I kick an old flyer
onto the road.
The wind blows it
right back.
Debris has conquered the streets
-trash unleashed from ice like artifacts-
as across the lawns
the mounds of snow
have melted down
to last November.
“So, you now have two choices.” She offered.
“What are they?” I asked as I walked around the bed towards my stash.
“Fuck or fight me.” Moon-girl grinned.
“How about a little of both?”
“Oh, I like the way you think.”
I turned back to the window just as the bedroom door burst open and Michael strode in, entering into the reflection of the glass like a ghost walking into the night sky. I turned around and shook my head. It was always a nice vacation here when he wasn’t around but it never lasted long between visits.
“Get rid of the groupie, now.” He adamantly demanded.
“She doesn’t have to go anywhere.” I replied.
“That’s right!” The groupie said. “I don’t…”
With a wave of his hand, Michael threw her off the bed as though she was moved violently by an invisible force. I really hoped that she wasn’t a journalist now. That would be hard to explain unless one had taken into account all of the booze and drugs that flowed freely through my place at any given time. Michael then, by moving his finger across the air, dragged the poor, screaming girl across the hardwood floor all of the way out slamming the front door behind her. Great, soon there would be a screaming naked woman down in the lobby. No wonder rent was so astronomically high.
Turning around and smiling at the disapproval on my face, he said, “Hey, I asked politely.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.” Michael rubbed his bald head in frustration.
Author’s note: This was an excerpt from my current project ‘The Dweller’ that I have slaved over the last few months and now can finally see the end drawing near. I had written this novel 14 years ago and chose to rewrite it, which was a large mistake as it would have been less effort to write a new book from scratch. Lesson learned, I think.
In the elevator
I spotted an empress
and I would priest for her,
doctor her pains,
soldier her wars;
I would do many,
mighty things
all within the span of
30 seconds
-then she was gone
and things returned to
as they were.
I was not dead, well, still half-dead but still here above ground. I had simply passed out from the overall strain of whatever I was doing which I could not exactly recall so it must have been very intense. For how long I was out for I wasn’t entirely sure but I had awakened to hands shrugging my shoulders with increasing intensity and so crossed my arms over my face to shield myself while shouting, “No! Get away from me, you Haggard Wench!”
Calm, cool hands brought my arms down gently and I ventured to open my eyes to find not the easily excitable (and extraordinarily insane) healing bag-lady but Sophina knelt down before me, peering into my face questionably. It was quite the contrast. Sophina looked so much more outer-worldly majestic than at any other time that I had seen her. It ached to watch her, even for a moment. Black dress, black lipstick, black hair, large black eyes and a white porcelain face from a dolls from a dream that you would not want to ever forget faced me and I somehow knew that she was not here to harm or terrify me, not this time.
‘Dweller.’ She whispered.
I gazed at Sophina as an artist would a fine painting. That she was here seemed nothing short of a miracle and reinforced what Jacob had said about her being my keeper. I still did not truly understand what that entailed but I didn’t have to, not right then. I had never been so close to her and I had just opened my eyes. That in itself was its own reward. The question of why Sophina was here or how she had got here did not seem too important at the time. The fact was that she was here. I felt as though I was staring at heaven, a dark heaven filled with impossibilities to be broken.
I reached out and touched her face. Sophina did not back away, instead her eyes grew with curiosity so I caressed her and she let me, even leaned into my hand. There was such sadness in her there that I did not see before. It was breaking my heart to look at her but would only break it even more to turn away.
(Excerpt from ‘The Dweller’ Chapter 11)
Late night at the bar.
I walked out of the bathroom
and there were bodies
all over the floor
moaning and
bleeding.
Smashed bottles lay everywhere.
Every table was overturned.
Somebody was trying to crawl
off the pool table and
the bartender was crying.
A man on the floor
on his stomach
was trying to reach out for me
holding his jaw.
There was a pool cue
sticking out of his back.
As I leaned down to
yank it out
I said to him,
“Well,
that’s one piss
that I’m glad I’ve taken.”
“Here’s your new phone.”
“It’s looking at me funny!”
“That’s probably your own reflection.”
“Where are all the buttons?”
“It doesn’t have any.”
“What kind of witch-magic is this?!”
I gave the phone a shake.
Nothing happened.
Nothing came out.
All the witches must still be inside.
I shook it harder
then stuffed it down my pants.
The store clerk was looking at me
like I just murdered his Chihuahua
with a sledgehammer
and then ate it.
Her face is stark white like a fresh sheet
sailing happy blank eyes summer sky blue
white pearls packed together everywhere
between her balloon watermelon lips.
It’s mesmerizing,
you become captivated
and start to writhe about like a charmed snake.
That’s the lady that works the Sobeys wine store
by far one of the most jovial
perpetually rapturously excited
overwhelmingly joyous
Hallelujah’s
that I have ever encountered.
Her moon face is always lit up
brighter than a solar flare
streaking across the midnight of my existence.
I quickly snatch my box
away from her smile but not before
checking my hair in her teeth.
I growl
and rush out of the store
peering at everybody suspiciously.
They want my wine.
Even though there are boxes of boxes
stacked everywhere in plain sight
where I just came from
they want mine.
Those fuckers
are not getting shit from me.
I hold it tight against my chest
right beside my heartbeat
and make for the door.
mmmyyyy wwwwiinnnne.
Mee luuuuuvvvss meee wwiiinnnee.
Sooo preccciious.
In anticipation
I tear open the box
and crack the seal on the spout
in the car
making strange mewling noises.
No, there’s nothing wrong with me
at all.
I get home kick open the door
slam the box on the counter and
quickly check out some bondage action on my phone.
Grabbing a glass from the cupboard
is always an exercise in delicate judgement
it has to be the right one
but since I only have two types to choose from
forget that I fucking said anything.
Then…THEN…
there’s the first pour.
The first pour is always the best.
It doesn’t just stream out,
It GUSHES out like a CANON or
like water BLASTING from a CRACK in a DAM!!
It’s like a MIRACLE of GOD!
A freshly spread VIRGIN!
A volcano in the soul erupting loud colours
across the cement hue of stubborn February.
Makes you just want to
spray it up into your face while laughing maniacally
spray it out into eternity
while laughing at your own nothingness
shoot it out into the streets
let the people dance when not murdering
each other’s spirit
as trumpets blared
angels sang
and midgets danced.
As it comes out straight from a heaven
that you will never see
you just want to pour it
all over your
fucking soul.
My Russian neighbour’s wife,
she has a lot of heft to her and she wields it like
a battle-axe in a field full of dead Scotsman.
She likes to spend her time shovelling the snow
and for reasons beyond my mortal grasp
she will shovel the holy flying fuck
out of everything in sight
for hours at a time.
Because I hear it from my window
all day long
day after day
when it’s not even snowing
and hasn’t for days.
First she’ll do the driveway
then the adjoining neghbour’s
then the sidewalk
the edges all around
twice
and finally the front lawn
all with this look of rage darkening her pale face
turning it red
while she pushes that shovel hard in deep as though
she were killing a small furry animal
or destroying the lives of the innocent.
I know that there’s something wrong with her.
Some people wear crazy
all over their face.
You could see it.
You could smell it.
So while I was out salting my driveway
the other day
as she shoveled away
I began to dance
because in being a
stand up stand straight standout guy
I thought it would bring some levity
to her existential angst
as she furiously drove the shovel in
cracking large chunks of ice
like they were the backs of the weak.
She most likely hated her reality,
despised her kids,
hated Canada and Canadians.
Americans, them too.
Probably hated her husband most of all
and when she was done here
she was going to go back inside
and beat him half to death
or worse, fuck him.
I could picture his face grimacing
as she enveloped him in the folds of her flesh
screaming out as she thrust angrily,
screaming something about the good old days of Stalin.
He probably didn’t like it. I know I wouldn’t. Christ.
I was on the road now
shaking my two cups full of road-salt
in each hand
like they were maracas
feet like Usher, like Beiber, like Timberlake
all rolled into one Godless pointless fuck
as she continued to pound the handle
deeper into China.
She hated sunlight and music,
ice cream and happiness.
She hated not being in chains.
She wished that unicorns existed
just so she could stab one to death
with its own horn.
I was dancing. I was really shaking it.
I was a giraffe. I was a lion.
I was a monkey.
She plowed away at grass now
throwing chunks of frozen earth
onto the road.
She hated Ghandi and Bambi.
She hated things that slept peacefully.
She hated things that tried to crawl away
from the merciless hammer of industrialization.
I was doing the robot, the running man.
I was hustling into another dimension.
She thrust her shovel deep into an embankment of ice
and started heaving pieces of it
over towards me.
I danced out of the way,
thank you, Mr. Timberlake.
Her husband peeked his head out the door
and asked her something.
Face flushed, she turned and started screaming at him
in Russian most likely telling him
to go to Hell in a really creative way.
Overall, my dancing had little effect
as she still seemed as angry
as Hitler giving a speech
so all that effort was for naught.
She still hated God, the government, gravity.
She hated words, shapes and colours.
She wished that everything was at the bottom
of the Black Sea and from the looks of things
she intended to dig us all there
right now.
In fact, she was out there
as I was typing up this little ditty.
Scrape scrape scraping away.
I turned up the Bach
so that I didn’t have to hear her anger
in my living room.
There is just something
about classical music
that moves the soul
into sunlight.
Don’t you think?
Maybe she should try it.
I was in an apartment building
I still have bad dreams about
at the west end of Cambridge
on the tail-end of being high for two days
but I wasn’t even sure on what.
People liked me so they always gave me things
and when I’m drunk I’ll drop whatever
like a champ
because I’m the Pacman
of human garbage receptacles.
For some bizarre reason I sat in a chair
in the middle of the living room
facing the front door
with some broad in my lap.
Seen her around but
never really got her name
just knew that she was trouble and
wondered if she thought the same of me.
Her ass felt good there.
There was enough of it to really make an impression.
I squeezed her breast and kissed her neck.
I didn’t give a fuck who was watching.
The front door opened and some
bald scary motherfucker
drunk out of his mind barged in.
From word on the street
he was bad-ass crazy and addicted to aerosol cans
and as he smashed his half-full beer
against the wall
got on his knees
raised his scarred arms and screamed
something in Japanese
-I believed it.
In fact,
I believed that this man could
start a fight
in an empty house.
The host
a grizzly chain-smoking native
in an torn Iron Maiden shirt
and Hello-Kitty sunglasses
calmly strolled over and started
feeding him uppercuts
like they were half-price at Walmart.
This was all happening right in front of me
so I was about to get up when the girl
wiggled around in excitement.
Sick bitch. I got hard.
I stayed.
Wham!
They were on the floor to the left of us
Wham! Wham!
Now to the right.
How they avoided hitting my chair
and us hitting the floor
to involuntarily join them in this orgy of violence
was an absolute miracle of God
(there is no God here).
Despite all the action
I started to close my eyes
wondering if I would wake up in Mexico
buried in a crate of oranges
when her cool, calm, soft, compelling
voice whispered into my ear
“You’re exhausted, Sweets. Let’s get you to bed.”
I couldn’t talk. I merely nodded.
Wham! Wham! Wham!
Yeah, that shit was still going on.
She got me on the mattress and undressed me
with the proficiency of a
hospital emergency ward
climbed on top of me and started kissing me
or more like trying to stab my tongue to death
with hers.
Her breath was terrible.
Did she ever fucking brush those things?
She seemed so nice, so cool and collective
up until now but this was what it was like
in the snake pit where everyone was vicious
if you gave them time or opportunity.
She turned beast…Dragon!
I felt trapped beneath her fire.
I didn’t want this. Maybe tomorrow.
Probably never.
She was started to make me sick.
Her smell, her weight on me, her tongue, her raspy laugh
-all of it
“Baby, no. I don’t think I can do this. I feel like
my soul is dying. There’s lots of gusto in the other room.
Go find one of them.”
“Fuck that! You’re the prettiest thing here. If you
don’t like it then just shut the fuck up and lie there.”
This was abuse. I was sure of it
because it wasn’t the first time
and I just wanted to turn her over
pin her down, smile and say,
‘So what if I said that to you, huh?
What if I fucking did this to you?’
“Christ, okay.” I replied sheepishly instead.
I was weak as a kitten and this girl
was going to get what she wanted
whether I liked it or not
because at the bottom of the snake pit
it was hard to push off
what slithered all over top of you
and sometimes you couldn’t
see the dragon
until the clothes came off.
So I closed my eyes
as she began to rock
back and forth
back and forth
back and…
It was only -17C this morning but still I had to scrape off and warm up the car hopefully without stumbling this time and helplessly sliding down the sloped driveway screaming towards the merciless blade of the gigantic plow that marauds our street in these ridiculous hours because I once again forgot to purchase road-salt at the beer store.
So after I quickly threw on multiple layers of clothes, scarves, duct-tape, old newspaper and my jacket before stuffing pillows into every available space I then set myself on fire, opened the front door and charged towards my car with the ice-scraper in hand like a war-crazed native from a dense jungle wall.
As I was viciously scraping the impenetrable ice from my windshield my next door neighbor casually strolled out of his garage whistling Niel Young with his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if it were a calm spring morning. I scraped faster trying to avoid eye contact which was an exercise in futility because he was standing right beside me.
“Hey Neighbor! Nice crisp morning, ain’t it?”
“Crisp.” I said. “Like lettuce.”
I scraped even faster. You could barely see the scraper by this point it was moving so fast. He started wandering around my car.
“You get any letters from the city?”
“no…lettt..tt..err…s..s.” My teeth were chattering and starting to crack. Please go away, please please go away and I’ll never jerk off again. I thought.
“Well, welly well well…I got a couple.” He exclaimed as though the very idea of it aroused him. “One for my truck being a couple inches out onto the sidewalk overnight and another for the sidewalk not being cleared.”
“That’s horribb..bb..bb..le.” By this point there were icicles forming in my esophagus and my eyes were crystalizing.
He obviously didn’t share my pain because he was a polar bear of a man and had a lot more blubber encasing his bones than my South American ass. But I couldn’t be anything but nice to him because he was always kind and plowed our driveway whenever it snowed so I occasionally cut the eternally joyous fuck’s lawn in the summer.
I was just about done and he was strolling towards the road where his wife was calmly seated in their nice warm minivan when he turned to me and began talking about the weather just as I was about to scurry back inside like a cockroach when the lights came on.
I thought about killing him to end my misery. Sometimes certain things had to be done and this was why people turned on each other. I could lunge forward and ram the scraper into his throat, thus rendering it futile for him to breathe. I could picture his huge head turning beet-red as he helplessly clutched at his crushed larynx until he fell lifelessly backwards to thud against the pavement.
But then there was his wife that had witnessed it. Would have to take care of her too and then ditch the minivan. Fuck, that might make me late for work.
Yes, when you are talking to someone who is quickly turning into a snowman this is what is rolling through their head. Be kind to your neighbors who are not whale-seals like your complacent couch-eating selves and just let them scrape for God’s sake or maybe next time you’ll end up garbage-bagged under a foundation of the housing project across the field wondering what was going to happen on the next episode of Duck Dynasty.
Slide.