Wednesday, November 28, 2007
2 - not one but two pairs of pliers
i'm forever going to picture us as we never were: happy and in love. trusty and so mature. clapping, hand-in-glove. is that wrong? so lock me up and swallow the key. it'd be more or less par for the course. so, like me, i'll keep wallowing see; you can be whore, or dress up for the remorse. it's so wrong. so kiss me deadly, risky red meat, whiskey when we, tipsy, set free all of your black doves. all that you hacked off. i'm hollow, you're packed up. leaving. it's autumn, that makes sense. me, then, kissed god, and back breaks end. hiss. so long.
Monday, November 26, 2007
1 - november pain
hold on a sec, just need some rest and relapsation from this pace that's such a maze and gotta keep the music playing so i can't hear the sounds always emanating from your room at the end of the hall, the sex and the crying and all the phone calls, the goodnight fuck and the judas-miss. my fistfight luck that you dismiss. just wish i wasn't in stasis, in places that her memory erases. drowning in bathtubs that won't drain, sounding off dead loves that don't stain. it's enough to make you stop and think and drop and drink your way to the floor on the way out the door. go ahead. call me a whore again. i'm just in it for the rent money. my landlord can't fix this dent but he can give me those weary looks i was wearily looking for. swallow these teary rooks. what was she really looking for?
Sunday, November 18, 2007
part two of day four
Character sighed and walked back to his room. His life was a swiftly sinking gannet. If only he could get the oil stains out of his eyes. He blinked a few times and pulled thumb and forefinger from his temples to the bridge of his nose, ruffling pink manhole covers on the way. It was a mess. He was far too much one for melodrama anyway, but it was still a mess. He wished it wasn't always two or three in the morning. It was too hard to think, and the refrigerator hum, and the sink drip, and
He woke up the next morning. His computer was still on, and Rushmore was still in the open tray of the DVD player. There was a grease smudge on the top side, but it wasn't quite worth either cleaning up or mentioning upon return. That was just the way of the world. "So you're not attracted to me. C'est la vie." Anyway the guy at the video rental place was a bit of a dick. Character lulled down the hallway, hardly touching the floor, feeling pulled slightly by something behind him and a few feet to his upper right. There was no mail. It was a Saturday, of course. Saturday morning. Afternoon. What time was it?
It was not until a few days later that Character and Analae first talked. She was putting a sock on her left foot, pulling it up her calf, and Character, again, was stepping back into the apartment from checking the mail. There was a package for him, a blue and black houndstooth scarf that he had ordered online some weeks prior. Her other sock was a different colour and her cheeks were somewhat flushed. She glanced from him, to his package, and then to the walls.
"Are you the uh the guy who wrote this stuff?"
Character was startled a little. "Yeah that's me."
"Yeah cause I asked Harry and he said it was one of his roommates and that it was probably the skinny one. I uh wasn't sure if you were more or less skinny than your other roommate."
Character nodded.
"I mean I haven't really seen him." A breath. "Yet." Another. "I mean I don't mean that you're too skinny or that it's a bad thing or that
Character raised his right hand, half in protest, half in absolution. He wasn't used to much dialogue anymore, but deep inside he knew it didn't matter how skinny he was really. He nodded blearily.
"But yeah... I read it all last time I was over. It's really..." she paused and lent to her voice a certain gravitas "interesting. I mean is it original?"
"Yeah. Um. I don't know. It just sorta came to me one night. For all I know I was just channelling some eighties tv show or something. You should copy a line or two and google it just to make sure."
She adjusted her hair. "I did. Um. I wrote it all down." She bit her lip. "Last time I was here. I was just so impressed. I fell in love with it a bit and then I thought i mean what if the landlord comes in and orders you to paint over it? Or something dumb like that. And then the next time I come back it's gone forever. I'd just keep remembering it at random times for the rest of my life and wishing I'd written it down. And i thought about that and it made me want to cry like a stupid eight-year old girl. So I copied it down right then and there so I could have it... you know... concretely. I didn't think to google it though." Another pause. "Although I suppose it could have been... not ... written by you... and still... not on the internet." She half-smiled, seemingly unintentionally. The wildlife guidebook of the wallflower. "It's really good, though." In Character's head "Ooh La La" started playing again. That song never put out. A piano melody like that, and a two-rhyme chorus. Pah. She half-smiled again. "Does it have... a title?"
Character blinked and turned his head a little. "Yeah. It's called." Again, a pause. "Uhm. 'What" He pointed at the closed door behind her, "are you doing with a guy like him?'" Again, a half-smile, this time with the other side of her mouth. She turned her face down a little, then brightened up and faced him.
"I like being contradictory." She leaned in and kissed him quickly on the cheek, reached behind him, and opened the door. "Well. Goodbye then."
As she was opening the front door to the building, Character called after her. "At least I had the balls not to make a dick joke of that!" and she laughed in a way that set off the marble floor of the entrance way. He closed the door with the space in between his shoulder blades and leaned on it, wistfully. "C'est la vie." he muttered to himself, and part of him was sad because it felt more trite than anything. He sauntered back to the bathroom to shower. "Shoot me on the lips. Kiss me in the face." In the tub he sat crouched in the fetal position for a few minutes before actually washing himself. There was red, frizzy hair in the drain so the water slowly licked up his toe-inlets and the thick veins on the top of his feet. He wondered about wrinkling, but not about aging. He'd never figured on living long enough to grow old. By the time he was done, Antimony had woken up, anyway, and was knocking on the bathroom door. So it goes, huh.
He woke up the next morning. His computer was still on, and Rushmore was still in the open tray of the DVD player. There was a grease smudge on the top side, but it wasn't quite worth either cleaning up or mentioning upon return. That was just the way of the world. "So you're not attracted to me. C'est la vie." Anyway the guy at the video rental place was a bit of a dick. Character lulled down the hallway, hardly touching the floor, feeling pulled slightly by something behind him and a few feet to his upper right. There was no mail. It was a Saturday, of course. Saturday morning. Afternoon. What time was it?
It was not until a few days later that Character and Analae first talked. She was putting a sock on her left foot, pulling it up her calf, and Character, again, was stepping back into the apartment from checking the mail. There was a package for him, a blue and black houndstooth scarf that he had ordered online some weeks prior. Her other sock was a different colour and her cheeks were somewhat flushed. She glanced from him, to his package, and then to the walls.
"Are you the uh the guy who wrote this stuff?"
Character was startled a little. "Yeah that's me."
"Yeah cause I asked Harry and he said it was one of his roommates and that it was probably the skinny one. I uh wasn't sure if you were more or less skinny than your other roommate."
Character nodded.
"I mean I haven't really seen him." A breath. "Yet." Another. "I mean I don't mean that you're too skinny or that it's a bad thing or that
Character raised his right hand, half in protest, half in absolution. He wasn't used to much dialogue anymore, but deep inside he knew it didn't matter how skinny he was really. He nodded blearily.
"But yeah... I read it all last time I was over. It's really..." she paused and lent to her voice a certain gravitas "interesting. I mean is it original?"
"Yeah. Um. I don't know. It just sorta came to me one night. For all I know I was just channelling some eighties tv show or something. You should copy a line or two and google it just to make sure."
She adjusted her hair. "I did. Um. I wrote it all down." She bit her lip. "Last time I was here. I was just so impressed. I fell in love with it a bit and then I thought i mean what if the landlord comes in and orders you to paint over it? Or something dumb like that. And then the next time I come back it's gone forever. I'd just keep remembering it at random times for the rest of my life and wishing I'd written it down. And i thought about that and it made me want to cry like a stupid eight-year old girl. So I copied it down right then and there so I could have it... you know... concretely. I didn't think to google it though." Another pause. "Although I suppose it could have been... not ... written by you... and still... not on the internet." She half-smiled, seemingly unintentionally. The wildlife guidebook of the wallflower. "It's really good, though." In Character's head "Ooh La La" started playing again. That song never put out. A piano melody like that, and a two-rhyme chorus. Pah. She half-smiled again. "Does it have... a title?"
Character blinked and turned his head a little. "Yeah. It's called." Again, a pause. "Uhm. 'What" He pointed at the closed door behind her, "are you doing with a guy like him?'" Again, a half-smile, this time with the other side of her mouth. She turned her face down a little, then brightened up and faced him.
"I like being contradictory." She leaned in and kissed him quickly on the cheek, reached behind him, and opened the door. "Well. Goodbye then."
As she was opening the front door to the building, Character called after her. "At least I had the balls not to make a dick joke of that!" and she laughed in a way that set off the marble floor of the entrance way. He closed the door with the space in between his shoulder blades and leaned on it, wistfully. "C'est la vie." he muttered to himself, and part of him was sad because it felt more trite than anything. He sauntered back to the bathroom to shower. "Shoot me on the lips. Kiss me in the face." In the tub he sat crouched in the fetal position for a few minutes before actually washing himself. There was red, frizzy hair in the drain so the water slowly licked up his toe-inlets and the thick veins on the top of his feet. He wondered about wrinkling, but not about aging. He'd never figured on living long enough to grow old. By the time he was done, Antimony had woken up, anyway, and was knocking on the bathroom door. So it goes, huh.
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