What do we care, my heart, for streams of blood
And fire, a thousand murders, endless screams
Of anger, sobs of hell, order destroyed in a flood
Of fire, as over all the North Wind streams:
Vengeance entire? Nothing! Oh, yes, entire!
Captains of Industry, Princes, perish! This we desire!
Power, Justice, History, fall! Down with the old!
You owe us that. Blood! Blood! And flames of gold!
i called to him half asleep before realizing that it wasn’t there and hadn’t been but another was. and i had thought all along as the individual sounds rolled through the darkness and i held my hands clenched hard against my breast:
in the name of the shit, bag, and holy ghost:
“i de-claim you.”
rory thinks i’ve become less intelligent. he says, “you’ve lost some of your brain.”
i reply, “i do the same things, only i’ve lost some of my pretensions. some of my ‘scruples.’”
he says, “yeah.”
and maybe i’m biting my lip a bit but i don’t know where to go except circle some more like a vulture over roadkill.
it’s the feeling you get with low watt bulbs in a big room and everyone in smallish chairs with sunken bottoms. recliners where voice sinks with attendant body slack, arms look thinner, and the whole impression is one of fishing in a pot of soup for the last best beef slice.
all the time, he is saying, “why do i feel so weird here?” we’ve got empty bowls in our laps from dinner and the whole episode has been looped and re-recorded analog, like loss of information meets charm of the lost age.
it’s the feeling you get when you feel so weird here. the small-big. the i’m so small right now that i feel the largest, but meta-ish.
she says all of the time, “everything you do is so self-referential that it makes me feel tiny.”
it’s the feeling you get when he feels so weird about being so big-small-meta.
bound and wound until a slight bleeding occurs. the doctor said, yes it was fine only watch for discoloration around the pupils because then you know the faculty all-important is going in that sort of way that had the crowd of old shouting going going gone!
i will pull out. that old jacket and head myself over. i will eat a lobster. what wins me over is trust that i will do right. what engages me in games is the challenge that i won’t.
“like i’m your movie, motherfucker.”
he was a grownup child, his roomate said. he was in jail and as he was crossing the street to leave prison, he was hit by a car. i was returning a bag of cocaine and demurely i said to the roomate, well will you hold it for him as i only did a little and whenever he might return… and god knows we’ll have to settle some scores. it’s haunting me. i want to settle these scores and is he okay? he should always be okay.
his roomate said that he didn’t know but not to worry, all things are what they are and will be and as far as he knew, prison went as well as it could and he was in a nice pod, with nice men, and the common room was clean. of course, when they spoke on the phone, he sounded lonely and disappointed in himself and was waiting to get out so that by the time he was 30 he could have his piece of the pie. he was just waiting to get out, but then he got hit somewhere around Thornydale or something and from there not much has been heard.
well that’s a crying shame, i said facetiously. i just want to own up and give back what i got. i don’t give a good goddamn what happens afterwards, whether he is alive or dead, but at least we’ll leave favors and we’ll give our tits for our tats…
next thing i knew, i was on my back with his cock in my mouth. his face assumed the proportions of a six year old child scared, poor, feral, out of prison, hospitalized, gorgeous, and slightly mean.
i thought to myself wisely that i should keep my teeth covered and then the scores would settle themselves.
what i’d save in a fire: bike, ryan, rory, songs of love and hate, that one love letter about beer and empanadas, harlem jazz, pine pillow, and…maybe something stupid like my toothbrush or the only condom i own stashed between the boards of my nightstand.
i’d probably die trying to save the unlubed rubber, saying beneath teeth ‘i knew it. it knew it! why pretend? high brow low life.’
and that would be my mantra as skin sizzled and brows sizzled and i screamed in a mousy way like the time jesse, alex, and i almost died on the freeway and i thought of closets, yellow houses, od’ing, old pages, street walking, i would if you would’s, fingers up there, one songers, old longers, zelaya, smashing windows of uppety houses two homes down, ‘i only hear the good ones after the fact,’ honors english, seroquil, morning dancers, muck muckers, peace corps, ‘i never knew you had it in you to be so cruel’, love of my life but not my lover, mangos, cold showers, ‘love is when you fight sometimes and it hurts,’ children, mexicans, faking o’s, and being a light.
(via dethjunkie)
nothing is more stylish than a well maintained volvo 240. just sayin’…
me: he’s got a great body.
tess: all the better to beat you with, my dear.
……….
me: can i look at pornography on your computer?
ryan: why? do you need some good stuff or you got it?
me: no, i’m good. can i masturbate on your pig?
ryan: it’s not mine. and yes.
………..
rory: and you have to wear a devil mask when you do it.
………..
como me mortificas.
by Camil Tulcan, via Burstoid.
