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(prose in poetry, metaphors for the eternally tired)
Jack is on vacation, come back tomorrow.
Prologue: (love what you do to me)
She wore the cloths of a frigid mother, house wife, bitch, but she was beautiful. Under the cloak of convention was a body drunk with decadence. Her mind was on fire with strange ideas and ambition, inflamed with unknown experience. From her lips dripped the dreams of men. From her thighs steamed moist soft heat. Sometimes I would hover around her head absorbing her words and thoughts. Other times I would sink inside her, emersed, forgotten, lost, euphoric in a sea of primordial indifference. The gaze of her absent eyes would penetrate my body making me squirm, giddy like a child being bathed, baptized, drowned. On stormy nights she would stand in mud and pouring rain while I grubbed and groveled at her feet, licking at her toes, in the mud, with pride, in conquest. At times even Christ in heaven masturbated with envy.
*************************************
Time hates you, living deadman.
Skin cell no. 1 (brain cell no.6)
My four walls contain me, nothing else but me; me and my filth. Waste crusts the floor in piles of my trash. It's all around me, extensions of me. My shit children born from me out of unknown substance, sustaining me from an unknown source. My belly is always full.
The air in my room, the space that contains me is pasty with smoke. Thick gaging smoke blown out from my lungs. Heaved out of me in uncontrollable mechanical spasms, forced by reflexes naturally beyond my control. My lungs repeat the process over and over in a constant flowing motion bellowing out my breath. Toxic breath sucking the poison in, and pushing back out. My eyes tear as the clouds travel and plume onto the walls or the ceiling or the floors and return crashing back into my face. Hot air in my face. My four walls contain my air with a rubber seal efficiency, tight and binding, never letting a breath escape. Thick choking suffocating breath never escaping air tight. Sometimes in the quiet and the dark I hear a fly buzzing or a cockroach crawling, scratching, clicking up my wall. At times I'm sure I've been invaded. My bunker womb has been violated and I start to cry. But I calm down. I know if they're here, they're just part of me. Nothing is alive in my four walls. Here, everything is dead. (Inside.)
***************************************
The little monkey man led them in a parade through paradise. Glory, glory let them all in.
There I was, in my dusky room on a dirty floor stinking of stale sex, cigarette ash and lies. There I was, with seven children of God all around me. A cast of angels:
-Three sat by my side in the bodies of three dogs, black as tar smeared midnight. They were all in a line softly moaning, suffering quietly.
-Three in the bodies of three young ladies dead and cold. They stood before me one by one waiting. Decaying with their eyes closed.
-One in the body of a small naked boy. He stood in the corner of the room and his body faintly glowed just enough for me to see.
The child was chained from neck to floor by a bronze linked leash. He stood next to the wall with a vacant stare as he cracked his head into the grey bricks. Over and over, slowly and methodically into the same bloody spot. I watched enthralled, enamored, hypnotized as the deep rich droplets of blood once racing through the boys body came bubbling out into the cold world above. Every crack of skull and brick popped little dark beads into flight. I was fascinated like an eager child and I watched each drop fall, slowly speeding into the granite floor exploding into nothing. I was content.
I turned to the first three by my side and pointed to the boy. "Why doesn't he scream?"
"Because my lord, he doesn't know to scream," spoke the dog weeping.
"Just as you don't know to scream," snarled the angel.
"He is deluded in his perceptions and pleasures," spoke the dog whining.
"Deluded as you are, my lord," panted the angel.
"He is blind to his spectacle and humiliation, though he can see," spoke the dog sobbing.
"Blind as you are, my lord," barked the angel.
I felt a slow wave of dusty heat crawl down my head around my body knocking me smiling dizzy. I turned to the women with a half wits grin. I got it. They floated off the ground with arms out stretched beckoning me forward. Sealed with sleep their gateway eyes slowly opened releasing large wet tongues. They opened their mouths and unrolled more, sticky red tongues. With a musical rip, their nipples revealed another pair of fat hungry tongues squeezing forward slug like, dripping threads of mucus. They reached out for me, beckoning forward.
I began to giggle. The dogs began to laugh. The boy stopped his work and pulled at his chain chuckling. I began to laugh. The dogs began to howl.
I got it. I got the joke.
(but it wasn't that funny at all)
*****************************************
The silence speaks to me. It whispers secrets held deep in the minds
of sleeping lovers. Secrets the lucky forget. Don't you hear it? It speaks in
tongues, motherfucker. It screams.
There was a girl once, with a painted face. Not painted on, painted. Like a renaissance saint, Joan of Arc at the stake, softly martyred. Her skin was smooth and relaxing like a narcotic sleep, glowing specter pale. Only her eye lids moved. Slowly in lazy dreaming motions. Opening and closing barley detectable over cavern water eyes. Eyes sad and unreadable, eyes that see differently. She knows something. She never talked. She never smiled. She never looked my way. I wished she would, and I'm glad she didn't. She stood in the corner of the room and mourned. For what I don't know. She just stood there while the little monkey man ran in circles up the walls, across the ceiling and down the walls, screaming obscenities as he went.
The light bulb screamed and the bricks bled and I felt melancholy, crying for the rest of the day.
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Ain't that right, living deadman.
Skin cell no. 2 (brain cell no. 35)
My four walls were white once. Shiny white enamel bricks. I remember that. I remember the smell. The enamel smell of my shiny white bricks. Now they 're grey and cracked old with grime. I can see the grey, I can smell it. The mortar lines in between the bricks are caked with age and smoke, dust mysteriously settling in my vacuum tight four walls. There are microscopic patterns splintering across the bricks. Intricate delicate patterns mapping across my room laying out landscapes of worlds I will never visit. Taunting me with directions to places far more glorious than the room my four walls contain me in. Mocking me with roads that don't reach my door. I know they're there, I can feel them. I can see them. Up and down my four walls.
****************************************
"What is your name?" I asked the spider sitting on my wall
"My name is Joe," he replied.
"Why are you here?" I asked the spider.
"I don't know," he replied.
So there we were, Jack and Joe.
The slamming door pulled me up out of my liquid dream, wet and dripping with warm fantasy into the dry world above. I opened my eyes and focused on the little monkey man, my dirty keeper. He smiled for a moment with a toothless simpleton stare and then pointed to the end of the room which had stretched creaking long into a hall ending beyond my sight.
From the center of the hall a pool of thick water began to form bubbling up from the granite floor rushing, hurrying to form a stagnate pond. Moments after it's calm completion the center began to ripple and stew then steam and boil. from the middle of the disturbance suddenly erupted two angels leaping out onto the water.
One riding on the back of the second galloping across the pool onto the shore where I stood dazed. The rider appeared as a well built woman with the head of a black dog, horse whip in hand. The beast appeared as a well built man with the head of a black mule sporting bloody holes for eyes. They stopped in front of me and the rider pulled at the mules head which promptly snapped off.
"My lord, do you enjoy my prize? This animal I ride?" Inquired the angel, lifting the head and spitting fire.
The dismembered animal burped decay "I'm used at convenience."
"When I finish I'll toss away this disgusting thing, and it will know no better," declared the angel with glee.
The head wiggled boasting, "I'll call it a great victory ."
"Why?" I mumbled to my self.
"Because my lord, it is deceived."
"I am deceived."
"Then it deserves it's fate," I whispered choking.
They laughed and jeered. The rider set down the whip and reached into her mouth and pulled out a large serpent.
"My lord this is our gift to you," she said tossing the snake into my arms. "Does he look familiar?"
With that the angel took up the whip and cracked it. They leapt into the air, laughing as the went and rode into a hole in the sky.
"Don't worry, " reassured Joe, "everything is just fine," I squeezed the snake tight to my chest and closed my eyes.
***************************************
I opened my eyes and lying in my arms what did I see, but the most beautiful thing that there ever could be.
A gun, is something very special. A weapon, a gun has power. A gun is an extension of one's anger. With a gun I can rain death on who ever displeases me. I point my finger and destroy, magically like a God. A gun shoots down innocence. A gun shoots down illusions of might. A gun shoots down naivety and weakness. With a gun I can take life. I can shatter worlds and banish souls. A gun burns in wombs and leaves voids in infant hearts. It's a maker of grief and tears leaving years of accomplishment and struggle nothing more than fading memories in the minds of the mourning.
Here I was with the most wonderful gift. A key, an answer, deliverance from myself, but it didn't shine; my wrist was limp with it's weight.
"It takes time," advised Joe. "learn to love it, hold it, sooth it. Soon It will be yours."
" Thank you Joe."
"Don't thank me Jack, thank your self."
Somewhere I could hear the dogs howling.
******************************************
You're such a pretty pansy living deadman
Skin cell no. 3 (brain cell no. 0)
I have been here in this concrete cube for so long. I am action living in fear of motion. The constant fear of breathing. Fearing the act of living,
the act of walking out my door. I live in a limbo trance always avoiding the eyes of a God who would deny me the sanctity of sanctuary. I need safety, safety from the cold, safety from the eyes of those who walk stumbling red raged through the frozen winds outside my door; those who have long since chilled dry in their hearts and minds. The cruel who threaten to touch me, to meet me with their eyes; hiding thoughts far back inside their bricks of judgment and opinion. I sit inside my room cringing in the corner vainly trying to warm myself by the friction of murdered affection, affection blanketed black by growth aborted again and again by the foul experience of maturity. I do not need the company of others, I have my room, my four walls. I have my self.
******************************
"Jack... Jack wake up."
"Yes?"
"Jack, all good things come to an end."
This guest, I knew. She was an angel, hanging from the rafters, suspended by bundles of wires leading deep into her skull, lighting her mind with visions of other worlds. Her hunger never ended and she feasted off bastard fetuses abandon by the damned; a baby in each hand.
From her sixteen breasts drooping to the floor dripped burning pussy milk that fed generations of her children. Harvests of screaming monstrosities reaped from countless orgies with unseen beasts. A new one squeezed out her hole into a pile of sibling where it was attended to by one of the three black dogs circling around the hill of wet flesh. The children sluggish and grey crawled on each other, clawing at their meal. The angel just hung there, rolling her head back and forth, euphoric, in ecstacy, in love with herself and her world. I stood by impotently, wanting to make eye contact.
To her right stood another angel. I knew him too. He was dressed in my image, a mirror refection of me. Was I so ugly? He was a bitter old man stuck in time, reeking resentment and seasoned in anger. He raised the gun I had in my pants to his head and I felt my brains explode out the side of my skull. Then like a broken record he did it again, then again. My head jerked with each explosion. The scene played over and over.
The door opened and in walked the little monkey man wearing an old tuxedo and a dirty stovepipe hat pulled down to his eyes. By the hand he led in another angel of God. She was cupid like, all dressed in midnight blue with the face of a child and skin fresh and cold. There was a look of sheltered naiveness in her eyes and passion stirring in her belly. The monkey man left the room and she stood by the door sitting wide open. At First I was bewildered, over powered with joy, then I was angry, pissed.
"I'm no fool. " I screamed, pulling out my gun, threatening. (but not knowing why)
She drew close and softly whispered "I'm here to tell you that there is a full moon this beautiful night."
She turned and left and I let her go, the door clicking tight into the frame of my four walls.
"You made the right choice Jack," echoed Joe as he faded back into my skull.
"I guess so," I whispered staring at my gun, "I never liked the color blue anyway."
And yet, somehow I felt...
(disappointed.)
My Company
