“People are born to be angels.” Swedenborg
Worry Not Sons of Mine, Heaven Is
And who knew that choking on a piece of toast that morning, gasping, running, you children running after me, the noise in my head, the silence of my voice, the not being able to say, I’m choking, I’m choking, the falling down, poor boys, poor boys, my sons, stop crying, stop, who knew that the last sensations of sharp daggers in my chest and the wet, coolness of blades of grass caressing my neck and arms would lead to this.
Just as the sun and moon and earth pull at one another, God himself washes away our sins as we pass, just as Christ washed the feet of his people, in a moment so minute and so infinite, from one world into the next. I am in heaven, children! In Heaven! Free of fear and rage and pain, my soul risen and blended and forever and always in eternity in this afterlife, back to where once I came and you came and we all come from, free from all guilt and shame. I am with you, children, always and I’m back, gone back, to my mother, my father, and God himself wears a crown of glory and that glory is and is and is, it drenches every molecule of earthly life and split second of time. All my sins, all my impatience, all my pettiness, my hardened heart, all is washed clean upon my ascent to this place, this heaven. Cry not for me, sons of mine. Your mother is in a better place, a place where we will live in eternity together.
And when you see a mouse crawl through a hole in the house, or feel a cool breeze on your cheek and something inside you stirs, believe, believe, because yes, it is a sign. When a shadow appears and startles you and you look and it is gone, yes, it is me. When you walk across the very field where I died and you hear a bird cry out so beautifully it stops you in your tracks, know it is me. I am everywhere, haunting you with my love. Don’t fear these feelings; embrace them instead. Because God does not only throb inside me, but infuses the world you live in. A never sleeping pulsing light, upon our death God burns away all the pain and suffering of our earthly existence with his hot white flame of love. Water, light, fire and love. It is true, the Holy Spirit does reside within and in the end, we are freed from the weighted chains of mortality and the gravity of the earth. The earth is heaven tainted, washed and lit with God, but heaven itself,
children, is to be beholden. It is all water and light, oceans of bright hot love. It is eternity and bliss and you know it when you come, you know it all over again, because it is from where you came and where we all belong.
Something so trivial as a piece of bread contains the magic of God, the magic to bring us from one world into the next. How we fear death! Every day sons, I will guide you, as God does as well, and listen listen and watch, for the path to heaven is where we lead you and like all mortals, you will make missteps. I beg you though, when you wake in a sweat, startled and heart racing, the night storm thundering around you, and you sit up, gasping and confused in the dark bedroom next to your wife, and the vision of me flashes in your mind, the words spoken from me echo in your head, “And who knew that choking on a piece of toast that morning, gasping, running, you children running after me…” and you are confused as to where you are and what it is all about, I say believe, believe, believe. It was no dream, my son. It was no dream.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Jerk Neck Turkey Leg by Jeff Dahlgren
Flowing text scrawled by insane delicate fingers. Yellow and bright on the side of a big red top circus tent. The wind picking up and the words rippled. A grey sky dropping in values quickly,the lighting was still such that legibility remained for the little girl. She listened to the grunts coming from inside the tent. She read the text, working up the nerve to just go in and tell the man inside she was pregnant.A zephyr perhaps or hurricane related,maybe just the backside of a heavy metal generator, a billowing guffaw ripped and baffled the line of colorful words n the canvas big top's side. The words made about as much sense to her as the notion of raising this thing growing inside of her. Mostly staring at the script,she read them and shifted from foot to foot. She'd gone to this much effort to follow him. Had stayed hidden long enough. Clutching her chest. Crying. The words reduced to sounds to repeat like an alien mantra. This wasn't happening. A flowing hand-painted row of words:
"Barn warped bark Larvae
in the midnight sun.
Axle master Space crust
on the dark side
Vamp candor moo fumes (in toner cartridges)
over there
Lumpy owned Morse thunder food coloring
in the wet cement
Amps lung notates poor summations
on top of old smokey
Purple tire tracks through play Doh
around these here parts
Moon pewter tomb tummy Teddy Ruxpin
in the end.
Barn warped bark Larvae
in the midnight sun.
Axle master Space crust
on the dark side..."
Carbon Mollified Bat Raton's Traveling Flesh Fairwellers had seven over-sized seagulls tied to their tent.
Up there,where God's bumped ideas and uglies,the blade laced wings ripped through the air. Their eyes scanned the horizon.The traveling act accrued monikers and routines, the same way they added and dropped lives.
Life drove them and sources of shelter and nourishment were plentiful.
Their theme had been:
"Leathery wings and emulsified fingering reasons for bullheaded eyelidless raspy smoker's values".
Until they were sued for copyright infringement.
"You don't have to stretch the muscle." said the Lion Tamer. He was up on a ladder feeding a large malformed aquatic creature in a clear walled tank.
The Strong Man lifted a leg while curling weights and let a loud flat sound from his ass. He shot the Lion Tamer a look that said "Shut the fuck up." He had been plotting a way to kill the Tamer ever since the Oakland fiasco. His death had to look like an accident,though.Ancient tattoos and sun-wrinkled skin faded and expanded with each extension,each hinge on his elbow joint from acute to right angle. Repeatedly. In lightning and in faulty swinging overhead lights.A pattern emerged to his grimace and his distracted thoughts, leaning into the grunt.
Strong Man had rancid spidering vein rot networking across his body. More than a few parts needing to be removed before infection spread. His legs were showing black fungal root patterns. It looked like the mold's epicenter was the most dense and spreading from the crotch of his red spandex. The little microscopic fingers thickened as they passed under and around un-busted leg sores and pimples.
The Strong Man would laugh with his bad breath and slip off into the nowhere corner of any and every town. Bottles clinking and breaking in some distant alley,like a sort of theme music that followed him. No matter where he was,he'd find the dirtiest bar. Maybe the dirtiest prostitute. And more often than not, the biggest ugliest guy to fight.
As they sat in silence,attending to their tasks under the tent,the Lizard Dwarf Twins meandered in sideways, clutching a piece of tattered paper. They were attached at the skull and at one knee. The clutched paper aged and loved and scribbled,erased and re-scribbled, care -worn fingers taking it beyond the texture of tissue. it bore words in baby blue and bright deep red ink.
One half had a high pitched voice and the other stuttered.
"When we passed through Gibsonton last week, we got an idea for a poem. Would you guys like to hear it?"
They didn't wait for a response. The overhead lights in the tent seemed to choose moment to flicker incessantly.
"Oh donor mutate mandibles and planets. For plants and cannibals masturbate.
Baby mashed and ransom letters masticate,sand paper bananas and traffic panties...
emancipate.
Oh gonad plaster cannister Trafalgar pilgrimage in winter tit mouse drips.
Press the snake piss in lullaby manure tumors, tokens of appreciation.
Only Mona
eyebrows smuggle
volume in a munchy laughter gall gumption.
Take my omnipresent love letter to sarcasm's ranch
and jerk hot sauce on monastery lawns."
They didn't really wait for a response either. The twins scuttled crab-like out the door as quickly as they had come in. The Lion Tamer and the Strong Man just looked at each other and looked back to what they were doing.
The moment was too long for the Lion Tamer,though. His watery friend,waiting impatiently for more food took action that seemed correct to it.
"Jeeeezuz Christ! Ooooh..!" Was the sudden scream,but it ended quickly.
The Strong Man did not suddenly turn at the man's wailing. The scream had been short with a distinctive snapping sound. The sea beast was reaching from beyond the top edge of the pool. Using its one human arm, it had taken a sincere grip on the Lion Tamer's neck. Broken and still fidgeting slightly,his body hung at an extreme and awkward angle. His broken neck a fleshy mess for a fulcrum, the creature struggled to pull the body into the water with it.
"Don't . Don't. ...just don't." The Strong Man walked over to the creature. "Drop him." He still carried his dumb bell, working the bicep as he walked over to the water's sloshing edge.
The pregnant little girl walked in as the twins left. They had made her feel nervous and she pulled the flap back as soon as it had shut behind them. She saw the creature grab the Lion Tamer and the blood drained from her face. Small pale hands dropped to her sides. The Strong Man had not noticed her.
As if animated on psychological strings beyond her and she was, she meandered into a shadow and watched,bottling a scream as her body did as it wished and she followed.
Clambering up and swatting for obedience the strong man used the back of his hand on the beast in the water and the body dropped with a thud. He noticed that he was still moving with curiosity and then over a broad shoulder his eye suddenly turned and saw her standing there. From down the ladder he glared frozen and stopped moving,
She stared back and then he dropped a hand to his present firmly on his side. Hers went to her mouth,as if she were in a school dress clutching a teddy bear or a tissue. A heavy boot met the worn flat shoveled and packed dirt floor. Of the circular confines and wind rippling,the sound of her voice uttered one word.
"Tennis.." She said and then her eyes became very larger with horror.
Her hands went to her stomach and doubling over, a scream and something trailed form her face into the dirt. Blood and thick in a stream, she continued to scream.
The Strong Man walked slowly over to her,a sideways stride the upper portion of his body leaned away. Caution dawned on the oval shape of his mouth.
Then, like a piece of bubble gum, going super-nova elastic stingers, she expanded with sickening jabbing lengths. Her flesh ripped through the feminine outfit in an odd globular levitating mass. Extensions sprang and undulated,wavering as if in a comic book of horror.. Tongues of strained pink and then it ripped, splattering and shooting extremely skinny marrow thin spikes. White things,needles of bone shot in all directions, spears piercing tiny holes everywhere. The tent in thousands of place had exit wounds and new supporting harpoons, tiny stiff filaments.And the earth rooted there, her spines filled the entire area densely .The pool with beast bleeding inside frozen in a leaking spot,the earth beneath it turning a ruddy mud texture. The Strong Man, a lifeless statue in mid-motion drained and sagged,making a complicated mess.
A Baby, bare, pale and perfect crawled up out of a strange vibrating epicenter of the big top. A vacuum of air gone fleshy and making sucking sounds,covered in coagulating living fluid. She flopped into existence using Darwinian fists and blind squinched eyes to waddle, naked and sweaty gleaming of birth struggle. Into the Strong Man's mess, her father she lapped up her first dream with an undercurling tongue and went to sleep.
"Barn warped bark Larvae
in the midnight sun.
Axle master Space crust
on the dark side
Vamp candor moo fumes (in toner cartridges)
over there
Lumpy owned Morse thunder food coloring
in the wet cement
Amps lung notates poor summations
on top of old smokey
Purple tire tracks through play Doh
around these here parts
Moon pewter tomb tummy Teddy Ruxpin
in the end.
Barn warped bark Larvae
in the midnight sun.
Axle master Space crust
on the dark side..."
Carbon Mollified Bat Raton's Traveling Flesh Fairwellers had seven over-sized seagulls tied to their tent.
Up there,where God's bumped ideas and uglies,the blade laced wings ripped through the air. Their eyes scanned the horizon.The traveling act accrued monikers and routines, the same way they added and dropped lives.
Life drove them and sources of shelter and nourishment were plentiful.
Their theme had been:
"Leathery wings and emulsified fingering reasons for bullheaded eyelidless raspy smoker's values".
Until they were sued for copyright infringement.
"You don't have to stretch the muscle." said the Lion Tamer. He was up on a ladder feeding a large malformed aquatic creature in a clear walled tank.
The Strong Man lifted a leg while curling weights and let a loud flat sound from his ass. He shot the Lion Tamer a look that said "Shut the fuck up." He had been plotting a way to kill the Tamer ever since the Oakland fiasco. His death had to look like an accident,though.Ancient tattoos and sun-wrinkled skin faded and expanded with each extension,each hinge on his elbow joint from acute to right angle. Repeatedly. In lightning and in faulty swinging overhead lights.A pattern emerged to his grimace and his distracted thoughts, leaning into the grunt.
Strong Man had rancid spidering vein rot networking across his body. More than a few parts needing to be removed before infection spread. His legs were showing black fungal root patterns. It looked like the mold's epicenter was the most dense and spreading from the crotch of his red spandex. The little microscopic fingers thickened as they passed under and around un-busted leg sores and pimples.
The Strong Man would laugh with his bad breath and slip off into the nowhere corner of any and every town. Bottles clinking and breaking in some distant alley,like a sort of theme music that followed him. No matter where he was,he'd find the dirtiest bar. Maybe the dirtiest prostitute. And more often than not, the biggest ugliest guy to fight.
As they sat in silence,attending to their tasks under the tent,the Lizard Dwarf Twins meandered in sideways, clutching a piece of tattered paper. They were attached at the skull and at one knee. The clutched paper aged and loved and scribbled,erased and re-scribbled, care -worn fingers taking it beyond the texture of tissue. it bore words in baby blue and bright deep red ink.
One half had a high pitched voice and the other stuttered.
"When we passed through Gibsonton last week, we got an idea for a poem. Would you guys like to hear it?"
They didn't wait for a response. The overhead lights in the tent seemed to choose moment to flicker incessantly.
"Oh donor mutate mandibles and planets. For plants and cannibals masturbate.
Baby mashed and ransom letters masticate,sand paper bananas and traffic panties...
emancipate.
Oh gonad plaster cannister Trafalgar pilgrimage in winter tit mouse drips.
Press the snake piss in lullaby manure tumors, tokens of appreciation.
Only Mona
eyebrows smuggle
volume in a munchy laughter gall gumption.
Take my omnipresent love letter to sarcasm's ranch
and jerk hot sauce on monastery lawns."
They didn't really wait for a response either. The twins scuttled crab-like out the door as quickly as they had come in. The Lion Tamer and the Strong Man just looked at each other and looked back to what they were doing.
The moment was too long for the Lion Tamer,though. His watery friend,waiting impatiently for more food took action that seemed correct to it.
"Jeeeezuz Christ! Ooooh..!" Was the sudden scream,but it ended quickly.
The Strong Man did not suddenly turn at the man's wailing. The scream had been short with a distinctive snapping sound. The sea beast was reaching from beyond the top edge of the pool. Using its one human arm, it had taken a sincere grip on the Lion Tamer's neck. Broken and still fidgeting slightly,his body hung at an extreme and awkward angle. His broken neck a fleshy mess for a fulcrum, the creature struggled to pull the body into the water with it.
"Don't . Don't. ...just don't." The Strong Man walked over to the creature. "Drop him." He still carried his dumb bell, working the bicep as he walked over to the water's sloshing edge.
The pregnant little girl walked in as the twins left. They had made her feel nervous and she pulled the flap back as soon as it had shut behind them. She saw the creature grab the Lion Tamer and the blood drained from her face. Small pale hands dropped to her sides. The Strong Man had not noticed her.
As if animated on psychological strings beyond her and she was, she meandered into a shadow and watched,bottling a scream as her body did as it wished and she followed.
Clambering up and swatting for obedience the strong man used the back of his hand on the beast in the water and the body dropped with a thud. He noticed that he was still moving with curiosity and then over a broad shoulder his eye suddenly turned and saw her standing there. From down the ladder he glared frozen and stopped moving,
She stared back and then he dropped a hand to his present firmly on his side. Hers went to her mouth,as if she were in a school dress clutching a teddy bear or a tissue. A heavy boot met the worn flat shoveled and packed dirt floor. Of the circular confines and wind rippling,the sound of her voice uttered one word.
"Tennis.." She said and then her eyes became very larger with horror.
Her hands went to her stomach and doubling over, a scream and something trailed form her face into the dirt. Blood and thick in a stream, she continued to scream.
The Strong Man walked slowly over to her,a sideways stride the upper portion of his body leaned away. Caution dawned on the oval shape of his mouth.
Then, like a piece of bubble gum, going super-nova elastic stingers, she expanded with sickening jabbing lengths. Her flesh ripped through the feminine outfit in an odd globular levitating mass. Extensions sprang and undulated,wavering as if in a comic book of horror.. Tongues of strained pink and then it ripped, splattering and shooting extremely skinny marrow thin spikes. White things,needles of bone shot in all directions, spears piercing tiny holes everywhere. The tent in thousands of place had exit wounds and new supporting harpoons, tiny stiff filaments.And the earth rooted there, her spines filled the entire area densely .The pool with beast bleeding inside frozen in a leaking spot,the earth beneath it turning a ruddy mud texture. The Strong Man, a lifeless statue in mid-motion drained and sagged,making a complicated mess.
A Baby, bare, pale and perfect crawled up out of a strange vibrating epicenter of the big top. A vacuum of air gone fleshy and making sucking sounds,covered in coagulating living fluid. She flopped into existence using Darwinian fists and blind squinched eyes to waddle, naked and sweaty gleaming of birth struggle. Into the Strong Man's mess, her father she lapped up her first dream with an undercurling tongue and went to sleep.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Napkin by Darby Larson
Napkin
My best friend poet, one of:
my eyes ears oh
Whole poem.
He said he thought universal and I subthought it. Something along there.
Wallace sent him postcards thanking him for applying. "Thank you," I joke him. "Oh my ears," I joke.
"What's with the beanie cap?" he answers me.
"What about it?"
"Hate you."
Aw.
Less liquid staining us raw still.
We sucked each other's cocks but I want to make it clear Lowell and I did not live together though what follows
"The awful cap stays awn."
Cute.
"Come on out," I say.
He finished shaving and came on out in.
"Check this in out," he napkins me.
"Horrible," I say.
"Carl's cute."
"What's Carl like now since?"
"Kinky like."
"A prize fighter?"
"A fighter."
"A prize one?"
Rest of the morning, napkining his bloody throat.
My best friend poet, one of:
my eyes ears oh
Whole poem.
He said he thought universal and I subthought it. Something along there.
Wallace sent him postcards thanking him for applying. "Thank you," I joke him. "Oh my ears," I joke.
"What's with the beanie cap?" he answers me.
"What about it?"
"Hate you."
Aw.
Less liquid staining us raw still.
We sucked each other's cocks but I want to make it clear Lowell and I did not live together though what follows
"The awful cap stays awn."
Cute.
"Come on out," I say.
He finished shaving and came on out in.
"Check this in out," he napkins me.
"Horrible," I say.
"Carl's cute."
"What's Carl like now since?"
"Kinky like."
"A prize fighter?"
"A fighter."
"A prize one?"
Rest of the morning, napkining his bloody throat.
Monday, August 17, 2009
3 things by Adam Moorad
#1
my mouth is full of lava
a miniature eruption
leaks from the corners of my
lips identical
fire rivers meeting at my chin
i try to divert the flow
by laying on my face
by turning off the television
by closing my eyes
when i hear my heart beat
i don’t want to be anyplace
except someplace else
#2
it's sunday
and we hide
with a bottle of Southern Comfort
behind our motel
evey time you move your feet
i think about fellatio
#3
i like to pretend my brain
is a piece of playdoh
jesus stuck in a microwave,
cooked on high for 45 seconds
and forgot about
my mouth is full of lava
a miniature eruption
leaks from the corners of my
lips identical
fire rivers meeting at my chin
i try to divert the flow
by laying on my face
by turning off the television
by closing my eyes
when i hear my heart beat
i don’t want to be anyplace
except someplace else
#2
it's sunday
and we hide
with a bottle of Southern Comfort
behind our motel
evey time you move your feet
i think about fellatio
#3
i like to pretend my brain
is a piece of playdoh
jesus stuck in a microwave,
cooked on high for 45 seconds
and forgot about
Thursday, August 13, 2009
all is forgiven and spinning by Sasha Fletcher
and all is forgiven
“Is there breakfast?”
“Sure,” he says. “I can make breakfast.”
“
Oh. Good.”
They eat breakfast. It is cold. The weather. The breakfast is cereal and some honeycrisp apples and coffee and toast. Outside a tree branch hits the window. Repeatedly. Many times. While it hits, the leaves all grow in in red and orange and yellow. They look like they are on fire the way the wind is blowing. The wind is blowing hard. Then, after they look like they are on fire, the leaves go real stiff and don’t move anymore, except down to the ground, where they fall, and just lie there, and everyone thinks wow that was fast and rakes them into huge giant piles, and from the rooftops they jump into them. A deer runs past everyone and into a windshield. It continues to run.
spinning
Outside it was cold enough to snow but it didn’t. No amount of threatening would change anything. Shotguns and pleas. I offered them a Nintendo Game Cube. I went on E-Bay and told the weather Look if you will let it snow I will buy this Nintendo Game Cube for you. The weather says nothing. The weather is not impressed. The weather is indifferent to my funds. I asked if she would show it her breasts. “Will you show it your breasts,” I asked her. She said she would think about it, and I for one believe her.
“Is there breakfast?”
“Sure,” he says. “I can make breakfast.”
“
Oh. Good.”
They eat breakfast. It is cold. The weather. The breakfast is cereal and some honeycrisp apples and coffee and toast. Outside a tree branch hits the window. Repeatedly. Many times. While it hits, the leaves all grow in in red and orange and yellow. They look like they are on fire the way the wind is blowing. The wind is blowing hard. Then, after they look like they are on fire, the leaves go real stiff and don’t move anymore, except down to the ground, where they fall, and just lie there, and everyone thinks wow that was fast and rakes them into huge giant piles, and from the rooftops they jump into them. A deer runs past everyone and into a windshield. It continues to run.
spinning
Outside it was cold enough to snow but it didn’t. No amount of threatening would change anything. Shotguns and pleas. I offered them a Nintendo Game Cube. I went on E-Bay and told the weather Look if you will let it snow I will buy this Nintendo Game Cube for you. The weather says nothing. The weather is not impressed. The weather is indifferent to my funds. I asked if she would show it her breasts. “Will you show it your breasts,” I asked her. She said she would think about it, and I for one believe her.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Work & Girl by Jeff Dahlgren
He laughed and smiled and said, "Good Morning " The mirrored armour fractured partially. He was exposed in the orange capped bottle. It wouldn't close, the white spots dissolved and full throttle thought. I can't.
"Tears tear palimpsests depression anecdote" He said. "The velour,the vellum bristol,the grinding machine and the blue solvent smell."
He pointed at two dragons fighting in the sky. Band aids spandex philanthropists possum tick tock theory dripped in candle wax on the shag carpet.The wallpaper turned into strange shapes.
"Treasure is their best album and changed lanes" He had said. She didn't even look. A smile from the bedroom and words came up and out and actually manifested on the air as the floated. She cut two of her fingers on the snooze button.
The car would swerve and repetitions thud thud tripled up then quadrupled. A muddy reverb. Coffee. The reflection said shave and wash. And concentrate.
Paint buckets with dying butterflies flopping in the Day-Glo mess. Farting fangs with rainbows. Butterflies eat dead things,he thought in passing.
A row of fuzzy stuffed animals sat on her bed. Next to it, the shadow of a full grown zodiac bear patiently sighed and stared at the bathroom door. With novels under his belt and fur painted yellow, it was wearing red shorts. He punched its tar and it had a baby. Scum on the edge of the bottom of the toilet. Twenty years ago with the grinch and vodka. And a torpedo dog chewing on thoughtlessly disposed of feminine products.
"Please pull me six of part number 1234gf from aisle b-c-3", He said and got on the forklift. He spit.
"What do you want to do for dinner tonight? I don't know what do you want to do?" He said. She said. The bathroom had fog.
The mirror shed its skin. A thick disease of ancient customs. Learned behavior and he looked down into the sink.
Thinking. Treason police weeds and particle contraindications. Lacan waffle house at 4 AM. Testicle sheets and Crimean wars. Brad Pitt. Answer the first question. Polite is the morning. Inspired is the work.
He walked out and down the driveway and woke up .The mustard tentacle,the ocean memory of webbed feet. A hockey mask and a Mickey Mouse gas mask. Dental visits for parts of teeth collected on lap tops. Hop scotch and Osage oranges. The defragmented nightmare of somebody else's heaven bullied clouds and partied.
"Sand my shoe laces when you get home tonight " He thought her heard her say and go into the break room for a donut.
His armour was British today. Polished and covered in text. He let all the girls lick it clean. Just in time for his personalized parking space to be moved to a small room in Canada.
Chrome ponies and more animals. More food.
"If you are not satisfied with the services being provided, I can't help you. Other doctors may entertain some grandiose notion of childhood verbal abuse fantasies-but I see us a two adults." His long coat was wrinkled. You could tell he woke up late. He was not organized. He was not happy. If he was a Barber, his floor would be hairless.he would call about his blood at 9:30 PM.
Movie producers having their body's washed and bullets flying through college campuses. Manimal and garbage chargrilled chicken sandwiches. The turning signal and the seatbelt alarm.
"I wish they made eatbelts." He thought.
Themes to shows blurred with songs from the 80's. Traditional toilets.
The lid came off. The palm and the Dixie cup logo. Designed by Saul Bass. He also did the storyboard for the shower scene in "Psycho". The tilt forward (not back) of the neck to swallow. Skin so soft and Christmas music. The slippery carport and football hand held video games. God's barking. Dirty silverware. The dripping wet towel on the shower curtain. The black and white blood.
"But I haven't got another cat." He said to a co-worker spitting off the side of his forklift.
The interstate was backed up. So he put on his holiday cd and rolled down a window. He was thankful the day was over. He would stop by the grocery store to pick up one of those cheap boxes of fried chicken. Or maybe a couple of sub sandwiches. His cholesterol was at 231. Fantasy of the small room again.
Canadian bears hibernate and they don't shit in the woods. In the distance, you can see trees wobbling when they scratch their backs. Sharks jump in boats.
The bathroom door opened and she came out dressed for work.
"Don't forget to turn off the coffee maker before you leave" She said and pet one of the stuffed animals. She was tracking paint and he briefly imagined a large flaming chunk of dragon falling from the sky outside his bedroom window.
The chicken sat on the forklift and he tried to answer his boss's question regarding the lack of organization to aisle b-d 2. " It's time I learned how to move the forklift while wearing this armour"
"Armour?" He had said and laughed nervously. "Well...suck it in buddy" He had rode a horse into the horizon and punched a giant clock in the sky. The sun was coming up and the day would soon be telling him it was time to go home.
Tornado of cats on a plastic Parker Brothers suicidal mystic pixie sticks and lunch fish. The ballast and the construction worker. I have to dodger and hand my co-worker purloined letters. It's time to her eyes are so amazing. The packaging tape juxtaposed balloon tumors juice newton pure guava jolly time. Labelled for shipping chicken. Rubber murder.
Mountains were the place to be. He went home and sat down. Then he laid down on the couch and felt her washing his hair. He wanted to shave.
He wanted to cry and the phone rang. But it only furthered his confusion. The swimming cycle of a song by the president of the united states of america.
He felt tears burning troughs down his soft gooey cheeks. A bacon sizzling sound and the smell of burning hair.
Armies in rows carried letters together. Spelling as they marched,eggs in pockets careful to not break. They moved silently tied to clouds over them. He whispered to each one in a row. The boulders in their paths broken from children on augers or pogo sticks. Or both. The ground made of cellophane with the bluest water beneath. He tried to start his engine. He left for New Orleans down Airline Highway. Her peacock hometown had a legacy. She was Catholic.
He cried and looked at his white powder covered claws and walked over to the window. A butterfly sat on the edge outside smoking the smallest cigarette he had ever seen.
Bars on the window kept the maggots in the field. The paperwork. The presses that never stopped. He imagined putting on his turning signal and threw a temper tantrum like that tennis player from so long ago.
"I don't feel like fried chicken tonight" She had said,rubbing black grease on her new dress.
The couch was uncomfortable. When he tried to sit up, a rope-like cramp seized his entire body and he quickly reclined again.
"I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go" He said.
"I can't continue like this" She said.
"Tears tear palimpsests depression anecdote" He said. "The velour,the vellum bristol,the grinding machine and the blue solvent smell."
He pointed at two dragons fighting in the sky. Band aids spandex philanthropists possum tick tock theory dripped in candle wax on the shag carpet.The wallpaper turned into strange shapes.
"Treasure is their best album and changed lanes" He had said. She didn't even look. A smile from the bedroom and words came up and out and actually manifested on the air as the floated. She cut two of her fingers on the snooze button.
The car would swerve and repetitions thud thud tripled up then quadrupled. A muddy reverb. Coffee. The reflection said shave and wash. And concentrate.
Paint buckets with dying butterflies flopping in the Day-Glo mess. Farting fangs with rainbows. Butterflies eat dead things,he thought in passing.
A row of fuzzy stuffed animals sat on her bed. Next to it, the shadow of a full grown zodiac bear patiently sighed and stared at the bathroom door. With novels under his belt and fur painted yellow, it was wearing red shorts. He punched its tar and it had a baby. Scum on the edge of the bottom of the toilet. Twenty years ago with the grinch and vodka. And a torpedo dog chewing on thoughtlessly disposed of feminine products.
"Please pull me six of part number 1234gf from aisle b-c-3", He said and got on the forklift. He spit.
"What do you want to do for dinner tonight? I don't know what do you want to do?" He said. She said. The bathroom had fog.
The mirror shed its skin. A thick disease of ancient customs. Learned behavior and he looked down into the sink.
Thinking. Treason police weeds and particle contraindications. Lacan waffle house at 4 AM. Testicle sheets and Crimean wars. Brad Pitt. Answer the first question. Polite is the morning. Inspired is the work.
He walked out and down the driveway and woke up .The mustard tentacle,the ocean memory of webbed feet. A hockey mask and a Mickey Mouse gas mask. Dental visits for parts of teeth collected on lap tops. Hop scotch and Osage oranges. The defragmented nightmare of somebody else's heaven bullied clouds and partied.
"Sand my shoe laces when you get home tonight " He thought her heard her say and go into the break room for a donut.
His armour was British today. Polished and covered in text. He let all the girls lick it clean. Just in time for his personalized parking space to be moved to a small room in Canada.
Chrome ponies and more animals. More food.
"If you are not satisfied with the services being provided, I can't help you. Other doctors may entertain some grandiose notion of childhood verbal abuse fantasies-but I see us a two adults." His long coat was wrinkled. You could tell he woke up late. He was not organized. He was not happy. If he was a Barber, his floor would be hairless.he would call about his blood at 9:30 PM.
Movie producers having their body's washed and bullets flying through college campuses. Manimal and garbage chargrilled chicken sandwiches. The turning signal and the seatbelt alarm.
"I wish they made eatbelts." He thought.
Themes to shows blurred with songs from the 80's. Traditional toilets.
The lid came off. The palm and the Dixie cup logo. Designed by Saul Bass. He also did the storyboard for the shower scene in "Psycho". The tilt forward (not back) of the neck to swallow. Skin so soft and Christmas music. The slippery carport and football hand held video games. God's barking. Dirty silverware. The dripping wet towel on the shower curtain. The black and white blood.
"But I haven't got another cat." He said to a co-worker spitting off the side of his forklift.
The interstate was backed up. So he put on his holiday cd and rolled down a window. He was thankful the day was over. He would stop by the grocery store to pick up one of those cheap boxes of fried chicken. Or maybe a couple of sub sandwiches. His cholesterol was at 231. Fantasy of the small room again.
Canadian bears hibernate and they don't shit in the woods. In the distance, you can see trees wobbling when they scratch their backs. Sharks jump in boats.
The bathroom door opened and she came out dressed for work.
"Don't forget to turn off the coffee maker before you leave" She said and pet one of the stuffed animals. She was tracking paint and he briefly imagined a large flaming chunk of dragon falling from the sky outside his bedroom window.
The chicken sat on the forklift and he tried to answer his boss's question regarding the lack of organization to aisle b-d 2. " It's time I learned how to move the forklift while wearing this armour"
"Armour?" He had said and laughed nervously. "Well...suck it in buddy" He had rode a horse into the horizon and punched a giant clock in the sky. The sun was coming up and the day would soon be telling him it was time to go home.
Tornado of cats on a plastic Parker Brothers suicidal mystic pixie sticks and lunch fish. The ballast and the construction worker. I have to dodger and hand my co-worker purloined letters. It's time to her eyes are so amazing. The packaging tape juxtaposed balloon tumors juice newton pure guava jolly time. Labelled for shipping chicken. Rubber murder.
Mountains were the place to be. He went home and sat down. Then he laid down on the couch and felt her washing his hair. He wanted to shave.
He wanted to cry and the phone rang. But it only furthered his confusion. The swimming cycle of a song by the president of the united states of america.
He felt tears burning troughs down his soft gooey cheeks. A bacon sizzling sound and the smell of burning hair.
Armies in rows carried letters together. Spelling as they marched,eggs in pockets careful to not break. They moved silently tied to clouds over them. He whispered to each one in a row. The boulders in their paths broken from children on augers or pogo sticks. Or both. The ground made of cellophane with the bluest water beneath. He tried to start his engine. He left for New Orleans down Airline Highway. Her peacock hometown had a legacy. She was Catholic.
He cried and looked at his white powder covered claws and walked over to the window. A butterfly sat on the edge outside smoking the smallest cigarette he had ever seen.
Bars on the window kept the maggots in the field. The paperwork. The presses that never stopped. He imagined putting on his turning signal and threw a temper tantrum like that tennis player from so long ago.
"I don't feel like fried chicken tonight" She had said,rubbing black grease on her new dress.
The couch was uncomfortable. When he tried to sit up, a rope-like cramp seized his entire body and he quickly reclined again.
"I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go" He said.
"I can't continue like this" She said.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
the lump by Steve Calamars
Charlie Greene can feel the lump on his inner right thigh. He steers his car with one hand and pushes on the lump with the other. He prods the thing going down the road, experiencing strange, foreign sensations while maintaining control. Charlie can feel that the lump is not hard or stationary, but soft and transitory, being able to move the mass beneath his skin either down toward the knee or up closer to the groin. He pulls into the parking lot and backs into a space. Charlie checks the mail and walks upstairs to his apartment.
He drops his keys and a few envelopes on the kitchen counter. Charlie immediately walks into the bathroom and removes his gray slacks. He sits down on the side of the tub and inspects the oddity. It is the size of an egg beneath the skin. He pushes on the lump and moves it along the leg. He experiences an awkward, unidentifiable sensation. He has no prior memory of the lump and has only been aware of it since his lunch break, when he was using the urinal in the restroom. Persuaded more by curiosity than fear, Charlie now stands up and walks over to the medicine cabinet.
He takes out a straight-razor and sits back down. Opening the instrument, he holds the lump steady and makes a small incision. He rips off a clump of toilet paper and dabs the blood, before poking his finger inside and feeling around. Charlie runs up against an object, a structure, soft, scaly and warm. He removes his finger and wipes the blade clean. He holds the lump steady and expands the incision meticulously. He is now able to work two fingers inside and grip it.
Stretching the incision open with one hand and gripping with the other, Charlie is able to remove the lump. He pulls out a small, plump goldfish with tiny black speckles and massive black eyes. He holds the fish up in the light and looks at it. The fish looks back at Charlie, mouth contorting, gasping for air. He experiences an uncomfortable sense of sympathy for the fish, dropping it quickly into the toilet to stop its suffering. It breathes deep and swims small figure-eights in the bowl. Charlie watches warmly as his leg bleeds out onto the bathroom floor.
He opens the medicine cabinet again. This time he takes out band-aids and a bottle of iodine. He uses iodine-soaked clumps of toilet paper to clean the incision and applies numerous band-aids to contain the bleeding, which continues to flow from the surgery. Charlie checks on the fish and finds it still swimming small figure-eights. He knows a toilet is not an appropriate home and walks over to the tub.
Turning on the hot and cold faucets, Charlie begins to fill the tub with water. He is exacting with his adjustments, aware that if the water is to warm or to cool, the fish will die immediately upon entering the tub. He stabilizes the temperature and cuts off the water. He wipes blood off of his leg and walks over to the toilet.
Charlie submerges his hand in the water and the fish seems almost to swim into his palm. He carries the thing carefully and releases it into the tub. It breathes deep and swims large, slow figure-eights. Charlie sits and watches quietly.
The fish, breaking its figure-eights, comes to the surface of the water. Mouth contorting, it stares up at Charlie. He thinks it might be hungry, whether correct or incorrect, he gets up and goes into the kitchen. He opens a loaf of bread and removes a slice. A small pool of blood collects on the kitchen floor. Charlie wipes his leg with a dish towel and returns to the tub.
Tearing off bits of bread, he rolls them into tiny white balls and drops them one at a time into the water. The fish eats the tiny bread balls and hovers near the surface. It eats the entire slice of bread, before Charlie begins to get dizzy.
He looks at the thin stream of blood running down his leg and coagulating into a small puddle at his heel on the floor. Charlie manages to wipe some of the blood away before finally losing strength and falling. He lies there peacefully and gradually loses consciousness. His eyes close, his breath shallows –
In the tub beside him, well-fed and content, the fish breathes deep and swims long, slow, meditative figure-eights.
He drops his keys and a few envelopes on the kitchen counter. Charlie immediately walks into the bathroom and removes his gray slacks. He sits down on the side of the tub and inspects the oddity. It is the size of an egg beneath the skin. He pushes on the lump and moves it along the leg. He experiences an awkward, unidentifiable sensation. He has no prior memory of the lump and has only been aware of it since his lunch break, when he was using the urinal in the restroom. Persuaded more by curiosity than fear, Charlie now stands up and walks over to the medicine cabinet.
He takes out a straight-razor and sits back down. Opening the instrument, he holds the lump steady and makes a small incision. He rips off a clump of toilet paper and dabs the blood, before poking his finger inside and feeling around. Charlie runs up against an object, a structure, soft, scaly and warm. He removes his finger and wipes the blade clean. He holds the lump steady and expands the incision meticulously. He is now able to work two fingers inside and grip it.
Stretching the incision open with one hand and gripping with the other, Charlie is able to remove the lump. He pulls out a small, plump goldfish with tiny black speckles and massive black eyes. He holds the fish up in the light and looks at it. The fish looks back at Charlie, mouth contorting, gasping for air. He experiences an uncomfortable sense of sympathy for the fish, dropping it quickly into the toilet to stop its suffering. It breathes deep and swims small figure-eights in the bowl. Charlie watches warmly as his leg bleeds out onto the bathroom floor.
He opens the medicine cabinet again. This time he takes out band-aids and a bottle of iodine. He uses iodine-soaked clumps of toilet paper to clean the incision and applies numerous band-aids to contain the bleeding, which continues to flow from the surgery. Charlie checks on the fish and finds it still swimming small figure-eights. He knows a toilet is not an appropriate home and walks over to the tub.
Turning on the hot and cold faucets, Charlie begins to fill the tub with water. He is exacting with his adjustments, aware that if the water is to warm or to cool, the fish will die immediately upon entering the tub. He stabilizes the temperature and cuts off the water. He wipes blood off of his leg and walks over to the toilet.
Charlie submerges his hand in the water and the fish seems almost to swim into his palm. He carries the thing carefully and releases it into the tub. It breathes deep and swims large, slow figure-eights. Charlie sits and watches quietly.
The fish, breaking its figure-eights, comes to the surface of the water. Mouth contorting, it stares up at Charlie. He thinks it might be hungry, whether correct or incorrect, he gets up and goes into the kitchen. He opens a loaf of bread and removes a slice. A small pool of blood collects on the kitchen floor. Charlie wipes his leg with a dish towel and returns to the tub.
Tearing off bits of bread, he rolls them into tiny white balls and drops them one at a time into the water. The fish eats the tiny bread balls and hovers near the surface. It eats the entire slice of bread, before Charlie begins to get dizzy.
He looks at the thin stream of blood running down his leg and coagulating into a small puddle at his heel on the floor. Charlie manages to wipe some of the blood away before finally losing strength and falling. He lies there peacefully and gradually loses consciousness. His eyes close, his breath shallows –
In the tub beside him, well-fed and content, the fish breathes deep and swims long, slow, meditative figure-eights.
The Dispersed by Eggtooth
Grey as the day and its haze ripping through the salty air, his beard long and in the wind was the same. He dispersed sentences and demanded truths. Ramming a finger towards the cliff's edge. Towards the ocean one hundred feet below. The man he gestured to was to dive in the morning, but presently had other more pressing challenges.
Gnarled and poignant with wisdom,the sentencing finger had three gold rings molded in points on its length. It turned from the wiry muscular man,tied to a stake and directly pointed to a walrus-like beast straining against a chain in the ground. Not 3 yards out of reach, it salivated a thick black mucous,heaving and shitting and slipping in its own mess. It wanted to eat everything in sight. Oily black scales shimmered and flipped as it breathed. Odd omnidirectional eyes bulged from sockets. Crab's eyes grafted into its head in some strange lab,the mutated thing probably even hated itself.
White robed men untied the thin gnarled man from his post. He seemed as stiff and stout as the thing he was bound to,with hands calloused and tough as edges of rock. The fingers were lengthened and came to points with sharp dark nails. They stepped away from him and clambered up off the mountainous plateau to a higher one. To observe the fight that was about to take place.
The Disperser levitated, and in doing so struck down and released the slobbering awkward beast from its chain. It didn't hesitate. For its massive size and weight it was agile. Cumbersome on land,it was still dangerous. Without warning it turned, slinging a pink knobby fleshy rope from its anus, attempting to wrap the man with it. A barb on the end bloated with poison slung madly through the air. The man a lanky blur,rolled and bounced against the nearest wall and with webbed feet,he sprang claws out and was on the rubbery beasts back.
In a blink the watching men missed what had happened. He was gripping its tentacle beneath the stinger with a crushing hold, keeping it from retracting back into its foul orifice. The beast shifted its body and rolled,wanting to crush the man,but smooth movements harmonized and went with its direction. He arched his entire body a circle through the air and planted his feet on ground, jamming his black finger tips into the tough beasts hide. It howled and rolled the other way, yanking the man and catching him by surprise. Fear registered and he realized in this moment he might be killed.
The tentacle came loose from his grip and instead of striking, it retracted. They were both hurt. The beast shifted back and the two stared at each other. The man's hand dripped blood from where his tips were ripped off, buried somewhere in the thing's fatty thick skin. He knew not to wait to react to its attack and moved. Before anyone observing or the beast itself knew it, his hand was in its brain. A fist sized hole in its skull.
The beast quaked on the end of his arm,convulsing it howled and the eyes wobbled and extended in shock. It still wanted to fight and perhaps still tried to execute bodily functions ,but nothing registered. It sagged heavily and its face slid from his fist.
The wiry man heaved and looked down at his hands, one covered in his own blood and the other gripping yellow bubbly tissue.
"You've completed this." Said a voice close to him as if from nowhere.
The Displacer stood before him with an empty stare. The beast still died,shivering and making gasping sounds from parts of its body.
"Tomorrow you complete what you started for them. You fulfill your broken promise."
The man looked down at the ocean and knew he looked at his death. Boastful lies had finally gotten the best of him. Winning trust with fantastic tales of accomplishments earned a living. Now it would earn his death.
"Tomorrow we will turn you over to them to carry out their sentence. To have their game with you. As you had your game with them."
The Disperser left every one's sight,retreating into a cavern opening in a grey wisp. The man felt his body go limp from science or spells,then hands on his arms. They chained him up again.
Tomorrow he would either discover other mammals or he would die.Or both. More likely simply the latter. The rest of the Disperser's effect soaked in and he was asleep.
The next thing he knew was the three looming hunched beasts before him hissing and grinding. It was morning and the sun was up.
"I think we should remove his other fingernails." They laughed and remarked about his wounds. Hanging with arms practically wrapped twice around his body,his one hand still dripped. The Disperser was there and nodded.
"He is yours to do with as you please. We offer him to you and hope it maintains our peace."
One of the needled black shapes whipped back a pitch black cape and out came a gaseous form of a hand. It shined sharp edges that came to invisible hair-like tiny points. Thousands of thin tips for teeth gleamed in its darkness. An evil mouth,the man didn't know why mammals didn't declare war on these foul machines.
There was sudden pain and a grip as his hand was bound and a fingernail on his good hand removed. He kept dead eyes for them. No pain shown.
"He likes to tell tales of mystery....Doesn't he?" One said and hovered in his face.
"More of your kind... are there? Magical kind? Watery kind? Astral Kind? ...Gods?"
It spit on him.
"Today you find out." It said tersely. Another fingernail ripped and he almost flinched.
From above and hidden, the Disperser silently whispered and cast fingers at the man. Superstitious and hopeful. Curious. He mostly just figured, "What the hell...maybe there are some ancient evolved ancestors down there somewhere...." He gave the man some incentive. Some oxygen.
"Why not?" He thought.
Then walked away to catch up with the rest of his day.
Gnarled and poignant with wisdom,the sentencing finger had three gold rings molded in points on its length. It turned from the wiry muscular man,tied to a stake and directly pointed to a walrus-like beast straining against a chain in the ground. Not 3 yards out of reach, it salivated a thick black mucous,heaving and shitting and slipping in its own mess. It wanted to eat everything in sight. Oily black scales shimmered and flipped as it breathed. Odd omnidirectional eyes bulged from sockets. Crab's eyes grafted into its head in some strange lab,the mutated thing probably even hated itself.
White robed men untied the thin gnarled man from his post. He seemed as stiff and stout as the thing he was bound to,with hands calloused and tough as edges of rock. The fingers were lengthened and came to points with sharp dark nails. They stepped away from him and clambered up off the mountainous plateau to a higher one. To observe the fight that was about to take place.
The Disperser levitated, and in doing so struck down and released the slobbering awkward beast from its chain. It didn't hesitate. For its massive size and weight it was agile. Cumbersome on land,it was still dangerous. Without warning it turned, slinging a pink knobby fleshy rope from its anus, attempting to wrap the man with it. A barb on the end bloated with poison slung madly through the air. The man a lanky blur,rolled and bounced against the nearest wall and with webbed feet,he sprang claws out and was on the rubbery beasts back.
In a blink the watching men missed what had happened. He was gripping its tentacle beneath the stinger with a crushing hold, keeping it from retracting back into its foul orifice. The beast shifted its body and rolled,wanting to crush the man,but smooth movements harmonized and went with its direction. He arched his entire body a circle through the air and planted his feet on ground, jamming his black finger tips into the tough beasts hide. It howled and rolled the other way, yanking the man and catching him by surprise. Fear registered and he realized in this moment he might be killed.
The tentacle came loose from his grip and instead of striking, it retracted. They were both hurt. The beast shifted back and the two stared at each other. The man's hand dripped blood from where his tips were ripped off, buried somewhere in the thing's fatty thick skin. He knew not to wait to react to its attack and moved. Before anyone observing or the beast itself knew it, his hand was in its brain. A fist sized hole in its skull.
The beast quaked on the end of his arm,convulsing it howled and the eyes wobbled and extended in shock. It still wanted to fight and perhaps still tried to execute bodily functions ,but nothing registered. It sagged heavily and its face slid from his fist.
The wiry man heaved and looked down at his hands, one covered in his own blood and the other gripping yellow bubbly tissue.
"You've completed this." Said a voice close to him as if from nowhere.
The Displacer stood before him with an empty stare. The beast still died,shivering and making gasping sounds from parts of its body.
"Tomorrow you complete what you started for them. You fulfill your broken promise."
The man looked down at the ocean and knew he looked at his death. Boastful lies had finally gotten the best of him. Winning trust with fantastic tales of accomplishments earned a living. Now it would earn his death.
"Tomorrow we will turn you over to them to carry out their sentence. To have their game with you. As you had your game with them."
The Disperser left every one's sight,retreating into a cavern opening in a grey wisp. The man felt his body go limp from science or spells,then hands on his arms. They chained him up again.
Tomorrow he would either discover other mammals or he would die.Or both. More likely simply the latter. The rest of the Disperser's effect soaked in and he was asleep.
The next thing he knew was the three looming hunched beasts before him hissing and grinding. It was morning and the sun was up.
"I think we should remove his other fingernails." They laughed and remarked about his wounds. Hanging with arms practically wrapped twice around his body,his one hand still dripped. The Disperser was there and nodded.
"He is yours to do with as you please. We offer him to you and hope it maintains our peace."
One of the needled black shapes whipped back a pitch black cape and out came a gaseous form of a hand. It shined sharp edges that came to invisible hair-like tiny points. Thousands of thin tips for teeth gleamed in its darkness. An evil mouth,the man didn't know why mammals didn't declare war on these foul machines.
There was sudden pain and a grip as his hand was bound and a fingernail on his good hand removed. He kept dead eyes for them. No pain shown.
"He likes to tell tales of mystery....Doesn't he?" One said and hovered in his face.
"More of your kind... are there? Magical kind? Watery kind? Astral Kind? ...Gods?"
It spit on him.
"Today you find out." It said tersely. Another fingernail ripped and he almost flinched.
From above and hidden, the Disperser silently whispered and cast fingers at the man. Superstitious and hopeful. Curious. He mostly just figured, "What the hell...maybe there are some ancient evolved ancestors down there somewhere...." He gave the man some incentive. Some oxygen.
"Why not?" He thought.
Then walked away to catch up with the rest of his day.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Strange Maidenhead by Eggtooth
Seeing thin sheets of light from thirty feet beneath. The emaciated man was a diving mindless spear. Pointed purpose. Through clear blue watery disturbance,wonderful bright white and yellow and his browned ragged stick of a body. Solar ripples of life giving energy and the haze of its strength carved with him deeper..
The sun burned through aquamarine and refracting,bathing his path clearly. A dreamy green and transparency gleamed. On another day,it was beautiful.
A sea of angles and deeper with fingers white and wrinkled. Pulling yearning to reach the bottom. To get away. A dream cave deeper down somewhere and air,and big smiles and fuzzy hugs of mammalian warmth.
A clawing swimming desperation. Through a mental disease,brushing past rubbery minuscule masses of tentacles. Darker pulling and pressure squinting. Being checked out by tiny tendrils and watchful saucer glowing eyes. Sea fingers tickled and inspected and encumbered.
His anxious fleshy tips ripped down to the cuticle,trailing ten streams of red in the water. Scuba flippers fashioned from the toughened hide of some alien beast,strangled ankles held them in place with intestinal length,still bloated with feces. He swam naked and rib caged bare. Deeper.
The sun faded but the high-pitched screeching chants of anger pierced through everything.
From above, their self-generated cooling sleet poured over the shoulders of haystack shaped shadows. Needles for teeth,clear and dripping, they gritted and grind as they sweat. Pulling a 12 foot thick sheet of glass over the ocean,they dirged and hovered above the water's jagged tiny waves. Observing the man scramble deeper. Sonar eyes in needled shades billowed black cloaks over the ocean. Arching negative lines in the wind with odd ugly jagged points. The monstrous shapes giggled and pointed at the futility beneath them. They dropped living wriggling charges as they pulled the sheet of glass. Demonic scaled and chomping teeth with razor scales that propelled through the water.
Beneath and reaching,the expanse went black. Blindly the man pulled in a direction he hoped against Hell was in fact the correct way,the last direction that made sense. Kicking with hands raking and fanned open,still bleeding a steady beacon to anything with a hunger and a nerve ending. A 100 mile radius. They could see him and he silently hoped his rabies contaminated rail thin body offered no meat of consequence.
Ache and confusion clouding thoughts,the man damned all else and pushed harder from within,through this darkness that never seemed to end. Something sharp screamed on his calf and then another at his heel. They were everywhere the living depth charges. Their signal red eyes suddenly the only source of light. He stopped and reached with a quickness. Unnatural perfection of his claws exactly into this evil things eyes. Then another in his other hand. Crushed and extinguished,two others sentient enough to know hesitation watched as the man quickly swam again. They followed and zig zagged,knowing his skin held within it alien potions, a current through his bloodstream like an angelic lightning. Tearing his mind and amplifying his body. Glorified and confronted with a purity that was too much. His mortal body stripped down almost to bone and perfection. Sinuous muscle and desire to build and create. Interference with ocean,this bipedal hairy mind of machines. It must be destroyed. It must be eaten.
Foreign oxygen in his body,the man pulled for another eternity. He began to notice mountain-like shapes and almost smiled. They revealed themselves in moments. Almost mirages,but he certainly saw them. The visuals inspired him further and soon enough- a blessing of sorts. A light source appeared,saving him from plunging face first into a strange shape. A mast of dense cracked wood and barnacles.Broken and slimy amongst other sunken pieces.Coated with time and blowing in the deep with seaweed. A rotting maidenhead glowered at him and he planted hand and foot on her shape to stop for a second. Mouth clutched shut pulling on trained placements of pockets from within. Oxygen stored, attached by alien serums to blood cells, waiting to be called on. He pulled in the silence,preparing to dive towards the light source.
Letting go and floating he turned and prepared to pull when a sudden lessening in pressure gave him pause. A groan in the water and a massive looming shadow. Slowly with confidence it revealed itself beyond the wreckage. It blocked out the light with its shape. A yawning chasm of a mouth filled with sharp icicle stalactite teeth. They dripped an oily substance and it hissed black bubbles through the water at him. With a massive twist it swung something like a tail or fin,breaking the ancient ship from where it had rotted into oneness with the slimy ocean wall.
It came out of the sea ridge. The networked mountain ranges possessed elaborate and subtle developments. Miles long and ornate with naturally formed age. Producing the highest peaks and hiding thousands of caves. And hiding beasts of unknown wisdom and size.
to be continued.....
The sun burned through aquamarine and refracting,bathing his path clearly. A dreamy green and transparency gleamed. On another day,it was beautiful.
A sea of angles and deeper with fingers white and wrinkled. Pulling yearning to reach the bottom. To get away. A dream cave deeper down somewhere and air,and big smiles and fuzzy hugs of mammalian warmth.
A clawing swimming desperation. Through a mental disease,brushing past rubbery minuscule masses of tentacles. Darker pulling and pressure squinting. Being checked out by tiny tendrils and watchful saucer glowing eyes. Sea fingers tickled and inspected and encumbered.
His anxious fleshy tips ripped down to the cuticle,trailing ten streams of red in the water. Scuba flippers fashioned from the toughened hide of some alien beast,strangled ankles held them in place with intestinal length,still bloated with feces. He swam naked and rib caged bare. Deeper.
The sun faded but the high-pitched screeching chants of anger pierced through everything.
From above, their self-generated cooling sleet poured over the shoulders of haystack shaped shadows. Needles for teeth,clear and dripping, they gritted and grind as they sweat. Pulling a 12 foot thick sheet of glass over the ocean,they dirged and hovered above the water's jagged tiny waves. Observing the man scramble deeper. Sonar eyes in needled shades billowed black cloaks over the ocean. Arching negative lines in the wind with odd ugly jagged points. The monstrous shapes giggled and pointed at the futility beneath them. They dropped living wriggling charges as they pulled the sheet of glass. Demonic scaled and chomping teeth with razor scales that propelled through the water.
Beneath and reaching,the expanse went black. Blindly the man pulled in a direction he hoped against Hell was in fact the correct way,the last direction that made sense. Kicking with hands raking and fanned open,still bleeding a steady beacon to anything with a hunger and a nerve ending. A 100 mile radius. They could see him and he silently hoped his rabies contaminated rail thin body offered no meat of consequence.
Ache and confusion clouding thoughts,the man damned all else and pushed harder from within,through this darkness that never seemed to end. Something sharp screamed on his calf and then another at his heel. They were everywhere the living depth charges. Their signal red eyes suddenly the only source of light. He stopped and reached with a quickness. Unnatural perfection of his claws exactly into this evil things eyes. Then another in his other hand. Crushed and extinguished,two others sentient enough to know hesitation watched as the man quickly swam again. They followed and zig zagged,knowing his skin held within it alien potions, a current through his bloodstream like an angelic lightning. Tearing his mind and amplifying his body. Glorified and confronted with a purity that was too much. His mortal body stripped down almost to bone and perfection. Sinuous muscle and desire to build and create. Interference with ocean,this bipedal hairy mind of machines. It must be destroyed. It must be eaten.
Foreign oxygen in his body,the man pulled for another eternity. He began to notice mountain-like shapes and almost smiled. They revealed themselves in moments. Almost mirages,but he certainly saw them. The visuals inspired him further and soon enough- a blessing of sorts. A light source appeared,saving him from plunging face first into a strange shape. A mast of dense cracked wood and barnacles.Broken and slimy amongst other sunken pieces.Coated with time and blowing in the deep with seaweed. A rotting maidenhead glowered at him and he planted hand and foot on her shape to stop for a second. Mouth clutched shut pulling on trained placements of pockets from within. Oxygen stored, attached by alien serums to blood cells, waiting to be called on. He pulled in the silence,preparing to dive towards the light source.
Letting go and floating he turned and prepared to pull when a sudden lessening in pressure gave him pause. A groan in the water and a massive looming shadow. Slowly with confidence it revealed itself beyond the wreckage. It blocked out the light with its shape. A yawning chasm of a mouth filled with sharp icicle stalactite teeth. They dripped an oily substance and it hissed black bubbles through the water at him. With a massive twist it swung something like a tail or fin,breaking the ancient ship from where it had rotted into oneness with the slimy ocean wall.
It came out of the sea ridge. The networked mountain ranges possessed elaborate and subtle developments. Miles long and ornate with naturally formed age. Producing the highest peaks and hiding thousands of caves. And hiding beasts of unknown wisdom and size.
to be continued.....
3 shorts by littoralis
Death Grip
Fuck you, she said. He looked at her and sneered.
She held the knife with a tight grip and stared at his throat. She
imagined the blood spurting out of his neck like he did when he came
on her face.
Come on and fuck me, then, he said.
She chopped the cabbage on the board but she wanted to feed him the knife.
Bed
She was warm in the bed but he wanted her out. He told her to leave.
She got dressed and left like he said. He told her what to do and she
did it.
She didn’t know where to go so she went to the mall. She watched the
people and thought of him in the warm bed and wished she was in it.
But she didn’t think of him being with her in the bed. It was his bed
and it wasn’t all that warm when he was in it. He made the bed hot and
she never got any sleep.
Life
Darby couldn’t stand how he looked anymore. His face was prickly and
he smelled like shit. Not real shit but shitty. She was reading her
magazine when he walked in and the place smelled bad all of a sudden
so she knew he was home.
“What are you doing?” he asked Darby. Darby didn’t answer back but she
wanted to tell him he smelled bad and he needed to shave. But she knew
if she told him that he would smack her or call her a fucking slut or
something. Darby knew she was a slut. She fucked around on him and he
knew it too. But Darby didn’t give a fuck what she did. She could do
what she wanted even if he smacked her for it.
He grabbed her magazine and threw it against the wall. “You stupid
fucking slut!” he screamed. She looked up at him and kicked him in the
knee. He screamed again and grabbed his knee and bent over. She
punched his head on the side and he fell over still grabbing his knee.
Darby loved it when she put him on the ground. She got on top of him
and bit him on the neck hard. She left a bloody mark and stood up. She
watched him in all his stupid fucking pain and then she smiled. But
her smile wouldn’t stay for long cuz he would smack it off when he got
off the floor.
It was the story of her pathetic fucking life and she told it to
herself over and over so she could believe it was real.
Fuck you, she said. He looked at her and sneered.
She held the knife with a tight grip and stared at his throat. She
imagined the blood spurting out of his neck like he did when he came
on her face.
Come on and fuck me, then, he said.
She chopped the cabbage on the board but she wanted to feed him the knife.
Bed
She was warm in the bed but he wanted her out. He told her to leave.
She got dressed and left like he said. He told her what to do and she
did it.
She didn’t know where to go so she went to the mall. She watched the
people and thought of him in the warm bed and wished she was in it.
But she didn’t think of him being with her in the bed. It was his bed
and it wasn’t all that warm when he was in it. He made the bed hot and
she never got any sleep.
Life
Darby couldn’t stand how he looked anymore. His face was prickly and
he smelled like shit. Not real shit but shitty. She was reading her
magazine when he walked in and the place smelled bad all of a sudden
so she knew he was home.
“What are you doing?” he asked Darby. Darby didn’t answer back but she
wanted to tell him he smelled bad and he needed to shave. But she knew
if she told him that he would smack her or call her a fucking slut or
something. Darby knew she was a slut. She fucked around on him and he
knew it too. But Darby didn’t give a fuck what she did. She could do
what she wanted even if he smacked her for it.
He grabbed her magazine and threw it against the wall. “You stupid
fucking slut!” he screamed. She looked up at him and kicked him in the
knee. He screamed again and grabbed his knee and bent over. She
punched his head on the side and he fell over still grabbing his knee.
Darby loved it when she put him on the ground. She got on top of him
and bit him on the neck hard. She left a bloody mark and stood up. She
watched him in all his stupid fucking pain and then she smiled. But
her smile wouldn’t stay for long cuz he would smack it off when he got
off the floor.
It was the story of her pathetic fucking life and she told it to
herself over and over so she could believe it was real.
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