Brat Test: Rauan Klassnik
by Russell Bennetts
1. How do you feel about Ringwald?
A red duck is no joke. Neither is ringworm, which my Sheridan got from an auld cat while he was exploring an alley in London for artistic purposes. Speaking of Sheridan, my lovely boy’s now residing in Birmingham: you should see his new series of watercolours entitled Lord of The Rings. They do seem a little risqué to me —various interactive positions with gymnastics rings — but he assures me this sort of thing is quite common in the Art World these days.
2. How do you feel about Lowe?
Other night at the pub he confided in me about his girlfriend’s behind. And his face was contorted, as though he was being tortured. Or on the verge of a terrible orgasm. Tortured. Shamed. & belligerent. & I entertained, briefly, a vision of a black swan. A moor swan. A rover. Imperial and magisterial.
But another friend jumped in with: “No, he runs full speed from across the room and then, well…” And this friend (let’s call him John) demonstrated by running at and then thrusting his pelvis against the pool table.
I imagined the moor swan on a table in an old still life oil painting. And I began to weep.
Yeah, this is what I feel about Lowe. This and a beef and onion pasty.
3. How do you feel about McMcarthy?
A bit of spark, sure. But, Blood Meridian creeps me out.
I mean it seems like so much verbal communist torque. Guile and anathema. And The Road is even worse. Like Stalin just killing millions and millions of peasants.
I help out regularly at the charity shop, you know, and the worst of riffraff come in talking about McCarthy. O, yeah, they’re like McCarthy this. And McCarthy that.
Well, lads, I don’t think a man like McCarthy would last long with a woman like me. I have needs you know. Needs that go way beyond words and politics. Needs that breed in the marrow: potent, sweet & swish as
bubbling trench warfare.
I mean shouldn’t we all just pare the roses? Or sniff worms out of table lilies?
4. How do you feel about Clark/Bender?
Law firms and solicitors get a raw deal: bent over the continent, squawking, reeling, bloodshot, foaming and vainglorious. Those brave explorers who mapped out the Western Americas sure were ravaged by songbirds and Syphilis.
O, I don’t know, baby. Maybe a threesome would cure me of my fear of flying. And maybe, Colonel, if you took us for a drive through the countryside in yr Bentley convertible. And then parked us under an old, wise, glowing tree. And then leaned into me with matronly fervour. Well, then, maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
& BREAKING NEWS ALERT: The Spice Girls are ready to party in my womb. O, Johnny!
But, seriously, I think this Clark/Bender guy got drunk one night and never came back home. Look for him among the carrots!
5. How do you feel about St. Elmo’s Fire (on VHS)?
Richard likes to grasp me tightly, hollering: “O, my Iago… O, O, O,.. O, my Iago…”
And St. Elmo’s Fire is the trigger for my money shot. Tho, when things get a little boring during our little Karma Sutra marathons, you know, when I’ve had my fun and it’s going nowhere, I put on that uplifting song (‘Just once in his life/ A man has his time’) and then, Darling, we’re off to races. Finished. Victory parade. Flowers everywhere: like ice, “I would wrestle a tiger in peanut butter and then draw an eternity full of ants up through my veins just to be with you.”
And then I curl purring up into Pride and Prejudice. The scene on the heath. The glowing dawn. The heaving bosom. Heaving. And heaving.
And did I mention that Richard likes to grasp me tightly, hollering: “O, my Iago… O, O, O,.. O, my Iago…”??? (sigh) (sighhhhhhhh) (sigh)
6. How do you feel about yuppies?
One of Seamus Heaney’s standards is about ruddy farm folk drowning pups.
& crystal-like SPCA city talk morality didna ‘cut ice’ on the crude and rude farm he was writing from. And I know Seamus was sitting on a henge somewhere licking clots of cream slowly off of his gnarled thumb. And I know that thousands of drowned pups suddenly reared up swarming fresh-faced Seamus.
And licking then with total abandon over that bright whelp’s face.
Immortality comes us to us in the form of puppies. And we. . .
7. How do you feel about a high school detention on a Saturday?
I’m all for detention. But only if they include supper. Ho. Ho. Just kidding. But, yes, I’m behind detentions 1000%. And restraints. Ball gags. Feathers. And certain kinds of erotic bread. (Wink. Wink.) Bring me a mountaintop keen with sadism and I will sing you into confinement. You’ll never want to leave.
‘Skin the rabbit’ parties work best. Cat ones not quite as well.
And then we all climb on to a family ladder (pilgrim! pilgrim!) and ‘let fly.’ (I watch The Birdcage at least once a week because it makes me a better person.)
Like we’re saving the God-Forsaken Planet.
About Rauan Klassnik:
Rauan Klassnik is the author of two Black Ocean books: Holy Land (2008) and The Moon’s Jaw (2013). His Sky Rat releases from Spork at the end of this February. Rauan likes to tweet and blogs for HTMLGIANT.
