Sunday, December 17, 2006

The New She

I must be careful. Not Saturday night, um, 12/16/06, careful. But new careful. I really like her. Not more than 12/16/06 like, but right now, really like her. She is special. The commons of her are great. Probably the same, if not more, than 12/16/06. If 12/15/06 had been, then it would not be so. But right now, 12/16/06 is in the past. I must be careful.

Eagerness always dissolves luster from the blind.

Abandoned Rest

Spetznaz forces sabotage

An emotional climate was manifesting inside Abism's appearance. She sat stagnating in her wicker chair squeaking to the rhythm of her husbands protest. She sensed his disparity in the need to shower. But he really spurned in these types of manners.

Green, stringy hair grooms her rotting fingernails. Abism strangles the knots playing in her hair.

"Your ankles are skinny my dear wife," he says to her.

"So is your eyesight my living bore," she says to him.

The loathe of her smile commands charisma in her posture. She scratches her toenails against the bottom of the stainless steel tub as her legs sprawl inside. Deteriorating bare feet frolic playfully, splashing blood through her toenails.

In the corner of an American town, small enough to ignore with imposition in later stages.

"Cradle me a fountain soda my living bore," she says to him.

Chuckling under her breath she licks her fingertips soaked in blood.

"No syrup to sprinkle on top of your carbonation," he says to her.

Contaminated surroundings and worthless water with yellow spirals from the toilet. Mildew covers blue tiles on the abandoned restaurant's kitchen floor, no extra people ordering from ancient menus.

The sun was barely noticeable through orange fallout devouring the morning. Their lair was obfuscating... lacerated: now they could see the back of each sun without turning their heads. Abism slowly stirs her buttermilk with one finger suspended from her hand.

"Another poisonous day my living bore. It would be nice if you would get out and scavenge some more bullets," she says to him.

"Water and clean food my dear wife, not blood," he says to her.

"Yes in a perfect world that would be sunny. But not here," she says to him.

Unknown to Abism and her husband, infiltration of the Red Army was just over hills. Armed in gas masks and bullets: stamping the new number in the West land.

Solders of the East geared with genocide and bumble bees eating petals spreading pollen throughout the air. Waking in flaming sweat wrapped in pink insulation now etched in glass with no showers, Abism slowly slides off the Formica counter down in the hidden cellar beneath the register. She wanders to her face in the bathroom mirror and lights a candle while roaches scamper like hot tap water splashing infected poison ivy spots. Above the broken toilet, crossed with spray paint is Abisms proverb: "I am the question that cannot be answered."


Days later, and many worries gone, memories spoke to Abism. She was running in her mind all possibilities of connections. Muttering words have no meaning. Wires leading to all personalities with no editor, sort of an eerie sight. No dams to release certain information at any certain time. Damage to her brain from overloaded thoughts always growing. Extract self-pity and no way to prepare for feeling.

Thrusting at the ankles she comes out of the cellar searching for her husband like a Roman Candle combing its hair with sparks. The bottom of patriotic depression pushes substance, castrated from the soil. Torture on the misfit plains while preacher man carries spurious coverings, Vladimir’s vicious result. Bullet hole in the forehead, her husband's naked body lay in the stainless tub. Growing fungus on the floor of the abandoned restaurant home, like prophetic centripetal forceanchoring the way through time.

Standing in the doorway as thoughts of footsteps with marching armies and drum taps, Abism allows seclusion to bristle inside her blood as a matchless sarcasm falls drain. Out behind the fallen neon sign is waste grounds of black smoke and rock piles.

"Your ankles are skinny my living bore," she says to him.

Time

Saturday, July 22, 2006

Back At The Barn

There is a barn without paint chips.
A pitchfork stands in the corner inside and hay on the ground. Smells of animal piss from way before, as sunlight filters through the wood cracks. Spirits and splinters with termites, no signs of daisies or varnish.
Back at the barn, the salesman’s hairless head has a green mark from temper. Flaring nostrils and stained teeth, short soggy cigar, leather suitcase and small boxes of bland merchandise. He empties the trunk every night to take inventory of the ceramic dolphins.
He is a traveler on the road, back at the barn. He swindles promises from his attitude.
Last week in a roadside dinner, caked urine, splattered and viruses heaved from his stomach toward the toilet with Easter ointment and slimy yokes gluing tongues.
To this day, particles in his teeth and crevices fill with crap. He continued, though. Continued to finish his buttermilk that morning.
Back at the barn, he turned and asked his daughter if the green spot on his head was getting darker. He now shares his sweat against her ivory white ear.
She chews her fingernails and skin to the edges. Nervousness is her king.
Back at the barn, he rubs his eyes and returns. Clinging to the rafters from above, he returns to before. He remembers awhile back, in the shower stall kissing fungus while his wife hesitated from smearing shaving cream on his scabs. She now knows his misbehaving.
Back at the barn, he begs for forgiveness but she only smiles and spoons oatmeal and sugar. The mark on his head is now a protruding lump. He spots his wife serving breakfast down below. He holds a box of ceramics over the edge and aims for his wife’s head. His fingers slip and the box falls.
It hits the ground crashing and shattering onto her head. Hotels of Paris and no air conditioners with dusty oak furniture is the last time she was viewed with respect.
On a sales pitch toward unsure, uneasy, and disturbed people, the salesman is not back at the barn, while back of the barn.
Back at the barn, shirtless and greasy, he rolls around on the ground. Raw chicken in flour and hay needles prick at this skin. Then he hears her yell his name, cursing through her smoke filled responses. Mother-cluttered bourbon voice drops on her breast: lick it boy. He reaches up beneath her skirt, her apron and grabs her knee. Nasty wetness and dirty spots anchor his hand. Every button undone is a prayer. Every button undone shows more excitement. She heals herself onto her son’s hairy chest. Ice pick in hand, she runs it onto his bellybutton while seducing his naked body.
Back at the barn, he dresses himself and collects his scattered ceramics. He places his boxes into the trunk of his car and turns toward the barn. Still needs painting and grass cutting, washing, medicine taking and hallucination halting, the salesman wreaks and the barn needs attention.
Voices of the farm rooster is not the final insult, please defend yourself. We are not like most of us, back at the barn.

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Fluorescent

My feet were taking me somewhere the other day, that I could not totally explain.
I saw a girl the other day. The type of girl that holds a peculiar trust that engulfs you. The kind that sits back and watches the world, an earth of eyes glazing over her.
So I said to her, with respected praise to the inexperienced, I am your unbalance. Order serves no purpose so do not try to serenade me. I look into the horizon as if an unseen group of demons were approaching, were tracking me down. So, I withdraw into seclusion and my spinal cord vibrates. Deranged senses sparked by hideous raw knowledge, madness.
She smiled her perfect lower jawbone. The whip tried to secure me, the malady moved in for capture. My mind opened and now must separate.

Soul flex, I have escaped another blur.

Sunday, May 29, 2005

Nosedives Above The Rest

I walked into the pool area ready for a nosedive. My nosedives were not like the other nosedives. They were nosedives above the rest. Sarah the pool liner asked me what was a nosedive. I stepped out on the monkey board and looked out over the masses. I told her a nosedive is a novel. Sarah said that she was but a lonely pool liner, to please explain. I curved my toes over the monkey board and smiled.

I told her a nosedive is when a reader dives into a book nose first and does not come up until the last page is turned. This could take hours, days, or months so one must take extreme caution. Suffocation or chlorine overdoses might occur. Hashem is engrained deeply inside We Have Skin. Be sure to keep breathing and watch the chlorine in your eyes.

- Trent Dugas