Her love is a
crowbar into
the stomach.
It’s a gun fight
in a closet.
It’s a black hole
in a paper cup.
Her love is a
grenade in a
gumball machine.
An electric chair
in a summer dress.
It’s a Third Reich parade.
Now i drive fast
with my eyes closed.
Scream into bottles
of Chardonnay.
Pick fights with
ghosts in long ago
basements
while looking
for reasons
in a cereal box
and empty parking lots.
Taking it all in
one long moment
sitting there
on the edge of the bed
with a gun in your hand
blood on the sheets
a brunette laying across them
naked
pale
stiff
like a mannequin
you don’t recognize the gun
the room
her
your clothes
You don’t know how you got there
at all
so you lie back
upon the bed
your head close
to her hip
taking it all in
one long moment
staring at the ceiling fan
spinning
a quiet shadow
across everything
before you close
your eyes
and try to wake up.
At first, Randall was appalled when the noisy bathroom fan suggested that he murder his girlfriend right there and then, but then he grew intrigued. With the fan’s persuasive voice, the thought of murder solidified into an ideal. Was it possible? In fact, was it the only thing that would set things right?
He was beginning to think so.
The bathroom fan had been broken since Randall had moved into the small corner unit five months ago. So, instead of the calming thrum that accompanied most properly functioning, well-maintained exhaust fans –it instead produced a violent, garbled choking that resembled a dying animal in heat. Its multi-layered rattling occasionally peaked into a wild banshee-like scream that almost seemed deliberate and threatened to take over everything.
And one day it did just that when it simply began to speak.
…Randall…
“Yes?” Randall looked around then up at the fan. “Hello? Is somebody in there?”
…You have to take her out, Randall. Use one of your long kitchen knives…make it dirty…
“Why would anybody do that? And why would I, especially? I really, really like her.” Randall held a quizzical expression on his face. He didn’t really understand, but the noisy bathroom fan would help him with that.
…That’s why you’ve got to do it, to protect yourself from people like her…she’s going to get in and eat you all up from the inside like a cancer…
The voice that came from the fan seemed to fall directly into Randall’s ear in a soothing lull that betrayed its chaotically abrasive presence. The fan knew things. The fan was Randall’s friend and was only looking out for him. But still…
“No! No!” Randall struggled with the idea now. Amy was perfect for him, wasn’t she?
…She’s gonna mess you up, Randall, just like your ex-wife…because she doesn’t know any better…
The fan’s words swept through Randall’s mind, bringing light into where there once was only darkness and planting seeds where that light now was so that ideas could grow. Randall’s eyes widened. He was beginning to see.
“Yes, you’re right. I need to do this.”
…Gotta mess her up, Randall…
“I’m gonna mess her up!”
…Do it now…do it now…
“I’m gonna do it right now!”
Randall left the bathroom and quietly walked past the living room where Amy was sprawled on the sofa watching Netflix. Randall slowly entered into the small side kitchen where he pulled a long, stainless steel knife from a drawer. He then approached Amy slowly from behind raising the knife over his head, readying to plunge it deep into the back of her neck just like the fan wanted.
Amy sensed Randall behind her and spun her head around to see him standing right there. It looked like Randall was holding something behind his back.
“What’s up, Babe?” She asked, eyes widened.
“Nothing, Hon.” Randall swayed on his feet just enough to lean over and leave the knife on the counter. That would have to do, for now. “Hey listen, do you think you can stay over tonight? I can take you home in the morning.”
“Ok, sure. Come, sit down on your favourite recliner.” Randall looked like he thought it was a good idea. Amy tilted her head. “You alright? You look a little triggered.”
“No, everything’s fine,” Randall sighed, “I just have to fix the exhaust fan in the bathroom.”
“I noticed. It’s rather noisy.”
“Oh yeah? You were in there for quite a while earlier. Forgot about that.”
“It told me you were going to kill me.”
Randall laughed nervously as he usually did when he didn’t know what to do or say. The bathroom fan was right: he was a big pussy. Amy slowly pulled a larger kitchen knife than the one Randall had out from under the cushion she sat upon and held it in a firm grip.
“Think this is a joke?” Amy said as she got up.
You’re terrified of death because you don’t really know what it is, what it’s like, what comes after. You’ve spent your whole life building things up but all that will be gone in an instant and you are deeply troubled by the idea that there is nothing afterwards; that you just extinguish like a light, forever. Most people cannot bear the thought of it. That’s why we have drowned ourselves in religion for thousands of years.
“Talk dirty to me.”
The universe is apathetic to your condition. Throughout the centuries humanity is made to suffer; built to sing, to bleed, to create vast landscapes of art, music and poetry based on all that experience and in the end will receive nothing in return because even with our sentient intelligence, resilience, cultural and technological advancements –your life has no more value than that of an insects. That you thought it would be any different is nothing short of comedic.
“You’re a nasty piece of work. I like it.”
You all want to think that you’ll go to Heaven, that you’ll get some kind of reward for living or that you’ll return again somehow in someway, but you won’t and there is nothing after. You will die and your energy will return to the cosmos. It will most likely be distributed between a number of various elements such as comet dust, fungi on Mars, running water or part fucking dog fart.
“You’re gonna get it sideways.”
But I can tell you that nobody ever makes it off this planet. Not a chance. We are too greedy, selfish and weak to ever unite and conquer our own environment, never mind outer space, so all of these great inventions and discoveries are fuck all and nothing is worth a shit. We will perish with no understanding of the universe and with not having met any other intergalactic species that is how pathetic and insignificant we all are. In the end life is nothing more than senseless detritus wasting away on a floating cemetery filled with a bunch of fucking nobodies.”
“I gotta go. You’re getting it next time for sure.”
LATER, TALKING TO HARRY…
“Hey, how’s dating your life coach going?”
“Same. Think she knows everything. We all die. Nothing’s after. No point of anything. I’m a dog-fart.”
“Shit, doesn’t it get to you? I mean, this is all just so weird, Man. And you’re weird. I know she’s fucking weird….”
“Sure. Well, we can have these great in-depth discussions but honestly sometimes I feel like we’re just so disconnected. I mean, I keep trying to get with her but all I get back is that we’re all a bunch of losers that are going to die for nothing. It’s frustrating. Maybe it’s my approach but I don’t really get why it’s not working.”
“You gonna move on?”
“Nah. She’s still…interesting…and besides, my previous life coach makes her seem like a fucking optimist.”
“Well then, what can I say? Keep going. Sometimes you have to eat shit in order to see the sunlight.”
We abate
softly
into nothingness
into finality
into the darkness
beneath a great empty canvas
and so on this certain passing
I felt almost touched
and almost
momentarily elated
if you will
from the brooding vacuous maelstrom
that has become most days
it was somewhat like catching
the whisper of an echo
in a backroom
or hearing the flight
of a hummingbird
at the other end
of the garden,
catching a ghost
at the edge
of a photograph,
reaching out and
touching dust
floating in sunlight,
absorbing the strain
of a single violin
in a blazing symphony
or feeling the breeze
that barely bends the meadow.
As fleeting as fireflies
we become to each other.
Just give it a little time
and everything
becomes nothing.
I’ve fallen for you
and I’m still falling
like out of a plane
without a parachute
or from a building
without a net
without a care
without a worry
without any concern
at all
it’s just so rare
that sometimes
it just feels good
to let yourself
fall
to feel yourself
falling
and when I hit the ground
as I surely will
it will be with
open arms
and a
smile.
Sometimes
the only way to judge a port
is by the caliber
of sailors
that pass through.
After the fight
I walked calmly down the stairs
towards the front door
with table legs
breaking on my back.
My brother was in the kitchen
making coffee
“Good morning!” I said as I dodged a stool.
“She’s real pissed. I’ll explain later. I’m off to work.”
My brother lifted his cup
shrugged
and returned to the window.
A lady
across the playground
was pushing a stroller
both were bundled up
so that you couldn’t see anything
but eyes.
It was a brutal winter.
It was -26C out.
I had turned the key twice but my car wouldn’t start.
It would just growl a little then die.
I gave it a dirty look.
It started.
I drove across a city
covered in ice as brittle as glass
and snow turned hard as stone
screaming along to a rap song I hated
but knew the words to anyways.
I passed a kid who had his tongue stuck to a pole.
His was frantically waving his arms about.
I gave him the finger and hit the gas.
I laughed. He looked like a penguin
except that he was holding a cellphone.
There you go, Buddy. Don’t need your tongue to
text your way out of this one.
Text, Motherfucker, text!
I got to her house and barged in wearing a squirrel.
Putting beers in the fridge I wondered why
it was cold as my ex’s dead heart inside
when she came down wearing a parka without pants
because nothing about her made sense
except her legs.
“I have baseboard heating. It’s too expensive.” She said.
I turned on the sink
hoping for some hot water to splash into my numbed face
but the pilot light must have been off because
it came out colder than glacier run-off in Alaska.
North Alaska.
I thought that it could have been
another money saving device.
What the fuck, was she a penguin too?
Penguins, they were everywhere…they were watching me.
I knew her for ten years.
We’ve only fucked twice
and that made me inexplicably sad
all of a sudden
so I cracked open a tall can.
“Really?” She said. “It’s 10AM.”
“Best to get an early start.”
“Why do you always drink?”
“It helps me face the absolute terror of every day.”
“So, you’re a coward is what you’re saying.”
Women were always on the attack with me.
They hated me secretly and used everything about me
against me with relative ease and the reason
that I hung out with them more than other guys
was because I was the biggest fucking masochist on the planet.
“Jesus, is EVERYTHING cold around here?” I shouted
then gulped the thing down.
‘Oh, that’s nice.” I said.
She laughed. “At least your beer is cold.”
“Yes, it is.” I said. “You are so maddeningly beautiful when you’re disappointed in me. Do you have any perks?”
She smiled, turned around and opened a cupboard.
Burning bridges
is good practice
in bad thinking.
hernanjmonzon.com 