In a possible sign that megalomaniac musical artiste Davey Dreamnation is set to rise from his post-DNRC slumber, news agencies are today reporting that the chanteuse’s long-time collaborator and manager, the incorrigible Scaramouche, has been found alive and well in a cave in the Goulburn Valley, despite rumours that he had suffered a fatal quiche lorraine overdose somewhere.
Back in 2030, the llama’s ‘swansong’ album (also entitled Quiche Lorraine) failed to chart, even in Majorca, where fans of Scaramouche number in the high tens.
Despite this apparent lack of interest in said llama’s soaring and angelic melodies (witness “Scaramouche’s Theme”, a pant-ripping, adrenaline-soaked anthem if ever you’ve heard one), international web-portal I Ate a Bee reported late last night (Majorca time) that Scaramouche is indeed ‘back on the radar’, and has now discovered a new way to communicate with the world, having been previously restricted to Esperanto.
The llama’s first message, delivered to journalists gathered at the Camp Davey compound, though slightly shocking, signals that he has now gotten over his life-threatening quiche lorraine addiction, and has reverted to one of his previous predilections:
While unavailable for comment, Davey Dreamnation is reported to be preparing an official statement, after watching Scaramouche’s rescue on closed-circuit television from within the comfortable environs of his Camp Davey bunker.
DNRC100 | 7″ | 2030 Continue reading →
I may have a thousand hands
but that doesn't make me a Bodhisattva -
in fact, the only things my hands are good for
are mundane things, practical tasks,
not spiritual enlightenment.
I use my thousand hands to play
five hundred games of solitaire against myself
and whenever I win the cards cascade
like a waterfall of poker chips
built by a fake Buddha.
You see, I'm just pretending to have a thousand hands.
When I'm alone, I amuse myself by
shaking my own imaginary hands,
slapping myself on the back one thousand times,
squeezing my one thousand fabricated zits,
picking my nose by shoving five hundred
index fingers inside each of my gigantic nostrils.
In short, I am a pretender.
You should have stopped listening
or walked out while you had the chance.
You should have listened to Madonna.
You should have told me where to go
but it's too late now.
As witnesses to my pretence you too are pretending
to breathe, acting as if you are alive,
wanting to believe that this is poetry
and not some pathetic charade.
I own one thousand llamas
but each of them answers to the name "Scaramouche".
This might lead you to believe that each of these
one thousand llamas is in fact an illusion, a chimera.
But don't be fooled -
they don't call me a llama wrangler for nothing.
Just like Heath Ledger in Brokeback Mountain
I'm pretending to be a cowboy,
willing myself to believe that I am in fact gay.
I have one thousand gay friends.
Some of my best llamas are gay.
We are all gay, only some of us are pretending
to be ambivalent.
Scaramouche is the name of my favourite llama.
Scaramouche may well be a Bodhisattva.
Maybe in his next incarnation,
Scaramouche will be reborn as a pretend llama,
pretending to be gay.
Or perhaps I'm just making that up.
When I think of Madonna, I think of
a thousand virgins who are not actually virgins.
In fact, they are only acting like virgins.
In other words, pretending to be touched
for the very first time.
If you ask me, all virgins are fakes.
Or maybe I'm just pretending not to realise
I said that last statement out loud.
Either way, we're all as fake as cubic zirconias
in a world that's full of rubies.
Would you rather be a ruby or a cubic zirconia
pretending to be a diamond?
I predict that you will find my question
puzzling, if not slightly odd.
Who is this guy?
Is his name on the program?
I thought this was some kind of tribute to Madonna?
To which I reply: even Madonna is pretending
to be the Virgin Mary. And who knows,
maybe she's fake too.
I may have a thousand names
but they all rhyme with the word "pretender".
I write "request for tender", while at the same time
resisting the temptation to return this pretender
to sender. I'm a gender-bender.
I'm bananas in a blender. I despise
imitation fenders. Does that make sense?
I'm a lover, not a mender. This poem
has been rendered obsolete.
I'd rather write "request for tenderness".
I'm a beginner, not an ender.
I like Larry Emdur. He's no pretender.
He's the real deal. I should have told him
while I had the chance.
Instead, I'm standing here playing solitaire
with your minds. Now I'm playing Old Maid.
And maybe that's who Madonna's pretending to be.
Old Madge, in a leotard, playing patience
with the future. And she's losing every time.
She should have called "barley" while she had
the chance. But she didn't, and that's why
I'm standing here pretending to be a poet tonight.
Pretty good, huh? Not bad for a thousand-handed,
llama-wrangling, solitaire-playing virgin from
an island in the stream of consciousness.
I may have no idea what's really happening here
but at least I'm not pretending that it matters.
It doesn't. Well, actually, it does.
But let's pretend I never said that. In fact,
let's pretend I never got up here at all.
First performed live at Liner Notes Volume 3,
Bar Open, Wednesday 20 February 2008.
In a victory for animal rights lovers everywhere, Davey Dreamnation has taken out an injunction against his former llama and interpreter Scaramouche, in a move to block the release of “Scaramouche’s Theme” as part of his triumphant return to form, the trail-blazing Recognition of Prior Learning. Tribesco sources have confirmed that the “barnstorming” album is now available, after weeks, nay, years of inactivity on [d/dn]’s once flourishing international web portal. With listener interest increasing exponentially over the past few days, all is set for an exhilirating countdown to the next batch of mp3.com.au download statistics, due Wednesday (Tribesco time). Davey Dreamnation remains quietly confident that his position (currently #8) will rise even more dramatically, now that the album itself has been fully released. “You have to understand that this record was born out of extreme frustration, and there are a great deal of political references in the lyrics of the songs. Which makes it a shame that Davey hasn’t released the lyrics online, as the words in many of these songs are unintelligible. Take “Dim Stars 2″, for example. I have no idea what that’s about at all,” admitted a sad and disconsolate Stung, upon learning that Davey’s new album has risen further on the charts in the last ten seconds than Nothing Like the Stung did in the past two years. “That being said, and despite the woeful recording techniques employed on this release, I salute my good friend and collaborator. He’s finally booted that freaking llama out of the band, which should make it easier for me to score some co-writing credits.” Scaramouche himself confirmed the split, whilst smoking a cigarette outside his tailor made cage, which has now been cleaned out of straw, carrots and quiche lorraine. “It’s very sad but unfortunately, there was no room left on the album for my delightful and melodious theme song. By extension, that means there’s no room left for me here in Tribesco any more either. I am deeply distressed by what has happened in the last 24 minutes. All I can say is, if they’re doing animal research, they should at least make the effort to ask me to sign a consent form. I can speak, after all, and only just recently Stung made me a pen holder which I have attached to my front left hoof, enabling me to sign documents and write down my lyrics and poetry. I guess I’ll have to give it back now. That freaking Sting strap-on says it’s his intellectual property. Sniff. Well, I guess he’s right. Good bye everyone, and thanks for all the ham rolls. No, I couldn’t possibly eat pressed chicken meat, not today.”
Upping the ante with his characteristic wit and subversive humour, pop star and promising songwriter Scaramouche today denied rumours that he is changing his name to Sea Biscuit. As previously reported on Tribesco, rumours were swirling around the D/DN compound this week suggesting that Scaramouche was tiring of his own name and personality. “Let me just say that that is completely untrue,” spat the llama at journalists gathered outside the compound gates in the hopes of getting some form of comment on the debacle, “I love my name, myself and everything related to me. I may not be a gifted flautist, but I’m quite shocked that Stung has taken this opportunity to bad mouth me in such a public way. In any case, if I was going to change my name, it wouldn’t be to “Chris”, “Sea Biscuit” or any other ludicrous name. I would only ever change it to Clint. But I’m not going to do that. Period. You can call me Scaramouche, Mouchie or Scar, but nothing else. End of story.” When asked about progress on his so-called “debut” album, the llama was quick to scurry back inside his tailor-made cage. Not even the offer of a lamington could coax the reclusive animal out of hiding.