Tag Archives: alcohol

The Junkyard Dog Bleeds

My love of words
is large and mean
and my heart
-it’s just a junkyard dog that
growls at nothing
and gnaws at old bones
until they’re dust.

I have become so much better
since I’ve obtained a strong handle
on the absurdity of myself
but still
there’s nothing easier
than picking up a bottle
when you’re heart is bleeding
all over the floor.

TUESDAY 4AM

As dreams leave me
like waves receding from a beach
I am left with the worry
that I have inherited from my mother
and since there is no one tool
that would fix all of my problems
I dart between them
like a hummingbird amongst flowers
not coming up with anything
but madness
I am left to fixate on a
corner of the ceiling
lit by the pale light of
an alarm clock
that’s dripping minutes
all over my tired face.

Sometimes when life is
kicking your ass
it just wants to grab you
by the balls too.

Short Segments of My New Horror Novel: The Dweller

Dweller Cover FINAL PRODUCT

Here are some short segments from ‘The Dweller’ just to provide a snapshot of what’s inside!

Dead Girl Writing on a blackboard:
https://hernanjmonzon.com/2014/09/27/dead-girl-writing-on-a-blackboard-dont-turn-her-around/

Facing Yourself Before the Fight:

https://hernanjmonzon.com/2014/05/16/facing-yourself-before-the-fight-dweller-chapter-15/

Voices Coming From the Walls:

https://hernanjmonzon.com/2014/05/04/hey-little-birdy-come-and-make-an-old-man-happy-dweller-chapter-14/

 

 

 

 

That’s One Piss That I’m Glad I’ve Taken

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.”

Cracking Open A Fresh Box of Wine

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.

At The Bottom of a Snake-pit Fending Off a Dragon

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…

What It’s Really Like Being a Writer

I gutted the chapter
because it was downright hideous.
What the Hell was I thinking?
That I could turn this macabre piece of bird shit
into something that was a joy to read?

I felt insane. Defeated.
I might as well jerk off and go to bed
but I was a fighter
because God never stopped pissing on my soul
so I went through it all again
slashing, hacking, mutilating
sometimes screaming as I did so
mostly crying
but I cleaned it out good
and then filled in the blanks
with something that made sense
thinking the whole time:
why was I a writer?
Why the fuck was I a Goddamn writer?
I would never be anybody. I was shit.
What a momentous waste of time!

I pounded at the keyboard
drank some wine
next thing I knew it was four in the morning.
“Jesus wept!” I cried.
I had to go to bed
so that I could wake up early before work
and work on this chapter again
because I was a lunatic in obvious need of rehabilitation.

Writing was a hard line to sell
even to yourself
even for all you other writers out there.

Goddamn you all to Hell.
I need a drink.

I Know the Tigers Are in There Somewhere

You flabby lion.
You meandering drunk.
You self-medicating
self-pitying
self-destructing
squandered soul.

Look at you!
Pathetic.

Let ourselves go,
have we?

I’ve seen livelier
sides of meat
in the lineup at
the Sunday soup kitchen
in hostels
in men’s shelters
and retirement homes.

Don’t tell me that
you’ve given up already
because you look like it
a lot.

I look in your eyes
and it’s like nothing’s
looking back at me
and that’s just no good
so I’m ready to bring out
the jumper cables
the baggies of meth
a shot of adrenaline
anything
to get you going again
like you were before
whatever you’re
going through
this time.

Christ, you’re like
a broken-down car!

If need be I will
pick you up and
shake you down
head to floor
hoping for something
to come out.

Come on!
I know the tigers
are in there
somewhere!