Monday, February 28, 2011

Showing that we're strong. all over is crap

 He sat in his lounge chair brooding, in pain. His life was not what it used to be, he knew it was better. He was alone to a certain extent, he had a friend though. They were bound together through a series of events, traumatic events that brought them very close. Three days earlier he woke to an alarm clock singing in his ear. It was seven o'clock in the morning, he just got to bed but he remembered his promise to Edwin that he'd help. Snooze was the only thing on his mind, but then he remembered why this companion of his became a friend. "Obligation and respect." he said as he began sliding his body out of bed. It wasn't cooperating, "this is just not going to happen" he said to himself in that instant. Looking back on it he's happy he did the right thing.
"When I'm alone with you" he started, then put his head down, lounging in his chair made with leopard print. "What a travesty" he said pressing  his hand against the fake animals hide. A few minutes later his telephone rang. "Andrew" he answered, "Are you o.k?" he asked, sounding worried. Then sat there listening to what Andrew had to say. "Why don't you come home?" he asked, Andrew was obviously not returning. "But baby, can't you remember why we did this!" There was a long pause "But she is ready!" he stated loudly into the phone. "Andrew" he yelled "Andrew". No answer. "Fuck me" he said, enraged throwing his phone across the room. "But she's ready" he said to himself, falling to his knees in tears. His life was not what it used to be though. He still had her, Edwin introduced them. She was a gorgeous little princess of a lady. "Tattered around the edgers" he used to say, "nothing I can't fix." He was right too, after he found her on the streets, battered, broken, Andrew and him knew she would be the one. "Larry, she has to agree to the whole thing." he used to tell him. Larry always admired how Andrew wanted to be honest with everyone. "Except for me", Larry said violently. "Fuck Andrew Why?" he yelled "Why'd you have to go and do it if you didn't want to actually deal with the consequences." Larry stopped pacing in that moment and sat back down on the Lounging chair. He felt insecure sitting there, like he looked feminine, he though about it, and realizing no one was there decided to pose himself on the chaise lounge as if he were a lady. "God Andrew where are you?" He asked himself out loud knowing full well where Andrew was and that he wasn't coming back. Sitting there thinking about it Larry began to laugh, "Ha" he announce abruptly, "I knew you'd run, you lousy fagot." Just then the door swung open, it was her, she was sleeping upstairs when he had had his fit. "You woke me up Larry!" she said stepping into the room, her eye's looking sleepy. "What's going on?" she asked "Why are you so upset?" He didn't answer her. "Is it Andrew?" She asked. Larry's head dropped into his palms. "I knew he'd run" she said. Larry sat there a moment hands in his face and thought about what she just said. "You did?" He asked. "I did" she answered. They both laughed.

Friday, February 25, 2011

at a meridian next to an intersection

He stood there thinking to himself, angry about how things went. He was alone again, for the second time is as little as six months he had managed to screw up another relationship. "She was perfect for me" he said to himself. Hands over his face. "Why? Why did I have to be so selfish all the time?" He said to himself as he started to move forward toward the bus. He lost his license back in August, that put a strain on one of his most successful relationships. His inability to maneuver the city became an issue that that old lady hated, he didn't care much, he didn't love her. She left him. Then he found himself with this sweetheart, redhead, just a little thing, beautiful but full of herself. She liked him a lot, but he didn't want to be too quick to commit. "I insist we wear condoms" he'd say. Day in, week out the lovers would make love in condoms. She eventually grew weary of this prophylactic love and his lack of trust in her, "not my pill" she used to say to herself.
Today he met up with her, she picked him up, he was happy as apple pie. The day was going so good, he was going to make it to all his appointments on time and everything. He leaned in and gave her a kiss, the moment he got in the vehicle, they smiled at each other. "So what did you do last night?" she asked. He reclined the seat and said "nothing" then paused, looked at her, she was driving, he thought about how she was just a little thing in her sports car. "Why" he asked. She turned the radio on, the music filled the car up, but they could still hear each others breath, almost.
There was a tension in the car a stress that was being produced, bounced around  like the sound of music, they could both feel it, the mistrust, as if they were listening to it an elusive noise. "So where did you go last night, Stephen?" She asked again. He knew she knew that he had gone out the night before. He didn't want to lie to her. "I went out with someone." He felt a cold rush of sweat come over him, he was happy he didn't lie. He hoped that she would stop asking questions. "Who'd you go out with?" she asked, tapping the stirring wheel with her hands, keeping the beat with the song. The tension was high, he became feverishly hot, he was starting to sweat, but the anxiety came in theses short waves that he could feel in his head and heart. He wanted to respond, she was making him angry, the pitch in her voice. "Stephen" she said looking over at him. The car was stopped at a traffic light, she reached her hand out to turn the volume down on the radio. He notice the ring, he bought it for her so that he could stare at her hands, he loved them. "Where'd you go?" She inquired further, without arriving to any answers to her preceding question. The Light turned green, she hammered the clutch then threw the car into first and peeled out. "I know what you did last night Stephen!" she spoke with an aggressive tone, she was pissed with him and he  knew it. "Sandra, could you slow down a bit, you're making me nervous" he said burdened with the fear of what she might do after he tells her the truth.  She stopped the car, and asked "Could you please get out?" he stepped out

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

who's really packing heat! Dick's not a day over...

"You've gotta shoot fast, and if you see it, you gotta believe it, because before you know, it's gone." He jumped to his feet, excited about his day. He was going to be hunting in the woods for the next week, "We're going on an expedition." He adored to announce to anybody who'd listen. No on ever did. "Dick, why don't you just sit down?" His girlfriend would ask him from time to time. Richard would stand up and stick his crotch in her face arrogantly, his Adidas button up sweat pants flopping as she struggled with him to get away. "You know I don''t love you" she'd tell him. Then the two would fight some more, he'd threaten to leave her, she threatened to kill herself, then they'd fuck. This time though Dick had to go.

As they drove through Alberta up the YellowHead Westward, toward the Rockies, Dick thought about how much he loved her. It was a big road, real comfy to drive, but it was also a long road. He wasn't alone on this expedition, Dick had his son, Jamie. Jamie was fifteen this year and Dick promised him that he would take him hunting when he was old enough. At fifteen Dick had shot his first Gun. He could remember the first time he did it, he felt cold. The Two were sitting side by side in the Dodge pick up truck, cruizin at an easy hundred and ten kilometers an hour. It was winter time, and it was cold outside but the roads were in great driving condition.  Dick drove up the road lazily, taking it all in.

Jamie loved to watch the mountains grow in front of them. After Calgary, his Dad let him drive, he loved going on the exertions with his Dad. They always did shit they weren't suppose to do. Dad always told everyone they were going camping but they'd end up going out to Banff or Jasper, getting a suite in one of the lodges or hotels and they'd mope around the mountain. "Hey Dad?' Jamie asked, pressing his foot against the brake, they were coming up on the toll-booths, the ones that force you to pay to enter the National park. "It's gonna be pricey Dad" the boy said with a soft air of reproach. He didn't want to piss off his father. "Don't worry about it son, I can handle this one." He took out his wallet, Jamie saw lots of cash. "Where did you get all that?" Jamie asked. Dick looked up form the thick wad of cash and said "Don't ask." Jamie nodded and said "Hey, Pops...We gonna get loaded this time?" Dick nodded and said "Why do you think I brought the Guns?"

When they got to the toll-booth a very attractive young woman greeted them with a great big smile and said "Welcome, Bienvenu, how long will you be staying for?" Jamie looked over at his dad. "Two days" Dick said picking up his right hand and showing her two fingers. The women smiled, then gave Jamie a second look. "It comes to fifty two forty nine" she stated. Jamie handed her three twenty dollar bills and as she reached for the money he looked directly into her eyes. He could tell she was giving him a peculiar look. So he looked back, assuming it was because of his age. He looked back at her with his piercing blue eyes and winked. She blushed, and smiled, and Jamie drove off. "What'd  do there?" His father asked. Jamie said nothing. They drove on toward Banff.
When they entered the city limits Jamie headed toward the usual watering hole. "Not this time" Dick said, "This time, we're going hunting." Jamie avoided their usual left turn and made way for, "Hey Dad, where the fuck you want me to drive?" Jamie barked. He asked, not knowing where exactly to go, the city limits were suddenly in the process of advancing. "We're leaving!" Dick sat up. "Pull over! I'm gonna drive." Jamie did as he was told. After the boy had brought the car to a stop at the last gas station in town, the two sat there, in silence.  The moment passed, and Dick said "Let's go!" they switched spots and hit the highway. By this time it was getting late, and it was winter, Jamie didn't like to question his Dad but found it strange; that his father wanted to go hunting, in the evening, in the middle of nowhere with nothing to eat, and no tent to sleep in. "Dad?" Jamie asked. "What's going on?" 

Dick sat there, driving, in silence for a long time. He could feel himself these days, differently then in the past. His knees hurt now when he drove for too long. Dick looked out the window, they were moving west and the sun was just beginning to make it's descent toward the other half of the hemisphere. "You know Jamie, when I was fifteen, I learned some pretty valuable lessons." Dicks face began to sag. Jamie sat there watching his father disintegrate in front of him. "What are you talking about Dad?" Jamie demanded in his fifteen year old scared son tone, he loved his Dad, no matter what his mother said about him. The separation was brutal, Jamie understood that, and he also knew why they divorced. "Is this because of the divorce?" Jamie asked, upset that, his father was giving him some sort of teenage girl break down. Dick just kept right on moving west chasing the setting sun.

Dick turned to him and said with a crazed look in his eye " because when I was fifteen I fucked up!"

Babcia's Beets (buraki)

He had just finished taking a shit. He was watching it swirl down further into the eternal abyss. What a relief he though as he walked out of the bathroom. Then his life was once again burdened, he was aware of the beets he had just eaten, they were grated the way his grandmother used to make them back in Poland. She grew her own. He could remember eating that traditional Sunday dinner, fried breaded pork chop, mashed potato's and those painfully delicious blood red beets for the first time.
The First Sunday after their arrival into his mothers and fathers ancestral homeland, his Grandmother prepared the customary meal and the boy loved it. It was the first time he had ever eaten beats, and they were amazing. His Grandmother laughed, and fed him heaping second helpings by the spoon full saying "eat, eat, I made it just for you." He indulged himself and her in his grandmothers old world cooking. "What a life?" he said to himself as he walked outside that day. His cousin was sitting outside waiting for him. "What was that?" he asked, in Polish, bewildered with the boys English, the Canadian repeated himself in his first language "co za ┼╝ycie" his cousin nodded acceptably and stood up. "Common" he said in Polish. The Two scampered off into the tiny village. "Adam?" asked the thin curly haired cousin. "Gotta smoke?" Looking over  his shoulder Adam pulled out a packet of American cigarettes. "Ooo Marlboro, wow." his cousin seemed obviously excited, he had just started smoking since his North American brother had crash landed into his life. "I've never had one of those" he said excitedly. Adam took a sharp left and made his way for the old grave yard. "Common David!" yelled Adam. The two fumble their way through the cast iron gate, then ran up the long stairs. then at the top they found themselves needing to scurry through the maze of over nine and a half centuries of history in death and ruin. Adam stopped to see his grandfather. He lay there withing the families burial spot. He remembered his Grandfather. He had come to visit him a long time ago, before the family fell apart. Adam remembered his Grandfather. He remembered, sitting out side the door to his Grandparents room, he was three. He could remember calling, "Babcia, dziadzio, bo widno" in the wee hours of the morning, he would sit there calling until one of them awoke, and it worked. It was always his Grandfather that came to his rescue. A tall mild mannered man, with dark hair and thick glasses. He would open the door and the two would start the day together. Adam sat there thinking about all this, then he took out the cigarettes. He lit one sitting on the grave. David looked back, he found he was moving forward in solitude and it turned him to look and find his cousin sitting on their plot. Adam was already smoking. "Can I have one?" David asked nervously. They still weren't accustomed to each other at this point. Adam handed his younger cousin the whole packet of cigarettes. David smiled, took one and threw the pack back, limp smoke hanging from his lip. He was trying to look macho, but he was only thirteen and this was going to be his forth cigarette. Adam laughed, brought his legs up and held onto his knees pulling them toward his chine. Still smoking, he asked "Did you know my grandpa?", David smiled, looking at Adam, all hunched and bundled letting the smoke from his cigarette smother his face. "Yeah, yeah I did." David answered honestly, "not very well though, but I know everyone in the family." he paused then thought about something. They both smoked their cigarettes, Adam was a capable smoker relaxing his fingers as he took his drags. "I knew him too" saying as he exhaled the smoke. Davids brow raised in interest, "What do you mean, your grandpa visited you in Canada?" he asked. Adam nodded his head smoking. "How old were you?" David was eager to find out the facts. He leaned forward in anticipation eager for an answer. "Well" answered Adam seeing the sparkles of interest form his cousins eyes. He laughed, "must be the smokes" he said out loud but in English." What?" Asked David finishing off the last puffs, not once actually inhaling. "Nothing important." Adam said in Polish again so his cousin could understand. "I was four when my grandfather came to visit me and the family. We had just built the house and he came with Grandma." Adam took out another smoke, offered the box to David. David rejected it, looking a little green at the thought. Adam lit up. "I remember my Granddad cutting wood blocks for me everyday, I remember it so vividly." It was one of those memories in his mind he had never had until that moment, connected there to more of his history then ever before. "I remember playing with them every morning." he sat there sullen, smokey. David reached out for a drag of the cigarette, Adam was hardly touching it. " I remember that moment, then when the whole family was together, in my early memories, it was amazing, I remember sitting there playing with those blocks." he could see himself,\ a child of a broken home, before there was even a crack. "My Grandpa built me those blocks everyday you know, and I loved to play with them." He paused then said "But at the end of the every  after noon, that winter, I remember, the light would be just fading out of sight of the north window and he would take my blocks from me." Adam smiled, looked over at David, who was quickly beginning to look worse, with every masqueraded puff, he seemed to be growing dimmer. "Then he would take the blocks and burn them in the fire place." Adam said, watching his cousin begin to regurgitate his traditional Sunday supper. "You shouldn't smoke so much" Adam laugh accusingly watching his cousin sick up in the bushes next to a smaller plot of stone. Then out of nowhere it hit him, he thought he was just going to be passing gas, but sitting there on his Grandfathers Grave he shit himself, but just a tinny bit. He looked up at his cousin, then though of the run back to his new home. " I won't make it" he said, beginning to feel the agony of the blood red  pressure that is

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

It was like this since the first day he could remember, there was something he wanted, he couldn't have then did anything to get, then once he got it, he tasted it, and never stopped. She tasted it in her first breath, never saw, hence never knew what it really was, then tried to re bake it.

I suck Guaranteed

"In a manner of speaking" he stood there, "yes! I believe so, the best represent the dead." He could tell that a limited number of people understood what he was talking about. "You can't actually walk to the other side of the room, if you did, you'd be dead." a student unexpectedly  yelled across the lecture hall. "Yes" answered the professor. "I don't understand" another voice cried out.

and go to bed

What an epic event, he was thinking to himself. The plane was about to land, he was shaking in his boots. He hadn't seen his brother in six months. Not that unusual, but he'd changed quite a bit in the last little while. He was on top of the world, the middle east was incredible. He had finally come to the realization that he was never gonna know it all. He was also wearing leather boots and the type of clothing that set him apart from the others, especially the people out here, out west. He was excited to be bringing back some photographs he had taken around his new home, back in Saudi. High dynamic range, " could you imagine that?" his lips loosely quivered  the words out, the women next to him thinking  she'd heard something looked up,  then wasn't sure cause the plane was in descent, and her ears were popping.
Six month since the last time they had seen each other. He could have gone anywhere in the world but he came back to see his brother. It was a vacation he was on, a retreat from the everyday hustle and bustle of an unusual case, he didn't really belong there. His father was back home, out here, in Canada, sick! Melanoma, caught early though, it ate away at him out there in the desert.  He loved to bake in the sun. He was a photographer now, with real work.  He returned home, only hoping that his father in fighting cancer and brother would embrace his unique and new perspectives on reality. Things had changed, his relationship to them had changed, he sensed it. The plane hit some turbulence, his heart raced as it felt his stomach invade it's space. For an instant the plane was dropping. And in that instant he saw himself falling in love notion that  he was going to get fucked up!

Sunday, February 20, 2011

to his death.

It was his knees, they were starting to go. "You know it happens in increments, maybe you win some then you fall apart" sighing "everything around you, you loose." They were sitting at the kitchen table, it was his daughters house. He did his best to look after  her, she lived alone with her son. The young boy was only six years old,  his father left him to rot with his meth head mother. He left her an addict, always tempting her with that poison. " I need some help dad." she said innocently, picking up the little boy and sitting him on her lap. He looked the two over, filled with gladness he could actually do something for her. "Do you need money? What is it? Anything honey, for you and Greggory, anything!. He was serious, she could tell, he stood over them. She knew the face, and it frightened her, but she knew she had no choice, if it was to get done, if she was to make it another year in the city, he was gonna have to help. He remembered their past, it was just the two of them. She never met her mother, she died when she was two, drug overdose. "Well what it it, what you gonna need?" he inquired, his face corrupted, knowing that she had a vulnerability to expose. He needed relief, release of the misery, and she knew him like only a daughter could. "Dad, it's the trunk in the attic, it's got all those records in it, we're gonna need to sell them to make ends meet this month." she spoke with a sadness, knowing full well what he was going to want in return. "You gotta do it dad, no one else knows what the hell is right from left up there." she sat there shaking her head. "It's a cave, trust me I tried, but I need you to help me out dad." She looked defeated but it didn't bother him.
"I'm going" he got up. Started for the stairs, "Wait? Right now?" she asked, surprised to see him so easily inclined. He kept walking, "sure I need your help too." He looked over his shoulder, and watched her wince. "Common baby it's all I want."  They looked at each other, the little boy sitting in his mother lap. The two were so perfect, he wasn't sure what he would do without them. He kept walking up the stairs.
He was up there for over an hour, but when he started back down the stairs you could here the zeal in his step. By the time he was halfway down she could see his face, happy to find the records. "I got em!" He announced, "I was on my knees the whole time." That twisted and betrayed whatever pleasure his initial announcement brought on. Then like a gift from God, his knee gave out, and his smile turned upside as he fell

If only she would have wanted to just rub his feet. :)

Faith pays rent in NY

They stood there in their massive Ford SUV, it was ugly, the setting, their stance on the road. He was behind the wheel, a farmer, and a saint, in her eyes. She just sat there staring at him. He was resting his wrist over the top of the steering wheel, straw hat and flannel shirt, his blue eyes darting out the window. The kind of blue that can sting from a distance, when watching from a length, from the other side of a road, from under the the telephone wire that braced itself across the plot, his endless track of gold. It was ugly, the two of them, dog ridden and run down but they knew they could do it. "You're really gonna have this baby with me?" he asked, still looking out toward the infinite. "Yeah, definitely, I can't wait!" she said, "Neither can Mama."


She raised her hand, she was a seven year old, 100% certain she was going to be correct. The teacher, a wretched old hag, angry and lonely, loved to punish anyone trying to tackle anything novel in her class room. The prefect was of the old school, an ancient representation of the preceding days of extinct. "Fear" she said, lowering her hand, dreading what was to follow. "Fear" repeated the instructor seriously showing the signs of tension. Her face, became infuriated, and unlike those faces of other, she paled as she grew torrid, that white, what a horror. The young student knowing  what was to come lowered her head. The teacher knelt down before her and reached for the little girls hand. The pupil reached out, her little head still directing her eye's  towards the floor, extended her immature palm toward the trusted authority. Then the teacher leaned in, corpulent, long haired, olid and spoke with such honesty that every child in the class room was launched into her paradox. Except one, the student who's hand was waiting to be  held, after the educator spoke she just waked away, the small hand slowly turning to a fist,  out reached in its suspense.

strictly random slack

The tight gab between the curtains revealed the reacurence of another Saturday night. Taxis leading back the dense little creatures of the night. "I'm hungry" he heard her say. She was eighteen, beautiful, a firm little body, totally emotionally secure with herself. He had brought her back to his apartment, he could hear her looking through his empty fridge. "There's nothing here" she moaned, he could hear the fridge door slam shut, then a young chuckle. "Look in the pantry" he yelled, "up above your head" he strained to remember the exact location. "No" he corrected himself, "look behind you." He waited a moment. "Oh yeah, got any milk." He knew she had found the box of corn flakes on the counter. "Yeah just look in the fridge, the two percent stuff is brand new."

She came back into the room with a bowl of cereal, otherwise she was naked. He was happy with himself. Liberated with the fact that this girl was able to feed herself in his home. It was really a messy place. "You should be ashamed of yourself." she said, leaning on the entrance of the door frame to his room. The door itself, hung, loosely, she stared at it as she munched on the breakfast. "How do'you feel?" he asked her, still laying in bed. She stood there a moment, finished chewing and said "ah, kinda lax, you know?" She responded. It made him smile, "I feel free too. Is it the e?" he asked, his brow was beginning to sweat, then the disconnect, the detachment.   

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Tocix thrust

"I don't believe it" she said looking at him standing there, in the rain. She was inside, leaning against the banister with the rest of the graduating class, her lips reciting the words "he's writing...", the others including her husband were in the background, in the hall, not one of them could hear her from the parquet, dancing their night away, while she whispered "fiction" over and over again. University was finally over, most of the graduates had the foresight to see themselves closer to the self actualization they were so often taught about how to achieve, in class by their professors. He was outside, he had self actualized, he had finished his work. The Novel he had spent an additional year in school writing.
"Fiction" he said to himself, standing outside in the rain. "My ass!". It was about her, his book, "The Devotion to her Horror" was an epic reflection of their love and bound. He had spent two years of his life reviewing and re analyzing what had happened, how he could have fallen into such a crack, a chasm of sorrow and despair. He missed it, the heartache and torment eclipsed with the zest of the enigmatic solace in attaining her love. She was the cats meow. Everything he had ever wanted, really. He was unavailable at the time they met. She was left bare, in fashion, by a husband who's existence was there to siphon what was left of the elegance within her aurora. She found herself alone for along time. Rejected, she needed him, past her zenith, he looked and saw her sincerely. He didn't need her then, but from within his remoteness, and amid her abandonment they dispensed themselves into the serene tranquility of the demented frenzy of love. "How demure" he said, thinking of her wrapped around his shoulders, embracing the Benedict he never was, and will never be. He sat there outside thinking, cold and wet, discerning her circumstances. And in his solace, he found himself reembarking in the same routine that gave him license to work and command. He was happy he could assume he understood what she felt next to him, the husband she so diffused. "Because I allowed myself to play that role in your drama, your plot in our dream." he said out loud, looking at her through the window. He now sat there seeing himself the inmate and advocate of her interior conception, "My new fiction....the truth" he said softly into the wind. He was happy to be standing there in the rain, he knew how to think of it, he understood how we are all always so alone.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Pardon moi! Are we going to Germany?

You know that you're an alcoholic when you find yourself speaking to the bartender in a hundred and second street dive, eating pretzels and having already started your third beer before the end of the third inning of the matinee game that is your life. Only lonely people do that, only lonely people who are running from something they should be doing, like going to communion, or on that trip to Spain, you know which one, the one to Barcelona. Wake up person and realize the special high that has come over you. Are you drunk? Is that a bad thing? Am I drunk? It's only ten thirty in the morning. Fuck baseball lets fight bulls!

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Gods and Authors I mean scientists too!

Hawthorn, uses "The Birthmark" as a way to express Gods capability to posses mans inherent nature to lust for knowledge, and hang it over his head, only to scold all of humanity when man tries to pluck that which only the hand of God has the authority to behold. "The Birthmark" is fortunately not a fundamental flaw, it is a tool Hawthorn uses to expose the fundamental flaws of human nature. Realizing that such an irregularity in an absolute and immaculate frame may seem defect only to a soul who's spiritually losing sight of the truth, Hawthorn suspends the reader in those moments of the story and describes to us how Aylmer convinces himself and his wife that there is a problem, when there isn't. The death of "Georgiana" is a sign that, the fundamental defect is in some men's inability to regulate their desire, not realizing that by trying to act above God they undermine their own existence and lose what they were fighting for in the first place. In 1854, the world was changing, science was creating a coherence for humanity to live under, Hawthorn describes this "countenance"(11) to it, this venial approach to nature and her cause, as a mortal sin. 

Georgiana's birthmark "was a singular mark, deeply interwoven, as it were, with the texture and substance of her face."(11) It was said "that some fairy at her birth hour had laid her tiny hand upon the infant's cheek, and left this impress there in token of the magical endowments that were to give her such sway over all hearts."(11) The small mark was the sign of something people would die for,  it added to the mystery of the woman's beauty. Yet her husband Aylmer a scientist defines the mark "as being the mark of earthly imperfections."(11) He is the only one in the story who sees the spot as a sign of imperfection. Aylmer  is "an eminent proficient in every branch of natural philosophy,"(10) yet he still asks Georgiana in "an experience of spiritual affinity more attractive than any chemical one."(10) to marry him. And in doing so exposing himself as mortal man, fulfilling his natural physiological requirements. Yet he alone in his affinity for science claws over his own instincts and decides to refine an already perfect rendition of his wife and lover.

"The Birthmark" is defined as a mark made less evident the deeper Georgiana is submerged within the pleasures of life,  "When she blushed it gradually became more indistinct, and finally vanished amid the triumphant rush of blood that bathed the whole cheek with its brilliant glow,"(11) Anyone being exposed to "The Birthmark" might be a "shifting motion"(11) causing "her to turn pale" (11) then "there was the mark again."(11) "A crimson stain upon the snow"(11) her husband would say, always being exposed to it. Never becoming conscious of the fact that maybe, it was possibly his trepidation that would elicit the onset of her "stain" becoming more visible. Aylmer's insensibility to  his wife's reaction to his plight, merges him into a world without love, without truth. Unable to see his own wife's irrefutable beauty, Aylmer begins to kill her, before he even conducts his experiments.

It is mans nature to believe that the closer he comes to satisfying his inner most desires, the more imminent his relationship with God will become. Aylmer's dreams of removing the enigma found on the cheek of his young wife, are his ways of attaining perfection, by re-sculpting Gods already perfect work. The imprint of  the hand on his wife's face was selected by him "as the symbol of his wife's liability to sin, sorrow, decay, and death"(12). He envisioned himself married to perfection, an image above God, Aylmer and his easy to persuade wife. That image of himself of course  can never materialize. Aylmer trying to refine his wives beauty beyond that of this world, end, with him murdering her with his own faith in his science, leading him further from enlightenment and down the the a new path, the road of despair.

Now no one, not one of us on the planet will be able to set eyes on the immaculate beauty that was once Georgina and "The Birthmark", because she was offered to us and we betrayed her as a whole. Hawthorn, offers us a glimpse into our future, by only looking a half century into his past. A look at the world right as it had become inundated in science, the new religion. That fascination as we know now, one hundred and fifty years latter, (to try to achieve that type of perfection), still futile. Our attempts to suspend ourselves reaching for the knowledge always force us to grasp the fundamental, the core that beauty is a constant, one put out of mans reach and control, but put just within his ability to see, and comprehend to do with as he pleases, knowing full well why Georgiana wasn't here for him to set his eyes on.

Hawthorne, Nathaniel. "The Birthmark." Understanding Fiction. Judith Roof. Houghton Mifflin: 2005:10-22.print

offense of an old fart

"You call that defensive driving?" he asked his wife,  she had just sped through a four way without stopping. "Listen we are gonna be late for Brandies Piano recital."  She felt it necessary to scream. She was a tinny women of about 5.4' behind the wheel of an Excursion. A monstrosity of a vehicle, produced  purely to ooze the appearance of having enough money to be ignorant. She might have been one of the smallest but she was the meanest behind the wheel. "Slow down honey," he said to her as he clipped his seat belt over his shoulder, then reached for the handle above his head. She was driving in excess of eighty five kilometers an hour on a residential road with schools zone signs,  she didn't care, this was not their neighborhood. There were speedbumbs on her roads to prevent such ludicrousness. She hammer the pedal forward though, through the suburban jungle. Until out of the corner of her eye she witnessed an old coot make his way into the single residential lane that she was so unapologeticly speeding her beast of a truck through. Her husband who just happened to open his eyes right as she slammed on the breaks to avoid destroying the back end of grandpas 1992 Buick Skylark. "Ahhh" she screamed in agony, "that little hundred year old fossilized piece of shit, how could he?" she demanded the answer from her husband, who again had closed his eyes, trying to avoid the vision of his angry wife.

imagined someone else.

He sat there on the steps in between the two buildings that stood behind the bus stop. It was minus twenty three degrees, he just missed the 9, and he had twenty four minutes to wait for the next bus. "It's so cold!" he said to himself as he stood alone. It was a quarter to midnight. He was an artist. "But fuck man I need a car," he said to himself, out loud, looking up. "Wish I brought a tuque." he mumbled tucking his ears into his collar. His face was turning red, and because earlier he was in a hurry he accidentally grabbed two left mittens. He stood up, finding his ass to be falling asleep on the cold concrete. A gust of wind stale, hard and cold hit him in the face. He was downtown, alone, he just got out of a movie with her. She was twenty one, tall, bright and distant. It didn't bother him though, it had been a long time since he had seen a movie. He was lonely, and so was she. The two met through a dating website. She had insisted on a very religious fellow. He was indeed a religious man, a man who never had a malicious thought in his head, a man that waited for a millennium in the cold for a bus, that was at this point, late. "Damn" he yelled, a bum pushing his cart against the wind howled like a wild animal across the street. "Why?" he asked himself. He knew she was being distant, "they all are" he growled. He did everything right though, he paid for dinner, the movie. He was courteous, told her everything she wanted to hear. "Then why?" he thought out loud. Then he started to think about the date and he started to realize, putting together several small observation. "She kept texting someone." saying the words out loud helped him come to the conclusion that she had someone else. Someone that she was reaching out to, while she was with him.  She was using him. "She's trying to move on." he heard the little voice inside his mind say, then the Bus showed up, he took out his wallet and showed the driver his pass. He got on to an almost empty bus, there was a girl there, sitting right in the front seat, bright eyed staring up at him. He sensed a little excitement within himself and sat down next to her, even started a conversation with the young women. Until of course he found himself thinking of the girl he watched the movie with. He couldn't focus on anyone else that was clear to him, so he looked at the woman sitting next to him and said "you're beautiful, but don't meet boys on the bus they'll only want to fuck you!" she smiled and said "I know" then they both got off the bus together. She started telling him the story about how she met her last lover "well, I was drinking with my friends, and I needed to get home, but I had lots of money, so I like called a cab, and fucked the cabbie." She paused, then said "that bus driver was so ugly, and old, yuck. I'm happy you got on!" I looked at her with her hair blowing in the cold wind and

The dead Rat Bastards

"You gotta understand the first time I saw her I knew she had my heart in the palms of her hands." he was a slender fellow of about nineteen. His mother always warned him about girls with red hair. "Bobby, you be careful minding with those types." she used to say. He never really listened to his mothers advice about women. She was a lesbian who had never made love to another women. "Not until I find the one" he could hear her saying. "Mom, you know they're all the same!" Robert used to tell his mom. He wanted her to be happy. It wasn't like she was unhappy, but he was growing up and she was still alone. His father was a singer in a band. "The night I met your father, we made you, Bobby" she used to tell him that it was love at first sight. "Bobby you gotta understand that the first time I laid my eye's on your father, I knew, right then and there that he was the one." Her story had been repeated to him hundreds of times throughout his life. He remembered the first time she told him who his father really was "Bobby" she said to him, he was only about ten, "Bobby, my little boy, your father was the singer in a Country band named ...I can't say, but they were Good, and your father was the best, but that night he took with him my heart, and all I held onto were his eyes, but you Bobby, you stole his soul."

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Bloody dirt "who is to win...who is to win?"

"Oh Lily, oh Lily baby" he called, he was hiding in the grass. "Adam" she yelled out. "Adam... Where the Fuck are you ?" She cried. "You know I hate these fucking games, I just want to know where you are!" She fumbled around the garden. The summer was in full bloom, he was hiding in the foliage. "You know where I am!" he spoke. She could hear that his voice was somewhere behind her, but she could not see him. "Adam, tell me where you are!" she said. "I am in here within this earth, on this plot" he said, she could see him now. He was standing along side the edge of the field, coddled up against a tree, staring into a precious stone, a red ruby. She ran up to him.
"Is that for me?" she asked.
"It was" he said. "but you changed my mind". "Why?" she asked with a gasp. "You hate these fucking games, you said that, sincerely." he said accusingly. "Yes" she answered, teary eyed. "these games are like the earth, our lives are the growth, nurtured through their foundations, we were made to play these games." he said powerfully, to project the full force of his desires. She turned and walked away.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011


You could hear the two of them in the room, their whispers resonated through the ears of all the students. Most didn't care, they were there to make the grade, get counted, then split. Then there were those who came to hear him speak. A quiet man, not a year over sixty, cool, calm and spacey. His lectures consisted of the broad statements about the universe in general. The type of discussions that you might find yourself having with a Joyce, or a kerouac.  Open ended, talk, debate about the undetectable. The two were sitting there willing to make a mockery of his speech, but she was to remain innocent. The Professor stood behind the podium in front of the class, ready to work with them to achieve through his view the intricate connection they so needed, to survive to succeed as intellectuals in this world. "Good day, my fellow pupils" he said with a frank air of sophistication. His nose was raised, from his perspective, above all the heads in the class, except one, Sophia, the girl talking. She was a homely girl, county cute, with a stout little torso and a large chest. Her way of getting around relied solely on her continues ability to play dumb and smile. She had a gorgeous smile, the type men flocked to, and she was always willing to please. As the professor began his speech she quietly turned her head toward the front of the lecture hall, noticing his stare she gazed directly back into his eyes. He continued "Truth, and truth itself is going to be at the heart of this evenings discussion" he said persisting to stare right back at the one person he couldn't raise his nose over. Sophia slowly began to lose focus, forgetting to pay attention to the old man her professor, and she slowly turned her head back to the conversation with the young man next to her. The two, Sophia and the young man sat there quietly discussing the events that transpired over their weekend.
"What a night?" he said in a soft whisper, the class had just started and he hadn't laid eyes on her since that Sunday morning, since the moment she was dragged back to her families house by her wicked older siblings, Justice and Prudence. She had already spent the night with him, the two had been together, and now found themselves in their 6:30pm regularly scheduled English 420 time slot. They were learning about "the short story",  neither of them cared Sophia already understood so much. They couldn't stop talking to each other. The professor noticing their ignorance  spoke up "today, we here are going to evaluate the consistency of our strength, to foresee what there is only to see, truth." The class laughed, yet the professor kept his gaze fixed upon the young women, the one that kept his nose so low.

The couple was sitting right next to one another, desks carefully pushed together aiding further in their communication. Their faces so close, his head lowered trying to avoid making the professor aware of his speech their contact. But soon the whole class was becoming well aware of the exchanging of words. "What do you mean?" she asked with a cold quick tone, the professor looked towards them, "No, no that's not true" she whimpered tears rolling down her eyes."No!" she screamed. The two broke apart, her chair went flying onto the floor, then she vanished  running off into the hallway screaming "Why don't you understand?". Looking past the rest of the class with his nose held in perspective above the head of the boy, he loosened the phlegm in his throat and  he asked the young man "what did you say to her?" Lifting his head looking towards the man at the front of the class room, he saw himself alone in his sanctuary and replied "I told her I loved her."

Monday, February 14, 2011

excretion. Then the thought of him.

When ever he found himself a drift in the midnight streets he would return to his old route. He would circle the streets one way, then the other, throughout the night into the morning.

"What'll you have?" a voice rang through the microphone stationed on the drive-through ordering booth at the big American fast food franchise. "a ah a" he paused "I'll be a minute!" he said, rubbing his hand up against the hair growing on his upper lip. He looked at the menu in front of him and realized that even though he was hungry, he wasn't going to order anything from that lousy joint. He threw the car into reverse and drove along, deeper into the night.

Now his stomach was growling, the moon was full, and he was on a mission. He busted open the box of Marlboro, and a packet of matches, he fumbled in the empty streets lighting his cigarette. He owned the road, and he was sick of the same old streets. They left him thinking, remembering the moments, the people, the places, the stuff that kept him where he's always been. "Don't get me wrong" he said to himself, in the driver side of the big American car. He thought out loud in front of others these days too, he didn't care, who where they to judge anyway. He was on a mission to trek through the city, the province, the nation, to lead an expedition, to find a way to conquer his own fears, submissions and fill himself with a way past his own satisfaction, and into the world of the infinite. He was hungry though, and didn't really know what he was thinking about as he pulled into the 24/hr convenience store.

"Fuck!" he said, "I'm full of shit!" right as he passed a sign in the window 1/2 off sausage past midnight. He smiled and walked into the store. A Philippino women was behind the counter, she looked a little like a man, he didn't mind. "You guys got any a that Polish Sausage left?" he asked glancing over at the grill. There were two pieces of sausage spinning on two of the hot rollers, they were greasy. "Why not?" he asked himself. The woman behind the counter smiled at him, her lipstick made her lips look huge. He winked at her, and said "Can I get both those sausages." She smiled, laughed out loud and said, "They're old, I should have thrown them away" she hesitated, realizing she should have stopped herself from saying that, then asked "You still want them?" Looking back at him sausages in hand. "Sure!" He said, "I love old, dry, sausage, it leaves me with a severe case of ingestion in the morning."   He laughed, thinking about how bad he knew it was going to be. "I did the same thing two weeks ago." He remembered, "This expedition, thought, is it worth it?" he asked himself "it's worth the risk" he said out loud. then thought of his

What wouldn't James Board with?

James Joyce a Dubliner and Irish man through and through, had no choice but to portray Mrs.Mooney, women, and Dublin in the state of paralysis because it was in fact all he ever really honestly saw them to be. Mrs.Money a typical figure in Joyce's society, imposing, forceful, yet always aiding in the continuation of the paralysis. Woman's good intention, always viewed upon as a tool of manipulation to control the environment by the oppressive to maintain the state of paralysis. And Dublin continuing to depreciate, Roman Catholic year after Roman Catholic year,  looking more and more like a sell out boarder town dead end to the ocean. James Joyce was born in Ireland, to live in Dublin, to be the man that depicted his own people, religion and society the way he saw them, paralyzed in a moment, to be understood honestly.

Mrs.Money, the "determined"(46) daughter of a butcher, is on a mission to get rid of her daughter, at all costs prolonging the paralysis throughout her family, Dublin and Ireland. After her "separation"(46) form Mr.Mooney, Mrs.Mooney was forced to be the head of the house hold, the authority of the home. Broken homes like this called for the mothers of these house holds to step up and take on a lot of added responsibilities. Mrs.Mooney opened "The Boarding house" to help her maintain a satisfaction-airy level of living, yet her circumstances lowered her level in society, trash. She uses Mr.Doran as her victim, a way to pimp her daughter out to a reasonable suitor, only for her to have a reasonable social standing of course. The things she does to execute her plan go above and beyond any healthy measures. She takes her daughters life into her hands and forces it into the life of another man. An Irish Catholic man, with a well to do family and a "good screw"(49). Except, didn't Mr.Mooney once have a great job too, "her father's foreman"(45).  Joyce might have seen a young Miss.Mooney on the her fathers work site, being given "the run of the young men."(47). Joyce uses the individuals residing inside "the Boarding House" found in Dublin in Ireland as the mechanism of portraying his vision of his race honestly, even if it means painting an ugly picture.

Women aren't painted too pretty in Joyce's shorts, they find themselves figures that can use or be used to hold onto the paralysis, that forces girls like Polly into lives like their mother Mrs.Mooney, drowning Dublin deeper into the drudge that Ireland is so stuck in and wont move out of. What makes Polly so unattractive is something that she is to young still to realized, yet she is a pawn in her mothers game, a game she is a willing participant in. The style in which her mother allowed her to trap a man is bound to leave a mark on the Psyche of a young girl. The type of behavior required to create such types of situations, is bred. Polly sub consciously or consciously knows what her mother is up to, always, she's a girl. The woman's roll is to maintain the ever present feeling of paralysis, within her family, her city and her Nation according to Joyce.

Dublin, a world class city, oppressed so heavily by the will of its own people, the "Dubliners", people James Joyce is saying define themselves one way yet see themselves in another. Mrs. Mooney is a tough woman in a real world. She might of known her husband never really loved her, who knows, but to maintain her lifestyle and her survival her actions are well beyond satisfactory. It's how that satisfaction is acquired without the context as a whole acknowledged. The issues of a place like "The Boarding house" are part of a process that Joyce could see destroying Ireland, yet his society as a whole were almost all pleading ignorant too. Mrs.Mooney should have known better then to force Polly down the throat of Mr.Doran, but instead of using her own experiences in life, to understand the situation, manipulating others to achieve her own goals gives way to the same old set of problems to roll in, in a few years when Mr.Doran starts drinking because he realizes then that he was swindled into marriage takes a knife to his young wife. Then she might have to leave the nest that the two created together, maybe she'll have kids. Again the Church would have to give her access to a separation and maybe she would start another boarding house to pimp her daughter out. This according to Joyce is a never ending process in Dublin. And like the ending of Mr.Mooney's marriage, it was a process that ended in much the same violent manner as some of Ireland's political issues.

Joyce must have really loved "Dubliners" to come up with such a beautiful way to make fun of them, characters like Mrs.Mooney and Polly are spectacular examples of how James Joyce though Ireland was in a state of paralysis. Mrs.Mooney a character driven by resentment of her own unfulfilled life turning unto her own daughter to carry her life in the same way, in viciouse tormented circle of lives without true love. Polly a daughter plague with a mother that knowingly sets her up using her own girlish instinct against her. In turn causing the the production of a society built on false morals and a wrong sense of freedom. A society of people living in and perpetuating the lies and leaving the city and the nation in a  state of paralysis and ruin.

Works cited

Joyce, James. "Dubliners". New York:Oxford University Press, 1967. Print.

sort through my sneezes!

"Jezus dad hurry up! It's twelve thirty we're gonna be late!" my fifteen year old pompous ass son kept yelling from the back seat of my old Ford F150. "Common dad!" he kept yelling. I was going fifty on the I90, I just didn't feel safe since the accident. My son knew it too. He hatted seeing his old man devoured by fear. It was one of those things, you know. One minute you're coasting along minding your own business, when all of a sudden, out of the blue, life hits you smack across the face. I remembered the moment it happened. I had just remembered that I forgot to upload the files to the ftp server over at the university, some important stuff. I was cruzing along at about fifty and.... I got the call.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

the lake of slaves is beyond you

"Why did it have to happen to me" she sat there crying. Her eyes wet with tears, her make up running down her face. She was at the bottom of a stair well with me, passing out. We where both drinking, except I think one of the boys popped her a roofy or something cause she ain't looking or talking right." Why? Why does this shit always have ta happen to me." She slurred deliriously, I know, when we were sixteen she used to get so fucked up too, I'd have to make sure she found a place to sleep, somewhere off the streets. "Why?"  She moaned. It frustrated me, dealing with her. At first, when this started, right after her mom died, it only happened on the weekends. I helped her manage her lifestyle by making sure she had cab fare, condoms, the last line of coke, smokes. We got along great, we met so many people. We had such a good time. Then she got raped the first time, roofied, you know the basic. Bar Star, wannabe. I was there for her then, always had a drink waiting for her at the bar, some new boys to meet. "I know!" she said with a uneasy tone in her voice. It bothered me. " I know what did this!" her voice was quivering, her lips where blue. Her hair was down, a man going out for a smoke stepped over me, looking at her, he knew who it was, who drugged her drink. He smiled as he looked into my eyes, "You deserve it." He said as he stepped out into the cold, he held the door open a moment longer, to watch her as he lite his cigarette. The cold air draped over her, she went numb.

Outside there was a line up of people trying to get in, those waiting in the cold, they looked good and their moods and wills for fum warmed the air around him. Excitement, the lights and sounds of the city were ever present. His life forced his heart to skip a beat, he smiled, exhaled the smoke, took another puff.  Then remembering the women behind him, seeing her passed out on the stairs by herself like that. "So what's with the bitch in the stairwell" he asked the bouncer working the front door. "I saw her munchin on a bottle of pocket rockets before she slammed  her drinks." He confessed to the door man. "Fuck!" said the door man, " I bet you it's the bitch that roofied herself last week. Fuck, put her up somewhere, she's a good time. Trust me"  He said smiling dreamily.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

lady killer

music cums first! and there is something bout Saturday night. I can go anywhere I want! Hahaha

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Just go ahead now

"I'm doing this right you see!" He heard the voice but couldn't see anyone in the room. He looked around frantically, there was no one there. "I'm doing this right you see!" he couldn't see anything. There was only him. In the room alone, four walls, barred, and a door, locked. "I can't see" he said nervously, his voice echoed in his solitude, alone, speaking to no one. "I'm doing this right you see!" over and over again. "I can't see, I can't see, I can't see!" he yelled throwing himself onto the ground in a panic holding his hands over his ears. He could still hear it, "I'm doing this right you see." He couldn't help himself anymore, "I'm lonely!" he yelled, "I'm scared, I hate you, I wanna hurt you, leave me alone please!" he pleaded with himself on the floor of an open space, alone. 
Then he woke up, infant in his crib.

His Prime

The tips of his toes curled as he relinquished himself of his stress. He had found it hard to finish alone, the event in its entirety is something that was meant to be done in a pair.... perhaps! His world was finding its way back to his adolescence. This time instead of being forced into the solitude, he was putting himself there. Realizing that it's within his own conception that he'll find the one to bring him in. In his youth he often found himself alone, ajar, and awake. In adulthood the same held true, except for moments. Moments when what he had to himself, alone, ajar in  his room, in his youth, were shared with someone else. And that sharing became the basis of the contextualizing of the vision of his now, so it no longer looked like his adolescent youth, innocent, it no longer was. He felt

Monday, February 7, 2011

I think about it because I'm green

I know they like to wear red lip stick just like my auntie Sammy

"It's like handling a real hot potato" a voice of a local DJ blared form Gary's stereo . He was two thousand miles away from home. Detroit Michigan was eating his dust. "Finally, I'm out!' He yelled pumping his fist out the open window. The March air still crisp, cool, he felt the blood rushing through his veins. Just up ahead he spotted a hitchhiker, a woman, in her twenties. "This has got to be too good to be true" he said to himself pulling over in his Mustang.
Quickly before the dust could settle from the car stopping she jumped in. "Hey baby, thanks for stopping! Where you going tonight?" a thin, long hair brunet asked with a wide pearly smile. All Gary could think about was how beautiful she was, stunning. "I'm going West, I'm fucking going to the ends of the world. Kingdom come!" He laughed, she smiled and he put the peddle to the metal.
The car was fast, and he couldn't help but move, with her. He could tell it thrilled her, she was a bad girl. She looked innocent but this chick could move he knew it. "So where are you from?" he asked. She looked over at him, "I'm Canadian." a release, and excitement tore itself through him. "I'm from Detroit, I love to party in the T. yo! All the time! You Canadian Girls are wild up in there, love it, love it!" He sat there running memories of him and his friends running a riot on the streets of Toronto. They always figured, "What the fuck? if we don't get caught." He looked over at her, "What's your name?" He asked, she was staring out the window. "Vee" she said softly "just Vee" smiling she put on her seat belt. Gary was going hard in fifth gear passing a semi. They were both excited, it was dark. "I'm Gary" he said simultaneously signaling his car back into the right lane after the pass. The radio, crackled "We're out of range!" he said, the noises started to fade in and out and they both reached to change the station, "Escape Convict ... Crack crackle...Weenenpe..." Vee turned it off. "So what do you think of Canadian girls?" she asked taking her seat belt off. He said
(That girl made it to Mobile Alabama that night)


The man stood up saying enthusiastically  "As for me, and where I live, I'm surviving." He was a tall clumsy man with big feet. He stank of urine and his cloths were two sizes too big for him, his name was Adam. Adam was sixteen years old the first time someone from the newspaper came to his home to see what he was doing. "My house is my world, I am in control of this place." He of course was making reference to the basement he lived in. He had been found there by the authorities, two years ago, he was sixteen and he didn't want to return. "It's the daylight, it hurts my eyes!" He would exclaim to anyone who tried to remove him."It's the sun, I hate it, I can't even stand its reflection in the moon." His life was unlike any other, now a young man, at eighteen he stood in his cellar, emaciated. The Internet had fed his heart with its blossoming connections, yet he stayed away from the real world to try to avoid influence. "They always tried to control it!" he would say, when they asked "Who?" He just stared and looked back blankly at them.


say hello!

My five fingers and you!

it takes all kinds to walk the line
who knows maybe not me
not mine
I think I understand
I like now, not knowing
the way to the top is a detour
a drop back in the bucket

I know what I own


"What went wrong! what went wrong?" he yelled, demanding out the window of the second story of his penthouse. "I would do anything to go back." again yelling out the window. It was raining and dark, there was lightning, but he hadn't heard any thunder yet. Frantic and spazmatic, he poured himself a half glass of whiskey, and drank it. Inhaling deeply he relaxed. Everything slowed. He stood in the living room of his home. Everything surrounding him, his. Built literally brick by brick by him, a fortress. "What could have happened?"  he asked as he exhaled, the whiskey just now really taking effect and warming his insides, burning. His path, his conscience takes another drastic change. His head drops and the rage ensues. Still holding his glass he lifts his head and looks out the window. Grinning he pitches the glass out into the darkness to hit the streets. It smashes on the concrete. He hears someone yell. Sitting there thinking of why. Touching his face, he realizes it's because he's ugly. Then a flash of light in the wind, outside, or was that inside, then the bang.

six sisters say it ain't so.

"I'm so stressed out and unhappy with myself, I'm such a loser baby, fucking kill me!" he said on the floor on his knees next to her, while she sat on the bed naked. She was lovely, but he was such a secret. If her father ever found out about their relationship he would disown her. "Why won't you do it with me?" he asked with this zombie like face. "I don't know!" She said, getting out of bed. They'd been sleeping together for two months now. They only saw each other to fuck. She loved him like that, she would do anything to see him except let others see her with him. He was gorgeous, immaculate. His skin glistened and he left her lonely. Without him she felt  empty. He was just empty. A young man, unsalvaged and angry, an anger mistaken for passion. She just wanted to watch him, rust with him, remain, romanticize, escape from the reality; she isn't who she wants to be. Neither is he, yet they know that and together in his bedroom, not one of them complained."I'm so stressed out baby, just fucking kill me!" he repeated.
She stood up over him, stretched herself into some yoga pose and said "I'm pregnant!

Sunday, February 6, 2011


It was late, the night was ending in the bar and Jimmy sat alone on the stool next to Courtney as usual. She was waiting for him to finish his drinks so she could walk him out and lock up behind them. "I just don't know how you do it"  he moaned, sulking. "Every night you wait for me to finish up my drinks and you listen to my incessant racket." He was right, she had been serving him for over fourteen years.
They had seen each others children grow up over the years through school photographs, hockey pictures and most recently cell phones. "Now, now there Jimmy you know that I'd do it for a hundred years if I had to."  Courtney said with a whopping smile on her face. Jimmy looked at her drunkenly. She looked back at him. Then he looked back at his beer and took a drink. "You know Courtney, you should meet my wife and kids." he said drunkenly. She'd never heard him say that. "Why d'you say that?" she asked leaning her head back a bit. "You know me better then they do. You know the real me." he confessed. She leaned in closer to his face, he could smell her breath. She was beautiful, she looked twenty one years old again, smiling and in love.

"Really? You really think I should meet your family, well where do you live?" she asked bringing her hand in and leaning on his stool, her hand just between his thighs. He looked down, then back up at the beer bottles. She closed her eyes, and sat back on the stool, watching him. He took another drink. "This is the the way it's gonna be then?" she asked. He looked over at her, red face and drunk. "Yeah...So?" He said. He pissed her off, she poured herself a glass of his beer.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

trap, it's always under the snow, just slow down

As he pulls into the parking lot of the old high school arena his car bottoms out over a speed bump hidden in the snow. "Fuck" he yells annoyed because he hit the same damn speed bump not two days ago. He parked next to her car. He was excited to see him, the little guy, their son. His heart jumped when he thought of seeing her, she had changed. He had noticed over the past few weeks she was getting fatter. Her boy friend left her for his wife. She had been sleeping with a rich man out on business from California. He was wealthy and they got to play together while he was in town on business, but every few weeks he would go back home to his wife and kids. She tried to avoid falling in love with the notion of him starting a family here with her. She would have her son too of course, he would leave his wife and kids for her.
This was precisely the type of mentality her sons father was afraid of. She was crazy like that. She was the type that would come up with an idea and make it stick, even if it meant she'd have to bend the truth. Lie, cheat and steal. He found it out the hard way. Living along side her through out her pregnancy he felt an affliction, something broken. He knew he could not love her from the start, yet she always did everything to hold on.
He had a few things to offer, a family, access to an open world, when she met him he had potential, and she intended to capture it.

obviously not me

Who knew Satan was a stud?
tall dark and handsome!
but balding with a beard
really a pretty big guy
kinda the type to break hearts
convince bitches to swallow
that kind of thing.

Face soul fucking

He stood there looking at himself in the mirror. He was changing, she was changing him. Ever since they met his life was flipped, turned full 360. "You shouldn't rub their faces in it" he said out loud. Looking directly into his own eyes. "You know that forcing yourself down these narrow paths is only going to lead you further astray." He said to himself. He was feeling humbled by the sorrow felt from forfeiting his bound with her for a night out. He wasn't going to Hell, he wasn't going to tell her about it. Standing there looking in the mirror he whispered "She loves me, she really fucking loves me." Raising his right hand to his face he pulled his left cheek down exposing the white of of his eye nervously. Looking closer. "I can see it!" he reacted, "Fuck." It's a piece of glitter form the girls house, it got stuck in his eye. He woke after the sinful slumber, only to notice a dull throbbing in his eye. "You reap just what you sow!" he said thinking that's what his mother used to tell him. "No, no more, I can't do this, I love her too!" removing his hands from his face he closes his eyes turning from his reflection. The window behind him radiant with the reflections of the light of the rising sun shining through draped itself on his naked back.

"you boys should see what I'd do for a box of peanuts"

"Get it while it's hot!" yelled the fifteen year old popcorn boy form the corner where he stood, not five paces from an elephant that towered over the crowd of thousands. "Get it while the seeds are still about to burst, or lady dragon the man snatcher here will have to take down the entire patch." the boy exclaimed looking toward a group of young adolescents. They stood in a pack of six. All of them pooling their money together, they wanted the box of seeds. "I can take the elephant" the tallest of the boys explained, "I'm the oldest and the strongest, Bruce here is the fastest but I'd give him a ripping good race, so boys let me at Err!" The boys huddled around him, they all looked like they were nodding their heads in agreement. The tallest one of them stood in the center of the circle. Right as they seemed to have all their minds made up they did a big group high five and screamed "WhooPoney!" The sound echoed through the crowd. Another group of drunken bastard was heard mimicking the boys not two thousand people away. The tall boy stood out of the pack. He stood there presented in front of the elephant and bent over.
The man snatcher took hold of the tall mans torso with her trunk and brought him close to her face. He could smell the breath of the beast, in all her enormity she made her captive feel quit at ease. Then without even an inkling of a reason she squeezed, she squeezed so tight the man felt his heart throbbing itself into his skull. Thumb...Thump.........Thump. Everything was starting to slow, his face was turning red, all the boys in the crew looked away, yet still kept the corners of their eye's turned to see if the man they sacrificed for a box of popcorn was about to be split. Then right as his mouth opened to let out his final attempt at relief she let go and he whimpered

Don't burn the things you love.

"What where you saying about daddy long-legs?" she said, with an air of such disgust, her face was green. "No, no not daddy long-legs, dandylion" David said as he walked through the room that was covered in old rugs from the middle east, "I could have been the one that won the contest, with that painting of that flower remember?" he always looked so sad whenever he thought about that painting. I remember the night his work was put on exhibition, at the college gala, he was so honored, he ushered everyone in through the door. The people loved his piece but the weed just couldn't raise peoples attention over the portrait of the archangel Michel holding control over the rain and thunder. That night after the decision to burn all those works that were sacrificed for the good of the contest, David cried. He loved that painting. He sat there watching the oils sizzle and smoke into nonexistence, then yelled "why couldn't you see my truth too?" The people all backed off from around him except for me. That night, he held me, the way I always wanted to be help by him. That night was the night I fell in love with him.

it ain't ever over easy.

"pass the salt?" I asked my sixteen year old sister. She was playing with her new android. "No" she  said, then paused what she was doing and looked up at me, rolled her eye's back, and passed the salt. I took the glass utensil and turned it upside down, watching the waves of salt stream toward my egg. Mom had made it just for me. As I cut my fork into the meat, the yoke started oozing out. "Mom" I yelled at full force. She stopped in the hallway as she was passing and poked her head in through the door. "What's the problem?" she asked in a secure yet old fashion manner. "My egg, you made it gross, the way Justine likes it, not me." I exclaimed with a whimper in my voice and a small pout of my lower lip. Mom looked at me and said " Then give it to your sister." Then she finished putting on her shoes and left.

Friday, February 4, 2011

and sex and maybe sometimes lack of it.

Wondering if just thinking out loud will help relieve the pressures of the everyday. Venting online, is this a new way of dealing with our lives, me with mine? I guess I've been doing it a while. My life has been spinning around which is natural I know, but there is so much more going on around me and I don't seem to understand how I have fallen under Gods good grace.  Not sure of this new pleasure I've found in school. Guess I'm going to have to see my grads after the essays get handed in. the first one is due next week and it's a doozy. It's a couple on the prairies, so fucking Canadian, a kid in my class said "the pipe analogy, is such a reference to the crazy drug culture found in the Canadian 30's." I was astonished, I never thought that, the pipe reference meant anything bout mitchuwakan, I though it was a phallic reference. The preachers wife seemed hot to me though,  a totally obsessed sexy musician prairie preaches wife. She's the narrator, and she's barren. Unbelievable story about the heart of love. ..Pain.

It's always nice to have so much on your plate you find yourself heaving, yet the whole time you bow your head to the grace that is bestowed on you, my happiness is shared. Thank you

and hey who's........

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

SeeEmmaXing ...becoming a .............................

For once I ask to embrace a memory
her past is shaken and mine broken
the sex is relentless, always reminded of
the limitlessness spring, and the smash
my eyes are open in my memory of them
my lovers her friend
my sex is suspended, no potential
scared of the sacrifice, the sacred heart
my thought is open to the reflection of time
my lies her cries
sex is so shining, no diffusing it down
the pain of it unreal, makes us zest
I no longer hold her, just consume her devotion
no lover no friends

to unfold, it gives me

The story to be told about me
the stories everyone hears are bear
I am sufficiently entertained with this existence
when I compare myself to the rest of the feeling-less
I find myself blessed looking at the sorrow
that they brought upon us
with the fragility of their own awareness
I have one on you
a story of your lonely
I am too
it appeases me to know that many who live in this
individuality are remarkably inept at realizing the purpose of it
happens to them
the story says
everyone will die
they will except the few that live longer then the rest
with their hearts out and selves torn the bodies will
 proceed peering into the darkness unaware of
of the story that is unfolding
its glories and horrors
I live in the splendid realization of my source
which comes and goes as it pleases
just like yours
except I have a story