: "Nice Tuba", to which he: 

"The correct name, my friend, is Sousaphone,

Which is like a tuba clone,

That very much likes to be blown"

I thought he may have Emotional Prosody (compulsion to speak in rhyme) and probably a bunch of other related Ds (PD, DepressionD, OCD, PTSD, and such)

Inquiring of  his name I said slyly "I know two Otto Katzes" and he seemed to get it because he replied:

"Feldkurat Otto Katz, my friend, is fictional,

My great-uncle Andrew Simon's use of name, is intentional.

A handsome man, Jewish, Russian spy and gay, 

At least that's what they liked to say.

In Prague, in fifty-to they hang him,

After they all got tired to bang him."

We stared into our half empty glasses for a while and Mama Cass, who hears everything without really listening, came around the bar to hug Otto and sing softly in his ear her version of Koko Taylor's "Come to Mama". We all went outside and I asked if he is any good with his Sousaphone. He looked sad, turned and walked away playing softly a barely recognizable "Eleanor Rigby". 

I said: "There he goes" and Mama Cass said "And so he blows" we turned to each other in terror: "Fawk it's contagious"

Marc Anthony Butcher

I bet, gentle readers, that few, if any, of you remember where you was June 23rd, 1994 at precisely 2:45 PM. I do: in a yellow cab at West 57th and 7th Ave. going to my hotel (Millennium, at 55 Church). In those pre-Uber times NY cabbies only had two subjects: the Mets and poetry. My guy Marc Anthony Butcher (according to his license card) was poetry. Halfway there, about West 14th, we bonded over Bukowski, Edna St. Vincent, Esenin, Dylan Thomas and Mayakovski. A few blocks further south, due to race, creed and general background, we started diverging. 

He to me: "Rhyme, optional at best"

Me to he: "Rhyme, nice to have"

He to me: "I am a published author"

Me to he: "I am neither either"

He to me: "Here's my book for you"

Me to he: "Here's ten bucks for you"

He pulled up and the doorman, George (his real name: Gică Sfetcu and he was the former goalie for Textila Buhuși), hastened with the door: "S-trăiți, dom Miki". I paid and tipped Mr. Butcher five bucks.

He to me: "Thanks brother, I have a cat called Mango and a dog called Tango"

Me to he: "Not at all, man. My mom was Chlöe and my sister was Zöe"

M.A. Butcher's books are still in print by YAMOO PUBLISHERS, Brooklyn  and his Spoken Word is available wherever you gets your podcasts. In 1999 his books were approved by New York City's Board of Education for use as a textbook for grades 6 to 12.