Through a glut of "conditioned behavior," as the conservatives call it, we realize that the autumn beach offers an escape. That is to say, standing there in wind-whipped flannel, you have a chance to think not about societal pressures, seemingly hard-wired desires, but to escape to the beauty of the natural interface. I stood alone. My sandy metal bucket handle clanked against its side as its base settled down. I was taught that folding your arms is body language for "I'm not listening," but I was listening to the waves and the water on the shore.
A meaty white hand dimly lit (how appropriate) pounded down on the maple bar. The lights were out and a few haphazardly strewn trails of Christmas lights backlit a leather jacket and pair of brothers. Some smoke filtered in and out of view, some beer flushed through the camcorder lens. Hoarsely and repentant I said something neither profound nor comforting. If the constellation of red cans lent any cosmic insight, it hadn't reached my person. Distracted by anything shiny and/or voluptuous, I saw a leather-laced Spaniard disappear into the arched medieval walkway that led to the hexagonal washroom.
If our home proved unwelcoming, our guests would not realize it until they left. So gray rain fell and we opened the door to our golden passageway. I'll diagram the situation now. On the ground floor's exterior, a lifeless fragment of derivative architecture looked back with hostility - an indigenous aspect (at least). Carried away, rolled up, slammed shut, our central corridor boasted an odd combination of crap and a spartan aesthetic. We beamed with pride and paid off a new car in rent.
And this is how it went for awhile.
Showing posts with label the escape. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the escape. Show all posts
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Hopping Home with Ed and Jim
The afternoon was normal. I sat atop the metal ladder and chatted with Jim over the top of the aluminum shelving between aisles twenty-three and twenty-four. I turned away from Jim for a second to sneeze. I wiped my nose with the bottom of my Centre Megamart apron. I looked down at aisle twenty-three. I have been fronting premade pie crusts for an absurd amount of my life, I thought. "No, I'm working a double this weekend. I don't think I'll get out in time." Jim looked disappointed. "I guess I could try to switch with someone." Jim looked up. "I'll let you know." I had been a lousy gambler all my life. The carnival was in town, but that wasn't the point. The point was that I never asked anyone to switch, and I missed Jim's party.
After my double I went out to my lonely car in the lonely parking lot under the tall white lightpost. I sat on the hood of my red clunker, shoulders surrendering inward, neck stretched low. I looked down at my stupid shoes. What kind, what symptom of a, where should the...I straightened my back, trying to crack the tension out of it. I leaned back slowly and finally laid down completely, legs dangling off the side of the Dodge.
Bells rang and some old woman answered. She said, "won't it stop?" The next and last stop on this train is...warm and inviting, who could refuse? The bells were counting down the ties in a cord attached to a hulking steel orb cast in deep black. The ties slid down and down until eventually, a yellow-caped hero revealed himself. It was this kind of eventuality that slowed progress so. It was this anticipation that momentum consumed and languished therein. And I stirred and stirred this ingenious machine's tanktop - but it was weak and lethargic and refused the warm air.
It was this cartoon scenery that called us all back. It was this nursery tale that swatted and gashed us, our faces mangled and throats sore. Against an ancient brick wall the black orb pounded, weakly at first and more weakly thereafter. There are carpets of course and such traditions well-noticed. A fire on the crossties shimmered in the rain. We doubted so much and counted our chances, in a redrock hotel on the Utah frontier. A shadow moved up and shifted in the crackway, the door was less open than closed.
Anticipation personified as a blackboard under fire by an impotent brainstorm of timid white chalk. The blackness retreated as the scrawling lay siege, propped up by the classics, bold-face texts and maybe six or seven magazines. Its hand was shaky and it's sketches suffered, but more directly, the board grew unwieldy - and what remained, of course, was misdirected passion, aimed anywhere but the board — that's generous — aimed away from the board. Hope grew out of this meaningless fog, it was the hope for a cleaning, a fresh start, more daylight, shifted responsibilities, crafty excuses, all things hardly head-on.
When the board cleared up and the blackness returned, the walls eroded and deposits formed. It was a false sense of security, indeed, a trap. There will never be order when the clean slate is restored. May the texts be erased and bold-faces scorned, may the periodicals be shredded and foundation fall. I want to peel off this hood and build a new engine, I thought, but I got in my car and drove straight home.
After my double I went out to my lonely car in the lonely parking lot under the tall white lightpost. I sat on the hood of my red clunker, shoulders surrendering inward, neck stretched low. I looked down at my stupid shoes. What kind, what symptom of a, where should the...I straightened my back, trying to crack the tension out of it. I leaned back slowly and finally laid down completely, legs dangling off the side of the Dodge.
Bells rang and some old woman answered. She said, "won't it stop?" The next and last stop on this train is...warm and inviting, who could refuse? The bells were counting down the ties in a cord attached to a hulking steel orb cast in deep black. The ties slid down and down until eventually, a yellow-caped hero revealed himself. It was this kind of eventuality that slowed progress so. It was this anticipation that momentum consumed and languished therein. And I stirred and stirred this ingenious machine's tanktop - but it was weak and lethargic and refused the warm air.
It was this cartoon scenery that called us all back. It was this nursery tale that swatted and gashed us, our faces mangled and throats sore. Against an ancient brick wall the black orb pounded, weakly at first and more weakly thereafter. There are carpets of course and such traditions well-noticed. A fire on the crossties shimmered in the rain. We doubted so much and counted our chances, in a redrock hotel on the Utah frontier. A shadow moved up and shifted in the crackway, the door was less open than closed.
Anticipation personified as a blackboard under fire by an impotent brainstorm of timid white chalk. The blackness retreated as the scrawling lay siege, propped up by the classics, bold-face texts and maybe six or seven magazines. Its hand was shaky and it's sketches suffered, but more directly, the board grew unwieldy - and what remained, of course, was misdirected passion, aimed anywhere but the board — that's generous — aimed away from the board. Hope grew out of this meaningless fog, it was the hope for a cleaning, a fresh start, more daylight, shifted responsibilities, crafty excuses, all things hardly head-on.
When the board cleared up and the blackness returned, the walls eroded and deposits formed. It was a false sense of security, indeed, a trap. There will never be order when the clean slate is restored. May the texts be erased and bold-faces scorned, may the periodicals be shredded and foundation fall. I want to peel off this hood and build a new engine, I thought, but I got in my car and drove straight home.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Half Purple, Half Black & White
Next time we goin' east side. East side. I heard. I'm gettin' squeezed she said, I mean...he said...to her, and she didn't really get it. Well, that's what she gets - he said. Later on, when the candle ran out but the track had plenty left, I left - cuz I was gettin' squeezed from both sides. And each time, I turned to my side - tried to create a little friction, you feel me? I asked. She rubbed my side - tried to create a little friction. She asked, did you hear me? I heard. Next time, east side.
I really am gettin' squeezed though...it's tough to get up. Mornings are hard. Evenings ain't much better. Two sides meet, get the job done. In a manner of speech, of childish dreams obliterated, the side of my head - tryin' to create a little friction - is my heart made of stone? Hand me a saw, it'll get the job done.
So there I was hangin' tight on the handles beside the open sliding doors. A pill dropped from my mouth and fell 18,000 feet onto the desert floor. Against everything I knew, I thought about jumping. The thought, crossed my mind, it took a while. It came in from my left ear actually, and it juked for a while. And for a while, I stood there bracing myself with both arms outstretched - no intention of jumping.
I really am gettin' squeezed though...it's tough to get up. Mornings are hard. Evenings ain't much better. Two sides meet, get the job done. In a manner of speech, of childish dreams obliterated, the side of my head - tryin' to create a little friction - is my heart made of stone? Hand me a saw, it'll get the job done.
So there I was hangin' tight on the handles beside the open sliding doors. A pill dropped from my mouth and fell 18,000 feet onto the desert floor. Against everything I knew, I thought about jumping. The thought, crossed my mind, it took a while. It came in from my left ear actually, and it juked for a while. And for a while, I stood there bracing myself with both arms outstretched - no intention of jumping.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Alert! New and Full of Intrigue
So there they was. They sat and laughed and made blow-up noises. And little tires screeched and glorious people operated machinery and we laughed so heartily. I haven't laughed so hard in a long time, even though I laughed harder when I recollected all the jokes. And I thought, "This is a daydream."
So the man with the plan said to me, "listen, man. You gotta keep walkin, keep movin' on and on and along." A wind like none other filtered through my decrepit little screen and brushed my stubble and I thought, "this is a fantasy." A wind like no other said, "you did that last time and look where you ended up."
And I thought, "this is rich. Now I'm walkin'." I walked past a few stores that didn't have anything in stock that I would buy. They had plastic brooms and these tall plastic buckets of cleaning brushes. I saw a girl wearing a short skirt on the corner and sneakers on her feet. What a deal! So I thought, "I need to get my things organized."
So the man with the plan said to me, "listen, man. You gotta keep walkin, keep movin' on and on and along." A wind like none other filtered through my decrepit little screen and brushed my stubble and I thought, "this is a fantasy." A wind like no other said, "you did that last time and look where you ended up."
And I thought, "this is rich. Now I'm walkin'." I walked past a few stores that didn't have anything in stock that I would buy. They had plastic brooms and these tall plastic buckets of cleaning brushes. I saw a girl wearing a short skirt on the corner and sneakers on her feet. What a deal! So I thought, "I need to get my things organized."
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Centurion
The LED flicks on for a second, "there are hundreds of good lawyers out there." It snaps to half-power, and then it quickly shuts off. And until it flicks on again, good night...good night. Good night orange and lime lights, good night camera shutter. The noise subsides for a time. "The world will do without me for a while." For now...good night. Clasp again to will a new message. Till it comes again...good night. Neck swivel left eye shiver, arpeggio after arpeggio after hours...have a good life.
"Settling in I see?"
Why yes, Ma'ma! Spike spike river flow river flow river flow spike bridge spike river flow, instructions: say goodbye. It's special for us tonight. Good bye. Mute mute arpeggio downwind. Mute arpeggio whistle flourish whistle flourish! The joy the joy the joy neck swivel, resolve. And resolve. Good night. T-t-t-t-t-take your time. For now...have a good life. And then, stay right.
"Sounds a bit tinny, no?"
Certainly! So blow some air into your upper lip pocket and clench your lips around some crossy eyes, then close them. See what I meant about the noise? Rest your weary head, my good friend. Down eye-liner on the river tonight. We all stay awake all night. Wood floors slow ship driftin' down the wide windy river. Got my arms over the rail limp like a doll, blowin' air into my upper lip and twisting my entire leg, a little river jig. A little river time. A warm...river night. Steeply up - leisurely down, if your heart's right. If your...mind's fine. Sleep it off, fill it up, but on our side. Say good night. For now...good bye.
"There's a treasure here for you tonight!"
That's. That's just fine. I continued to let my body spasm with every note in the score and tried to assign each instrument a different muscle group, together it was very relaxing even though to the outsider it looks like I was having a hard time. It was relaxing because I wasn't thinking. Time enough...good night. Time's right..."good bye."
Fire.
"Settling in I see?"
Why yes, Ma'ma! Spike spike river flow river flow river flow spike bridge spike river flow, instructions: say goodbye. It's special for us tonight. Good bye. Mute mute arpeggio downwind. Mute arpeggio whistle flourish whistle flourish! The joy the joy the joy neck swivel, resolve. And resolve. Good night. T-t-t-t-t-take your time. For now...have a good life. And then, stay right.
"Sounds a bit tinny, no?"
Certainly! So blow some air into your upper lip pocket and clench your lips around some crossy eyes, then close them. See what I meant about the noise? Rest your weary head, my good friend. Down eye-liner on the river tonight. We all stay awake all night. Wood floors slow ship driftin' down the wide windy river. Got my arms over the rail limp like a doll, blowin' air into my upper lip and twisting my entire leg, a little river jig. A little river time. A warm...river night. Steeply up - leisurely down, if your heart's right. If your...mind's fine. Sleep it off, fill it up, but on our side. Say good night. For now...good bye.
"There's a treasure here for you tonight!"
That's. That's just fine. I continued to let my body spasm with every note in the score and tried to assign each instrument a different muscle group, together it was very relaxing even though to the outsider it looks like I was having a hard time. It was relaxing because I wasn't thinking. Time enough...good night. Time's right..."good bye."
Fire.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Wurst - Delicatessen
Soldiers march towards my castle, I ignore them they follow me to the master bedroom. So we mix I see cracks and smoke-filled limelights. I recently trembled, I fell I fall. I live alone with the film reels. I sing sometimes...with my urban metronome. Flashes of dreams spark my lonely film reels. So they click and spark and cloud up like a powderball, a French memory a recent regret.
And at nighttime...
Carving up the streets rodeo-railroad-style, slicing the sidewalks, slow-dancing firelight. Reflective marble tiles the green, the gold, the squeaky chairs. The friends, like the refreshing water on the first day of summer. Remind me of home of slavery, lately I think of my emancipation...honestly, I have faith in it. I worry she'll stammer towards me, I'll find myself stranded looking lazily down at the hardwood floor, a stain, another, a sliver of my own armaggedon - rushing to privacy, forgot the secret ingredient, hehe, gotcha. In a slicked out, metal shell, yeah, the one you shot under my chapped lip healer.
So the plan has to be...try again tomorrow while there's tomorrow.
And at nighttime...
Carving up the streets rodeo-railroad-style, slicing the sidewalks, slow-dancing firelight. Reflective marble tiles the green, the gold, the squeaky chairs. The friends, like the refreshing water on the first day of summer. Remind me of home of slavery, lately I think of my emancipation...honestly, I have faith in it. I worry she'll stammer towards me, I'll find myself stranded looking lazily down at the hardwood floor, a stain, another, a sliver of my own armaggedon - rushing to privacy, forgot the secret ingredient, hehe, gotcha. In a slicked out, metal shell, yeah, the one you shot under my chapped lip healer.
So the plan has to be...try again tomorrow while there's tomorrow.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Small Cap Vacation
The mailman came down the faux-marble stairs into the basement and said, well I'm not sure what he said because I don't understand Mandarin. But whatever he said, it must've been funny, or maybe the person he said it to was just being friendly. I thought for a second maybe they were making fun of me, but that's pretty typical, you know. I remember lots of scenes from back then, from back when the legend settled in to plastic jungle and went down on some pork and seafood like the world stopped to cheer him on.
Shit. I wish I hadn't been such a little bitch back then. I wish I could've given him a high five, nah that wasn't his style, put an arm around him, yeah. Loss comes from your heart, it's weird ya know how the heart has nothing to do with emotions but it's associated most closely with them. Fuck man I miss that guy, I really do.
They sell all these ripoffs down there, ya know, "no, uh, refahnd." yeah i know no refund. believe me, i'm not comin' back here anytime soon. all the knockoffs. all the cheap plastic stuff they make down south east. everything's a trading company, we trade fake shit and then sell it. but some of it's good ya know? some of that shit ain't bad. Here's a knock-off that's just so fuckin' good:
"I'll be proud, ooooooooh, i want ah ah, to run away! Street tonight baby where there's the sound, take me in my arms. tonight on the street tonight, on the street bring the sound, and it's hey little stranger, lookin' like your lost, you're just some crazy, runnin' crazy in the streets, i know a place maybe we could go, nobody knows it, and it's hey little stranger what ya doin' tonight, you just some crazy, runnin crazy through the streets, baby i know a place where we can go, it's warm and dry, it's safe there, nobody ever goes there, nobody ever goes there, nobody ever goes there, nobody'd know us there, i just got this new stereo, i painted the place, i mean hey little stranger what ya doin' tonight lookin like you lost, and uh standin in the rain in the street, and that joker's standin on the corner sellin dreams that can't come true, i laughed at you baby, i laughed, but at night i bought 'em too, i bought em too, down and down and down we gooo crawlin' down the street, pushin buttons in the alley, I laughed at you baby. Down, down and down, down down and down and down. Round and round down and down and down we go. TV, tv's the one with the sound turned on, tv's tv's on with the sound turned on, Johnny Carson, down and down down and down we go sittin' on the couch and the couch, down and down oh inside down and down we go, hey little stranger, what'chya doin' tonight? down and down, such a good girl tonight, Honey, outside the cops sittin' on the corner drinkin' coffee in the squad car, down and down, on the corner sittin' on the corner, honey outside the girls on the street comin' up to you, hey mister, you got a girlfriend, hey mister, wanna go out tonight? down and down and down, inside down and down, down, down and down, mmmmm, baby, baby we could slip away. we could slip away, we could steal away, we could slip away, oh that's the thing i'll take all my money outta the bank, and uh, baby we could slip away, baby we could slip away, hey little stranger what'chya doin' tonight, wanna steal away, baby we could steal away, baby we could steal away, don't tell your mom your pop, baby we could slip away, oh baby, baby we could slip away, we could slip away, baby we could slip away, baby we could steal away, we could steal away, oh baby we could slip away, i got my car parked outside, pack your bags baby, oh, baby we could, we could shake this city life, we could - quit your job, baby i can make it, tonight, baby we could slip away, baby we could, shhhhhhh, shhhhhhhh, down and down, shhhhh, ha! slip away! slip away! SLIP AWAY! SLIP AWAY!! whoooooaaaaaooohhhoooohh! whoooooaaaaaooohhhoooohh!"
So they sent some clown around to the back and I said "leave me here." Then I left the bar, drove through town in the wrong lane caught the cops sped through Harvard square. In the sun, that's where the fun, oh, that's where the fun is. That's where the fun is. Ooooooh, tiny pieces of growin' up.
Shit. I wish I hadn't been such a little bitch back then. I wish I could've given him a high five, nah that wasn't his style, put an arm around him, yeah. Loss comes from your heart, it's weird ya know how the heart has nothing to do with emotions but it's associated most closely with them. Fuck man I miss that guy, I really do.
They sell all these ripoffs down there, ya know, "no, uh, refahnd." yeah i know no refund. believe me, i'm not comin' back here anytime soon. all the knockoffs. all the cheap plastic stuff they make down south east. everything's a trading company, we trade fake shit and then sell it. but some of it's good ya know? some of that shit ain't bad. Here's a knock-off that's just so fuckin' good:
"I'll be proud, ooooooooh, i want ah ah, to run away! Street tonight baby where there's the sound, take me in my arms. tonight on the street tonight, on the street bring the sound, and it's hey little stranger, lookin' like your lost, you're just some crazy, runnin' crazy in the streets, i know a place maybe we could go, nobody knows it, and it's hey little stranger what ya doin' tonight, you just some crazy, runnin crazy through the streets, baby i know a place where we can go, it's warm and dry, it's safe there, nobody ever goes there, nobody ever goes there, nobody ever goes there, nobody'd know us there, i just got this new stereo, i painted the place, i mean hey little stranger what ya doin' tonight lookin like you lost, and uh standin in the rain in the street, and that joker's standin on the corner sellin dreams that can't come true, i laughed at you baby, i laughed, but at night i bought 'em too, i bought em too, down and down and down we gooo crawlin' down the street, pushin buttons in the alley, I laughed at you baby. Down, down and down, down down and down and down. Round and round down and down and down we go. TV, tv's the one with the sound turned on, tv's tv's on with the sound turned on, Johnny Carson, down and down down and down we go sittin' on the couch and the couch, down and down oh inside down and down we go, hey little stranger, what'chya doin' tonight? down and down, such a good girl tonight, Honey, outside the cops sittin' on the corner drinkin' coffee in the squad car, down and down, on the corner sittin' on the corner, honey outside the girls on the street comin' up to you, hey mister, you got a girlfriend, hey mister, wanna go out tonight? down and down and down, inside down and down, down, down and down, mmmmm, baby, baby we could slip away. we could slip away, we could steal away, we could slip away, oh that's the thing i'll take all my money outta the bank, and uh, baby we could slip away, baby we could slip away, hey little stranger what'chya doin' tonight, wanna steal away, baby we could steal away, baby we could steal away, don't tell your mom your pop, baby we could slip away, oh baby, baby we could slip away, we could slip away, baby we could slip away, baby we could steal away, we could steal away, oh baby we could slip away, i got my car parked outside, pack your bags baby, oh, baby we could, we could shake this city life, we could - quit your job, baby i can make it, tonight, baby we could slip away, baby we could, shhhhhhh, shhhhhhhh, down and down, shhhhh, ha! slip away! slip away! SLIP AWAY! SLIP AWAY!! whoooooaaaaaooohhhoooohh! whoooooaaaaaooohhhoooohh!"
So they sent some clown around to the back and I said "leave me here." Then I left the bar, drove through town in the wrong lane caught the cops sped through Harvard square. In the sun, that's where the fun, oh, that's where the fun is. That's where the fun is. Ooooooh, tiny pieces of growin' up.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Arriving Rivendell
The planks on the wooden bridge waddled back and forth under the pressure redistributions caused by travelers. Each plank had a small hole on each side of its flat section, and through the holes were small, green, twinelike strands that held each plank to the next. Running across the bridge all at once caused a tidelike ripple to cascade over the span. Of course, the variables in such a wave may be examined relentlessly (ibid).
But all of this foreshadows a familiar topic, and, seeking variety I find myself back where I began: at this goddamned Roman Clef. The influences over the past two years have been few. When I catch it good, I can follow the flow of clean streams. When I see my reflection too clearly, I pollute the waters and tire my wrists. I need calm waters as much as I need hazy rapids as much as I need the frenzy of bodily functions to quiet down for a few minutes. The source seems pure and opportune, but the rest is a tangled, murky mess.
I'll travel with myself and hear ripples of sure success: "Got a new year comin'. Only God knows what's in it." Or the thing about the dog and the gentrification zone. Only to be saddled and handcuffed by sloth, gluttony, envy, and pride - are these my bridge girders! I read the LCD display. I'm like a Three Gorges Dam simulation with infinite retries. I well up, and before I produce anything, I fall apart (at least I'm not in the paper). Inspiration sought, bring it to the bridge.
Maybe I need to recupe in some magical homely house. The structure of the worldsuit doesn't fit me. The lush greens of the riverbanks don't appeal to me. Give me your tired, distracted, jaded, populous audience, and I'll forge a head! I'll leave the homely house of convalescence (assuming I rest there), and I'll blast through the arachnowoods, acidoceans, treacherousplains, and inauspicioussands - to the top of the mountain (of love/adobe of angels). I'll tower indifferently over the riverbanks and its masses, shackled by the worldsuits of slavery (if you can say it more sensitively, e-mail it to me), and beam a message into their receivers: "There is hope, you who listen."
But all of this foreshadows a familiar topic, and, seeking variety I find myself back where I began: at this goddamned Roman Clef. The influences over the past two years have been few. When I catch it good, I can follow the flow of clean streams. When I see my reflection too clearly, I pollute the waters and tire my wrists. I need calm waters as much as I need hazy rapids as much as I need the frenzy of bodily functions to quiet down for a few minutes. The source seems pure and opportune, but the rest is a tangled, murky mess.
I'll travel with myself and hear ripples of sure success: "Got a new year comin'. Only God knows what's in it." Or the thing about the dog and the gentrification zone. Only to be saddled and handcuffed by sloth, gluttony, envy, and pride - are these my bridge girders! I read the LCD display. I'm like a Three Gorges Dam simulation with infinite retries. I well up, and before I produce anything, I fall apart (at least I'm not in the paper). Inspiration sought, bring it to the bridge.
Maybe I need to recupe in some magical homely house. The structure of the worldsuit doesn't fit me. The lush greens of the riverbanks don't appeal to me. Give me your tired, distracted, jaded, populous audience, and I'll forge a head! I'll leave the homely house of convalescence (assuming I rest there), and I'll blast through the arachnowoods, acidoceans, treacherousplains, and inauspicioussands - to the top of the mountain (of love/adobe of angels). I'll tower indifferently over the riverbanks and its masses, shackled by the worldsuits of slavery (if you can say it more sensitively, e-mail it to me), and beam a message into their receivers: "There is hope, you who listen."
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Clef
The hummin’ came from the hummer that started when I buzzed the buzzer, which ended when I clutched the black handle with both hands and pushed out onto the street. I ran to the corner and made a tight right because most intersections meet at right angles, right? A drop from a dirty old awning found its way into the hole at the top of my coffee cup.
And We! Are back!
Wondrin’ what’s wrong with this landscape, feelin’ the ground with my hands and the soul of privilege pressed squarely at my back. The pangs of lunacy addressing my backside, baby! Sailin’ for a living workin’ as a hobby like a dull knife’s afterthought – the beach resort of life. The Ohio wilderness at my back! The leaves turned and turned all around my head with my troubles and a mixed up maniac stirrin’ the pot wondrin’ thinkin’ all about crazy fates and faithless paranoia. Where we goin’ baby? We’re goin’ where we always end up goin’ ya heard me honey? Open the door by pressing against the black handle. At the end of my time, I hope my mind’s aligned.
Crossing guard, let me pass to the other side! It looks so bad that I’ve been running and now I have to wait for the light. At the end of the fiery tunnel to the promised land, there’s a cliché and a license agreement. I misunderstood the former and forgot the latter. After business time, it specified. I laughed in its face and dreamed of America the land of orange lights and slick sidewalks. A light was on in one apartment (galactic tone) so I broke in and stole everything she owned. A late night arrival to a spired-city (galactic tone) ought to inspire criminal activity. She’s the one for me, so I swung around the corner, made a tight right ya heard?
I heard ya honey, I heard ya loud and clear this room has great acoustics. She sighed and reflected on her baptism. I stood in the doorway and sent the little broken chain link whipping into to the Ohio wilderness under her futon. In a corner…in a lot, in an old broken downtown spot was where I put the heavy black bag baby! And as dawn disturbed the big city, I hunched over a weak watery coffee and couldn’t take another sip.
The hole I was in now + all the incompatible feelings had me hurdling towards the fact that I was headed to Central Park next. I shouldn’t look so far ahead, baby let’s share some spit, rollin’ round in the riverbrush of the Ohio watershed. I can dream cain’t I? Slither towards me fucker and I’ll sucker-punch you right where it stings. You and I ain’t so different after all, Jersey. Gimme something to wear and I’ll be off. This bus sucks I want a new one, I want a new set of undies honey. Let’s transfer - let’s sniff out something better.
After the homicide I went back to her apartment and sat at the little table, blood glimmering on the hardwood floor so I got a sponge and cleaned it up. I knew the cops would come and bust down the door and take me away and that was fine with me I believe in justice. I believe in the system because back in the old country shit’s corrupt. I read an interesting article about lock-picking. Fascinating stuff.
And We! Are back!
Wondrin’ what’s wrong with this landscape, feelin’ the ground with my hands and the soul of privilege pressed squarely at my back. The pangs of lunacy addressing my backside, baby! Sailin’ for a living workin’ as a hobby like a dull knife’s afterthought – the beach resort of life. The Ohio wilderness at my back! The leaves turned and turned all around my head with my troubles and a mixed up maniac stirrin’ the pot wondrin’ thinkin’ all about crazy fates and faithless paranoia. Where we goin’ baby? We’re goin’ where we always end up goin’ ya heard me honey? Open the door by pressing against the black handle. At the end of my time, I hope my mind’s aligned.
Crossing guard, let me pass to the other side! It looks so bad that I’ve been running and now I have to wait for the light. At the end of the fiery tunnel to the promised land, there’s a cliché and a license agreement. I misunderstood the former and forgot the latter. After business time, it specified. I laughed in its face and dreamed of America the land of orange lights and slick sidewalks. A light was on in one apartment (galactic tone) so I broke in and stole everything she owned. A late night arrival to a spired-city (galactic tone) ought to inspire criminal activity. She’s the one for me, so I swung around the corner, made a tight right ya heard?
I heard ya honey, I heard ya loud and clear this room has great acoustics. She sighed and reflected on her baptism. I stood in the doorway and sent the little broken chain link whipping into to the Ohio wilderness under her futon. In a corner…in a lot, in an old broken downtown spot was where I put the heavy black bag baby! And as dawn disturbed the big city, I hunched over a weak watery coffee and couldn’t take another sip.
The hole I was in now + all the incompatible feelings had me hurdling towards the fact that I was headed to Central Park next. I shouldn’t look so far ahead, baby let’s share some spit, rollin’ round in the riverbrush of the Ohio watershed. I can dream cain’t I? Slither towards me fucker and I’ll sucker-punch you right where it stings. You and I ain’t so different after all, Jersey. Gimme something to wear and I’ll be off. This bus sucks I want a new one, I want a new set of undies honey. Let’s transfer - let’s sniff out something better.
After the homicide I went back to her apartment and sat at the little table, blood glimmering on the hardwood floor so I got a sponge and cleaned it up. I knew the cops would come and bust down the door and take me away and that was fine with me I believe in justice. I believe in the system because back in the old country shit’s corrupt. I read an interesting article about lock-picking. Fascinating stuff.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Beads & Batteries
A little boy went "uuuughhhhh" when he saw the white reverse lights on the van coming toward his little sister in the stroller. Though precocious in one area of common knowledge, he was deficient overall; his mother easily wheeled the stroller up the curb onto the sidewalk (with a few seconds to spare). I mean, the extent of the car's backwards movement didn't even intersect with where she'd been while crossing the street...it was a guttural shriek, one that only a prepubescent little man could muster. Outward from his little lips the air tossed and turned restlessly. It mixed with the grease and grime of the city, alternately savory and disgusting, wonderful and loathsome.
With his family out of the picture, his heart and mind sunk in nostalgia whenever he saw those shiny green and red ceramic tiles. His stomach juices gurgled and popped and touched his heart and mind when he saw the place's menu assembled together in white, rounded characters on the sweaty grease-filled wall. The white numbers after each item related cost - numbers that served as an index, and, when paired with the year and just a little historical data, tells the stories of cities and countries, of countries and civilizations, in the northern hemisphere of Earth.
The air licked the burnt, crispy salt particles off of itself as the scream went by, passing on the exotic seafood and aristocratic baby formula, shoveling it off with a crest at its chest. I tell you, what beats this, what flies like a pig and chomps like a shark? What zooms like a race car and pivots like a row on an abacus? Who can label me in a few premeditated brush strokes! Who can capture my worth in a few succulent thighs, am I so bland! Am I low-sodium! Am I a number and a target, can I defy the numbers if I think hard enough? The pig has wings I saw them with my own eyes!
Right now aaaaaaand go! Go! Oh shit oh shit! Oh shit! Go Go Go! Chug chug chug chug chug hahahaha! Go! Chug! Oh shit! Beady eyes looked on from across the street, there's no street. There's no street if there's no city, and there is definitely not a city here. Athletic prowess flexes and stands over me as I look back cynically yet defeated. I am a piece of fine art - a porcelain vase a masterpiece a showstopper. We have a fan! Look, there he is with the tail and the coat. Now we have a fan and a coat, this climate is no match for us. We can control our destinies because we have the tools necessary to withstand the extremes of our climate.
We are utterly adrift and it has gone to our heads. We look into the distance and our bones are disintegrating. Our hearts and minds throb with the rise and fall of the moonleash. I want a cupcake. Me and my classmates want cupcakes. We want stickers and cupcakes and first honors. I want my number to be called and called and called until I'm looking up at the cheap ceiling tiles three feet above me from the mattress of a plaything - and through the walls, through the cement mixed together by an immigrant and slopped together with Holy Water and a sacred spade - I hear the engine of a way out of here, and it. is. so. gone.
With his family out of the picture, his heart and mind sunk in nostalgia whenever he saw those shiny green and red ceramic tiles. His stomach juices gurgled and popped and touched his heart and mind when he saw the place's menu assembled together in white, rounded characters on the sweaty grease-filled wall. The white numbers after each item related cost - numbers that served as an index, and, when paired with the year and just a little historical data, tells the stories of cities and countries, of countries and civilizations, in the northern hemisphere of Earth.
The air licked the burnt, crispy salt particles off of itself as the scream went by, passing on the exotic seafood and aristocratic baby formula, shoveling it off with a crest at its chest. I tell you, what beats this, what flies like a pig and chomps like a shark? What zooms like a race car and pivots like a row on an abacus? Who can label me in a few premeditated brush strokes! Who can capture my worth in a few succulent thighs, am I so bland! Am I low-sodium! Am I a number and a target, can I defy the numbers if I think hard enough? The pig has wings I saw them with my own eyes!
Right now aaaaaaand go! Go! Oh shit oh shit! Oh shit! Go Go Go! Chug chug chug chug chug hahahaha! Go! Chug! Oh shit! Beady eyes looked on from across the street, there's no street. There's no street if there's no city, and there is definitely not a city here. Athletic prowess flexes and stands over me as I look back cynically yet defeated. I am a piece of fine art - a porcelain vase a masterpiece a showstopper. We have a fan! Look, there he is with the tail and the coat. Now we have a fan and a coat, this climate is no match for us. We can control our destinies because we have the tools necessary to withstand the extremes of our climate.
We are utterly adrift and it has gone to our heads. We look into the distance and our bones are disintegrating. Our hearts and minds throb with the rise and fall of the moonleash. I want a cupcake. Me and my classmates want cupcakes. We want stickers and cupcakes and first honors. I want my number to be called and called and called until I'm looking up at the cheap ceiling tiles three feet above me from the mattress of a plaything - and through the walls, through the cement mixed together by an immigrant and slopped together with Holy Water and a sacred spade - I hear the engine of a way out of here, and it. is. so. gone.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
September 4, 2007
Gesturing wildly, he told me that there was nothing to worry about. "We go in through the open window, wearing stockings over our heads. Then, you stand in the bathroom, lock the door, and change into this outfit." He picked up a college sweatshirt and a white vest.
"Are you serious? Why would I be wearing that?"
"Listen, there's no time to question things now, you come out of the bathroom once you hear that the guy and his wife have realized I'm in the house. You scream, "COPS!" and you hold this bat." He handed me a black maple bat.
"Why would a cop be wearing a Columbia sweatshirt, with a white vest over it, swinging a black baseball bat?"
"Are you in or not man? Think about the payoff, you probably won't even have to come out. If they don't wake up I just take the shit and we leave." He clapped his hands together and sent his right hand shooting off into leavedom, towards my face. Ironic.
We staggered behind the house, we put our stockings on, and in we went. I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. I immediately took my wallet out of my pocket and put it on the sink. I said to myself, "What am I doing?" Apparently we hadn't been very quiet entering through the window, both the wife and the guy were downstairs confronting my accomplice. I took one of my house keys off the keyring and placed it on the sink.
"You get the fuck out of the bathroom, whoever you are!" yelled the big man. I felt lots of footsteps real close to the door and then a pounding on the door. The wife was calling the real cops. I didn't really think about what could be happening out there. I knew what I had to do. Kick open the door, wave the bat around say I was the cops. Well, no. First I had to unlock the door so when I kicked it it opened. I put on the sweatshirt and the white vest over it. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I put my hand through my hair to fix the stocking-hair. I wasn't very excited. Being in that bathroom felt safe. I wasn't up for the challenge of kicking the door, angling my eyebrows, and raising my voice. I didn't really hear anyone anymore. I heard the real cops outside.
"Yeah we have two dead. Yeah. Washington Avenue. 125. Looks like the husband strangled the burglar after the burglar strangled his wife. The husband said there's someone else in the main bathroom, I sent Randy in to check."
I fumbled around and put my wallet back in my pocket and the key back on the keyring but I couldn't really get it on so I stabbed the key and my keyring into my pocket. I threw the bat in the tub and turned the shower on. I fumbled with the bathroom lock, I could hear the footsteps coming down the main hall. I slowly opened the door and then bolted out into the hall and didn't turn around to see if the officer had reached the hallway and seen me. I ran out the back door into the backyard. There were two kids smoking pot on the pool deck. I don't know who they were and they didn't ask whom I was. I jumped from the pool deck to the gate of the neighbors and then onto their pool deck, and so on for about 5 houses.
As I was making my escape. I heard the voices of the cops ringing in my head. Autumn came and settled on these suburban backyards. "The husband will get manslaughter. Probably get off, he's a reputable guy. Once we find the accomplice the judge will slap him with some other armed burglary, 5-10, he'll plea and take 90 days, who wouldn't take 90 over 5-10?"
I didn't want to go to jail and I thought maybe there was a way I could get off with this. I kept hopping pools and decks and something happened that I was scared would happen. The white river all around us kept swirling and the silver sky made the leaves moist and slippery. Some were red-brown others were green-brown. I hopped over a gate and saw the two kids smoking pot on a different pool deck. All the pools were covered with black tarps and asymmetrical ponds had formed. Some of the leaves were on the bold green grass, but most were neatly packaged in bundles. I stopped running and sat in the corner of a backyard. I walked up a slight incline to the back of a backyard. I took off my sweatshirt and so my vest, I was wearing a black t-shirt underneath. I put my key back on the keyring. I sat with my knees bent at my chin. The unforgiving wind of the white river blew indistinguishable brown specs into social frenzies that speckled the dark gray outlines of the clouds.
I still hadn't thought about my accomplice and that he was dead. Instead I thought of jail. I was haunted by the voice of the judge which came in so clearly as I made my escape. I knew I had to get out here. I had enough money in my bank account, I could go South. I'd never make it over the swirling white river without being identified. My fingerprints would be on the knob, so if I were to make an escape on a plane, I'd have to do it soon, as the judicial bureaucracy would crawl to actually place a deadlock on my commercial travel. Where could I go? Where did I want to go?
"Are you serious? Why would I be wearing that?"
"Listen, there's no time to question things now, you come out of the bathroom once you hear that the guy and his wife have realized I'm in the house. You scream, "COPS!" and you hold this bat." He handed me a black maple bat.
"Why would a cop be wearing a Columbia sweatshirt, with a white vest over it, swinging a black baseball bat?"
"Are you in or not man? Think about the payoff, you probably won't even have to come out. If they don't wake up I just take the shit and we leave." He clapped his hands together and sent his right hand shooting off into leavedom, towards my face. Ironic.
We staggered behind the house, we put our stockings on, and in we went. I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. I immediately took my wallet out of my pocket and put it on the sink. I said to myself, "What am I doing?" Apparently we hadn't been very quiet entering through the window, both the wife and the guy were downstairs confronting my accomplice. I took one of my house keys off the keyring and placed it on the sink.
"You get the fuck out of the bathroom, whoever you are!" yelled the big man. I felt lots of footsteps real close to the door and then a pounding on the door. The wife was calling the real cops. I didn't really think about what could be happening out there. I knew what I had to do. Kick open the door, wave the bat around say I was the cops. Well, no. First I had to unlock the door so when I kicked it it opened. I put on the sweatshirt and the white vest over it. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I put my hand through my hair to fix the stocking-hair. I wasn't very excited. Being in that bathroom felt safe. I wasn't up for the challenge of kicking the door, angling my eyebrows, and raising my voice. I didn't really hear anyone anymore. I heard the real cops outside.
"Yeah we have two dead. Yeah. Washington Avenue. 125. Looks like the husband strangled the burglar after the burglar strangled his wife. The husband said there's someone else in the main bathroom, I sent Randy in to check."
I fumbled around and put my wallet back in my pocket and the key back on the keyring but I couldn't really get it on so I stabbed the key and my keyring into my pocket. I threw the bat in the tub and turned the shower on. I fumbled with the bathroom lock, I could hear the footsteps coming down the main hall. I slowly opened the door and then bolted out into the hall and didn't turn around to see if the officer had reached the hallway and seen me. I ran out the back door into the backyard. There were two kids smoking pot on the pool deck. I don't know who they were and they didn't ask whom I was. I jumped from the pool deck to the gate of the neighbors and then onto their pool deck, and so on for about 5 houses.
As I was making my escape. I heard the voices of the cops ringing in my head. Autumn came and settled on these suburban backyards. "The husband will get manslaughter. Probably get off, he's a reputable guy. Once we find the accomplice the judge will slap him with some other armed burglary, 5-10, he'll plea and take 90 days, who wouldn't take 90 over 5-10?"
I didn't want to go to jail and I thought maybe there was a way I could get off with this. I kept hopping pools and decks and something happened that I was scared would happen. The white river all around us kept swirling and the silver sky made the leaves moist and slippery. Some were red-brown others were green-brown. I hopped over a gate and saw the two kids smoking pot on a different pool deck. All the pools were covered with black tarps and asymmetrical ponds had formed. Some of the leaves were on the bold green grass, but most were neatly packaged in bundles. I stopped running and sat in the corner of a backyard. I walked up a slight incline to the back of a backyard. I took off my sweatshirt and so my vest, I was wearing a black t-shirt underneath. I put my key back on the keyring. I sat with my knees bent at my chin. The unforgiving wind of the white river blew indistinguishable brown specs into social frenzies that speckled the dark gray outlines of the clouds.
I still hadn't thought about my accomplice and that he was dead. Instead I thought of jail. I was haunted by the voice of the judge which came in so clearly as I made my escape. I knew I had to get out here. I had enough money in my bank account, I could go South. I'd never make it over the swirling white river without being identified. My fingerprints would be on the knob, so if I were to make an escape on a plane, I'd have to do it soon, as the judicial bureaucracy would crawl to actually place a deadlock on my commercial travel. Where could I go? Where did I want to go?
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