Q: Did you enjoy boxing?
A: Does the axeman enjoy his job? Does a child grow up wishing to be an executioner?
Q: What did you think when they introduced the nude number girls?
A: I enjoyed it.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
BLEACHED FLAG: WHAT YOU & I DON'T KNOW ABOUT THIS ROOM
Against the lime green wall of her bedroom he leaned, holding his gut which contained a bleeding hole that would not stop poisoning, smoke crept from his tongue:
shaving a few numbers off the board
like a hot knife cutting through a melon
"It's a favor to a friend
who got me out of a bad spot
before i got into a bad spot
again,"
he said.
"But the spot I'm in now
is my bad spot -
I own this.
No part of it is her's."
He paused, continued:
"With enough LSD,
you & your friends
will
eventually
become
psychic.
She tried to own that
too."
Sunday, May 24, 2009
DELAY, LINGER & WAIT
No,
I am not talking
about efficiency,
the efficiency
of soul musicians.
Not
when there are gunmen
shaking their barrels,
beautiful mamas crying out
of second story windows.
Now
the B.O. counter
needs some manning
because deodorant
does not sell itself!
I am not talking
about efficiency,
the efficiency
of soul musicians.
Not
when there are gunmen
shaking their barrels,
beautiful mamas crying out
of second story windows.
Now
the B.O. counter
needs some manning
because deodorant
does not sell itself!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
DUMPING SPOT
She cried & cried
while carving the pumpkin,
like it was a basketball-sized onion.
With cow tongue,
it was a very realistic Gene Simmons.
She put on her police uniform,
her real police uniform,
and drove
to the bagel shop
listening to old blues.
"Yeah,
this is pretty spooky.
All these guys are ghosts."
The bagel shop was covered
in T.P.
"Help us!
We can't get out!"
Yelled the employees.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
HIGH ON RBC!
We must find a way to talk about what happened. As you weren't there, it won't be as difficult for you. For myself, on the other hand, I can barely find the words to discuss it, save for early details.
Two nights ago, Marco muted the television and cranked on the Bose. Without warning or introduction, he began rapping over a Sublime CD. It was what I refer to as the "complete opposite of comfortable." Some have said that describing it as "uncomfortable" would do but I don't think that's polar enough.
Between songs, he shouted: "Don't stop dancing until your heart blows up and blood comes out of your nose! Dance like you can't wake up because sleep feels so good but you're dancing in your sleep!"
HE WAS HIGH ON RED BULL COLA.
Two nights ago, Marco muted the television and cranked on the Bose. Without warning or introduction, he began rapping over a Sublime CD. It was what I refer to as the "complete opposite of comfortable." Some have said that describing it as "uncomfortable" would do but I don't think that's polar enough.
Between songs, he shouted: "Don't stop dancing until your heart blows up and blood comes out of your nose! Dance like you can't wake up because sleep feels so good but you're dancing in your sleep!"
HE WAS HIGH ON RED BULL COLA.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
IF YOU'RE UP THERE, DON, THE NEIGHBORS & I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO THE DEER!
At first, we didn't understand. No one understood.
And I don't mean that in a pretentious way. You see, I had never heard of one before. Not a single person in the neighborhood had heard of... well....
One night, about a year ago, Don was late. Very late. He never missed dinner and the children were worried -- so was I! It was after 9pm when we heard him pull into the drive, chuckling like a joker! I thought he was drunk and went to meet him outside before the kids could see. He shooed me back in to prepare a bed of "old snot rags and what not" in a corner of the basement. I was confused but did as told. I had just finished making it and come upstairs when he walked in the front door holding a length of twine fashioned into a leash. On the other end of the leash was what he called a "miniature velour deer."
Now, Don was a beatnik when we started dating. This was something else.
The deer was beautiful. It didn't make sounds and was kind of retarded; it only responded to clicks and whistles. And it was soft. So soft! The kids absolutely loved it. Although, they were kids, and they lost interest in it after a couple months. Don, on the otherhand, God... he would sit in his chair and stroke it for hours, chuckling like the night be brought it home.
It didn't seem to age any and it certainly didn't grow -- it was a miniature deer! But, Don didn't seem to age either. Ten years went by and he didn't have a single grey hair to show even though things had long been sour at the office and our marriage wasn't... well, it wasn't getting better. I had plenty of grey though -- wrinkles too! Anyhow, when I came home and found Don in his chair, his mouth hanging open... boy, he looked so old. Older than when I'd left the house that morning. Much, much older.
There was no trace of the deer. There was not a single velour hair in the entire house. I imagine someone saw Don walking the deer and fell in love with it. Perhaps the theif didn't expect anyone to be home but was armed with an aging ray just in case. I doubt poor Don was much of a match. If that is what happened, I kind of wish I'd seen it.
Sometimes, in the basement, by the pile of snot rags that was once the miniature velour deer's bed (I never cleaned it up!), well, I swear I can hear that queer chuckling.
And I don't mean that in a pretentious way. You see, I had never heard of one before. Not a single person in the neighborhood had heard of... well....
One night, about a year ago, Don was late. Very late. He never missed dinner and the children were worried -- so was I! It was after 9pm when we heard him pull into the drive, chuckling like a joker! I thought he was drunk and went to meet him outside before the kids could see. He shooed me back in to prepare a bed of "old snot rags and what not" in a corner of the basement. I was confused but did as told. I had just finished making it and come upstairs when he walked in the front door holding a length of twine fashioned into a leash. On the other end of the leash was what he called a "miniature velour deer."
Now, Don was a beatnik when we started dating. This was something else.
The deer was beautiful. It didn't make sounds and was kind of retarded; it only responded to clicks and whistles. And it was soft. So soft! The kids absolutely loved it. Although, they were kids, and they lost interest in it after a couple months. Don, on the otherhand, God... he would sit in his chair and stroke it for hours, chuckling like the night be brought it home.
It didn't seem to age any and it certainly didn't grow -- it was a miniature deer! But, Don didn't seem to age either. Ten years went by and he didn't have a single grey hair to show even though things had long been sour at the office and our marriage wasn't... well, it wasn't getting better. I had plenty of grey though -- wrinkles too! Anyhow, when I came home and found Don in his chair, his mouth hanging open... boy, he looked so old. Older than when I'd left the house that morning. Much, much older.
There was no trace of the deer. There was not a single velour hair in the entire house. I imagine someone saw Don walking the deer and fell in love with it. Perhaps the theif didn't expect anyone to be home but was armed with an aging ray just in case. I doubt poor Don was much of a match. If that is what happened, I kind of wish I'd seen it.
Sometimes, in the basement, by the pile of snot rags that was once the miniature velour deer's bed (I never cleaned it up!), well, I swear I can hear that queer chuckling.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
WE'RE ONLY IN IT FOR THE GRAVY
INTERVIEWER: "What do you think this piece is about?"MARCIA: "He mind, he stuff and what he think about. It could be his chaos... or whatever."
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