#441 The Homunculus of Frank O'Hara

I no longer take the homunculus of Frank O'Hara onto the plane with me. Have grown tired of having to place it in the perspex tray along with my lighter, cigarettes, keys, watch, wallet, spectacles – yes, I know there's three-quarters of a racially stereotypical joke in there; but having no desire to irradiate my gonads I have never taken off my testicles to complete the punchline.

The homunculus traveled peacefully enough most times. But every so often, especially when the flight was delayed, he'd be set off by the X-ray machine, would suddenly exclaim "my quietness has a man in it" in a voice that most definitely contradicted the words; & then I'd be up against the wall being searched for stowaways.

Before him I'd taken Bach with me. He'd mainly hum. The machines would gradually pick up the theme & purr along in perfect counterpoint. Caught up by the harmony all around even the security guards would display a courtesy & politeness that was exemplary. Never a problem until the day J.S.B. got asked to remove his periwig & promptly launched into a performance of his Toccata & Fugue in D Minor that shook the terminal. Then came the Brandenburgs, & planes started falling from the sky.

Magritte has been my companion on the last few flights. So far nothing to report. He is the perfect gentleman. Takes off his overcoat & lays it flat on the belt, followed by his bowler hat which he places in such a way it completes the outline of a man. Then we walk through the metal detector together, quietly, each eating an apple picked from a favorite painting.