Voice

 

I could tell you a lot of things. Like where I was last night and how much beer I drank and how many times I wanted to break someone’s face open with my fist. I could describe in detail how people around me seem not to matter as much, people in general, all their intentions and perspectives and externalized realizations cluttering my surroundings. I could sit you down and explain the ways I function when I am sober and then when I am not, how my brain reacts to stimuli presented to me without warning. The stories I could tell you would challenge your everyday opinions about the world, about yourself, your matter of being. My voice would carry across the space between us and leave you lonely and alone. Your face would become ashen and your blood would drain into places you never knew existed. It would be a simple thing, really, without much need for instruction. Look at me: If I told you anything else, you’d fucking die.

 

Drift of Viagra

 

He took her on his new sailboat. She loved to ride on it and he loved to take her out. The boat was very long and he named it after her.

They lived in a small apartment. He worked at a drugstore and she just got laid off from a supermarket. She sat in the apartment all day eating crackers and watching tv. Sometimes she would drink vodka and smoke but some days she just slept.

He came home one day and found her watching tv. She stood and started to hug him but he grabbed her and pushed her into the bedroom. His face was red and she didn’t know what was happening.

“Honey? What are you doing?” she shouted.

He unzipped his pants and his long, blue cock flopped out, bulging like a tower of blueberries. He slapped her across the face with it, the sting hot on her face. He tried to control it, but it snaked outward, like a darting tentacle, and wriggled its way into her panties.

“Oh!” she screamed in ecstasy. “It hurts so good! Fuck me, baby!”

He was aghast at his writhing snake dick, the veins bulging, the purplish rod jabbing, ripping through her panties. Before he knew it, his dick grew too hard, and turned to stone. Like a Medusa curse, his dick slammed to the floor with a thud, as if a statue had just been tipped over.

She looked disappointed at the petrified penis, as it lay stolid on the floor. She left the room and pleasured herself with a mop handle. Pretty soon he was gone in search of a replacement cock and she never rode on his boat again. But she kept his stone dick in a drawer under her panties and nightie shirts for future use.

Death of Roach

 

When the man’s heart stopped beating, everyone around him stopped talking even though no one knew his heart had stopped. It was just that something had seemed to change and they had stopped talking when the man died, since his heart had stopped beating.

No one knew what to say so they said nothing. The man was dead, his heart was no longer beating, and everyone around him stood very still, saying nothing to either the dead man or each other.

The entire room was quiet.

No one said anything.

The man said nothing. He was dead.

Sperm Girl

 

Something I thought of, like walking into the lobby and saying ‘Mr. Holiday Inn, is there a room for me? Can I come in?’ and other things. But instead I stand here darkly on this street. Without cash. Without all there is to be without.

‘Excuse me,’ someone says as they halt their passing. ‘Excuse me, miss, do you have a spare cigarette?’

Do I have a spare cigarette. I don’t have a spare anything, mister, not even a spare life. Only got one of those and it’s about flat. The mister walks on, unamused. He is aiming for the Tropic of Cancer. Doubt he’s got even a wife. Maybe a tiny pet but that’s it.

I’m supposed to be working. I’m supposed to be at the club. Was supposed to be there an hour ago. Oh well, I’m sick of it, the way they treat me. Dollar bills don’t pay the bills. It takes something more, really. A monster of some sort, a monster who barges into your life and takes care of you, who barges into your life and takes care of you. Who’ll barge right in and take care of you.

Sitting, my legs are tired. But I know these streets, I know ’em. Know ’em better than I know myself. Some people say there isn’t much up here in this head of mine. But I know a lot. I know a real lot. I got that part down.

Tomorrow?

Don’t ask me about tomorrow.

Recycle

 

I press Enter but nothing happens. Pressing Enter results in nothing.

There must be something wrong somewhere. If I knew how to understand it I would.

My life is hard water.

No mail today except for recycle. The recycle is not mail. I don’t know what to call it but recycle.

Questions keep coming in.

One person begins where another person ends. This is the same as death after living. A person who begins will begin when another person ends. But the person who begins will end as well and another will begin thereafter.

Somehow this is something I understand.