Significant Objects X Litquake: No. 2 of 5

[The auction for this Significant Object, with story by Rob Baedeker, has ended. Original price: $1. Final price: $22. Proceeds of this auction have been donated to Root Division, host of the first-ever Significant Objects live event, in connection with Litquake in San Francisco.]

Long ago, Flakumas, a stegosaurus, lay with Bardouf, a basset hound, and they begat Glumphakel, a bulbous-beaked baby, their first and only child. Although Glumphakel would go on to found our nation, his parents banished him at birth to waddle throughout the world alone, because of his back-warts.

And so Glumphakel roamed, plodding through wars and famines, feasts and coronations, oblivious to ceremony or circumstance—flopping one legless foot in front of the other with a gulpy cheer.

Legend says Glumphakel even trampled, unawares, straight through the middle of Emperor Wu’s wedding and unknowingly brained a guest with his spiked tail-stub. When confronted, the burnt-umber beast made such a show of contrition that Wu’s baffled courtiers not only let him go, but sent him on his way with a goodwill goatskin of yak-milk.

In the Tenth Moon of the Blue Age, Glumphakel was accosted in a marsh by the reptilian sorcerer Chrisyflas, a twig-limbed wastrel.

“I want to be inside you,” said Chrisyflas to the podgy father of our nation.

Glumphakel shrugged and said he didn’t mind, and so the saggy pterodactyl parted Glumphakel’s backfolds and sunk himself in for the long haul.

“My friend Lemp will ride along, too,” said Chrisyflas. “She is a dumb and broke-beaked albatross who won’t trouble you at all.”

“It’s just fine with me,” said Glumphakel, happy to fuse his flesh with a couple of kindred, googly-eyed pariahs.

The trio journeyed on, headed nowhere, and a century passed before Chrisyflas said, “Glumphakel, do you not see who I am?”

Glumphakel said he did not—that he could not see his own back—and besides it didn’t matter, all were welcome aboard.

“It’s me, your father!” said the scaly freeloader. “My real name is Flakumas. I tricked an elephant into giving me his ears, from which I fashioned these wings. Your mother was revolted, banished me and, in spite, took the earless elephant as her lover. The wings never worked, and I’m become an emaciated scavenger, with dumb Lemp here my only companion until you.”

A tear dropped from Glumphakel’s eye onto his warty beak, and then dripped here, in this parched desert, where it evaporated in an instant.

And from this invisible tear-spot sprung our nation—a landless nation of two, you and me. Take this statue: it shows our droopy forefathers frozen in their never-ending migration—eyes upturned in scared hope, creatures too small for their sagging skins.

———

COME TO OUR EVENT: October 9th, from 6-7 p.m.: An Evening of Remarkable Stories about Unremarkable Things featuring Rob Baedeker, Chris Colin, Miranda Mellis, Beth Lisick, and Katie Wiliams. PLUS: the first-ever Object Slam. Map to Venue. Confirm your attendance on Facebook!

No. 12 of 50 — Significant Objects v3

[This is the first installment in a four-part story by the members of Kasper Hauser. The auction for this object, with story by Rob Baedeker, has ended. Original price: $2.00. Final price: $15.50. Significant Objects will donate the proceeds of this auction to Girls Write Now.]

One night I looked at my saggy old beanbag, a sad black lump just lying on my living room floor like one of Bigfoot’s breasts.

That beanbag represented the old me.

I wear a Leatherman on my belt, and I gashed into that beanbag and didn’t stop sawing till I had a two-foot piece of leatherette.

That night I found a guy named LeatheretteBrad844@aol.com on the Internet who said he could do what I was looking for — make a pencil case with the texture of caiman (which is basically just a miniature alligator).

A lot of people choose alligator skin for their boots and cases, etc., but I chose the caiman to symbolize the conquering of a personal demon, but a demon of manageable size — to me, the idea that you could vanquish a full-on alligator is delusional. Start by wrestling the little guys. After you conquer your caimans, you can set your sites on the alligators.

I’m speaking symbolically, but I also used to work as a zookeeper, so I am actually pretty familiar with these kinds of reptiles/amphibians.

Now, I am hopping over the fence into the mind-work side of things — going back to finish my degree, with hopes of someday designing my own zoo or aquarium.

There are five pencils in the box. That’s my lucky number. I keep them unsharpened as a reminder of possibilities.

Tomorrow: Part Two: Gaucho Tray.

[The auction for this Significant Object, with story by Rob Baedeker, has ended. Original price: $1. Final price: $17.82.]

Baron Von Blauheimer “Muscle Dove” Statuette

This is a porcelain statuette of the Baron Von Blauheimer holding a “peace dove” on his cocked fist.

The statuette dates from the 1980s, but it is modeled after a real historical figure from an earlier time — the 1970s. The man is my uncle, Ray-Ray “The Baron” Von Blauheimer, and he is depicted here in his full baron regalia, which doubled as his only clothes.

In the 1970s it was still rare for a grown man to go to work in a lace cravat and petticoat breeches, especially if that man, like Ray-Ray, worked as a garbage collector for the City of Newark, NJ.

Ray-Ray was a bundle of contradictions: sensitive but hard-edged; coquettish yet vengeful; fastidious but filthy. A compassionate civil rights activist, he was also a bodybuilder who delighted in beating up hippies.

This statuette represents Ray-Ray’s attempt to reconcile two sides of his personality. The cocked fist is a symbol of the fight-ready posture he adopted so many times at pool halls, punk-rock concerts, and fondue orgies in the ’70s, while the white dove atop his hand represents his message of peace. As Ray would say, “It’s up to you, friend. Give peace a chance… or taste the Five Knucklemen of Von Blauheimer!”

Uncle Ray-Ray ordered this statuette of himself through a Chinese toy company whose advertisement he found in the back of a Beetle ‘n’ Bonsai magazine. The statuette was modeled after a full-size chainsaw sculpture self-portrait that Ray-Ray made one night when he was loaded on strawberry daiquiris. He sent the photo to the company, Wen Hong Toy, and they produced the custom miniature. The paint — the matching blue touches on the shoes and eyes, the brown strokes on the moustache and eyebrows, and the faint blush on the cheeks — was added by Ray-Ray himself, on another night when he got shellacked and weepy on frozen mango margaritas.

This item is in “Very Fine” to “Very Horrible” condition, depending on your values.

There is a small chip in the dove’s head from when Uncle Ray-Ray threw the statuette at the television during Ronald Reagan’s second inaugural address.