tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52968632012-01-16T21:00:12.818-05:00mkuiackmichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comBlogger2711100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-86725251172191253162010-03-13T08:18:00.002-05:002010-03-13T09:06:40.781-05:00
Once, when Jimmy was six years old, Mr. Tedesco, the neighbour man who lived three houses over, died. The ambulance came at the request of the police who had come at the request of his wife and loaded up the stretcher. As they were carrying the body, lumpy under a sheet, down the narrow front stairs of Mr. Tedesco's house, Jimmy's dog, Chico, attacked the ambulance attendants and caused one ofmichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-65404588983335709012010-02-09T22:52:00.002-05:002010-02-09T23:09:00.983-05:00
So what are you going to do - she asked?
About what - I replied?
I could feel her looking at me but she held her silence for a long while. She was nothing if not patient.
About the dreams and the sleeplessness and the Shadow People and all the rest - she said finally. She was exasperated. The screaming, the terror, the anger. She tailed off.
I don't know - I said. What can I do?
You could michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-2042502021848962162010-01-22T21:59:00.002-05:002010-01-22T22:14:23.760-05:00
You look tired - she said.
I am - I said. I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't go back to sleep.
I had a bad dream - I said.
Again - she said and then she let it lie for she knew it was always best to let such things lie.
She came back to it when we were again abed and the lights had been turned off and we had exchanged kisses and soft noises of good night and fluffed the pillows michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-45775675485168615372009-10-17T10:20:00.002-04:002009-10-17T10:47:27.205-04:00
"You know something," Lanny said.
I sighed and prepared to be sad for this was Lanny's way of introducing something sad.
We were drinking at Lanny's kitchen table and had been there for a goodly long time. The drugs were long gone but we still had plenty to drink.
"No. What," I replied. With Lanny it was best to get right into it. He would not forget or become distracted or allow himself to michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-87101197586368453132009-09-17T22:14:00.002-04:002009-09-17T22:21:45.702-04:00
Last night, I dreamed of Sylvia.
Sylvia is the face of my higher power.
She works to keep me sane.
In my dream, she ran cool, dead fingers down my arm.
In my dream, she made me shiver.
In my dream, she whispered to me small, quiet, incomprehensible words of comfort.
In my dream, she told me that it was going to be all right.
I have no choice but to believe her.
The alternative is terrible and michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-45151586854388541822009-06-06T23:11:00.002-04:002009-06-06T23:41:55.928-04:00
Here is a thing that happened.
In happened long ago and far away.
There were five of us that summer. There was Tony, the quiet one. There was Gerald, who we called Chub after a character in a television program that had been popular when we were boys. There was Mike, who was big and strong. There was Dave, who was the funny one and the organizer. There was me.
We were all in high school. michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-67820679526274297472009-05-24T21:34:00.003-04:002009-05-24T22:15:04.001-04:00
Here is another of the unfinished things. It is about my father - but what isn't these days. The previous unfinished had a vague direction. I have no idea where this one was going, if at all. It started with the little poem in opening and took on a life of its own until I tired.
In my midnight dream,
I saw my Hitler father.
I robed him prone,
And with some familiar nun,
Performed michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-4810642762829717562009-04-20T22:20:00.002-04:002009-04-20T23:19:50.393-04:00
I should be studying some incredibly dry printed material for an exam that I am taking at work but instead I have been leafing electronically through some files of the unfinished and, perhaps, unfinishable. I have found 2 items that I started some time back and have decided to post them for someone's posterity. They are the beginnings of what I had hoped would be larger, longer things but, as michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-27669843582488042822009-03-04T21:32:00.002-05:002009-03-04T22:10:34.225-05:00
Here is a thing I remember from a long, long time ago.
I was in university so it was 1981 or so and I and several others were at the Brunswick, a local watering hole of ill repute. We went there a lot because the beer was cheap, the code of behaviour relaxed and there was a karaoke style of entertainment (this in the pre-karaoke era) that involved a drunken midget singing along to the juke boxmichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-87062970131808467902009-02-26T21:51:00.002-05:002009-02-26T21:54:44.303-05:00A conundrum can be defined as '...a paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma'.
Here's one....
I must apologize to her in such a way that she does not know she has been apologized to at all.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-75568123169331237382008-12-23T21:45:00.002-05:002008-12-23T21:53:33.874-05:00
I feel it now, its weight,
It tires me.
I sleep in the middle of the day.
I feel it still, the pain,
In my limbs,
And the muscles of my face.
There is no greater burden,
Than an apology unproferred,
A sin unforgiven,
A act of insensitivity,
Forgotten,
Trapped in the oyster of time.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-55627471856189672862008-11-18T22:48:00.001-05:002008-11-18T22:48:24.246-05:00
A conundrum can be defined as '...a paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma'.
Here's one....
I am dependent upon a God of my understanding whom I may never understand.michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-26958376338902865452008-11-18T22:45:00.001-05:002008-11-18T22:45:18.592-05:00
"You're hairy," she said.
"I like hairy."
She combed persimmon fingers down my chest.
I watched a single hair fall to the carpet.
I felt ashamed.
I knew the meaning of insubstantial.
"I love the smell of you," she said.
"You smell sweaty, like a man."
She kissed my sternum for her lips were there.
I kissed the top of her head.
I breathed of her.
We stood like that for the longest time,
Perhapsmichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-66390023215440569862008-10-30T22:21:00.002-04:002008-10-30T22:34:30.869-04:00
I have been going through some old papers at home and have come across a surprising number of old poems and letters and assorted scribblings, mostly self-indulgent and immature. Some, however, have a nice image at bottom. This is one of those....it was written about a young woman named Nancy with whom I shared love and hate and all the in-between.
Now is my soul in full winter,
Now it is michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-86578152284976149602008-09-26T00:05:00.002-04:002008-09-26T00:09:26.151-04:00
This time it's not the heroin,
This time it's not vodka hurting,
This time it's not a ward dream,
Aided, abetted by drugs,
Screaming and leather restraints.
This time it's human pain,
Bitter sadness that vodka used to blunt,
Heroin allowed me to ignore.
This time it's the realization,
That, in all likelihood,
I will never see you again.
Not in this lifetime,
Not without the intervention of the michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-90856963649023385362008-09-07T21:29:00.002-04:002008-09-07T23:20:45.571-04:00
Here is the beginning of a story I am writing. I began it about 6 weeks ago and have let it settle 'til tonight. I have been thinking about it for a year or more. It will be about evil and 'the failing' - you know what they say - write about what you know. It is set in a city in a time like now. I'm not sure how long it will be nor do I have an ending in mind but I would like to see it michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-71397901805577836922008-09-07T20:09:00.002-04:002008-09-07T20:15:08.470-04:00
A conundrum can be defined as '...a paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma'.
Here's one.... it's an oldie but a goodie paraphrased from Heraclitus....
I am trying to hide from something that is always there.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-65993510051154796522008-09-02T23:11:00.000-04:002008-09-02T23:12:05.367-04:00
I thought I saw you this morning, walking your dog,
I was north, you were south,
Just a flash, corner of my eye,
So I drove the block to check again,
Skirted that construction,
Wrong way on a one way street.
It wasn't you.
There were 2 dogs, not one,
Neither the right breed,
These were smaller, less fierce.
It wasn't you.
Too heavy, too much in the thigh,
You are smaller, more fierce.
You michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-15810464864411813142008-08-11T00:33:00.002-04:002008-08-11T00:38:32.984-04:00
When I feel like this,
When I feel like I do,
I know I am not in your heart,
It's Katy bar the door.
When I feel like this,
When I feel like I do,
I know that, if I could bear,
To pull the curtain back,
It is raining all over the world.michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-68957246586161402612008-07-20T23:56:00.001-04:002008-07-20T23:56:56.532-04:00
Would you like to see the yard - she asked?
We had been for coffee,
Short friends, long separated,
We were just back in touch.
An afternoon coffee at the shop at the end of her street.
We were just back,
I was about to get into my car.
I would like that very much - I said.
Would you like the nickel tour inside too - she asked?
There was much water under our bridge.
She had grown,
I had become michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-78877917032907979942008-07-17T22:50:00.002-04:002008-07-17T22:54:51.901-04:00 A conundrum can be defined as '...a paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma'.
Here's one....
When I was a child, I was not allowed to be a child.
Now, as an adult, I am a child.
Now, as an adult, I have children of my own.
I am unable to allow them to be normal children.
I do not understand childhood.
I do not understand normal.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-23517179289503696642008-06-05T23:50:00.001-04:002008-06-05T23:50:54.311-04:00
Here are some things that are going on in my life.
My nephew Jake (my wife's brother's middle child) was in town recently to have his left big toe amputated at New Vic. He also had exploratory surgery on the right foot - it will be 4 weeks until they are able to determine if further amputation will be required. This is the result of botched treatment for ingrown toenails performed by his michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-39218255392605143212008-06-05T22:41:00.001-04:002008-06-05T22:41:51.036-04:00
We were lying in her bed in the afternoon, happy, after love. She was on her back halfway up on pillows against the headboard somewhat. Her right arm was around me, toying with the curve of a shoulder, tracing lazy loops at the back of my neck. Her left was nowhere to be seen. I was lower down, on my side, with my head in the crook of her armpit. My left cheek was resting on the substantialmichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-77898045010429852082008-04-21T20:05:00.001-04:002008-04-21T20:09:39.287-04:00
We walked along in companionable silence,
We were friends but it was our first time,
Our first time alone together in the evening.
We were walking home from dinner,
Scallops and beef for me,
Salad and fish for her,
Ice cream parlour cones for dessert,
It was the first time I had seen her tongue,
Pink and lithe.
I had taken her hand when we crossed at the light,
She had not thought tomichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-64483765073112802082008-04-05T20:44:00.001-04:002008-04-05T20:44:20.393-04:00
Celina is pig-faced ugly,
Bulging eyes,
Prognathic jaw,
Sharp pointy nose,
Turkey wattles,
Eye brows and lashes,
Pale to invisible,
Fat body, small tits,
Thick ass and thighs,
Dank, stringy, horrid hair.
Celina is stupid,
Dumb as a post but unaware.
She talks too much,
Subjects of interest,
To her alone,
She likes to show off knowledge,
She simply doesn't have.
Celina lives with her mother,
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-82768417447331983822008-04-05T20:24:00.002-04:002008-04-05T20:27:09.611-04:00
In my midnight dream,
She is seventeen,
She smells of milk and metal.
In my midnight dream,
She is as beautiful as an apple,
Yet her eyes hold a humour,
That is never quite right.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-21531256510855254802008-04-05T20:23:00.000-04:002008-04-05T20:24:38.698-04:00
In my midnight dream,
I am smoking pot with Satan.
The smoke is heavy, potent,
Viscous like oil.
In my midnight dream,
Witches wheel above us,
Satan appears unconcerned.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-42225984753043198492008-04-05T20:21:00.001-04:002008-04-05T20:23:21.418-04:00
In my midnight dream,
It is first thing, sunny and blue.
Large birds wax and wheel, dulcet.
In my midnight dream,
The people glower,
They shuffle and shift their loads,
Cannon balls of melancholy and hate.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-64140110893098610732008-04-03T15:29:00.002-04:002008-04-03T15:31:21.424-04:00
If kissing had a colour, I think it would be green; a deep smooth green like the bough of a coniferous tree.
If kissing had a smell, I think it would be pungent like gasoline and sweet like nutmeg.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-20836979284500139032008-04-01T22:00:00.000-04:002008-04-01T22:01:36.764-04:00
Vidi et scio.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-48171945944351237972008-03-28T22:23:00.001-04:002008-03-28T22:23:49.020-04:00
She works part-time in a jewelry store,
But they're cutting her hours.
He has worked three weeks in his life,
Making pizza,
He could not handle the stress.
They have a new car with a sunroof,
Her Dad bought it.
He buys them one every second year.
They have been together for 5 cars,
She is 24, he is 26.
They have a bed and a bedroom,
But sleep on the sectional in the living room,
In front of a 52michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-44272027960600089982008-03-28T21:32:00.000-04:002008-03-28T21:33:27.456-04:00
Katie turned a corner today,
A scarf of colour around her neck,
She smiles more.
She has washed her hair,
Tied it back to show her face.
There is a glint of stainless,
Between her lips.
Wearing a touch of some soft shade,
Her eyes shine,
Her skin has lost its pallor.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-45740070291267314852008-03-27T16:37:00.000-04:002008-03-27T16:39:13.613-04:00
This is for Anne D. with whom I had two chances...
One time, the first time, in the front seat of a car,
In the driveway of Kim's parents' house in Woodstock,
On the long August weekend; the last summer of the 70's.
We spent the latest of the night party there,
While the others slept in disarray.
We watched the moon over the top of the garage,
Talking about the stars, drinking sparkly blueberrymichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-20839504485475183542008-03-27T15:41:00.002-04:002008-03-27T15:44:42.306-04:00
A conundrum can be defined as '...a paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma'.
Here's one....
There is one terrible thing I have never told a soul.
If I do not tell, I cannot be saved.
If I do tell, I will be damned.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-58825014051974861772008-03-27T15:39:00.000-04:002008-03-27T15:40:44.269-04:00
A conundrum can be defined as '...a paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma'.
Here's one....
Suicide is a psychological constant.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-34344695403789531722008-03-27T15:38:00.000-04:002008-03-27T15:39:04.162-04:00
"I've been there too", she said.
"It was the worst week of my life."
"I've been there too", she said.
"I snapped out of it."
And in her eyes I saw,
Inherent criticism.
Pity.
"I think I am in a different place", I said.
"I don't think you've been exactly here."
"I am in a place,
Where monsters stalk the hall,
Outside my bedroom door,
Occasionally, in the morning.
And they linger, silent, in the michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-27749952623361035942008-03-20T21:25:00.000-04:002008-03-20T21:26:14.748-04:00
A conundrum can be defined as '...a paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma'.
Here's one....
I am breathing in.
I am breathing out.michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-68426186565852046412008-03-20T21:15:00.002-04:002008-03-20T21:23:58.583-04:00
If I were in charge of the writing of fiction I would outlaw the following three conventions;
1. Having a character's partner or parents or child or whatever killed by a "drunk driver. This is meant to engender sympathy but has become pitifully cliche.
2. Having a woman scrub herself in the shower after she is raped or violated or assaulted or whatever. I understand what the author is michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-59977553975800821022008-03-20T21:13:00.000-04:002008-03-20T21:14:25.029-04:00
Paula was in for 8,
Out for 4,
Then asked to come back.
It is likely she won't get out again.
From here you go provincial.
From here it becomes long term.
Sometimes long term is behaviour,
Sometimes long term is conversation.
Sometimes long term is in the eyes.
Paula's got long term written all over.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-52241307696677720152008-03-20T21:11:00.000-04:002008-03-20T21:13:04.631-04:00
Leo just wants to play the harmonica,
Like he did before.
The harmonica makes him sad now,
Sad enough to slide it into a pocket,
And hang himself in the basement,
With a dog leash of brown leather.
Leo was the youngest of seven,
An infant in a foreign land near the water.
Leo was still in diapers,
When he was first forced,
To suck his brothers' rampant cocks.
Leo went from primal comfort of michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-91955002328409111432008-03-18T20:30:00.001-04:002008-03-18T20:32:18.829-04:00
Here are the questions my colleagues and I answer every morning at the Out-Patient Mental Health Program at Old Vic Hospital. The process is known as Check-In.
1. How did you eat and sleep?
2. Any problems with meds?
3. Rate your mood between 1 - 10.
4. Name one thing you're grateful for.
5. Name 1 strength or skill.
6. How did you spend your evening?
7. How can the group help michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-66106306755770638042008-03-11T15:45:00.002-04:002008-03-11T15:52:10.040-04:00
You have beautiful hands, she said.
I dreamed of them.
She touched me then,
Fingers tangled, the push of a thumb.
I flushed.
Are they touching you, I asked?
In these dreams of yours,
My hands, are they touching you?
We were interrupted.
I did not hear the answer,
But in her eyes,
I saw hope perhaps,
Or sad resignation,
An older child watching,
A balloon slide skyward.
The interruption began to michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-24211094478976155142008-03-07T21:33:00.002-05:002008-03-07T21:37:27.870-05:00
Sarah and the floor are intimates.
She and the sky are strangers.
She has not seen other eyes,
Since she was a slip of a girl.
Sarah is beautiful like a birch tree.
She has perfect lips, like Clara Bow.
Her eyes are broken.
They cannot look up.
They filter out the good.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-22023685070088698992008-03-06T23:13:00.002-05:002008-03-06T23:16:58.979-05:00
Thought I saw you today,
Disappearing round the corner,
7th floor,
With your trademark chestnut flip.
I knew that couldn't be,
Although I wonder these days.
I knew that couldn't be.
Because you are sane as sand,
And wouldn't be caught dead,
On the 7th floor.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-59689225203054829842008-02-29T19:42:00.002-05:002008-02-29T19:53:24.897-05:00
Once I kissed a perfect stranger,
Passion, lips, teeth, and tongue.
That kiss, she said, didn't feel to me,
Like it came from the bottom of your heart.
My heart, I said,
Doesn't have a bottom,
And perhaps not even a middle,
Nor, to the best of my knowledge, a top.
That, she said, might explain,
Why you kiss the way you do.
Kissing you, she said, makes me feel,
Like I am the only person in the michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-6503044007279900372008-02-28T16:43:00.003-05:002008-02-28T18:46:04.119-05:00
My mind woke up in Bryan's attic apartment,
Kitchen, bedroom, bath,
Cain Street, opposite the Plaza Hotel.
Long, narrow, steep stairs,
The air never moved a muscle.
My body woke up at Bryan's dinette table,
Chipped and burnt and pitted Formica.
An ocean of bottles before me,
I drank without a glass.
Headband so I didn't drip on a drug.
I woke disturbed and fearful,
And could not return to michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-26788749557719039192008-02-25T19:33:00.002-05:002008-02-25T19:36:07.144-05:00
A conundrum can be defined as '...a paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma'.
Here's one....
Interviewer - What do you say when you are praying to God?
Mother Theresa - I don't say anything. I just listen.
Interviewer - In that case, what does God say to you when you are praying?
Mother Theresa - God doesn't say anything. He just listens.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-84298737273769727952008-02-24T22:09:00.002-05:002008-02-24T22:34:41.698-05:00
This, the following, was written on 2/18/08 in the psych ward on the 7th floor of the South Campus of Victoria Hospital to which I had been consigned.
I know a woman whose name is Louise,
Although she has difficulty in spelling it.
"And that would piss certain people off", she said,
By which she means her Mom and Dad.
Louise has marks on her inside wrists,
White marks from a knife michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-21247141500830893922008-02-24T20:54:00.002-05:002008-02-24T21:46:12.113-05:00
This, the following, was written on 2/14/08 in the psych ward on the 7th floor of the South Campus of Victoria Hospital to which I had been consigned.
Here are the things I remember about my suicide attempt of Monday, February 4, 2008.
I remember talking to my father briefly concerning the return of his car which I had been borrowing while the deal on my new car was finalized.
I started michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-32986820852958849582008-02-03T23:09:00.000-05:002008-02-03T23:19:55.542-05:00Here is a story about a person I knew. When I was in elementary school one of my classmates was a boy named Rene Potvin. He
was older than the rest of us because he had failed a grade or perhaps two. He was
bigger and more muscular than the other boys; he was far and away the best athlete; he
could hit the ball further; he was stronger; he was faster; his feats were lengendary.
And although michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-83291761691073494502008-02-03T15:26:00.000-05:002008-02-03T15:27:53.476-05:00
A conundrum can be defined as '...a paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma'.
Here's one....
You are your father and your father is you.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-53633356463745098032008-02-01T22:22:00.000-05:002008-02-01T22:31:56.224-05:00
A conundrum can be defined as '...a paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma'.
Here's one....
I am unlovable yet I am loved.
I love, but not myself. I am unlovable.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-30105175177653700832008-01-31T21:49:00.000-05:002008-01-31T21:56:57.480-05:00
A conundrum can be defined as '...a paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; a dilemma'.
Here's one....
I cannot live as I am, I cannot change, and I cannot die.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-67062630230975952382008-01-25T13:52:00.001-05:002008-01-25T13:52:56.569-05:00I saw on the local news, just now, last night,They're starting to take down the old house.Too much damage from the second fire,Started by vagrants, they say,But I doubt it.I always favour the unscrupulous, the less savoury.
The original home, it was said,Of some mayor or another,Muttonchops, long dead.Most recently a Greek house,'Til taken by fire.
The pictures showed a toothy crane,Bullyng down michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-57221093711104091772008-01-19T17:38:00.001-05:002008-01-19T17:38:58.877-05:00This, the following, was written on 12/31/07 in the psych ward on the 7th floor of the South Campus of Victoria Hospital to which I had been consigned.There are many terrible things about spending New Year's Eve in the psych ward on the 7th floor of the South Campus of Victoria Hospital.There is waking early in a single and uncomfortable bed that crinkles with the sound of rubber and listening tomichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-14811057731807229942008-01-18T23:01:00.001-05:002008-01-25T14:01:59.594-05:00This, the following, was written on 12/31/07 in the psych ward on the 7th floor of the South Campus of Victoria Hospital to which I had been consigned.
Michael!
Mmm? - I murmured. We were about to sleep after love and I was sweet drowsy tired.
Michael! There's something under my pillow. - she sounded alarmed.
Perhaps it's a bassett hound, my sweet. I understand they're partial to the underneath michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-14134830845385035552008-01-17T21:50:00.000-05:002008-01-17T21:51:34.259-05:00This, the following, was written on 12/30/07 in the psych ward on the 7th floor of the South Campus of Victoria Hospital to which I had been consigned.These are some memories I hold of my father. They are in no particular order.I remember...-he used to drink beer while he drove, holding the bottle between his thighs. We had a '67 Valiant with air vents under the dashboard. He would store the michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-26226296957126088892008-01-05T20:28:00.001-05:002008-01-05T20:28:23.237-05:00
This, the following, was written in Westover Treatment Center on or about 12/16/07 and revised in the psych ward on the 7th floor of the South Campus of Victoria Hospital to which I had been consigned.
When we were snowed in at rehab,
I dreamed a Crown Royal dream,
And woke all angry sweaty.
Jaw sore from clenching,
And crunching liquor-y ice.
Throat sore from the acrid bite,
Of marijuana michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-28588989571530878602008-01-05T19:52:00.000-05:002008-01-05T19:53:09.661-05:00
These, the following, were written in Westover Treatment Center on or about 12/16/07 and revised in the psych ward on the 7th floor of the South Campus of Victoria Hospital to which I had been consigned.
Last night, I thought I saw Bill Melchers,
In a crowded hospital room,
But that simply could not be.
He has been dead these many years,
Driven first to dotage,
Slow and cruel,
Then taken.
In michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-50301237693285305812008-01-04T22:47:00.001-05:002008-01-04T22:47:51.975-05:00This, the following, was written on 12/29/07 in the psych ward on the 7th floor of the South Campus of Victoria Hospital to which I had been consigned.In Room 611 - Pod A,NOTICEThis Room Under Video SurveillanceFor Your SafetyThere is a copy of Monet's Poplars,Screwed to the wall.There are 2 chairs welded roughly to iron stanchions,And a bed of sorts that does not move.The air blows cool from a michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-23280981638888441022008-01-03T22:33:00.001-05:002008-01-03T22:33:35.203-05:00What are you listening to? - she asked.I was lying sidewise on the couch lisening to my player. She had plunked herself down halfway on my hip and pulled out one of the earphones.Hmmm - I answered for I had not heard the question for the music and not seen her because my eyes had been closed.What are you listening to? - she asked.Music - I said.Sad music? - she asked.The Smiths - I answered michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-32301192518051269412007-10-25T19:20:00.000-04:002007-10-25T20:26:10.989-04:00
We lay on our sides in the middle of her double bed; she on her left and me on my right. Our bodies were as close as can be. I had my back to the door. The table lamp was on behind her but turned down real low. She had put on some music that I didn't recognize; two girl singers with harmony and a guitar. We were just kissing, not petting even really. "I can't," she had said. "Not for a michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-24203352702560064852007-10-11T21:25:00.000-04:002007-10-11T22:05:26.050-04:00
This is the first time we've been alone - I said.
I was sitting on a stool at the hardwood island in the center of her apartment kitchen. It was late afternoon. We were early to her house, waiting for some other people to arrive; people I could have done without but good friends of hers. She was bustling for she always bustled, even when sitting still. I think she was planning to make tea.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-53749421841129011832007-10-07T15:20:00.000-04:002008-01-18T23:02:18.427-05:00Very early one morning in February of 1977 I was awakened by my father kicking my bed.
He was in his work clothes and he was angry.
Were you driving my car drunk - he shouted?
What! What’s going on - I replied.
I had worked the night before at my job at Dante’s Tavern and Pizzeria and then been to a party at Tom Scott’s house; lots of hash oil and rye dogs. My head was pounding, my mouth michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-65316622875914072022007-09-27T21:31:00.000-04:002007-09-27T22:11:43.150-04:00
So, how did that make you feel?
What! $250 an hour and all I get is page one of The Big Book of Psychiatric Cliches?
Let's not talk about the money, Michael. You told me in our first meeting than you had more money than Billy Be Damned. What you don't have is someone to ask you the tough questions and wade through all the bluster and bullshit until you come up with a honest answer for once inmichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-2120065052138008692007-09-10T21:25:00.001-04:002007-09-10T21:25:52.971-04:00
Did it hurt - I asked?
We were sitting, she and I, on a park bench; green wood with the top board missing from its back. It was late summer, pushing fall, but it was still plenty warm in the early evening before the sun sank from sight.
I don't remember - she said. Maybe. I had taken some pills too.
She was wearing the ratty old high school letter man jacket she had been wearing the first michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-83087469063881343942007-09-09T00:01:00.002-04:002007-09-09T00:06:12.193-04:00
So where do we go from here - he asked?
What do you mean, where do we go from here - she asked?
They were lying in a tangle of sheets in her bed in her bedroom in her house on Oak Street. It was late afternoon and still very sunny.
She was lying on her left side, left arm making a tripod for her head. Her hair was matted at the temples with sweat. Her right nipple was exposed, impertinent. Withmichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-71816538091865187402007-09-04T22:17:00.001-04:002007-09-04T22:19:46.209-04:00
My worst day sober is better than my best day drunk.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-18829457137630112482007-09-02T22:25:00.001-04:002007-09-02T22:25:53.132-04:00
My father is 75 years and 1 day old and does not have any friends.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-53232805639313909402007-08-30T21:32:00.000-04:002007-08-30T21:38:28.537-04:00Fragment 11
"So that's it then," he asked?
"That's it," she said.
"Just like that," he asked?
"Just like that? Are you saying that you never saw this coming? This has been coming since the day I met you."
"Do you remember the time in the orchard," he asked?
"Of course I do," she said! "And I remember the smell of the blossoms that fell on us while we were making love. But that's not enough, michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-10533264142728570022007-08-28T16:58:00.000-04:002007-08-28T16:59:05.730-04:00
In my midnight dream,
It is raining hard, steady.
Her smile makes her interesting;
One tooth just out of place,
I want to touch it with my tongue.
In my midnight dream,
Her voice is light in the darkness.
Sweet and sombre and carefree,
Music played on a violin by a small boy.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-87152435222403651232007-08-21T22:33:00.000-04:002007-08-21T22:37:25.754-04:00
We were lying abed,
All spent and tender tired.
"Why," I asked her,
"Why does your voice become that,
When we're lying abed,
All spent and tender tired?
Why does your voice become,
Whispery and softy sweet?"
"Because," she replied,
"Because I don't want God to hear.
For he might think me too happy,
When we're lying abed,
All spent and tender tired,
And he might take youmichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-27634160236968754602007-07-22T19:46:00.000-04:002007-07-22T20:00:29.642-04:00
If we keep doing what we're doing,
It's going to happen.
If we're not very careful,
It will happen for sure.
If we continue the laughing,
The secrets and the dreams,
The wan, uncertain smiles,
The code.
If we grow any closer,
If we reach any deeper,
Innocent touch will turn to pregnant caress.
We will lose our minds.
If we continue to whisper,
Lip to ear,
Soft kisses of warm breath,
We will michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-12265896670479645302007-07-20T22:19:00.000-04:002011-07-18T20:55:57.423-04:00michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-46288308923622516932007-07-17T21:29:00.000-04:002007-07-17T21:46:12.948-04:00
I have spent my life waiting for that one tumultuous experience which would define me and, in so doing, missed those experiences which have defined me without tumult, one bit at a time.
This I seek to address.
I have used up my life dreaming of the home run, ignoring the fact that a walk, a bloop single, a slow roller, and a Texas-leaguer will score just the same and be more fun.
This I seek michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-18987534154394032652007-07-15T20:53:00.000-04:002007-07-15T22:20:02.122-04:00
He had seen plenty of things in his morphine dreams and some of them had been real and true. So to open his eyes and see her sitting there in the orange and plastic chair beside the bed, arms clasped tightly to her chest and hands cupping sweatered elbows was no surprise really. He smiled with a memory and closed them again, enjoyed the clouds and visions and smells of the narcotic.
"Billy?"
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-52033090163037866802007-07-14T21:28:00.000-04:002007-07-14T21:29:22.048-04:00
I surrender my finite self to you, infinite God.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-84710945102146598692007-07-13T22:08:00.000-04:002007-07-13T22:09:13.393-04:00
My name is Michael and I am an alcoholic.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-90337952619647882192007-06-17T09:08:00.001-04:002007-06-17T09:21:35.522-04:00
Without you, I am a fish out of water.
I find it difficult to breathe.
I flop around.
My spine twists at impossible angles.
My eyes bulge.
I find the world to be unbearably hot.
I feel a panic of yearning.
When I do not hear your voice,
I go off my feed.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-46092932599002489462007-06-13T21:54:00.000-04:002007-06-13T22:08:10.329-04:00
That!
No, that's not a twitch!
That's me looking for her out of the corner of my eye.
Constantly, uncontrollably, furiously, looking for her out of the corner of my eye.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-88926998240219489792007-05-29T21:53:00.000-04:002007-05-29T22:17:28.337-04:00
So I asked of God...
"Why me God?"
And God replied...
"Why not you?"
I said...
"God, you are a real son of a bitch!"
And God said...
"You know what Admiral King said?
He said...
'When the shooting starts, they always send for the sons of bitches.'"
So I asked...
"Is Admiral King around here?"
And God replied...
"No, he's a soldier. All soldiers go to hell. They kill people."
And I said...
"Godmichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-86417827110734042352007-05-27T20:47:00.002-04:002007-05-27T21:04:44.520-04:00
When we were small,
My sisters and I,
We would play the organ,
At the end of the hall,
Of our Grandma’s house.
Ill-supervised, we played perhaps rough,
For by mid-morning my grandmother,
Was usually lost in drink.
To us it was a fantasy.
The organ was dark wood, almost black.
Tall as a house it seemed,
Ornately carved with curlicues.
And feathered with dust.
We were abandoned by parents,
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-38788595190135921042007-05-27T20:47:00.001-04:002007-05-27T20:50:17.637-04:00
Is there anything more boring than listening to someone else's dream?
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-20271624087528631992007-05-27T20:47:00.000-04:002007-05-27T20:48:59.406-04:00
Within me, there is a demon,
Bitter and angry and ancient and cruel.
I have tried to drown the demon,
But could not slake its thirst.
I have tried to smoke it out,
But every poison made it stronger.
I have tried to educate myself against it,
But my book learning,
Became its street smarts,
And the pupil surpassed the teacher.
I have tried to woo it,
Cajole it,
Become its friend,
Trap it in a michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-62345406232166752492007-05-20T19:36:00.001-04:002007-05-20T22:10:51.383-04:00
He had seen plenty of things in his morphine dreams and some of them had been real and true.
So to open his eyes and see her there beside the bed, two steps back and arms wrapped tightly round her as if to protect herself from a sudden lunge was no surprise really. He smiled with a memory and closed them again, enjoyed the clouds and visions and smells of the narcotic.
"Oh, Billy."
Eyes michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-70731908919124505522007-05-20T19:36:00.000-04:002007-05-20T19:54:11.032-04:00
When in death he cuts me,
That Asian man,
Strong fingered,
Masked with nicotine smell.
Wrinkled and brown.
When in death he cuts me,
Carves me with a Y,
And snip, cracks my ribs,
And, thunk, spreads me wide,
To reveal my secrets.
When in death he cuts me,
My heart will be tiny and gray,
Moist and phlegmy and still,
Like an oyster,
Six days from the deep,
Miles from the brine.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-40336830332896812182007-05-12T21:12:00.001-04:002007-05-12T22:28:51.992-04:00
Before,
Before there was this,
It was late innings.
Before,
Before there was this,
There was only you.
Before,
Before there was this,
There were eyes from under lashes.
There was chestnut hair.
There was the skin at the top of your back,
There, just there,
There, where it becomes your neck.
Before,
Before there was this,
There were the teeth of your smile.
There wasmichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-50745792486401705792007-05-12T21:12:00.000-04:002007-05-12T22:25:25.281-04:00
For LF the E
Just then,
I caught my glimpse of heaven,
There, where your shoulder becomes your neck.
And in that capillary web,
Gossamer blue,
I unraveled a mystery,
And I fell.michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-48046073394081431812007-05-10T21:41:00.000-04:002007-05-10T22:22:52.242-04:00
Between love and hate,
There is no middle ground.
How else to explain,
That four chords of that song,
Can take me so far back,
And make it so real.
Real enough to feel the weight,
Of the phone in my hand,
And the sweat of the hand that holds it.
Real enough to retaste the liquor,
From my mouth,
And smell the stench of my feet,
As I sat all sweaty on the floor,
While you broke my heart.
Real michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-60349238711663004412007-05-10T17:14:00.000-04:002007-05-10T17:15:56.174-04:00 Just then,
I caught my glimpse of heaven,
There, where your shoulder joins your neck.
And looking into that capillary web,
Gossamer blue,
I saw the mystery of you,
And I fell michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-57254670153874062882007-05-08T20:54:00.000-04:002007-05-08T21:17:25.842-04:00
Just then,
I caught my glimpse of heaven,
There, where your shoulder meets your neck.
And in that capillary web,
Gossamer blue,
I unraveled a mystery,
And I fell.
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-68144657665009473262007-05-05T23:20:00.000-04:002007-05-05T23:47:55.676-04:00
Fragment 10
"I'm sorry," I said. "That didn't last as long as I had hoped."
I was flat on my back, sideways on my unmade bed, feet flat on the floor.
She lay atop me, leaning slightly forward - her hair made a tent of whispers around our heads. Her scent, which heretofore I had smelled only from a distance was all around me. I was drowning in it.
She smiled.
"Don't get all macho, nacho on me michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-1996303230720310962007-05-03T21:18:00.000-04:002007-05-03T21:26:40.591-04:00
I see him out of the corner of my eye in the strangest places,
And at the oddest times.
There he sits, just briefly, in that rec room chair.
The light banishes him.
He's a boy, of that I'm sure,
With wavy and brownish hair,
Yet his face escapes me,
It is always in motion,
Or wrapped in shadow.
He is handsome, I think,
In a vague and slippery fashion.
He may be mute.
I'm sure his eyes are the michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-13309254298798348012007-04-22T12:35:00.001-04:002007-04-22T13:12:01.097-04:00
Somewhere in the middle of our conversation today,
In the corridor of the mall,
I caught a glimpse,
Of the little girl that you were,
(It was something in that pursed-lip smile.)
And I felt for your parents.
Somewhere in the middle of our conversation today,
In the corridor of the mall,
I caught a glimpse,
Of the woman you will become,
(It was something in that pursed-lip smile.)
And I felt formichaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-32890354384004802002007-04-22T12:35:00.000-04:002007-04-22T13:05:32.649-04:00
I remember a time,
The happiest time, perhaps,
It's hard to say.
There have been so many times.
I turned the bedroom corner,
And faced you,
Fresh from the shower,
Fresh from our sex.
Your hair glistened with damp.
Shoulder long,
Chestnut brown,
It glistened with damp.
You were wrapped in a towel,
A short towel,
Startlingly white against the skin of you.
It gathered at the swell of your michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-4104507628597374162007-04-15T19:08:00.000-04:002007-04-15T19:10:02.731-04:00
A poem is never finished, only abandoned.
Paul Valery (1871 - 1945)
michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-75437069347154350612007-04-06T14:38:00.000-04:002007-04-06T15:53:57.692-04:00
Fragment 9They sat on hard chairs of formed orange plastic - they leaned forward, hands forward, bisecting the table between them. They were alone in the room for it was well past lunch.They leaned forward on the edges of the chairs - hands forward - his flat to the surface toward the table's sides - hers clasped as if in small child prayer in the middle - hers in tiny, pulsing motion - his michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-82854345275571161142007-04-05T16:07:00.000-04:002007-04-05T16:18:53.109-04:00
Fragment 8
"What the fuck do you mean, why did I break up with him?"
She was angry screaming now, face all red, veins on her neck looking to pop. She paced like a short-legged dog.
"He smelled maybe."
"He was a sociopath maybe."
"He wanted to stick his finger up my ass when we fucked maybe."
"Maybe he wanted me to to stick my finger up his ass when we fucked or up mine. How the fuck michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-88448494194533389982007-03-30T20:17:00.000-04:002007-03-30T21:16:35.594-04:00Fragment 7
We were watching her through the windshield, Louie and I - she in her blue jeans and her pink shoes and shirt - 16 maybe, dressed like 20 and acting 30 - Louie and I in our uniforms straight from work, our first six-pack on the seat between us.
We were in Louie's piece of shit Nova - more filler than paint, didn't need the key to start it, hole in the floorboard so you had to be michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296863.post-4788377654630147222007-03-28T07:57:00.001-04:002007-03-28T08:31:19.892-04:00
Fragment 6"My mother had a saying," he said. "She used to say - '...well, I guess if heaven doesn't mind' - when she was faced with the prospect of something pleasant."He had remained lolling in the bed. She had retreated to the wing chair and there she sat with her knees to her chest and arms wrapped round - he could see her sex draining patiently on the seat cushion. The cushion was faded michaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10982821204556643292noreply@blogger.com