Monthly Archives: October 2010

Born on the Road, Travel in a Home.

I was in an elevator going into the 9th floor. Every time the elevator started up again, it shook a little bit before it started moving, as if it had to plug itself back into the world every time before it took me where I needed to go. The raspy fluorescent light tube on the ceiling was blind on one side and the part that did work flickered at a high frequency. It seemed seldom this elevator was shut off, it had been running ever since it came into service.

The building I was in was rundown, it was old enough to have elevator operators pulling on a lever. But the one advancement it had in technology was that shaky elevator that seemed it wanted to go sideways more than it wanted to go up and down. The room I had to go into was at the very end of the hall, to the south side of the building. Tasteless green lamps perched above an old wooden end table, no bigger than a toilet, every fifteen or so feet. there were four of them on either side. The doors were just plain wood double doors, except for the gold trimming around the edges and the door handle. I placed my hand on it’s icy surface, paused to gather my wits, and walked in.

My purpose for being there was to attend a hearing regarding my mothers assets. She had neglected to write a will and I was to divide the winnings between my sister and I. The receptionist I checked in with was funny. Funny in the way that she seemed devoid of any human emotion, and her tone was dryer than a desert, even when I said, “I’m here to divide assets from my late mother.” She asked me to take a seat on the bright orange sofa. Everything in that room seemed to be themed like a black and white Vincent Price horror picture, except for that bright lively orange couch. Even the four magazines on the glass coffee table seemed to be in black and white. It was probably themed this way as I’m sure no one’s ever exuded in picking up the magazines. They’re covered in a thin film of dust.

“They’ll see you now.” Nodded the receptionist pointing at the only other door in the room with her black pen. I walked through the door to see my sister, dressed in a yellowish red sunburst sundress and white purse in her lap. Behind the desk were four lawyers, plain black suits with a row of three briefcases and one backgammon case alongside the desk by the window. I didn’t know whether I wanted to hug my sister to form an alliance or nod at her. She nodded first.

“Let me just say, I express my deepest condolences at your loss-” uttered the first lawyer, before my sister butted in, “It’s quite alright. I’m sure my brother and I would both agree in saying that isn’t necessary and it’d be in our best interest to get to the point. I want the assets in the banks, and he can have the house due to his higher suasion in sentimentalism.” She never even glanced back at me. I loved my big sister, but what happened to us that made us so cold? Now that I think about it, I really don’t know anything about her. Neither did I know anything about my own mother. My sister was dating a musician the last time I saw her, my mother spent most of her time on the ottoman in the living room with a glass of brandy and her collection of final essays from her twenty-four years as a professor in theology. We were raised by a series of maids and neighbors whom we can’t remember the names to unless we squinted our eyes hard enough.

Was this the dream my father wanted when he bedded and wedded my mother? Was it still his dream when the cancer took him? I was too young to remember my father’s scent, and left home younger than the recommended age of passage. We can’t be the only family like this. Is this my dilemma or our epidemic? “You can have it all. I just wanted to see if you were okay. Now that I’ve seen you, I think it’s safe to say that none of us were.” I left the room and called my wife and daughter I left back home in my little apartment in sunny California.

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Little Bird Lit down

You ever get that look? That look they smear on you that says, “get down with me, with that glossy afterglow? God, that kills me, that kills anyone regardless of whether they’re attractive. It’s those eyes, they pierce and scorch you through your lily-white skin, one hundred feet deep into your soul of merry green lands.

That’s what she did. She leaned against a fence and her body told me it was waiting for a kiss or two. Her heart on a sleeve, or better yet, her hand in the form of a pen-knife, she plugged me through and through. Instead of lying there and bleeding my flesh from my bones, I wanted more and more. Our words flowed like the wind roaring, moaning, howling, and blowing in a single, foggy breath.

Call out my name, love, but don’t be surprised. The soul I have waiting in that merry green land can afford to wait a little longer for my return. Tonight I dance the devil’s dance, spinning and dipping an advocate of justice.

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Drive-Thru Animals

There’s this certain little drive-thru I use frequently. They offer an array of services ranging from toiletries to pharmacological needs. And best of all, it requires as little face time as possible. It’s my favorite place to get shit I need without having to deal with people, and worse, the part where you walk up to them, then walk away. Walking isn’t very fast, and from behind a counter, it’s almost like they have this sense of authority. Whatever the case, that is their home, and you are a visitor and require something from them, which puts you in a vulnerable predicament. That is why I love this drive-thru, it exonerates all those petty thoughts, which, were petty to begin with.

One day, a most normal day, because normal days are the days where you least suspect any kind of unanticipated spontaneity, spontaneity occurred, in the most spontaneous way. They say serendipity goes a long way when you meet someone for the first time, and this is an example of one of those times. On several occasions, there was always this ratty little bronze station wagon ahead of me. It was always the one car ahead of me, which leads me to think one of two things, this person was always a car’s length ahead of me whenever I decided to go to this bland little drive-thru, hardly one of a kind, but I’d always considered it mine. But the second little thing that caught my attention was the bag. That big brown paper bag she always picked up just as I was pulling in. It was always the same size and it always had a roll of paper Brawny Extra Strength Paper Towels sticking out the top of it. The weight of it looked consistently heavy every time, and she always paid in cash. When I pull up, I get the same bag with the same brand of paper towels sticking out of it. My bag isn’t as heavy but I like to keep my order’s fairly consistent in order to avoid mistakes.

On that day, however, that unforeseen spontaneous day we mentioned, the drive-thru was closed. I had to go inside if I was to keep my world in sync with my mechanical soul. Fuck. Into the cave I went, and it felt as if I was carrying a torch because I felt everyone’s eyes gaze upon me thinking, “Look at this asshole with the torch…” I don’t consider myself anything special to look at, but unfortunately, I had not anticipated the drive-thru to be closed so I entered in a nice cozy zebra-printed bathrobe. It wasn’t intentional, just unfortunate. ‘Suck it up,’ I thought to myself, and proceeded to tread. Everyone in the store was, by definition, normal. Regular haircuts, regular jeans and jackets, and probably regular jobs that lead them to-and-from slavery between the hours of 9 to 5. A few anomalies though, a kid with tiger make-up in the ‘sweets’ section, A man in shorts and a muscle shirt deciding which kind of milk he preferred, non-fat or savage. There’s even a woman, brunette wearing the same bathrobe I am, except translated in cheetah-print. I hunted my shit down like prey, having to look atop of every aisle for the category lists. You’d think they’d have ‘sweets’ next to ‘snacks,’ but not them.

At the checkout, the line was longer than usual. My first thought was that these were all the people in the single file cars waiting to go through the drive-thru. Regular looking people just waiting to speed up this process. The woman behind the counter looked at me with a scrutinizing glare, or looked at my robe. She smiled… maybe I’ve been over-thinking the detriments about the place. The woman behind the counter seemed to be enjoying herself and glancing several times a minute at me, almost flirting. The store isn’t so bad. I turned to look behind me, thinking she might have been twinkling at someone else and noticed the cheetah-print woman right behind me in line. It became clear. The woman behind the counter wasn’t flirting, she was amused by the fact there was a cheetah and a zebra waiting in line to buy some Brawny Extra Strength Paper Towels. Brawny Extra Strength Paper Towels? I looked at the woman again and after I got past her ridiculous animal skin, I saw contents in her arms. It was enough to fill a big brown paper bag. I looked at her face and she smiled while my knees shuddered. She was beautiful. Fuuuck, with three u’s. “We’re like the animal kingdom going to slaughter.” She said. I paused for a moment, then replied, “We’ll make it out of here alive, then it’s back to drive-thru paper towels.” She looked at me for a moment, then down into my pile to see the Brawny Extra Strength Towels, then smiled. We both checked out with separate attendants and ended up in the parking lot at the same time. As I suspected, she got into the ratty brown station wagon that happened to be parked right behind me. As we both started driving home, I realized something. She was ahead of me again. A block ahead of me. She ended up turning a left onto a street at the same time I turned onto mine. Out of curiosity, I didn’t stop when I reached my parking spot, I kept driving to the end of the block to see if she’d turn up. She didn’t. She lived on that block.

The day I had to return to the drive-thru, there was a note pinned under my windshield wiper. It read, see you at the drive-thru. I drove over there and there she was. She was waiting, standing next to her wagon, in the same cheetah-print bathrobe. I parked next to her and got out in my zebra-print bathrobe. She waved and asked, “would you like to go to slaughter with me?”

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pwe1a

“Begging for the rain to come because the crops have dried up. Now that it’s come, it doesn’t seem to stop. Crops are drowning and we can’t tend to them. Nights are short and the days are longer.” …This novel sucks. The imbecile barista can’t get my drink right, how do you fail at pouring a black coffee with no room, besides forgetting how to keep pouring to the brim. I’ve spent many nights here for him to finally grasp that concept, maybe I should stop putting Starbursts into his tip jar. My new case has me running around in circles because she doesn’t understand that our open disclosure aids heavily in solving her case. The only case here is her being a basketcase. She gives me paradoxical info to work with and then asks me if the case has been closed every 20 minutes via text. I doubt she’d believe me if I told her she’d be the first person I told if I’ve made a break.

Waiting outside a shady motel sipping cheap coffee out of a dirty mug, I wait for the cheating husband to rear his head like a raccoon rummaging through your garbage. The only thing I’ve seen is how little people care in manners of conspicuousness. Men in suits walking and laughing with women wearing skirts shorter than the dollar bills sticking out of them, and out of material you see an abundance of in Halloween shops. the cheap shiny rubbery kind. I’m out cigarettes. I hate bumming smokes from people, it makes me feel like I’m still in highschool waiting for someone who looks at least 21 outside of a liquor store. Speaking of, there’s one at the corner.

On my way out, I saw the fucker, and he looked ready to fuck her. They were laughing and hugging like cliches, while I snuck back into the patio of the diner. I can’t quite make out the woman’s face, but I knew that head. I’ve always had a sort of skill about recognizing people by the backs of their heads, even if I haven’t seen the person in years. Even a toddler. I was 99.9% certain that was the head of the woman who hired me. That schizophrenic bitch, cheating on me with her own husband. I went to the liquor store to buy cigarettes.

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The Boys Are Back in Town

this little fucker is gonna be my best friend

And I’m back. I was parked on the side of the road, cigarette hanging from my mouth, smoke uncomfortably seeping into my eyeballs, when a random colore man in a Chicago Bears baseball cap walked by with an Acer mini netbook under his arm. I’d been seeing a ton of these as of late, and not knowing anything about them besides the fact that I wanted one too, I asked the man how much those things run for. He said, “I’m not sure, but this one right here, I’ll give it to you for 200 bones.” I laughed at his comedic timing and to my surprise, it was not meant to be comedic at all. He was serious and even introduced himself, Sam, and gave me an introduction to what the computer can do. Windows 7, 160 gig hard drive, a gig of RAM, I didn’t know what he was talking about but it looked and sounded satisfactory. I reached into my pockets and gave him two hundred dollars. He gave me the netbook with a charger and now I’m typing into it, typing to you. Fucking A.

My last few posts, though plentiful, have all been written on my phone. A tiny little gay android that is so advanced, it even does things I don’t want it to do. As long as it lets me write, right? Write, right? Get it? Fuck it. So finally, I no longer have to write my blogs with my thumbs and I can pick what internet addresses I want to see. And more importantly, I can continue writing my book. From scratch because the hard drive it was saved on, decided it was time to explode in a pathetic cloud of smoke.

My brain, my fingers, my eyes, my words… The boys are back in town.

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How to Maximize Pleasures of Chocolate Consumption

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Everytime I reach back into the m&m’s bag, I keep grabbing the same color. The color of it wasn’t what annoyed me, it was the same sweet nugget of fudge. the one I kept putting back into the bag, marked with an “H” I carved with my fingernail.

Everytime I try to grab onto another, that same nugget seems to find it’s tiny self snug in my hands. Maybe this was the piece I was supposed to have, and if I ate it, my agitation of pillaging that same one out of the bag would cease. I’d never worry about that piece again.

In the end, it was just another m&m’s piece, just like all the other ones in the bag. Now thinking about it, why did I go insane over this ominous little fucker anyway, it wasn’t even that good. It pumped me up with all these hopes and dreams and empty promises only to mimic any other m&m’s pieces with 100% accuracy. Its got a little scarlet Red 40 in it but it tastes just like the one with Yellow 20, or God forbid, the Blue 50. Weren’t there studies that said one of these dyes were potentially cancerous for the human body? How would they scientifically study that? Do they collect 5 different guinea pigs and say, “chug some colors, bitch,” only a bit more professionally courteous? m&m’s, your melting in my mouth makes me believe in God, but you’d just as soon melt in anyone else’s hand first anyway. Its all your colors, everyone wants a piece and they’ll pick their own color, but I would’ve picked you simply because I craved that cholatey inside, cancer and all.

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Dharma Bum

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Come to me, and I’ll tell you a song. She said, then proceeded to melodically repeat the words, “I’ll wait for you, I’ll wait for us,” for the next ten minutes. Her voice, a sullen deep cry, and when it neared the ninth minute, her voice became a whimper. A harpischord would’ve accompanied the voice well, though it was infinitely unnecessary. Yet I remained unphased. The words seemed no more cordial than kissing a woman’s hand during a greeting and no more heartfelt than reading a letter from a dead lover. The bit of humanity I had left was wept over the sunflowers I placed on her gravestone. This is one way to birth a nihilist, another is to shatter and contradict everything they believed in, and I’ve had both. I’m sorry you feel I don’t open up my heart to you, but that’s because I gave it to someone long ago and watched her slowly take it with her into the next world.

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