Monday, May 31, 2010

"We will stay the same now, won't we?" Danielle asked, quietly.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Climate Change

"Almost didn't make it, through all that darn sleet." he said, drying his glasses on a shirt corner. "It's almost a river out there."

"It's not freezing yet?" she asked.

"Not yet. Forecast said we had until about eight forty-five, when the cold front rolls in. What's for dinner?"

There was a roll of thunder and the power flickered, they both laughed nervously as, outside, the wind got angrier.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

"I'm glad we don't have a basement." she said, knocking her boots together before climbing out of the water, onto the stairs.

Her roommate chuckled.

Diana continued, "Yeah, the neighbor's got some weird whirlpool because of an errant eddy, and their house collapsed in, but the outer walls are all still there."

"That sucks."

(or)

It used to be: April Showers bring May flowers. Now it rains in May, and sometimes the flowers last a few days into the scorch of June.

Tea baggers scoff during the frigid winters, saying things like: Global warmin' mah ass! But it's not global warming. It's climate change.

There are a million other slogans that get bandied about, calls for this or that.

Really, though: More warm rains to dance barefoot in the cabbage fields is just fine by us.

Monday, May 24, 2010

We sat and roasted on the slow roof of her house, drinking beers and tossing the empty bottles into her swimming pool, where they shattered or plopped.

We laughed as the cats light footed about, jumping at flies, then dragon flies and, as the evening wore on, fire flies.

The sandwich delivery guy was very unsure at first, but we coaxed him to both (A) run to the liquor store, and (B) toss the beer, the ice, the ordered sandwiches onto the roof.

What did it was, one of us shouted: We can't come down, you're standing in lava! And we tipped him $30.

It was that kind of summer.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Off the deep end. (Or: Down a Dark and Vined Path)

"The Troll Queen is the most beautiful, towering, anthropomorphic leopard frog you will ever see. Tied down on the bed, as I was, she would tower over you, just as she did me. . ."

(or)

Daniel's nightmares are as clear as the glass knives The Troll Queen used, playing with him as she did, for those years and years and years.

In his nightmares, Daniel is strapped to a wooden table, an ancient rack made for stretching, and, knowing what's to come, he struggles, frantic. The first time this happened, he was drugged, euphoric.

The Troll Queen appears with a clapping sound and a raging sting on his face and, the first time, Daniel's eyes had snapped shut, been pried open, but in his dream, his eyes are already wide open, and she strolls into his vision casually and backhand wallops his face. In the dream, his flinching makes Daniel's eyes burn.

There she stood: the most beautiful amazonian brown, voluptuous and smiling; dressed in thin shadows, her huge lips a smile, her eyes recessed and hidden. A seven foot, sexy sexy sexy anthropomorphic leopard frog. A fearsome, bald dominatrix. A matron to be cuddled by.

She asked, "What were you doing in my orchard?" so sweetly.

"I was lost." Daniel replied.

"Doubtful."

"I was lost in a forest. I fell through a gate, and then heard voices, like a party or something, further in the woods and..." He stopped.

She waited, patiently.

Minutes ticked by, but finally, Daniel continued, "I think I was in there for days. I'm hungry."

"A party, or something?" The Troll Queen prompted.

"What?"

Another back hand, harder this time. And an uncomfortable prod at his mouth with her fingers. The Troll Queen said again: "A party, or something."

So he told her about his stumbling through thick leaves, and the heavy smoke, and, finally, of finding the camp fire, and the three young people roasting meat on sticks. He told her about the rosy glow of the fire, and chatting, then singing songs together, and no, no, no, he doesn't know how he knew the words.

"And found yourself in my orchard, how?" she asked.

So he told her about the winding down of the songs, and the nap they all took, and the getting up again, and then one of them -can't remember which- suggested they play hide and seek, and the wary faces the others put on. But he was happy, wanted to play a game, and so they said yes yes yes, let's play hide and seek, and hasn't it been a long time? And so they'd chosen an IT person, with bickering and play slaps, and Daniel ran off into the verdant forest, until he could barely hear the IT person counting to fifty. And he'd hidden, and no one had found him, and at first: yeay! But, after the minutes turned too long, he got nervous, decided to head back and . . . had wound up in the, excuse him, her orchard.

"And you were still hungry, so you ate one of my fruit?"

Yes, he said, and apologized again, and over and over and over until she pounded his face numb with a palm, to shut him up. She said, "You're getting to be a good big mouth, tattle tale teller, aren't you? Let's see if we can't help you blossom fully."

And then the glass knives came out. And the king crab sat on his chest and held down Daniel's tongue. And in went the knives. And The Troll Queen whistled, croaked a happy, wet and throaty tune, while she-

-Daniel always bolts upright, sweat drenched and shivering before the real pain begins.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

You come into the bar, out from the cold and the mottled slush, and it's warm in here. It's also almost empty: you, the barkeep and the tall, lanky fellow at the bar. That's good, you're looking for a quiet place to get out of your head and into a beer or two.

You sit down far away from the lanky fellow, and order a beer. The barkeep looks at his other customer, then pops the beer open for you. "On him." He says.

You say, "Thank-you" to the man and swish down the first refreshing gulp, savoring its roll down to your belly. You smile.

"You're welcome," The lanky fellow says. He asks, "You want to see a magic trick?"

You laugh, and this guy bought you a beer, so sure, why not? "Yeah, why not?" You say.

"Wonderful." Says he. He sidles over and smiles real wide. "It's a gross one, and you can't tell anyone *where* you saw it. You can tell people 'bout it. But don't tell 'em what i look like, or where it happened, alright? Those're the conditions. Agreed?"

You nod, smiling with curiosity.

"I can swallow your arm." The man says, grinning even wider.

And you laugh. What else could you do, at such a ridiculous statement?

"No, I'm serious. Take your coat off, roll up your sleeves if you've got 'em, and put your arm down my throat."

You think for a moment. You ask, "Is this like sword swallowing?"

"It is almost exactly like sword swallowing, yes, only for me? It is less dangerous. Now go on."

So you roll your sleeve up and the man stands and rolls his head a bit. "Just limbering up." He says.

Then, pulling at the corners of his mouth, he lisps at you to put your hand in his mouth, so you do.

He gestures for you to push a bit, so you do. A bit more: he's gesturing as if guiding a car into a parking space, and a few moments later you're shoulder deep in the man's face. He raises his heavy eyebrows at you, grins as best he can, and slowly, carefully, you pull your arm out.

The barkeep hands you a towel, and you wipe off the drool, of which: surprisingly little.

The lanky fellow sighs. "I was at a party once, swallowed a woman's leg not knowing her boyfriend was one room over. That was in . . . Montana, I think. Didn't end well for anyone."

You ask him: "So, can I buy you a drink?"

Monday, May 17, 2010

That gate, the first gate, it worked like this: the more easily it could be seen on this side of the path, the harder it was to get to the other end, where ever it was going.

So, if you had to hunt for minutes as the sun set quicker than you'd have thought, and you could barely get over the gate (it being over run by vines, propped closed by logs) then, once you were over it, the path to the next place was wide and even.

If, however, you walked up and there were no passing cars, no one to judge you strange, then the gate was right there, swung open a little -beckoning arms- when you approached, then your walk through to where ever this gate lead, whatever path it held in check (this path, dammed up and let bubble in a lake, on its threshold) that walk(?) would be harrowing.

Friday, May 14, 2010

"Home James, home."

The plastic strips were sticking to his thighs, the sweat hiding only in the shade, the heat eating the rest of it.

He drank deeply, longingly, from his pintglass of water, wiped a palm over his cropped hair and said, "I want to go to the moon."

She stared at him for a moment, through messy hair and dark overly big sunglasses. "You know," she said, her big mouth worked itself into a grin. "I could take us there." She nodded, mouth stretching happier, "I went there a few years back."

"How was it?" He was pretty sure their eyes were locked, but he could never quite tell with her.

"See, that's why I love you. You know when I'm telling the truth. I'll need to make a few calls, and we'll need to pick up some more sun screen, but yeah."

"Sweet!" he said, standing and clapping his hands, "Let's do it!"

She stood too. "You'll want to bring a change of pants and underwear. Me too. Probably some wet naps." She tapped her foot. "Look, it gets messy on the moon, okay? it's not like Earth. Sometimes, you shit yourself from what you see, or what happens, or what you end up doing. It's best to be prepared."

"I'll go pack a bag." He said, sounding somewhat nonplussed.

"Not too much, there are weight restrictions!"

"Weight restrictions? Really?"

"Yup. I'm just hoping I'm not to fat, now."

He punched her in the arm, "Hush."

"Hah! I couldn't feel that through my fat!" She laughed, then, "Ow!"

"See? Felt that one!"

"Jerk!"

"Whatever. You want me to pack you some things, too? We'll just split a back pack."

"Jerk."

"Whatever! We're going to the moon!"

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

He looked around, startled. He said to her, "This really, really, isn't how I pictured it."

Monday, May 10, 2010

Sunburned, smiling, drinking a warm cup of jasmine tea. "I want to go back to the moon," he said.

"The moon? We've only been the once, and that was. . . different."

"It was!" He smiled, "And I'm sure this time would be different too."

Friday, May 7, 2010

Here's how you did it, mostly:

One half pound of psilocybin mushrooms. Three and a half shots of tequila. One half loaded .44 magnum revolver.

You took the mushrooms between swigs from the bottle. And when there were three of everything, and everything was the same, perfect, color and your legs didn't work, you thumped your head down on your table, put the gun to your left ear and pulled the trigger.

And woke up yesterday. Only, there was no proof it was yesterday. You're bad with days, and, sometimes, with facts, too.

But you tried the bank robbery again. Shot yourself in the foot, adjusting your pants with the gun in your waistband. Went to the hospital. Got released. Got wasted on hallucinogens and Mexican booze and just before loosing consciousness, head on your table, you tried again.

And woke up yesterday, again. Only now, the hole in your foot was gone, as were the pain pills, and there were still only three bullets in the chamber.

And then, horrified, you noticed it: you were stone sober. And for the first time in the long, stuttering, line of your sobriety, you smiled.



NOTES:
* this is about withdrawl. (ryan) ?

Thursday, May 6, 2010

take two: lost nerve, walked out
take three: shot self in foot with gun, went to hospital
take four: two teller worth of money, not bad.
take five: shot self in leg, tried to finish, passed out from blood loss.
take six: stabbed in ear with pen from overzealous patron
take seven: locked in the vault
take eight: lost nerve, walked out
take nine: lost nerve, didn't even go in
take ten: all teller drawers nabbed, exploding wads avoided -that'll do

Monday, May 3, 2010

The sirens klaxoned closer, and he smiled, weak though he was. Bleeding to death from a hostage, who snapped from to too much threatening, with the police alarms tripped; this was a good first bank robbery attempt, and in his next life, he would get it right.