Saturday, October 15, 2011

Burgundofara is a ho bag.

I am so pissed at Burgundofara.  She turned down the new sun to fuck a sailor with a possession she could touch; a boat.  Whore.  Even though Severian gave her the hush-mouth like three times in an hour, even though he was aloof, even though he became a-sexual because of his “talents”, even though it was a future self that had loved Severian and she was just fresh out of tiki-tiki-tiki-tiki-tiki-ville or wherever the fuck and her ‘self’ from the future says, “Hey, I fell in love with this fucked up lookin guy with the limp and the dead eye and the missing face, so , you go fuck him too k?”, even though she is like, "Hey, I know in your reality you have lived on this gd ship for eternity, literally, but now that ‘I’m’ here I’m tellin ya, it’s not for me."  Even though she as much as told Severian before they took the tender down that she felt sorry for him, even though she told him it was her older self she felt sorry for, literally, I know it was more like, “Hey, so, see that person that shares a recently recognized and verbally acknowledged similarity with you, yeah, I feel sorry for them, I don’t really love them or anything, its more like pity..  Is there such a thing as a pity fuck?”  Even though he could have given a shit less about her, she was still a fucking whore.  What’s even more brilliant about Wolfe’s “Severian-vs-Burgundofara” is that even though Severian knows all that shit and she is still someone's puppy, an obligation thrust upon him, or more so a "painting" your lover gives you after she says, "Hey, work is more important to me than you, but here is my picture; jack off to it if you start missing me.”, he still wants to own her and gut the fucking captain.  Well let me tell you cunnies, I was there.  He fucking killed that guy dead as shit, then he tied Burgundofara to his “un-manned” body and pitched the captain into the fucking amazon.  “let her fucking follow him there.” We all nodded.  It’s what we’d have done.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

BFOW excerpt; All of my ornaments...

All of my ornaments are in a box I keep anatomy books on I have never looked through.  I give them too much care now.  I wrap those cheap Technicolor jobbies in soft cloth and have those rabbit ear things that go in the ends that look light the insides of light bulbs, those things, kept in another smaller box.  I saved some tinsel.  I hated Christmas as a child.  I had to pretend the toys a poor parent buys their kid are made of gold and joy and love.  I get the ugliest tree I can find and I don’t let anyone over when I do Christmas and I sit there and cry until I am cutting on myself then I knock that shit off and put it all away again.  No shit.  When Anne gets involved I put my whole Christmas in one of those little boxes.  For three years I feel it waiting to have Christmas but I keep it in there instead.  Sometimes I say weird shit around Anne like I think I like Christmas.  I don’t get her anything the first two years and tell her its all about the experience.  I do shit for her and stuff like that.  Once I told her I wanted to bring the whole world back and give it to her but everything was pretty much fuckin stuck in place and so I brought her a foil wrapped piece of dime store chocolate that looked like the earth.  I get Games, a TV, Movies, Blow Job cards, Shirts, Watches, Pens, Gifts that don’t count because I needed them she says, gifts that count as birthday and Christmas but I get both anyway.  Our last Christmas, the fourth one, the one after we broke up I showed her my Christmas and we cried but I didn’t cut on my self that year, I made her leave though and boxed all that shit up again.

BFOW excerpt; Boots late...

Boot’s late and your friend, the guy friend, is such a pussy I will not let up.  Who are you gonna fuck I say and he’s all Geesh and I say Geesh guy and he looks like he is gonna cry and he is all, No I’m not, and I’m like Do it pussy, and pull back my fist and your yelling at me and his little cum bubble of a brain is all thinking he’s the guy that’s gonna come out on top cause he’s the good guy and he would never do that and I hate myself in you you little fucking faggot, you’re not me!  I’ll let you watch me fuck your girl I say but he won’t turn around now and she’s all like she doesn’t want to go with us.  Boot just texted me and said Fuck you and I say I am gonna go chill with Boot cause your all a bunch a crybabies and Wendys like Shut up and get in the car and I’m in the car and I say Make me honey and she says Ill make you and I say You better and then the girl friend gets back in and I am not sure why she got out and I say Dereos playin on 2nd street at like one and she’s all I know Zac and I say Yeah, you’re a whore, and she says Shut the fuck up and I say You fuck Zack and she does the fake smiley shock thing that all women do when you set that dunk up for em and I look at her date and I say, If you don’t get fucked tonight, it’s your own fault.

Zoey’s on the corner when we drive by and everyone’s all waving and saying hello like they fucking like her but they don’t she’s just someone they passed that they know, like hysteria or something and I won’t let Wendy turn around for Zoey cause That’s gay Wendy, you’re a real piece of ass and you don’t turn around for anyone that’s why and she’s all That’s mean and I just keep setting these two bitches up for the dunk and by the time we get to downtown they won’t look at all the guys they want to fuck and I am thinkin, now these two are really my bitches.

I keep talking about Janny’s ass.  Janny’s the girl that’s gonna walk away from the faggot in the back seat as soon as the fucking car door opens.  I tell her I can feel her ass through the seat.  She’s all Whatever and I am all Whatever rock that thing Ill fuck you right now and she’s all You’re a pig and I know she loves her ass cause it is important to know these things and she knows it and I knew it when I saw her walkin up, havn’t even seen it in my face and I know it.  I’m just fuckin with her baby she’s a cow, come on.  And Wendy is all You better be good and I am all Boring!

I don’t give a fuck what you want to drink.  Shut up.  Oh god he is gonna start shit again and the girls just get fucking wet when we fight.  Hey fuck face!  And he’s all what like a gangster and he’s all stepping up to me and that’s some bullshit cause I’m drunk now and I now it will end well and I don’t even answer I’m just on him and fuck swingin I put him right into a bunch of other people and there is so much fuckin yelling its great and I am all fuckin laughin and I got this fuckin guy by the jacket and he aint goin anywhere and there are fuckin chicks screamin and shits getting hard and I put a couple hits on his fuckin guts and then it’s like all chaos and the girls are the most important they will ever be with some drunk asshole like me and they take me out and I am all fucking pushed out of the bar by like all these people and they are like all that guys friends and their all like be cool and fuck that come here you fucking faggot and Wendy is all pulling me and so is the other girl and what’s her fucking name? and I’m in the back seat and I hit that fucking kid that’s with us and Wendy pulls him up front and Janny’s back there and I am all like sorry baby and she’s like Those fucking assholes and I am like who hit you and she’s like no one and I am like who the fuck touched you and I start to climb out of the car and everyone’s all screaming and pulling on me and I am like turn around ill fucking kill’em, I swear to fucking god Wendy turn around!

I don’t want to sober up but I do.  The fucking harbor house sucks and I stop at a table where there’s a hot girl and I am like Sup baby doll and some assholes all tough and he’s not and I’m like here’s my phone honey, put your number in it, and she’s all like I do what ever I want to him but I’m already being pulled away by the girls and over to the table and I kiss Wendy and she’s so fucking hot and like people want to leave but they don’t and there here for me and no bullshit they are and when I am telling her I love her the other girl brings the phone back and is all Here’s his phone and Wendy’s like thanks and sorry and she’s all its ok hell pay for it in the morning and they all laugh and I know she put her number in it and I am all like I don’t know she’s there and Wendy’s like Sit up and I am like Fuck this place all this shit is fattening and it is and like Wendy’s all I’m tired of driving and I’m lookin at this fuckin douche bag who thinks he is gonna stare me down for being a dick and I am like What sup and he’s all ignoring me now and Wendy’s like Don’t start any bullshit I swear to god! And Janny’s all We better go and I ignore them cuz they are beautiful and they are doing exactly what I want them to and I am like Sup you wanna tell me something guy? And Wendys like Fuck this and the girls pull me outa there and I am like Whatever pussy and I leave and he says something and I ignore it and I just made everyone’s day.

What the fuck is your name again and he is all terrified now and I am in back with Janny and I have her legs on mine and my hand on her leg by her pussy and she keeps moving it down her leg but just a few inches and I am all like I don’t know and I know she’s wet and I am like Are you gonna break my heart baby and she’s like Whatever and she’s all close to me and Wendy is like oh god, just hit him.  And she laughs and that faggots all up front and cryin and not really but he is and he’s all scared of me and I swat his head and am like What’s up puppy and Wendy’s like knock it the fuck off and tells him to lean forward and I’m like yeah lean forward bitch and then I am all mackin on Janny and she fucking wants it so bad she is starting to make me hard and Wendy pretends she doesn’t know or doesn’t care she probably doesn’t either of them and she won’t let me touch her tits but her stomach is tight and flat and that’s cool and like my hands on her stomach but my pinky is like deep in her pants and she’s just giving me her neck and I put her hand on my cock and she kind of pulls it away but doesn’t and Wendy’s like where the fuck are we going and I stop it with Janny like she was never in the car to begin with and I am like Where’s my fucking phone!  Where’s Boot? and Wendy’s asking the faggot if he wants her to drop him off and he’s all like Probably and I put my hand behind Jan’s back under her shirt and pants like its nothing and I am like Where’s my fucking phone up to Wendy and she’s like Chill out I got it and I am all give it and she’s like What do you want your just gonna break it and I’m like Give me my fucking phone and she calls Boot on hers and he’s fucked her too so their all like tight and stuff like she is with me and I turn back to Janny and she’s been looking at me and I kiss her good and deep but just once and I am like baby, I wanna fuck Janny and Wendy’s like whatever and I kiss her again and I whisper in her ear whatever.

BFOW excerpt; June sucks...

June sucks.  Her friends in town, Libby, what a fucking name.  I call her scooter and swat her ass just for the insanity of it.  Holy Shit she says and they both just look at me and then go back to whatever the fuck they were talking about as we try and find our way back to the car leaving LAX.  I drive her car everywhere.  Dads rich I guess which means she is but I have never seen a dime of it.  I act like they are both my bitches.  Women love that.  Fuckin women.  Don’t get me wrong, Libby isn’t a bimbo.  I can tell she wants to show me her tits and will try to during the next two weeks that she is in town staying at our place.  Her tits are bigger than Annes and they talk about it in the first five minutes that they see each other, oh yeah and she calls her Annie.  This bugs me.

On the ride home we play something Libby just has to show her and it is some British pop rap dance girl thing and its good and that sucks.  Anne’s weird and I don’t say anything cause I am not like that even though she always remarks when I am weird like it’s a fucking crime only I have ever been guilty of and it says something irrevocable about me and I know our relationship is ending already.  Babe, what’s that place with the Indian food she asks me?  Fuckin babe?  She never lets me call her babe.  Come on you know the one on Warner?

Oh yeah it’s called Indian Food.  She hits me.  I love it.  I think about faking Hindi and being fucking relentless with it but Libby wouldn’t react and it would make me angry and so I don’t.  Babe I say.  She looks at me.  Babe can we swing by the house I’m fuckin horny.  Oh my god says you know who.  Anne smiles and hits me again and says babe but like in shock and I smile and she says god to Libby and Libby makes a face for who the fuck I have no idea and I laugh at her loud and angrily and she feels it.  I back off then, that was it, my assertion I am done babe, I’ll play now.

Oh my god this place sucks.  But she is talking about Orange County in general I guess and I agree.  I ignore her tits like a medusa around Anne.  I do see her ass under her T-shirt and that is not good cuz I fuck her in my mind that night when I fuck Anne.  I feel bad.  She is feeling good cause her friends here but her friend is a home wrecking slut and wears too much make up and I feel like shit for imagining her but I can’t help it.  The next night I am a little rough with Anne when we fuck and something comes out in me and we stop and neither of us cum and we lay there and we are both too smart to talk about it and it makes me want her more, not Libby but Anne.  She is so right for me.

The next morning Libby shows me her pussy in the kitchen while Anne is brushing her teeth.  She waits till I come out then bends over like she is looking for cereal under the sink.  My dick is hard instantly.  I look at it, I want to just walk over and slide my dick right into her.  She waits there.  I feel dizzy, so fucking horny I could scream and I go back into the room and when she hears me turn to go she says Oh really surprised like and jumps and covers herself front and back with a hand and says something but I am already in the bedroom and opening the bathroom door and Anne is brushing her teeth and I grab her pussy and she says don’t and I say please honey please I am so fucking horny babe please and she says nock it off, and I push my dick at her and she says stop it and I sit on the toilet and I swear to god I cry and she comes over and asks what’s wrong and I plead with her I tell her I feel like I will die if I don’t cum I swear to god and she kisses me and grabs me and then I fuck her standing at the sink and cum in her again.  I know I shouldn’t but it is the only way I can.  I thank her and I mean it and I put out of my mind that I was imagining fucking Libby at the sink and feeling those big soft heavy tits cause it would kill her and I sit in the bathroom and cry and they head out to shop and I feel Libby feeling all superior to Anne and I want to punch her in the face.

That night when we eat Libby is looking at me like we are fucking and I am bitter then Anne touches me under the table, it’s our thing we do, what we all do but I think its Libby and I jump and crack my knee on the table and Anne says fuck and I get up and leave and she follows.

I don’t go to the beach with them.  I don’t go to Bullwinkles with them.  I don’t go to rock ‘n bow with them, instead I stay at home and put Libby’s underwear all over my face and jack off in the guest bed, Libby’s bed and my balls get huge and sore and one day I cum six times and I have this boner at dinner that night and it just fucking hurts and I am hunched at the table and Anne thinks I’m sick.

I have to take her to the airport.  I say no.  I tell her to call her fucking mom.  Why are you being such an asshole?  I want to say she is trapping me.  I am gonna fuck her if I take her to the airport but this is so much beyond anything she could imagine I have a nervous breakdown for like ten minutes and then I say I love you.  I am sorry.  I will take her.

My flights delayed she says but it wasn’t, she lied about the time, we were three hours early.  I have to get clean, all this smog makes me sticky.  She gets a room at some wannabe four star across from the airport and says she is gonna run up to shower.  I tell her I will wait here and she turns and smiles at me and says ok and I follow her.  Her tits or so fucking incredible I am slack jawed.  She doesn’t want anything but Ann’s man and I get inside that sweet tight pussy and I fuck her till the cows come home and I cum inside her cause I know she won’t get pregnant, that is not what she wants.  She got what she wanted.  We don’t say anything.  I don’t even walk her to her flight I just leave.  At home I think Anne smells her on me and she must but her pause is momentary and lost in some preoccupation or so she lets me believe.  Thank you.

Saturday, October 1, 2011

The Gospel According to me.

                 He knew I was from the future immediately.  I walked up, and seriously, there was no way to tell who he was, no way.  All these fuckers, I mean ALL of them look alike.  I was searching for that ‘savior’ something I thought he would have.  All of ‘em, the crowd I guess you could say, they knew there was something wrong with me, then all of a sudden he is like, sup.  He says it, he says, “sup” and ups his chin at me like hey. 

                The other guys are nice enough.  I never learn nearabic, that’s what I call it, real clever I know.  Honestly, something tells me they don’t even speak it, I mean, their fucking dirty right, I mean way worse than you are thinking.  Everything is so dirty.  Everyone smells like shit and sweat, everyone.  I don’t think they have ever seen clear water, their water, all of its brown. 

                “Watch out!” I say to john, but that’s not his name, its hacken hacken dirg aban, you know, none of them are named mark or Luke, it’s like my own joke, I am surrounded by Osama bin laden clones and their all supposed to be Jesus and his crew, what a fuckin farse.  I laugh to my self, Christ gets it, we are all sitting there, ”John” just looks at the snake and is like, what?  “What” I say to him back with that double question mark that I do not know how to write.  He says something that sounds like ‘suim salla’ and gestures with a palm up hand, I get it, it’s like he’s sayin,’ what, the snake?’  There are snakes everywhere.  Let me say that again and put it in context, just spell it out real good for ya.  Everyone smells like their own shit, I will be dead from disease soon, all kinds, and there are snakes everywhere.  People sleep in the dirt as the bed has not been invented yet, oh yeah, and you can’t put a fucking foot down in the Promised Land without scaring a snake. 

                “dirka dirka Mohamed jihad, Luke, Dirka dirka” I say.  Good Christ laughs at me.  All everyone else hears is Mohammed and War, which makes it funny for so many reasons. 

                I keep looking for all the mythical shit that happened in the Bible.  It’s hard to spot it not speaking the language.  I never get used to all the touching and pushing and shit, how close everyone is, how small the ideas are, how premature even the most banal possibilities seem.  It hurts me how little has changed for so many people in the “arab” world.  I know I am here some 2000 plus years ago but, if I turned the corner and saw a CNN war correspondent I would ask them for a ride back to the Hotel.

                They half cook fish and sometimes do not cook it at all; they just let it rot dry, if that is a thing to do to fish.  Phillip, the big one at 4’ 11” and 111 lbs. (I’m guessing the weight) loves to give me what they are calling bread.  Let me tell you that it is not.  My third piece, which must mean I am lucky for making it so far, had a rock in it that busted off my crown and hurt like fuck.  A rock not a kernel or grain or multi grain of sand but a rock, nay, a pebble.  I mean, it’s just, well fuck it’s like, well everything is colored by careful chewing and tooth pain now, I mean, fucking vacation spoiler for sure, I mean, shit, the whole rest of the time, the whole rest of my time there spent with my tongue getting raw, flickin the ground trunk of my molar sans artificial silver and porcelain helmet, I mean, I just can’t keep my tongue off it.  Fuck!

                It’s a complaint really, my gospel.  Good Christ, that’s what I have been calling him and fuck help me if I am the one that started all the bullshit by doin it, but I feel pretty sure he is Good Christ now, having met him and hung out pretty much all the time for like 3 years, Good Christ is also a good guy and most probably a time traveler from the late nineties with a degree from UCI in middle eastern languages.  Nah, who am I kiddin, he is down right the son ‘o god.  But that’s not my complaint.  My complaint is, the past really sucks and should stay there.  Bring soap and plenty of water and food, spices if you don’t want to bring food, and a fucking car, probably a Jeep.  Ice, I miss ice a lot.  Don’t eat cheese, not for another 2000 years or so or you’ll puke your shit out, its fucking disgusting.  Everyone’s filthy, did I say that enough? 

                I tried to hatch some plots but, again, the language barrier made that dull and the effect unobservable.  We didn’t talk a lot, it was more like we were on vacation together, you know, good friends, guy friends, foreigners amongst foreigners, always the grinning secret of the end of faith, me the guy in the crowd at the big party of important people where the BMOC singles you out in that awesome way as being the one closest, the one that gets the hug when the rest get the handshake, but really, we just sat around and they bullshitted all day and ladies fed us and shit and we never work a fucking day, unreal when you think about it.  We’d talk but I didn’t want to cramp his style, he was doin his thing right, I was a walk in, kind a like petitioning a class, you know. 

                At 6’2” I was a godling to them.  I was invisible and yet they all knew of me.  I covered my face a lot.  The romans guys, which were really just arabs out of uniform, I mean really, they were not fuckin Italians, and that is some bullshit too, they loved me, always makin fun of how I talked and shit, always trying to copy me, always laughing, more than Good Christ, always smiling and shit, they really reminded me of Mexicans that way.

                I’m not tellin ya how it ended, what was true, what was bullshit, fuck you.  I will tell you to follow your heart, be good, laugh, try and make a new friend every day, don’t work so fucking hard, don’t take advantage of people who resent it, listen to each other right?  Be a good friend to your friends.  Oh yeah, and don’t spend so much time reading, I never saw Good Christ open a single scroll and I have news for you, not one of ‘em could read and only that weirdo Mathew, or as everyone else called him, “dira dirka dirka” could write and I don’t think he did that very well either.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Don Ken Gallery

Surely you all know this man.  If you do not, then get to know him.

You can find him here...   http://johnkenn.blogspot.com/2011/09/blog-post_2370.html

Nicole Kidman

I submit for your perusal this crazy fucking kid, who is writing and performing some of the best music I have heard in years..  (Metahedron excluded) 

Phil Hale

I submit for your perusal, Phil Hale..  wish I could buy this, I would double whatever he is asking for it.
this is a link to his CGUnit Page  http://www.cgunit.net/search/label/Phil%20Hale

This is not a question.

Why are the handicapped always in my way!

Sunday, September 18, 2011

My athiest prayer

Thank you God for my sardonic grin

and for not taking away from me the love of donuts.

Thank you for preserving piracy, for abs and for sex.

Thank you for finding a way to get love to me

albeit through stray cats, memories and ex wives.

Thank you for success though you tell me that

success does not bring happiness

(and lo, I am not happy)

but still, thank you for success.

Though I ignore you I thank you.

Though I have cruel words for you

I like the warmth of my woman.

Though I will not submit, you send me laughter.

I will give you no love back because

love demands action not ignorance.

I will give you no love back because


the things you want me to do,


I do not want to do.

I will give you no love back because

wickedness and darkness suit me.

I will give you the truth, always, that I can do,

that and talk to you

and thank you for my sardonic grin.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Remy

“You’re a what?”

“Old Master.” Rembrandt said.

“Oh.” I sigh and put my tea cup back down.

“There is really no coffee?” I ask him again, I am not even making eye contact. The café, if you would call it that, and you wouldn’t and neither would I, has only two old people in it and it smells terrible.

“Everything sucks here.” But I muffle it so as not to wreck the future. I would hate to shame spiral the great mood lighter of the teen hundreds.

“I’m sorry?” he leans in, pipe, non chalance (french?) straight back and all.

“Dude, you don’t speak English.”

“I see.” he says getting ready to leave. Consummate politeness, who the fuck does this guy think he is kidding. He is the king of non-committal. I thought I was the king of non-committal, but this guy really is, guess that makes me a duke or something, maybe the Rajah or President then.

“Where is your fantasy stuff?”

“Fantasy?”

“Yeah, fantasy, it’s a word, it means Not Real, you got any, and all the shit we’ve seen doesn’t count though technically it’s all fantasy.”

“I don’t believe I have any.” He said looking back at a newspaper. There are no real newspapers back then either, not ones to be read in this smelly renaissance version of a coffee shop with no coffee.

“That’s right you don’t, why don’t you? That’s what I want to know Remy, Why? You could paint all this great shit right but your imagination is like a forgotten radish in a country cellar. You think you are all creative, all painters do but show me. You are painting dogs and guys who look nicer in your paintings then they ever did in real life. Your painting them lit in a way you never saw in your life with the shit windows and rain and that non-stop fucking wind you had to work with and the uber brightness that just murders any indoor mood and turns it into some kind of sport.” I am standing now. You might say I am ranting and I might agree but if you said that right now I would jump the table and Rembrant and start kicking your ass even if you were a girl.

He is not hurt. He looks at me like it is the first time he heard me speak. I do not blame him for being self-involved. It’s like the rant was blond criticism. I feel his shell come off, his shoulders loosen but mostly it’s in the skin around the eyes, some shape or tightness I have come to define rigidly as genuine interest when, it’s really just the tightening of a few hundred tiny muscles, he could be shitting for all I know.

We don’t say anything. I catch my breath, I sit, I take off my jacket then the shirt. “You guys have shorts? Fuck no you don’t. Of course you don’t. No wonder, you’re painting in pants. Christ Jesus it is all falling into place.”

“I can’t stand that fucking wind.” He says and the fucking comes out like cancer. The paper is folded on the table, its queer and four sheets when doubled, maybe it is real.

“And your music? There is no way you play music, what are you doing when your painting, repeating the last thing you said from like that morning when your maid/butler/servant was witty outside the yoush and you just kept saying what you said that made them depart from courtesy and place and proper fucking English? What can you possibly be doing in your head!!”

“Talk, I talk and, I think of the colors and I talk in my head.” We are standing now facing still, at somepoint we have grabbed hold of eachother, our arms, embraced like achievement. I am red faced though I cannot see it. He is slack, his glasses and the two week stash make him look like a salon dealer. The fact that he too has removed his jacket helps.

“And what is all of this shit you have? You have a cane? You have more shit on you right now, for tea or breakfast or whatever it is that we are Having in this shit hole, than I have when I come out of walmart. You can’t possibly be a painter, you spend too much time being a human fucking gimic!”
There is the pang. It is a sharp turn missed. It’s the emotional moment where you have realized you are being steered. Streered because you missed the turn, or steered because the person you are coalescing with has realized through the bizzare verbal ritual of triangulation, that you are not indeed where he thought you were, that you are indeed much further away.

Do something. That’s what you can do, that’s what is done, that’s always what is done. What does he do?

Different muscles now, in his face. He’s hurt or has deeply understood something fundamental about a behavior he has not realized with enough conviction to identify with either regard or the opposite.

“You should be hurt. You shouldn’t listen to me either.” I look for anything edible in sight. There is nothing. “Who cares right? Your fine, you’ll get it Remy.”

Out side there is no miserable rain. The wind justifies better clothing that will not exist in a form other than bear hides for another hundred or four years.

“I can’t walk in your shoes.” I say bending to remove them only because someones bullshit has made them so they can’t be pulled off by my other foot. He is beside me now garbed, cane paper jacket/coat what is that fucking thing he is wearing over his shirts? All of it tucked and held just so beneath his arms, each. He is practiced at living.

There is shit for streets. The sun is bigger. How is the sun bigger? Even in this “city” I feel like a neanderthal. Like a hide draped mud hutter, no joop just shitty pipe smoke, farts and filthy.
“I don’t want to see where you paint.”

“It’s just here.” He gestures west but I am sure in his mind he is gesturing to a specific number of steps, turns and alterations in scale.

“You see it’s just, I called you a painter and you didn’t flinch. Can’t you see how wrong that makes you? You paint. That’s what you do, you paint. I thought you were an artist. I thought you created, I hoped you created.” The toes are cold, the going is slow. I don’t know where I am going.

“Street signs.” He looks at me and nods. “You need street signs Remy, where the fuck am I going?” He shakes his head no at me like he is asking a question. I smile. “listen, I know you can’t be my sycophant. I am not yours, I am less so more now that I have met you. You don’t need a sycophant Remy. You have to stop the madness. If you do not make a fucking change, that is all you are gonna get, dusty cunted sycophants comad by your hand, tweeting coattail jargon, stealing everything, venue changes, everything for the 2015 showings calendar. And no, I am not from the future, JESUS!”
I am standing on some earlier version of hay. Somehow the smell of horse shit smells cleaner than the smell of mold and ten years of spilled bear and piss. It does not smell healthier, the horse shit doesn’t, it just smells more familiar. I swear to god that tea house place smelled like a fucking homeless man.
We are both hopping in place. I think the guy doin stuff to the horse, like rubbing it and stuff, I think he would have his kids kick my ass if Remy was not with me. There is no cobble stone anything.

“This place really sucks.” I manage after a good ten minutes. He is thinking of something to say but I have been bouncing off him for long enough now that he won’t say it. I hope he is wondering why he feels he needs to answer me at all. I hope he knows I am the leader and he has given in to it.

“Seriously, thanks for not trying to make me happy, if you have been trying hard not to. I may need a place to stay tonight.” He is nodding rapidly, still no eye contact, none for a while now. I think he believes he is sharing some revelation I am having by standing close to me, by showing me around the city. “Not the studio.” I add.

“Demons?”

“Not original. Very not original, that’s like Persian anyway, demons. Fuck, really?” he is looking around the studio for his “real” answer.

“Mermaids?” he manages from under the eyes and the downward face, the hiding like a kid, like the answer question game he will not stop playing with me can be retracted like a balsa arrow on a string fired from a plastic bow. Plastic bows do not exist yet, but still he plays the game.

“Again with the questions? I am gonna give you a hint. If you can think of it, it is probably not original, you’re probably not creating it. See I can give you a bunch of original ideas but, unless you grew up with me, you would not know that they were just stolen too.”

“Like what?”

“Slapchop©?”

He is turning his head to his left while looking me in the eyes. I fear for a moment and off and on for a while, that saying it has jerked some huge rug out from under the future and all the shit on it, like the grand father clock, the heavy ass old table that needs oiled every week, and all the shit stacked on that, and all these things like houses and stuff come crashing down. I hunch for the crash and feel, or at least think that I feel it not hit cuz it falls into non existence. I should not have said Slapchop© in either case.

“If I am gonna be here a while Remy, we are gonna have to figure out fucking.”

You came to visit me in jail

“Hi.”

“…”

It’s like I started a new job. You turn around and suddenly you’re not winning anymore. I feel all weird and accountable to the people still facing my old way. I am close to some of them, close enough to hug. Sure there is eye contact, nods and the whole what the fuck are you doing but the Hypothetical is feeling rich and word free. Very quickly I am walking and it is eeeeeeeasy.

I never check my lotto numbers. You should know that about me.

In minutes, all I can notice is the other guys who I might not have ever noticed weren’t facing my direction before I had turned around. They are like spoiled milk, brain handicapped, parochial. They are the new leaders. They are the great heavy hands I will chase to hold, hands soon on my ass, around my throat, real leaders of the new community.

Your talking.

I miss the hard work and the feeling that the hard work was behind me or more appropriately, under me. It felt, always, like a pyramid. It was never a ladder. You don’t build ladders as you go. Now, I see, having turned around, who was really taking advantage of me, who was sitting right up at the top, who was taking a step up for free after I had made room. It was always you.

Everyone is always fighting for something. I would have said that everyone is always fighting for something here, but where else is there? I felt at first that it made sense to acquiesce to the guards to the raping, though not at first to the raping. I still fight. If they care they knock your ass out, they really fuck up your face. My face has been fucked up, now I just look hard.

I won’t come close enough for you to touch. I can’t hear you but I know that’s what you want.
I won’t justify it now, all the fighting, it still seems wrong. Yelling, banging on shit like doors or shaking the bars, there is some gross, communal lie made powerful by it. I will not get the community so I don’t feed it. They know. I thought that was why they would attack me at first but know I know that’s not it.

I really did forget you were here. You can’t let yourself get anxious, you can’t, and by you I mean me. I won’t fit in your purse and if I did, they still didn’t let you bring it. If you can’t save me, and you can’t, then fuck you. I assume you left because I stopped looking and if I cared I would wonder if you had, not having seen it. I don’t.

I think I had slept, a little at least. I sit up and your still there, outside the bars, that one wall I can’t shut. It’s so real to me.

“You can’t visit this long.”

I can't wait for you to come home.

You think I won’t leave when you are sleeping. I won’t. I have drug chains around my living room for days. I carry them mostly now. You know. I want you to remember me. I want you to remember how hard things are for me now and how hard they were then. Can you see me with my arms full of chain, the real exasperation as I try to spread mayonnaise on toast, how the toast slides on the counter under the knife cuz I only have the hand full of chain with the knife sticking out to spread with, how I am blessed and a genius for even managing that, how hard I still try despite all of it?

If I was here to hit you I would. Your smug remembrance, you are so distracted in your love for me. If it was up to you, you would keep the good and forget the bad. If I lay beside you would you tell me the same? Would you use a knife to say it?

“I love most of you so much.” You’d want to say.

I have news for you in the making. Leave your cat, that’s right, go to work, cry a few times when a song plays, when my NAME comes up, adjust your chair, your vacancy, your face. I am gonna kill your cat when you leave.

I have watched you now for two hundred hours straight. How long is that? Don’t know? I do, I just lived it. You will not be forgiven for sneaking like a cat, for coming in that day like a burglar, not for sneaking like one, or pretending to be, but for not saying your name, mine, what? Hello? You could have said, Babe are you there? Instead the door pushes open and I sit up in my bath. You hated them. I had put all of that crystalized menthol in it. I suppose anything can be crystalized. I read one third a cup. The thing was the size of three cans of soda. I did it intentionally. My coffee mug, the small one, I broke it against the floor like a beer bottle in some degenerate alley fight. The handle held there in my hand, my knife. Did I lunge? No one said it. No one said he went into shock. That he knocked the cup over, passed out. It’s like saying Lincoln kicked a chair in reflex as he went over the balcony dead. Not, hey I bet he kicked that chair cuz as he was going over, as he was realizing in an instant that the rest of himself was in catapult and headed to the floor some thirty, no twenty feet below, that his leg, his left leg was gonna be the last part of him to have any effect in this world beyond him hitting the floor dead, that he kicked the shit out of that chair, once, his only shot, he timed it, he did it perfectly while brain still flew from the front of his face. I held that cup handle like a knife half knowing it was you.

Watch me remember everything. Watch me see the peace you sleep with and lay it against you like logs to burn you with. Watch me measure the words you give to strangers now that I am not there to be hustled along or rancored with sweat and indecipherable glances. I watch you grow that thing every day, like a hope that has just begun living only it’s not hope, its real. Too good for me or like a weed grown now that I am not there, my feet on the earth that hides it, a seed while I was living, unfed by slack and yet panacea to my grave, a longing in you even then.

You always held wisdom like a wet torch. Not even god would go to work for you. To think of the things I shake now though surely they can only be for me. It’s like you always knew the angle of our repose. Short legged, screaming in the kitchen, fights counted by torn pictures and thrown rings. Tore everything you could but me, wishing everything torn was.

Look back and remember the good, forget the bad, that’s right, I will remember myself for you and baby, I can’t wait for you to come home.

Its not a dream either.

“You should probably hold my hand.”

“I bet.”

I look around for a threat, as though the intentions of a stranger are lit in red, blinking, far enough above the horizon to be seen anywhere, against the backdrop of the sun, in front of more red, even really close so that I think I may have to look straight up to see it. Nothing. Of course nothing. I should probably hold her hand.

Needing, it makes the absurd plausible. Being led by a child, and she is a child. Even if you stood beside me now and saw, and saw even her silhouette. Saw the red lips, the out of place red lips, or the tight clothes, the lycra, is that lycra? Even if you compared her to me, that’s telling, even if you felt her confidence, her sense of place in violence? Is that what I am trying to say? Even if you were right here with me you would know she was a child too, I hope.

“I’m not gonna do that whole villain hero thing with you.” I tell her grabbing her hand.

“Oh, that’s a shame, it sounds fun, what is it?”

“Nothing is that clear. I know nothing is that clear.” We are crossing a street. All streets are too wide on foot. “Its people, hey.” I pull her too me a little so she looks at me. I pulled her arm, the one I held, that she was holding me with really, I pulled it for eye contact, to tell her. I guess I needed some emphasis. “I know it’s all just people.” I reiterated. She said ok, maternally, only not so much.
“I know that we are all in stages of friendship.” We were half way up a block that looked more like New York than anything in California.

“First, it’s a coma not a dream. Second, I don’t give a shit about relationships.” She says then pulls me around a corner and pulls me towards her and tiptoes to kiss me on the lips. I do, though some unconscious confusion in my execution has me saying what, like I am waiting for a whisper and putting my hands on her shoulders like I don’t know what, like I am going to lift her up or something. I make a noise when she kisses me like Hmmm. The noise sounds like a question. When she flat feet’s herself again I have opened my mouth and am alternating looking at her eyes and her mouth and I can feel my own moving, my own mouth.

“Everything is a coma with you.”

But I don't think they cared.

“Get out of there!” I yell, my voice echoing back to me off clean glass walls before reaching her, probably. She ignores me or doesn’t hear.

I lower myself more after putting my gum on a lower right hand corner of pane, de-spitting it enough to make it stick good, so i can find it again. Below me and around her, the kids are just swarming. I don’t try to talk her out of it. There will be no talking her out of it. I think about my cat as the winch shuffles links of bicyle like chain through its round, revolving mouth, one foot, two foot, three foot.  Anyway, my cat, when I let it out? Always this anxiety about her running away but thats not what I was thinking of. I was thinking of how i try to trick her into coming close enough so i can grab her and bring her back in. Its like letting your fish out to swim in the ocean and kinda keeping your feet in the water so you’re close enough to grab it if it looks like its gonna make a break for the trenches. I don’t want my cat to be gone forever like that. Thats what I was thinking about when I saw here down there. I wanted to say ‘Here, kitty kitty!’ but now I know she is ignoring me. Shes in it. She, is, in it! and besides, its wierd thinking that about a person, I mean an adult.

“Isn’t this great!” she yells up at me. I’m about 40’ above them now, already thinking about how I could improve the winch to make the descent rapiderer. I guess they are just like us, you know, all behaving the same pretty much while all being different and what not. It’s the ones not moving that catch my eye, by the liquor store, out front. I expect to see candy and a dirty face but the kid is just watching me. Thats strange behavior right. A child making calm observation of the abnormal. Or not, maybe his dad does this, or did. Anyway, their not realy people, not realy, not yet at least.

“Check this out.” I say to get her attention. I am trying to steal the attention of a kid in a candy store, not gonna happen. Now I know what they mean. Some of them are clapping at me and waving, but they don’t do it for long. I can’t believe there are no cars on the road.

“Isn’t this the greatest thing you have ever seen. It must be one of those events you know, like for school or something, only bigger.”

“Yeah.” I tell her turning my fear into bemusement, counting the speed of the winch in window lengths like I was avoiding falling, like the ground would save me if I could get to it, Like time was running out.

“You can see them real good from up here!” But she is bent down looking at some little girl, she is smiling, I can see it from here, they both are. I think the kid really sees her.

“Its gonna fall! Watch out!” I yell and kick the back rail with my feet. Its loud. The wheels bounce off the glass. It doesn’t need help to be unstable at this length. If the wheels were balls, I could sell tickets to this fucking thing. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. I unbuckle my harness. Even the rowdy kids have cleared from beneath me now so I stop kicking. She frowns at me but all I can think of is if they help eachother, if they work together, they could get ahold of this thing, climb up, then what. She has a crowd around her now, a short one. They can see her, see what the other ones are crowding around.

“Look!” she tells me. I can tell she feels like Doolittle or something. Isn’t she though, intrepid, so blinded by all of this seeming goodwill.

“I know! Their so great. We should give them rides in this, ya think? We’ll be careful.”

“I don’t know, it doesn’t look safe.” it looks like she is being led somewhere, and maybe its just away from me, like a kid poping up between you and the TV. I see that. This fucking winch.

She is realy being moved now, the way kids can move an adult by mere proximity, by the adult not wanting to step on the kid, hands up like they are little cops, ‘ok, ok’ I remember saying to my nieces once.

“Help me make it safe. When will they have another chance like this! Think of what it will mean to them later on in life!” I have to yell this last part. At just ten feet above her head I can still see them converging. I think of a star forming out of gas and lower the last six feet, fuck it. I can pull her up now. I open the gate and reach my hand down but she is too far away. The effort I am making is for me alone, what is she, sixty feet away? The last thing I hear for sure is ‘don’t push.’ But they do. They were taking it back, the kids were, all of it. I’m back up to my gum but I still can’t shake the concern for them. What were they all gonna do for work?

Saturday, September 10, 2011

Goodmorning

I wake with a direction.  She does not like to lay in bed with me anymore and just watch shadows push oblong monochromes across wall, painting, ceiling, closet wall.  Pre rain is making me miss the ocean in the second I have had to feel it mist my face, arms, legs.  She comes into the kitchen behind me, makes me coffee.  Why doesn’t anyone drink coffee anymore?

The bed is intolerable to her without me in it.  I could sleep on a pile of someone else’s dirty clothes, zippers, tags, rivets and all.  There is an indictment there I have never been fully guilty of, never felt completely responsible for.  She is sad most mornings.  My mind dances at the irrationality of being able to make her laugh and smile without removing the hurt my words, other peoples silence, have made of the thing that used to be bright and hopeful in side of her. 

Inside, in the game room, the pizza they got right, hidden in the box on the floor, has ants on it, three, I think they are spice crumbles but know better and bend to see touching carefully.

“jesus christ, the fucking ants found my pizza”

“how did they get in here” she asks.  I check the window, its closed.  The last two nights have been cooler that the last 90. 

“I don’t know” I say.  She comes in and hands me my coffee, goes down the hall and pee’s in the bathroom without closing the door.  That took two years.  I stand and listen to the gift.  What she is sharing.  How close we have become.  How we may be that one flesh the people from ancient times referred to their version of marriage as. 

I cringe at the thought of being as responsible for my own happiness and peace as I feel for her.  What if I needed to give myself, care for myself, love myself, adore myself as much as I need to do those things to and for her.  I think of all of the times it was ok for me to take half eaten pizza from the trash can, sleep in abandoned buildings, hold scorn, swallow abuse.  Now I imagine me saying, thinking that its ok for her to do the same, imagine it as though I stood beside her, my beautiful woman, my queen of everything, my own heart I would strangle the world for, hand her the dirty coat to use as a blanket and point to the corner of the room, let the man call her stupid and look down, point down to the ground where she should look while he says it, evince the shame, show her that pattern of self-doubt, hold her hands behind herself as much as I have my own while darkness wears a face, walks before us, reaches out..

inimicable” I say.

“I don’t know what that means” she says.

“I don’t either, I just like the sound”

Boobs II

We have stopped somewhere in the dessert that with or without greenery remains the American desert, in Oregon, in southern California, in Mississippi, it doesn’t matter.  We have made a curb our coffee shop, Zeus, the other gods, all look on, Kay drinks something other than coffee refusing me that need to find my reflection in others that thing that lets me not hate them, she does this intentionally, but I am strong, I can look past it for now.

I have been saying ‘boss’ like as in boss Tanaka.  “boss” it sounds almost like bus, there is accent, I am hunting the nuance, calling it out of the world of my own mind, summoning it up like we have been for all the worlds laughter.

“I mean this could be anywhere” she says.  I nod.  I grab her shoulder and say Boss like a question like I am urging my boss to consider something, imploringly, Boss.  She always knows this is a single player game and this is also a request for her to sit down and watch without comment, observe the greater thing my gut says is dissolving into a recognizable artifact of my journey.

“boss”

It’s the boss without a question mark.  The word, his title, is the question, it’s not like, boss let’s kill them, it’s more like, Boss are you sure?

“it rules out your wanting them to be part of you in a biological way, it rules out you wanting tits like you may want better eye sight or to break three hundred on bench.” She says, sipping the not-coffee.  “but you think you should be able to buy them, to own them, not to eat but to have on a shelf to use like paper towels or coffee, it’s a consumable, you see it that way, that’s why you get five, unlike a car say where you might sell your car to get a different one but you will only have one, the car is transportation, 5 means they get used up”

I think about what she tells me.  My mouth mimes Boss over and over.  No one has the balls to park in the spot where we are sitting, someone may someday.

“you didn’t buy women” she says.

“I love tits” I tell my sister.  “I love them so much”

She smiles.  Sometimes she is gentle. This is one of those times.  One of the times when my sister does not call me to the bonfire with chains, accusing my darkness, shackling the beast, the destroyer of worlds that lives in me though, with any breath I might kill everything not dead already.  This must be the difference between good and evil, it has to be, otherwise what is the point. 

Talk to me about evolution after a road trip, after the dynamic of ownership behavior is cooly settled into boss and not-boss. Even if they are your keys but you are not driving, tell me how much you feel in possesion of your vehicle when someone else is driving it, even if you are there in the passenger seat, your left hand 1' 9" from the ignition. tell me about truth and right and wrong and frienship and how no one will leave you and about agreements and trust and fear after, after, fuck, I forgot what I was trying to say. I stop moving my lips.

“not your boobs though sis, sorry but I have to draw the line somewhere” I say as we stand, she taking my lead.  I have the keys, it’s the only reason. 

She laughs, “thank god for that” she says. 

“boss, boss, boss, boss, boss” I shout, shaking with my fists, rigid and perpendicular in a cornholio’esq fashion, a TP for my bunghole jibe. 

In the jeep she asks where we are going.

Boobs I

We are driving again.  We are arguing about pronouns, if that’s even what they are called, and I am using it anecdotally to hate on Spanish, the idiocy of attributing gender to inanimate objects, she is holding this bully fight in her mind like a school teacher might a real brawl, without malice, detached from outcome at least as far as I am concerned, and I, the bully recognize none of it though I see it, am not cowed, will not comply, my own heart my god, my own anger is my intellect, I swerve.  Her hand goes up for a moment and she stiffens whether because of the swerve or anticipating disaster.  My arguments have deteriorated (over the last few years) into an amalgam of civility, a few articulate kill shot attempts with figurative lance and then more passive coexistence and a few long stares.  Who needs a good point anymore?

It’s Vegas for me.  I tell her I dream of a bed made of tits.  She smirks half loving the idea herself.  I tell her in my dream, though it was not a dream it was an idea.  I get angry before I start.  I stop talking about the idea.

“that’s fucking bullshit” I scream.  The car reacts more than she does.  "the whole world shits on things that are not dreams, if I was to tell you that I had a dream you would be all, oh...  well it’s not a fucking dream, it means more, well maybe not but it’s important too”

“whats your idea” Kay asks me.

“My idea is that I am at a grocery store in the donut section and I am buying these big, soft, perfect tits…  I fill my fucking bag… (I look at her) its an odd number, its five…” we drive for a while.

She thinks about what I am saying or looks like it. 

“I wish I could read your mind and judge you for it” I say.  She spits laughter and then we are both laughing, I am laughing, banging my fist on the steering wheel to break it.

Friday, September 9, 2011

BFOW excerpt; At Jenny's you get drunk...

 ...but you get drunk with her not me.  I have been reformed into that prick of a lover we both need me to be.  I am the one.  The two of you are quiet in the kitchen.  I shout that I am not doing a threesome and both of you laugh.  There is shit on TV.  Jenny is dating this guy she keeps calling Hugh with emphasis and now Anne is doing it and I am pretty sure it is because they both think the guy looks like Hugh Jackman.  Really she is hard on the ears and I am pretty sure she is struggling to get this guy to keep fucking her.  She is just so high pitched and monotone and loud.  I stopped thinking of her as an ass after about five minutes.  We were at some fucking coffee place and she worked there and Anne would go there to say hi not get coffee and that is like another thing wrong and different about men and women.  She was outside smoking with her and I swear the guy/kid she was working with must have been real stupid because he thought she would fuck him if he let her do whatever she wanted and like, as if she wouldn’t have done whatever she wanted if he was a dick.  Anyway we are out side and I am fake nice cause I haven’t met her before and I see her and I am looking at how well her ass comes together and then they come out side and I smile and all that shit and I swear it was like the acid just kicked in cause there was this nagging, this unreachable, directly unnoticeable concern and then whoosh there it was like “Hey!  You are so fucking loud you crazy Bitch!” only it comes out “What the fuck is wrong with your voice?” and Anne hits me cause she knows but stupid Jenny doesn’t know or care and smiles and says what? then goes back to talking and I am like “Wholly fucking shit are you for real?” and she wants to know what I am talking about and I get up and then run and just to be a fucker I put my hands over my ears and yell “Fucking please god, please fucking kill her!” and I run for a block and I can’t hear her and then I walk and there is a 711 and I hate this fucking one and nothing is ever new here and you can’t get anything but the same old shit and I am taking about 17th st. now not just 711 and so I get Anne parliaments and they don’t carry mine cause I am too fucking cool for all of this bullshit and Anne doesn’t come by and I mark it as a sign our relationship has advanced to some new autonomous level.  I walk home but not like a hustle which is what I want so I don’t and she pulls over some twenty minutes later and I get in and she doesn’t say anything and I am trying to use psychic abilities to detect tension and shit and then she says Jenny thinks I am cute and there is a party or something and I imagine breaking bottle over her head, Jenny’s, like full fucking bottles and I am satisfied with the heavy crash and crunching of glass and beer, bloody in that overly oxygenated head blood way and hair all creatively wet and matty like there is egg in it but it is blood and her confusion and my zealous, violent damage.  “Fuck yeah.”  I say and now I am moving on to magnums and then punch bowels and throwing her rag doll like through glass fucking tables and thunderous smashing and crashing and shit and glass fucking swimming pools now fly through some breathable deep space where both she and they collide head first and “Fucking rad babe.  Party!”  I scream and she goes shut up you dork and I lean way out the window and scream party! like I am fucking toga party villain and she is pulling on me to get back into the car and people look and I look at them like I have never looked at any body before and I command them to fucking party like I have a gun in my hand and it is party or a bullet from my gun and they have run out of second chances.  Jesus Christ she is saying and I come back in and I am laughing and she asks me what’s wrong and if I am crying and I say Ill make her cry and she says shut up and asks me what’s wrong and I say I just want to fucking party mom and she hits me and were near home and I turn off and she turns off and when we are out of the car I slap her ass and then I am there again in that fucking living room and I check my face to see if I am bleeding and I get up and go into the kitchen and she says babe and reaches out and grabs my belt and pulls me over and I say watch the cock and she growls in the way only drunk girls growl and Jenny is placid like a fucking cow and I ask Anne if there is blood coming out of my ears and she says no like I am a baby and it is not right to get horny when I hear that but I do and I want to sit on her lap but Anne is not a big girl and I kneel in front of her and say Babe, my ears, check’em.  And she does and finds unreal shit and I pull away and she asks what happened and I don’t tell her that I just realized Jenny’s voice doesn’t bug me anymore.

A kind of love

if when hours decline I lend

to some other import of my need,

beg white mercies from on high to bring

thoughts of thee and to my fate ill go

with one wish as this to thee

then walk without wisdom worlds below.

were I tuttored not by this dark hand

though hand the same as I if self owned were

beg the unlit reaches understand

knowing any entry enters thus

as offered omens own no trust

to be as sweet and carefull as I were.

great emnity may own at least as I

find no greater than this doubt secured

a proffered warmth where fire once was with words

though nothing moved but my dead heart and eye

to see no right in leaving this strange place

where beauty mires and worn dark wears a face

but knowing is no truth, fragile I must

uncouple from the course of this dark life

to live and own no lust, but this of her

where ever empty moving wishes were

extend the wound no shadow fills

and mark the pages in her sight

as feathers lifted in a softer light.

come to me for what I can’t pretend

illucidates a kind of trust

I will light a well within my hand

narrowed now in this not distant light

where wings will stay beating in the end.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

The Nosegay

IV



The Nosegay

……………………………………………………………………..

“orichalk”

“piss on your orichalk, we paid merrin to be first”

“you haven’t paid me” I look to kay but all I get is a shrug.

“am i first”

“first for what”

I mumble fuck under my breath knowing as I say it how stupid I must be.  I tell Kay to give him an orichalk and it arcs a shiny path to his hand.

“each”

Unbelievable.  “you’ll be next up there if you keep stealing like this”

“i keep stealing like this, i may someday steal for the Autarch, who’s dross is the treasure of his servants.”

“who’s shit is the life’s blood of his people” I say.

I nod for Kay to give him another Orichalk.

*

The river stinks of the shit of all Saltus though we are the only ones who can smell it and that too will be gone in another week.  Morwenna would look sloppy under her rags to anyone but me.  Kay smiles under perfect clothes.  There is no privacy.

There is no calming her, she knows why we came.  Kay sits and has found things already to mutilate and toss like small ships into that thing they call Gyoll; plants and trash mostly, both gown up from the earth.  It’s all about that witch, it’s all she says, Useebia this and Useebia that, she knows exactly why she’s dying.  Kay would love her I think, be an angel pure, incumbent, attracted to that same thing in Morwenna that I have unlaced my fly for.  I used to want to sow light.  I loved Kay more when there was that thing in me that once we both had.  I rest my head on Morwenna’s bony shoulder and cry.  “play with me, make this not so evil” I whisper.  We both spit, she a good person for seeing my simulacra of that thing in her.  There is still a smell in her hair, of small flowers or herself.  “we leave soon, you do not have to be seven pages in a book”

“where” but she has stopped asking questions.  A good woman explains.  This time she will not have to.  Kay has told me that I cannot steal time, that the things I have taken for myself, for the two of us, that I never took them, that they were like water held in a fist and all this, the ship, our skin suits, a pylon of the Autarch’s war chest, it’s just wet hands.  Holding Morwenna's hand on me and moving it, I cum in my own then stand and walk, carrying it to the rivers deep edge, a father now, a destroyer of worlds as these seeds swim out into their own clear skies for our differences, for my deference to what they may become.

She speaks to Kay, her face looks into mine as I walk that length back up towards them both. She is worried of a greater evil in me, come now fed to feed again in the way all women fear but it remains untold in me and yet, for her truth, no less alive.

“he spoke my whole name for all of the life I knew him” Kay listens and is nodding.  It is such a thing, such a thing to see, how Morwenna, even on the eve of her death and borne under what grief I cannot imagine, never having had a lover and a child poisoned by my accuser, carries not the depth of soul that I see in the adroit eyes of my sister, her sharpened, pure, receptive spirit, listening better than anyone may have ever, hearing her life, and maybe she is right for I would take the woman, over my shoulder, thinking I had all of her.

I turn and walk to where Eusebia has been spitting and drop her with a fist to her stomach. There is now a line of four men, fatter than I, clear small eyes. They have not paid.  

Kay looks at me.  I will not reconcile what that thing is that is someone else’s life, it is someone else’s.  I do not own my own.  Where are my words for the things we want.

*
 
I am tired and my arm is now cut bad enough that I am more interested in the wound than even her life and I pull Kay away.  We leave our food for Morwenna to hide for herself though she will not eat. We are pushed again and this time we go.  To keep fighting back will bring consequences to us. I carry Kay back to the Inn and we sit at the table we had brought with us. I will not sew my cut nor tolerate anyone else to while I am conscious.  The words between to two of us are our own words though you may have spoken them in the quiet places of your own heart and in the deep homes of your own vaporous faith.  You have never lost their savor though those, their own bones that once knocked softly inside your pot are gone.  Though we did not want to we drank.  We have learned not to eat nor drink anything that is not very hot.  Jonas “the liar” as I have called him twice to his satisfaction tells the murderer everything he knows, the books tapestry, the greatness of that thing, it has come from him, that murderer never did any of it.  I spit up beer at least once per otrovez for the shit that torturer has stolen though to hear it be told you would say those things were given.
 

“it’s not plagiarism, it’s not even being changed” Kay complains to me.

“that’s what the sycophant said to the author” I say.  Kay looks at me.  "you can't do that.  you don't even know what that means" then adds that it does not make sense, that I souldn't try to just say things, to try to fit things in, that I steal the truth from those moments when they come, from the other ones too, that were good always.  I tell here I will steal that but what I want to steal, to write is the expressions of her face.  There are not worlds enough nor time, and I would not spend it if there were.  Either way we are drunk and reckless and invisible to them. 

“you should have called it, shit some guy told me, hey” I have been pulled back before I could kick the murderers chair again.  The Caloyer runs the place and makes us go to our room.  “what happened to the hospitality industry” I shout again but even Kay is ignoring me now.

It’s my idea to sell that fucker out to Vodalus.  Everything is so obvious.  It costs me a fist full of aes on a swarm of urchins to get the ten Chrisos from those idiots that serve as his servants.  I tell them a story before I tell them where he is staying.  I tell them about the cat and the rolly polly, how the cat loved it, how fucking much he loved that fucking bug.  I ask them if they knew how they met.  He says, In the fucking garden.  I say, The fuck they did, I shout it.  He catches his beer before it falls.  Then how did they meet Optimate, he says.  I stop cursing and say, I had to shove that fucking bug in his face for a god’s damn watch.  You know what the fucking cat says when he finally sees the fucking rolly polly, do you?  They are all just shaking their heads no.  The whole inn is listening, waiting for me to get my own head struck from my own mother fucking body.  I say, He says, holy shit, I stand up to emphasize it, Holy shit I say he says, Look what I found!  Everyone but those idiots laugh.  Now, I say to the big coffin hunters all quiet like and leaning in, Now, for another five Chrisos to make it a lucky and an even ten, you can be the one who finds that rolly polly, dig it?
*


I have been sucking up to Hethor.   What a fucking joke.  I make the banjo sound with my mouth repeating it like saying dung, I go, Dung dung dung dung dung dung dung, dung dung dung dung dung dung.  He loves it, of course he does, reminds him of home.  Kay has brought out a thing we brought with us.  We put it in our drinks.  The murderer keeps out of the bar the last few days but the tin man is always there.  We four see, abroad in this third world, our world, lost to the savages who are and always will be ourselves.  like americans in Tai Pai, how do we hide?

We have been drugged now for two days when that blood orange, that 10 watt energy saver of a fucking excuse for a green planet sun rises like a soul never will from this dead and if not dead then dying world.  In the yard our rage and our numbness has given us the place in the crowd where we will feel the warm blood of wasted beauty.  That is the spot for us and we thank god for dying.  I have been working that hillbilly into a frenzy.  The murderers leap is impressive, even for a young man.  I point Hethor at him like a water cannon.  He is screaming I love you!  I scream at the top of my lungs, Bring out Barabas!  Bring out Barabas!

Kay has managed a new smile in our rage, in this resignation I have not been able to tear our lives from though we jump stars and our own fate like shady fern hidden deeps between massive fallen old growth logs from our youth. 

“your fucking inn is a piece of shit” I yell down the Caloyer.  Kay chimes in “i wan’t my two aes back” and the crowd laughs.  I love her and can’t save her and would take something.  I would save Morwenna like a stolen child, stolen wife, stolen mother.  Our faces are streaked with tears, I feel my own mix with beer and spit in my beard, and I hurt as much to see my sweet, my beautiful K’s pain, and no, nothing is ever quick enough Kay, nothing.  I watch him strike off not the head of a home-wrecker but the offered hand of our own god in every smile in every single love wherever directed and as it clops incredulously, unfairly, disastrously onto the raised wood floor, the crowd erupts and I shout “goooooooal”.  Hethor is leaping and screaming.  Kay is standing and air-firing t-squared arms like underslung shotguns con sound effects, Boosh, Boosh, Boosh!  I have not let go of Hethor once and reach around in front of him with my balled fist and sack him.  He crumbles still shouting and his voice cracks saying, I fucking love you, and but for the fact he is now parallel to the ground and underfoot of the mob, nothing has changed in his world.  The murderer is air fucking Morwennas pale and beautiful head, moving the mouth open and closed with his finger, the head losing blood like a gardening ladel, his hips swirling, unh, unh, unh, no longer god, no longer a mother, no longer mistress, no longer friend, no longer.  
*


Ater too long a time lost in the undulating mob, I almost knock over Kay who has that witch in a headlock and has bloodied and scratched the wet white flesh of her eyes and the moist pink inside her nose from the stabbing of that fucking bouquet that we alone poisoned.  Dropping the witch that in dying has somehow become an opposite, Kay looks at me.  I can remember nothing.  I tell more lies than any fool should and yet, I will never love more nor could ever forget K’s face at that moment.  I think to her, I know, everything is wrong, and it always will be, and that will never make it right.

That night while downstairs the tin man and the murderer feed each other those secrets that they can, I watch Dorcas through the cloth drape that separates our rooms wash her armpits, bare chest and crotch using a basin and the cloth of her own shirt.  I see why he would kill for her and its not her beauty though what she has is like it.   

It’s Kay’s idea to find the child.  I say it here only because it is the last thing we do.  I have renamed our flyer the Mylar Flyer, I paint the words on in red every now and again but paint doesn’t stick to it.  Kay has put the 10 chrisos in one of those foldy old man coin pouches we brought with us.  I tell them to give it to him like a bribe to not be one of them.  Kay adds that he must know in advance, that he must know when he gets hair on his balls, that it should be a temptation.  we see the kid in the back of the crowd behind that goofy fucking door.  He was shit for descriptions you know.  I wonder on our flight back how many cold hands have shoved up from the warming earth at his passing, left in the debris of a new world as much their grave as the brown heath and loam they wore before his feet fell too close above them.  I look into that little fuckers eyes who's dad was slain by a jealous hateful clinging disaterouse woman, and whose mother was killed by his savior.  I think that there can be no meaning in giving him as a temptation the gold we sold his mothers killer for and yet its truth tries to erase some fine no matter how I try with my mind not to let it.  The Old guy repeats his question more clearly. 

"and what if the young man says no"
"well if he says no then who fucking cares"