The House of the Stone Monkey
The House of the Stone Monkey is a messy party in the pants of a slowed down dog. It’s hearing a quiet person tell a joke and telling it louder as if it’s your own. It’s taking a big lungful of smoke and trapping it with a spasm of laughter in your throat so that only a whisper leaves your lips: the white flag of surrender turned to dust. The House of the Stone Monkey is built of bricks … but blood is mixed into the cement. It’s the re-re-re-appropriation of the word ‘Cunt’ as a term of endearment. It’s watching a kung fu movie then beating up your little brother while you squawk like a spasticated bird. It’s a meat pie cooked in a sunset sky by a momma with a moon for a face. It’s hanging yourself with the finishing line just to get out of the rat race. The House of the Stone Monkey is ubiquitous and yet only arises in special conditions. It’s invisible, eternal, and crumbling as we speak. It takes five days of eating nothing but manna from heaven just to visualise a tile on its roof. It’s the blue flame of the pudding that’s burning 100% proof. It’s making everybody feel uncomfortable by dancing sarcastically in the middle of the room. It’s the Chemical Brothers vs. the Legion of Doom. The House of the Stone Monkey is a joke that hasn’t finished yet, and when it’s over you’ll forget it was a joke and tell your grandchildren about it as if it really happened. It’s every superpower you never had gleaming in the illustrated eyes of a thousand pound hooker. It’s skiing on yellow snow in stolen slippers. It’s taking off the mask by painting your face silver. The House of the Stone Monkey stays till the party’s over, even if that means falling asleep on the sofa. The House of the Stone Monkey shakes your hand and says “Pleased to meet ya” – but its eyes are staring hungrily at the chip on your shoulder. The House of the Stone Monkey needs feeding and it wants to be your friend.
Go bananas.
The Infinite Monkey Theo-re-re-re
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