I think I'll finish now by reading a little
from The Book of Frank.
And this is also over here.
I don't know.
I'm not going to say anything.
I'm just going to read from The Book of Frank.
It starts off with, the whole book
starts up with a quote from my grandmother that helped me.
I had a mother who was in trouble with the law a lot
when I was younger.
And so when I went back to visit her home in Iowa,
where she grew up, I was in the grocery store as a youngster,
I guess I was like eight or nine,
and all the old ladies were like,
oh, there is Carla with that whore.
Carla's son.
You know, like talking about me.
I was like, wow, they're talking about--
I was like, grandma, they're talking bad about us.
And this is what she said.
She said, well, of course they're staring.
We're very interesting.
[LAUGHTER]
"When Frank was born, father inspected the small package
the nurse handed him.
But where's my daughter's cunt?
My daughter has no cunt.
Mother leaned from the bed.
This is your awful son, dear.
Your son has no cunt.
Why doesn't my son have a cunt?
What has happened?
What a wicked world, dark and spitting on its one good leg."
This is a piece I like to always dedicate
to George W. Bush and his mother Barbara Bush
because she would show him at breakfast,
I don't think every breakfast.
But she had, I don't know why, but, you know, she's crazy,
I guess.
She had jars of fetuses in formaldehyde
and she would show them to him at breakfast.
And then he became president.
[LAUGHING]
Isn't that nice?
Thanks, Barbara.
"Frank hated the nine miscarriages
kept in jars of formaldehyde.
Mother burped each one, spooned peas against the glass.
She rocked them all at once in her arms, no room for Frank.
You are too big for a jar, my child.
You will betray me and the rest of your life.
At the dinner party Frank lost his fruit cup.
You looked under the table, saw how people touch themselves,
even at dinner parties.
Zipper stroked, knees reacquainted with palms.
His eyes clouded in jubilation.
But where's Frank, they asked.
While on their laps, the only answer
was a tiny, mysterious violet.
Mother knew where the next war was before Frank
by the colors they made her paint the airplanes.
Father was drunk and yelling.
And rule number nine, everybody dies!
Upon hearing rule number nine Frank suddenly
forgot all other rules.
[LAUGHING]
Frank grew crows for hands.
It was a difficult childhood.
At dinner during prayer, his crows
flapped excited in the name of the Lord.
Frank, keep still, mother hollered.
Did you wash your crows?
Did you wash your filthy, stinking crows?
When Father died Frank was found straddling him,
his crows picking the seven gold fillings.
Frank saw a giant eat a park bench with her vagina,
drink a swimming pool with her vagina.
I saw her swallow the baby and spit out the crib, Frank said.
He tiptoed past her snoring uterus one night
and heard a few familiar voices cry out.
Would you sign my book, Mr. Poe?
Frank asked the pile of bones amidst shovels of dirt.
Why certainly young man, answers Frank in a different voice.
This is your Captain, Frank says from the cockpit.
All passengers wishing to bail out anytime during our flight,
it is too late.
I have shredded the parachutes to confetti
in celebration of our arrival.
Frank knows a butterfly who wonders
about her old caterpillar friends.
I'm here for the show, the man said,
looking under Frank's shirt for the door.
I'm no theater, Frank said.
A line formed.
Must he admit them all?
Many had umbrellas.
A blind woman waited with her dog.
It's going to be a great show, someone said.
But when are you going to let us in?
Frank's tears began to fall.
Someone ripped his doors open.
They filled him for an hour.
At the party everyone traced fingers on their bodies
where they preferred to have cancer,
if they had to have cancer.
The host asked Frank where he'd like to have his.
What a question, Frank said.
I'd like my cancer right here.
And traced a circle on the host instead.
From the menu of dead authors, Frank orders
Emily Dickinson's breast with dumplings and the braised thigh
of Anais Nin.
His wife orders Leo Tolstoy's ring finger with caviar
and the candied genitals of Jack Kerouac.
Kerouac's erection arrives, shimmering in gravy.
Mmm, she says, nibbling the tip Frank glares and stabs
a breast.
At the doctor's request, Frank stopped shaving the chair.
In a month it was the most comfortable chair in the house.
Frank hands the cowboy a wad of tissues.
These contain semen I produced when thinking of you.
The cowboy sniffs them and smiles.
Thanks, Frank.
I'll put them with the others."
[LAUGHING]
It wasn't so bad.
He wasn't unhappy about that.
"Is no one else sick of this paralysis of gravity?
Frank asks.
When I was a boy, I stepped into the sky.
And I was a boy, not a surrealist.
Part of the dream is that you accept your waking life
as part of the dream.
Pig says to Frank, this fence keeps you in your world.
Frank says to pig, this fence keeps you in your world.
Pig says to Frank, this fence keeps you in your world.
Frank says to pig, this fence keeps you in your world.
Pig says to Frank, this fence keeps you in your world."
Thank you.
[APPLAUSE]
Thank you so much for having me.
Thank you.