You see I’m not so very highly evolved

You see I’m not so very highly evolved. Please excuse my knuckles as they scrape across your linoleum. You see you if you graph my head, pinch it with calipers,and kneed the contours and ridges you will conclude from the phrenological data that I am an inferior human being. Upon cutting my head open and turning the top over like a soup bowl you will find that there is nothing worthwhile going on inside, that in fact there is only whipped cream where my brain should be. When I am completely documented, when you have plotted every inch of my hopes and dreams, when you report to your superiors over wine and cheese and have a good laugh at the data know that I have just turned in my report on you and my findings will be quite disturbing. Sit back in your leather desk chair and moisten your brow with a cool pina colada soaked washcloth. That’s it. According to the data I’ve collected you’re not even human. DNA test results and urine samples will back up my find. Yes, it appears you are an imposter. No, don’t cry. It’s okay, really. I can fix it. Open your mouth. That’s it. Now, I want you to take this all in, every inch. Don’t gag. What is it you ask? It’s called empathy. I know it’s foreign to you but believe me in the end it will make you human.

Still Falling

It was in the cross hairs of my most concentrated subconscious, during a bout of fitful and drunken sleep that I happened upon her. A fair maiden. She licked her lips and I pulled on my armor, releasing the Velcro straps and it crashed to the bottom of the bathtub. She kicked the armor aside, cutting her big toe. I bent down and cleaned the blood off her toe with my silk handkerchief and then I poured Diet Coke on it to cleanse the wound.

She pulled her toe away from me. “You are the most fucked up knight I’ve ever seen.”

“That I am mam but my heart is in the right place,” I said rising.

“And where is that?”

“If you must know it is just below my ideology and a hair above my constitution. Now, what is your name fair maiden?”

She blushed, and turned slightly as if avoiding a harsh light. “It is Cindy Lou.”

I took a Sharpie out of my tube sock and on the white tiled wall of the bathtub wrote: Cindy Lou plays marbles with shellacked angle eyes.

“That’s uh, very interesting,” she said.

“You haven’t seen anything yet my dear.”

I turned on the shower and warm coffee streamed down on us. “I’m sure I haven’t.” She opened her mouth and drank and I pulled her close to me.

“Aren’t you glad I rescued you?” I asked.

She choked on the coffee and spit it in my face. “You didn’t save me. I saved you.”

“Right,” I said. From behind the tiled wall I heard a strange rustling sound. “Stand back.”

With great concentrated effort I heaved against the wall with my shoulder and it crumbled away. There amongst the fiberglass insulation and wiring was a politician with a Gucci bag filled with stock certificates.

He pulled nervously at his collar, the pink flesh of his fat neck engulfing his finger. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt is what I do best,” I cried.

Cindy Lou grabbed me around the waist, I turned and the politician fled through a rat hole.

She put her finger to my lips. “Forget about him,” she said.

I put my arms around her waist and we both tumbled backwards. We fell but strangely never hit bottom. We’re still falling as I write this on my laptop which I was wearing on a chain around my neck. Maybe someday we will find our way back but until then I beg of you to remember to polish my armor regularly for it is still sitting in the bottom of that bathtub.

Hate me or love me don’t like me

I adjusted my binoculars and the far bank came into view. It was smeared in lies and the blood of the trendy, the brand new hanging from their ancestral trees by their umbilical cords so they wouldn’t stray too far into reality and the outside world. The stacks of Bibles underneath their tiny feet; just inches from touching their dangling toes and saving their stagnated lives. The oxygen cut to their brains, no thoughts, only the sweet intoxication of oxygen depravation and the fumes of ignorance sifting through their gaping nose holes.

“Ahoy, you cocksuckers,” I cried and waved my free arm madly.

There of course was no response and so I turned my attention to the bridge I’d crossed, yes the one that connected this side to that side, the past to future, love to hate. I could still see my foot prints wet with the mucus of my new birth on the rotted planks that along with rope woven from hope formed the rickety structure.

I unscrewed the left lens of my binoculars which was really a hollow compartment filled with a quite potent accelerant known to cause tumors in lab monkeys. I doused the bridge at my end with the noxious fluid and lit it with the Bic I carried in my tube sock. The bridge disappeared in a wave of golden flames.

The ones on the other side cursed and screeched hideously at me, saying I’d done them wrong. Perhaps I had. Perhaps I hand’t. The how’s and why’s no longer concerned me. There was no longer a way for them to get to me.

I tossed my binoculars in the river and watched them float away. I was no longer who they said I was but who I wanted to be. I smiled, like cannibals do, when a rump roast is set on their bamboo place mat. There was something waiting out there for me on this side of the river and now it was time to rent a rickshaw and a willing Igor type to pull me into my new life.

The deterioration of a comedian

You’re coming undone. Aren’t you? I remember when you wheeled me out on that clothesline and I dropped into the mud puddle. It was a laugh, a joke, but this isn’t. We’re losing you to someone else’s dream, to the image of the sports star, to the storm kicked up by the greedy business world, to the lonely wind whistling through your $250 dollar rims.

I don’t know what to say because I’ve never been good with words from my mouth. They get choked behind images of you and me; me on my spring loaded horse, us on the porch, your hand rested on my little head. I’m still as clueless to the ways of the world as I was then because people aren’t always real, most of the time they’re just one dimensional cut outs that you can have your picture taken with at the carnival of life. All I can say is don't be angry. Come back in off the stoop. It is icy and covered with snow and you will fall. I don’t want to see you fall…

While many things are too strange to be believed, nothing is too strange to have happened.
-Thomas Hardy

What do you feed a baby lobster?

This was one of the keyword searches that landed someone on my blog. Anyone? What do baby lobsters eat?

There were also people that landed on my blog with these keywords:
Potato titties - WTF?
excessive masturbator
abercrombe & fitch nude pictures
nudist blog
boparai
bloomington knockers youth football
kevlar trench coats
betty weider 18 waist
oscar mayer bacon printable grocery coupons

I would like to personally thank all the freaks out there for searching out their perversions and landing on my blog. You have entertained me once again and it is a well known fact that I am perhaps your biggest fan. Carry on oh searchers of smut and oddity. You will forever have a home on my blog...

Tired, dirty, need beer... 

Hold on to people they're slipping away.
-Moby

Sweet Lou,
Thank-you so much for last night. I won't forget your kindness.

WTF?

Only in Texas. Someone from Texas did a search for "doctor fucking their patient" and ended up on my blog. Great. You go to the doctors office for a flu shot and wake up in the dumpster out back feeling like you sat on a two liter Pepsi bottle for six days. People are just F-ing weird.

Other searches that landed people on my blog:

Tighty whitey lap dance
all rotten false teeth
Bokum cafe
Troegs beer babe
ping pong and tookoo
breasts and piglets
Novelty plastic viewfinders

Freak me out why don’t you

A client came into the office this morning. She was an elderly and very large black woman dressed in a black jacket and dress. Yeah, it was a little hot for that getup. She had trouble navigating the stairs with her giant walker that seemed constructed of old shopping cart parts. I stuck my hand out to help her. She ran my foot over with her walker. I smiled.

I offered her a seat in the waiting area. She eased her very large behind so slowly into a chair. I’d never seen anyone take that long to sit before. I might have timed boiling eggs in that time, I might have flown to the moon, I might have grown old in that time but I didn’t.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked her.

She didn’t respond. Her eyes grew wide with the whiteness. Her pupils disappearing somewhere there within.

“You have an unwanted visitor,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Where?” I asked turning to look.

“Don’t look,” she cried.

“Okay?” I said.

“He’s there in the doorway. He’s big and black and standing right there. You’d best get your pastor to pray him out of here,” she said, her hand on her heart.

I chanced another glance.

“I told you. Don’t look. He’s about yeah wide,” she said, spreading her hands apart as if showing the size of a fish she’d caught. “And very very tall.”

“Does he want a drink?” I asked.

“I warned you,” she said, picked up a magazine and began to read.

Now, a few hours later, I'm wondering if she really did see something or if she just didn't take her medication. My money would go on a lack of medication but then again...

Sorry I've been absent most of the week. I've been sending out query letters for my book the Barbecue Wire Boy and haven't had time to get any extra writing in. Stick with me. It will be worth the ride. Next week I'm thinking of starting to write a book online. A few pages every day? Who knows? We'll see what can be done. Until we meet again...

Sensi is cool

I was digging you Holy Roller babe

Twenty-one and all Jesused in. Damn I thought maybe I could get between you and him, push the cross aside and nuzzle your neck. Thought maybe since you were a part time porn star that I wouldn’t wake up to you leafing through the Bible, fingering yourself frantically to the illustrations. Do you really think HE would have composed such a poorly written gossip column? Come on, live a little. Lie a lot. Tell me that we can sleep in Sunday morning and fuck. Me on top of you. You on top of me. Me on top of the world.

When we met at the restaurant with the triangular bar you were throwing back martinis like Satan’s blond step daughter. Now you’re talking of holy matrimony and the Garden of Eden and paradise…my hard on is gone. Paradise is a cold beer on a hot beach as the sun drops like a quarter tossed into a fish tank. You’re too young to be so Jesused in. You’re too young not to travel to all those place in my heart. You’re too old to believe in fairy tales. So let’s start a new. Let’s go someplace, just me and you. Leave him behind and for God’s sake tell me you believe in Dinosaurs…

Forthcoming from Paycock Press

Kiss the Sky: An Anthology of Fiction & Poetry Starring Jimi Hendrix

250pp (ed. by Richard Peabody)
Featuring: Matt Agosta, Brian Ames, Mark Ari, Bruce Bauman, Robert Bixby, Patrick Chapman, Robert Cooperman, Barbara DeCesare, Matthew Dillon, Kevin Downs, Richard Flynn, Enid Futterman, Jaimy Gordon, Reuben Jackson, Shelley Jackson, George Kalamaras, L. A. Lantz, Graham Masterton, Nancy Mercado, Steve Messner, Martin Millar, Matthew L. Moffett, Rebecca Motil, James Norcliffe, Gerry Gomez Pearlberg, W. T. Pfefferle, Meredith Pond, Doug Rice, Lewis Shiner, Rozanne Gooding Silverwood, Michael Spann, Chris Stevens, D. E. Steward, Sara-Jayne Townsend, Walter Williams, and more.

Day 3 Moving. Delirious... 

Helping my sister move. Day 3. Of coure I'm happy damn it!

Sunflower seeds in cheek.

Lie to me

Tell me that the things that matter aren’t lost, that kindness isn’t dead, that a smile is more important than a profit, that you will be there forever, that your words are worth more than the lies they’re printed on. On second thought don’t lie to me, let the mountains deflate like punctured lungs, let the seas evaporate like Viking spit on a hot hearth stone, let the roads curl like sapling bark in a great nuclear fire, and please please let me go. I don’t remember why I’m HERE anymore but I think once it had something to do with being me and now I don’t even know who me is anymore. Either I’ve lost my way or the world has. Funny I don’t feel any different. Maybe, just maybe it’s time to pull the plug on this great experiment, to admit that it will never work, to admit that people are their own worst enemy and we deserve ourselves until this violent end comes…nah, that’s too easy. Drink another beer and watch me blur, my image getting fainter and fainter…

See, I do wear a suit once or twice a year... 

I ain’t livin’ life like I should; PS I’m still your friend

We sit under the vast blue umbrella at a small round table and the waitress with green tattoos on her neck shuffles by, the corners of her tired breasts visible through the slit of her black man shirt. You light a cigarette and the smoke looks like a tiny soul rising up into the moist summer sky, and I figure it just might be the Marlboro Man going home.

You say something like, “I don’t think people think of you like that.” And for the first time I believe it because before I always thought they did “think of me like that” but now I don’t because I know your eyes don’t lie.

Sitting across from you, when my heart is in the chair beside you doin push ups, and I so want to say, “Hey, me and you. How about it? On an island, knee deep in the blue blue water. Hand in hand. No beginning. No end. No middle. Because you can’t time happiness. Because it isn’t a race. Because it isn’t a word. It just might be me and you together as the world burns down around us…but I don’t say it.

I pour beer after beer into my mouth like a small fire has been burning intensely there, a fire set by my doubt burning on the words stuck in my throat. You smile and my jaw drops a notch and becomes unhinged; smoke and words pour out.

I look inside through the vast glass window to the bar and see lonely people seated there, skin sagging white like that of plucked and deflated chickens, cigarettes drawing life from their lips, inch by smoldering inch. The only thing for them waiting in bed is their drunk. The only thing to wake up to, their alarms and the death grip of their hangovers.

“We shouldn’t have waited so long to get together,” you say.

“No we shouldn’t have. I love talking to you,” I say and immediately I know that it is the wrong thing to say so I swear. “Shit,” I say and I keep swearing after every sentence like I’ve got Tourett’s Syndrome and I think for sure I’ve really fucked up but…

Too my utter fucking surprise you LAUGH and it sounds like rain hitting a roof and us dry inside looking out.

I close my eyes.

“I don’t want to be “that guy,” I say and open my eyes but you’re not there. You’ve gone to the bathroom.

You return. The waitress hovers around our table, her spiked heels never touching the deck, her tattoos glistening like the scales of a chameleon. I count out the money for the tab. In between pushing my chair in and you saying, “We should get together again soon,” you are gone and I’m standing on the sidewalk alone. I wonder where you’ve gone and whether you’ll return or if I imagined it all…I know I know I’m just your friend. That’s okay, really it is.