I think back now
And I can really see how far down I fell
it doesn’t happen one day. It’s steps. It’s little, stilted, shuffling steps an inch at a time. It’s casting away everything. It’s giving up. It’s Slow suffocation.
It’s a long way to go to work today.
I miss you today.
Only pills today, I say to myself.
New text message?
If it’s important they’ll email.
It’s a lot of work to take a shower.
I hardly look at your pictures any more every day.
I can get by on a bottle a day, I say.
If it’s really important they’ll call.
I’m not hungry enough to go to the drive thru.
When I dream about you, you’re in black and white.
I need a mouthful to get my head right.
Answer incoming call?
If it’s genuinely a pressing issue they’ll call back.
I’m not hungry enough to go to the other room.
I’m still bleeding because of you, but it’s nothing new.
It’s just snorting it, not shooting it so no new problem.
Answer incoming call?
If’s its truly something to be concerned about they’ll leave a voicemail.
I throw up anything right away.
If I die i wonder if you’ll feel bad?
A month’s worth of twenty dollar co-pay goes into a vein in a few days.
Listen to new voicemail?
If it was honestly something to be worried about the voicemail would have been longer.
The bed is too far and I’m too far gone.
And I’m too far gone for you to even remember.
And blackout is all I care to see.
They talk and giggle
And share stories and secrets
Their first times
And best times
all ring curls and
doll features and
Little angel and little devil
They take turns
With the horn and the halo
These beautiful things
Saying silly things
Like a teenage sleepover
With a Larry Flynt Filter
These two are trouble
Of the best kind
And I’ll just
Enjoy the ride
I’m watching reality television on Netflix. Non-stop, season at a time, without provocation or reason.A saccharine sweet IV TV drip into my vena cava vein and thoroughly enjoying the pain.
I have abused my brain into Hollywood devouring retardation, or passed through my cathode ray tube cast ego-shadow. Gloriously enveloped, devoured into the realm of submission to a loving and giving digiGodhead.
Either way, I accept pop culture. I bask in it. I welcome it into every facet of my being. Like a tricolor Jesus. Stick it in me. R in the mouth, G in the back, and B fucked straight through my cornea. Like a hypodermic full of synthetic emotes and slippery swell sitcom morality. More-reality. Juice me up sweetheart, squeeze those pixels into a shot glass, let me shoot it down with a clever webzine chaser.
Pop Culture is fucking a waste. Like a neutered dog at a prosthetic leg factory. Horny, happy, empty, and relentless.
And I’m hopping around hoping to get lipstick phantom fucked.
We see a hall, series of doors. A shadowy man walks up to one door.
We see a room- the interior, the man outside. From a few fixed point cameras- grainy and black and white surveillance looking.
The room is totally bleak- old worn down looking block walls, rust stains, exposed pipes.
We hear this: because fuck you what else would we hear? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7CYa7nf4Aig
There is a man in the middle of the floor. The room is about 20×20. Could be feet, could be yards. The darkness makes it hard to judge dimensions.
The man on the floor, he’s bound. He’s sickly thin. Holocaust thin. A bizarre respirator pumps, along with some kind of fluid-pumping device. In to his mouth, eyes, anus, navel, are tubes. Wires.
All these tubes and wires, they run out to his surroundings. To these computers.
Feeding him and Feeding on him.
Wall to wall, every wall, is covered by i-macs. Old i-macs. On the screens flicker constant imagery- it’s hard to tell what – vile, beautiful, advertising. Lots of advertising. Intercut between the ads are pictures of a man’s life; great mile stones. His first steps. His first kiss. His first needle. His first cortex jack-in.
We see the outside of a door- The door is kicked open, super violent.
A large man enters in a motorcycle helmet and leather jacket- Mad-Max as Fuck. Sweating, heaving, a blur like a black bear in a hornets nest. Warhorse. Freight train. He has a crowbar.
He then turns on the screens. Smashes. Crowbar and steel toes to motherfucking everything.
Absolute cacophony of violence and rage and terror and destruction. Smashes them all to complete fucking bedlam.
Handgun, Shoots out the camera.
Last hard swing is to the old man’s head. Dead.
Back to shot of the hall.
The man walks to the next door, same shot. Kicks it in. Different angle- We see a hundred more of these rooms in the distance.
i have dreams
where all i can do is drink water
all i want to do is
get as much in to me as possible
but it never satiates
it never quenches
because my body
in sleeping repose
has too much salt
in it’s wounds
and my mind
doesn’t realize the physical from the fantasy
when i awake
i want to live
like i can’t ever cure my thirst
i want to strive like
i’ll never be satisfied
i don’t ever want
to be content
Flick it off.
No turn it on
Make it more
Burn it a little singe the edges
So it won’t fray any further
Let it drip down like wax onto your back
Let is boil and make boils
On your skin smooth and white
And ripe and ready for
Scars and stripes
Let it scab
Pick it off.
Let it ooze
Let is glow
But pour peroxide in it
So it festers up foam
Make it deeper and desperate
Make is sizzle and sweat
One more perfect mark
On your report card of pain
High grades and razor blades
Tear it off.
Get it gone
Get it gushing
Get it going
Feel the ghost of limb lost
Lament the loss
Torment is fair play
You don’t know what you got till it’s wrong
Fuck it all away bloodied wide open flayed
Your sick sad stump seeps
Sap and sad
Little wounded wood
Little sad thing
Let it seed
is just a cigar
but usually it’s a penis
like, almost always
it’s a penis
and it’s almost never
just a lily
eat. fuck. sleep.
in the end
it’s all pretty easy
if it doesn’t have to do with
I should be
that make people want things
and making scripts
that make people feel things
so it’s been a while since I’ve had anything to say on here
because I’ve been pouring myself in to
im away from home again. and all the things run together and all the sounds are noises and all the colors are blue hues. i’m drained and emptied
Sheets that want to snap my ankles
the city changes but the rooms are so the same
and tiny little bottles of goo samples
Another room to arrange
Another change in hours
Another hissing pissing iron
Another weird shower
Another thermostat that shoots only freeze or fire
Another pretty shot out the window
Of lights or trees or roofs with units that do ac
So many places I’ve gone
Another night away from home
To remind me why
I wonder if this guy bext to me is reading this right now. Are you, guy? Is it awkward for you right now that I know you’re reading this? Your suit is nice. Smart to wear the jacket and not pack it, wrinkles and all. I like your I pad case. Is there some strange social meltdown going on? Are you going to say something? Or keep pretending you never started reading. But you are. You still are. And you feel so weird right now. You know what? It makes me happy how uncomfortable you are. I can feel your tension. It’s so bad isn’t it? That I’m inside your head. And youre imprisoned. There’s no way you can say anything now. You’re trapped. Anything I put here. You have to just take it. Silently. You know I find panthers sexual arousing? It’s true. Ohh. Here we are. And don’t you get up. If you get up I’ll know you’re reading. Just sit here. Be with me. Just you and me, suit man. We’ll guess what? Get over your fucking fear. Laugh. Laugh now. See. See? Now we both feel better and you just overcame a little fear demon.
We see the exterior of a late 80’s RV. It is old looking, but maintained well. Inside we see
Trevor sitting on the couch in the front section of the vehicle. On his lap is a comedy oversized laptop. a large, 42” flat screen TV sits in front of him. A older, but just as large CRT TV is just to the right of that. A 24” computer monitor on the other side of the flats panel, on top of an Xbox 360.Two slim Playstations sit under the main TV. A 35 pound cast iron barbell, a remote controller, and a spoon lie amongst the wires and technology-ejaculate on the floor. Off to the right of the couch is two more TVs, smaller and older. In the driver’s seat there is a massive pile of video games, DVD’s, and CDs. Various other electronics are strewn; a printer, a few PDAs, a juicer, a coffee maker, other unknown touch screen hand held devices, at least half a dozen cell phones. An elaborate set of surround sound speakers, wires, controllers, adapters, networked hard drives, and various power supplies intertwine around Trevor. The right TV sits atop a band-pass subwoofer box with two 1000 watt subwoofers in it.
The sink of the RV, sitting next to the stove top and to the left of the TV cluster, is covered over with boards. More electronics, wires, CD’s sit there. A large empty off brand vodka bottle sits next to an engraved brass plaque picture of a quail. The range cover has a miasma of supplements and prescription drugs. Xanax, amino acids, carnatine, Zoloft, dhea, several vitamin types, numerous bottles of melatonin, and various stimulants that read “hardcore”, “extreme”, or “fucking dangerous”. Some dental tools sit out on the counter next to a toothbrush, keys, 3 dollar bills, and a package of lube.
The microwave is full of pretzels. Just pretzels. Three or four opened bags.
The place is undoubtedly cluttered and disorganized, but not really dirty. The rugs are shaken out, the walls and TV screens clean. On the opposite side of the sink and range is a half-sized refrigerator. Inside it is two tubs of whipped topping, and empty bottle of chocolate syrup, seven monster energy drinks- coffee flavored. A pound of ground beef sits on the middle shelf from… god knows when. A very old lunchbox with He-Man and the masters of the universe is on the top shelf, locked shut, it’s contents are some mayonnaise and a few miniature marshmallows. On the door of the fridge is a bottle of soy sauce, some mustard, and salsa. There is a big puddle of chocolate syrup under one of the pull out drawers. Two gallons of water sit sideways. An unopened gallon of orange juice, expired months ago, is just chillin.
The freezer above the fridge has some old TV dinners, a package of frozen hotdogs, and two half gallons of pumpkin ice cream. The floor of the freezer has a permanent sheet of ice frozen into a skating rink mass with an ice cream sandwich and some Cadbury eggs frozen inside them like dinosaur DNA in amber.
Down the hall which is about 7 feet long, there are doors that face each other to the right and left. The right door is the bathroom. Inside are a portable space heater, a bottle of some kind of disinfectant, an old lamp- the kind that you touch to turn off and on sits unplugged, with a few of the glass panels missing. The toilet is low to the ground, and looks to have been duct taped shut then reopened, as there is tape residue running over the top of the seat cover.
The left door is a shower. The cover for the vent is missing, so light, rain, and tree poopings fall into the shower. The floor is a bit dirty, a white shower curtain sits slid open to the side. On the floor is a white five gallon bucket with a trash liner bag inside it. Another bucket, this one camouflaged, sits near the entry door next to couch and serves as a trash bin.
There are storage bins throughout the RV. Under the couch, above and below the sink, above the TV center. Over and under the bed.
The bed is a queen sized, 8 inch thick piece of foam. It’s striped with orange and green lines. On top of the mattress are 5 large, meter long body pillows that serve as a pillow mattress. A sheet separates them from the canvas textured mattress, and on top of the pillow there are 2 very unmatched comforters. A gallon jug of water, mostly empty, sits on the top of the bed. There are several tacks stuck into the wall, where the head of the bed is, that have torn corners of pictures still stuck in them. At the foot of the bed is a huge camping style rough hewn blanket, balled up. Several wires run to the bed from the central power center in atop the sink.
The rear window, behind the bed, had been replaced by a black piece of particle board, and taped in with black duct tape.
On the floor, next to the bed, is a very unwieldy wooden handled weapon with finger holes cut and three 12 inch blades extending from the knuckles. It’s very, very sharp.
All the windows are blocked out with reflective car shades. A random poster of a smiling woman with a logo from a video game serves to block out scatter beams of light from behind the media center.
For some reason, a unopened box containing a Star Wars Easy Bake Oven Creepy Creatures Maker is in front of the steering wheel.
A pair of khaki pants, some 4 ounce mma gloves, some jeans, some torn jiu jitsu gi pants, a black scrubs top, some Tapout shorts, and two pair of high-end wrestling shoes float about.
Next to Trevor on the couch is another bag of pretzels, some playing cards, a fork, two touch screen devices, a controller, and a few pumpkin seeds. On his other side is a messenger bag with a fight gear logo held on with Velcro to the front. The bad holds a change of close, a toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, dry erase markers, pens, a few kinds of condoms, a watch that displays in binary, and a folded switchblade. Within arm’s length are two similar blades, an extending police baton, two push daggers, and a set of brass knuckles with a stun gun built into them.
An extensive Bukowski collection, books on Zen Buddhism and Tibetan Culture, large biology textbook style books about dinosaurs, Russian combat martial arts how-to manuals, improv comedy soft covers, nearly all of Chuck Palahniuk’s books, many Bill Hick’s collections, and several graphic novels rest on the dashboard.
Trevor is working on his laptop, while a film plays on the large TV, a paused game on the computer screen, and cartoons on the CRT. None of it is audible over the pounding, quasi industrial-new age music fills the cabin. The humming air conditioner unit on the room causes all the screens to slightly vibrate. Trevor kicks at some small rocks on the brown, sporadically stained carpet under the couch.
He sits in a pair of very cheap blue shorts, and a shirt from a grappling tournament that does not fully cover his protruding, hairy gut. Trevor is fat, but not a fat guy. More like a small bear with a bit of it’s body hair removed. His brown hair is buzzed short, and his scalp peels a bit from a nasty sunburn. Like the rest of his body, his head is a pale white. Streaks off self tanner run on the underside of his shaved arms, and his armpits are inexplicably shaved. His left eye is partially shut, with a permanently swollen upper lid. His nose is large and has a obvious scar over the bridge. He’s large framed, and looks strong but not defined, soft the way a bison looks. His left sleeve covers all but one of three deep scars on his left shoulder.
The door to his left opens.
LIZ: “Anybody home?”
TREVOR: “yea. yea. come on in!”
There is a long pause. Trevor stands awkwardly, his head touching the AC unit. He continues
TREVOR: “Well. This is, uhm. My place. Here’s. well. Here’s some TV’s. and…. My.. computers…. And…..stuff…. that’s my pills.
LIZ: “yea. For what?”
TREVOR: “for. Uhm. Medicating… me.”
TREVOR: ”I have a few pair of pants over here.”
LIZ: “yes you do.”
TREVOR: That’s my books…….(long pained pause) i. huh. I pee in that bucket. The bathroom works but. i…. pee…. In a bucket…..”
LIZ: “oh. Ok… for….. fun?”
TREVOR: “hm. Kind of? ….”
TREVOR: “and. It’s easier to take it out every day and empty it than to. Drain the.. sewagey system thing inside the rv.. under parts…”
LIZ: “yea. So. You.. just. Pour it out?”
TREVOR: “uh huh. In the grapefruit tree, uh, trough?”
TREVOR: “yea. The tree’s. dying.”
LIZ: “that’s sad.”
TREVOR: “I think it’s too much nitrogen. Or. Maybe my pee is poison.”
TREVOR: “yea. I drink a lot of water though. Like 3 gallons a day. So.. I’ll probably pee.. uh.. several times. Soon.”
LIZ: “that’s good. I drink a lot of water too”
TREVOR: “uh. Do you have to pee? Because…”
LIZ: “no I’m good.”
TREVOR: “ok. Well if you do. i.. (sighs heavily) hhhhhhhh. I
LIZ: “it’s ok. I don’t have to.”
TREVOR: “tell me if you do”
TREVOR: “you have to pee?”
LIZ: “yes I will tell you when I have to pee”
TREVOR: “(pause) …thank you.”
TREVOR: “pfff… uhhh. Want something to drink? I’ve got some energy drinks. And. I think like half a fifth of rum somewhere.”
LIZ: “I’m fine.”
TREVOR: (stares. A long, long time.) “I don’t poop in the bucket.” (forever.)
LIZ: “what kind of energy drink?”
TREVOR: “they’re. coffee..”
LIZ: “I like coffee”
TREVOR: “ok. Want one?”
TREVOR: “ok. It’s a diuretic”
TREVOR: “yea. Caffeine.”
LIZ: “it makes you poop?”
TREVOR: “no. it. Makes your body process liquid faster”
LIZ: “I get it. That might be why you pee so much.”
TREVOR: “I’m sorry.”
LIZ: “for what?”
TREVOR: “for… I guess… peeing so much?”
LIZ: “oh. It’s ok.”
TREVOR: “thank you.”
TREVOR: “you look pretty.”
LIZ: “thank you.”
TREVOR: “my shirt doesn’t fit.”
TREVOR: “it’s too short.”
TREVOR: “too short to fit me.”
LIZ: “it’s ok.”
TREVOR: …..”did you want to… sit?”
TREVOR: “I have a couch. Its right here.”
(it’s RIGHT next to them.)
(she sits, while Trevor still stands, uncomfortably close.)
TREVOR: “I’m going to sit down… in addition. .. to you. Sitting.. down.”
(they sit. Forever.)
TREVOR: “this is a movie about the arctodus.”
LIZ: “is it?”
TREVOR: “well. It’s not a movie. It’s a series of TV show documentaries. Assembled… into a movie.”
LIZ: “I see.”
TREVOR: “and. It’s not just about arctodus. There’s… smileodon, and dire wolfs, and mammoths.”
TREVOR: “I’m sorry I lied to you.”
TREVOR: “about the movie. It’s not a movie.”
LIZ: “it kind of is.”
TREVOR: “and what it’s about.”
LIZ: “it looks like a bear.”
TREVOR: “I’m sorry.”
TREVOR: “arctodus was the apex predator about 12,000 years ago.”
LIZ: “really? The.. bear?”
TREVOR: “well. He wasn’t actually a predator. He was. Thought to be an apex scavenger.”
TREVOR: “like the T-Rex. It didn’t hunt it’s own food. It just took what other animals killed”
TREVOR: “I’m sorry I lied.”
LIZ: “yea. It’s really ok.”
TREVOR: “the T-Rex probably had feathers.”
TREVOR: “thank you.”
(she slowly Intertwines her fingers with his. They sit.)
I might be brought to
the ultimate defense
for the chance
at one taste
of the thrill
of a justified kill
To take it away
Those who would hurt
to destroy that hate
Just once for certain
just one tiny drop
satiate my primal urges
make it all a little better
one black soul
just one time
What if this image hadn’t randomly showed up?
What if you remained lost in the sea of mediocrity?
What would have happened if I hadn’t clicked that one more tiny little box?
What if I didn’t see something I knew would be something?
Sent that one more message?
Tried one more time? Looked at your page again?
Swallowed my pride and ignored rejection?
I would not have the amazing life I have with you now.