Sunday, April 23, 2006

--He'll listen

I see them all through the run of a day but they only really talk to me at night, wherever that may be.

The rapists, the floorcleaners, the widowers, the lampshade repair men, the captains, the sons, the victims, the happy, the confused, the high, the unconscious, the writers, the broke, the restrained and those plotting revenge.

We have many different conversations, I am indifferent. Sometimes death will visit; he prefers to talk at night as well. He is also indifferent.

They talk because they want to know, such is the price with perspective. I remain silent because I know. Shelter is hope and this is the fuel of will. I am birthed from the womb of rationality. A smiling mute who cries at the sum of cruelty and the overwhelming chasm of joy.

--Who's side are you on?

"Are you still awake?"


"Ha-Ha, very cliche"

"What is it? and if you turn on the light I swear to god I'll scream"

"Well.. it's just that.. I feel like I should come clean with you about something"

"Well I'm certainly awake now, what is it?"

"I'm sort of angry that you didn't ask to have that side of the bed."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean! You think I don't realize what you're doing when you get up for a 'drink' and then come back and get into bed from the other side?"

"I really think this is a coincidence, you're saying I'm a side stealer?.. so you want this side is it?"

"Well you certainly didn't ask for it!! And yeah, I do want that side!"

"Alright have it! And while you're at it, here take my side of the moonlight, and here I'm sure you want some of this air on this side as well!!"

"Oh I suppose you just.. roll into a new job and take whatever desk you want? Is that how the world works?"

"I don't have a desk. You know that."

"I know you don't have a fucking desk!!"


"Wanna have sex?"

"Let's do it on my side."
Her torsoed words struggled, syllabic limbs flailing at Leroy's ears, but to no avail. The woman below him was just one of the many, why should he really listen to their voices?

"I'm scared..."

Pathetic, spoiled bitch. Leroy was going to enjoy inflicting this harm on 'Mrs. Stevenson'. He looked down at her, he mascara running down her cheeks as she stared wide eyed at the metel instrument in the man's hands. "You took a gamble, and now you have to pay the price."

"It's not fair!" she shouted before breaking into another fit of sobbing.

"Be that as it may, this -is- going to happen. It's for your own good anyways" Leroy responded coldly, a small grin to cap off the statement. "Now stay still, it'll hurt less."

Mrs Stevenson instinctively flinched and shied away as Leroy brought the source of all her fright closer to the woman's body. The absolute fear eminating from her eyes followed the instrument and her breathing increased dramatically. Still, after the initial flinch she managed to stay motionless.

Leroy brought the needle about an inch from the skin before skillfully, and quickly plunging it into the vein.

Mrs Stevenson bit her lip, utter hysteria boiling steam out of her nose.

"And we're done!" Leroy said, wishing it could last longer.

"It took you long enough!" Mrs Stevenson exclaimed angrily.

"Just remember whatever happens in Vegas, doesn't stay in Vegas. Next time it could be herpies."

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

I write this without the intention to offend or depress, but with that I must confess, I feel I must tell you that I write this to cheer you, to ignite the fear into your heart of mispelled thought intentions and potentiality.

Do not look to the sun, for it will only show you your own doubt, a set of push ups you use to look at my own dark outline. Muscles strain, and blood declines from the unknown surplus, my perceptual image. I see it as thus, and as do you, for granted in this game for two, I brave the storm of your excited sigh.

Grant me the earthquake of a bicuspate fault; the realization of the same into the depths of my stomach. Without the time or day, or the radiation of knowledge to the rolling spheres on a ramp of imperfections. You show me where to strive; that all so familiar face in the clouds.

My mind is the ticklish grass on the hill in which I lie on. I stare up at you... and I can't help but be amazed.
I can't see
her spacial projection
so close
only in diagram...
can ponder deeper
next to my four cornered
aesthetic habitat.
I wander around this rather temporary scenery; there is no sun, nor no moon but yet a light seems to eminate from somewhere, it almost annoys me that I can't stay focused on this phenomenon long enough to care.

I ponder around the corners feeling the irresitable transmission from a unknowable reality. But yet this screen, this invisible reality seems to offer something extra, something which requires a deposit that I will never get back.

I lock eyes with the key of my own satisfaction, the few syllables that actually matter. The silence is blaring and the flourescent lights flicker silently. A square of continuance envelops light and content.
My mind breaches
cascades with water
for none seems to come out
This excersize
curved sweat
onto my drum

A smile forms.
I choose to choose
which is
to glance at the clock

I grasp my lips
and bury them
in the shredded

Monday, January 23, 2006

--The Library:

I did my best moonwalk through the different aisles, they were lined with books as far as I could see. This is not to say it was a straight endless path, it's just that as far as I've seen, it's only been books. The bookshelfs are intriguing, some are placed in relative order, some are quite peculiar in shape and are simply placed haphazardly. Maps, models, they leaned against either the bookshelfs or the wall, which was a dull green. The walls were illuminated by standard hallogens.

The strangest aspect to this place is the music. It seems to permeate from every angle, as if I am constantly the focal point. Not overly loud, but the beats and emotional innvocations compell me to simply dance along, flipping through different books at random. Some of them are classics, I start to get really into them but if the music changes, I'm compelled to move along to another. Failure to do so results in extreme hunger and depression.

I heard someone a couple isles over so I decided to mosey on over for a 'what's up?'. The had a pretty hefty book held in both of his hands, he was staring into it, transfixed.

"Heya stranger"

I said it casually, I didn't in fact know this man really, but I run into him all the time. We never really have a whole lot to say, but it's still nice to see a face every now and then.

"Hey, tell me what have you learned since the last time we talked?" he said, still staring into the book before finally heaving it shut and placing it back on the shelf. He turned to me with a grin.

I gave a slight laugh; it is a joke many of us tell each other. When we first realized we were in this place we were more interested in where each of us was, seeing if anyone had heard anything. Little did we know that this little experiment or whatever the fuck it is doesn't really allow for any learning, or perhaps it's just that nothing ever changes but the music? I don't know, but I do know the lyrics to a whole lot of songs. "Hey what book was that big one?" I asked, slithering over to him on a wave of lyrical prose.

"Here, check it out" he said, reaching down to fetch the book from the shelf.

I took the book with one hand and brought it to my other one before opening it up. As usual I looked down to find the same ambiguous square of vampiric squid ink. The edges are definite, a portal I could literally fall into. The abyss of reason, it consumes all color from my world. Is this the exit? Is this the answer? I need to know how I got in this building!

Lately I've seriously considered withstanding the hunger sickness. Perhaps if I lost enough weight I could squeeze through into this realm.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

I stood there on the second hand of the clock I was watching; being sprung forward across an interval to a new place. This is the essense of my time, I do not feel surrounded, I do not swim in it's wake, nor am I pushed by it's flow, rather I am the waterskier who skips across the sometimes bumpy waves.

As this character, I reached up to wipe some of what was either sea water or sweat from my forehead before reaching for my mug of spring water and slowly bringing it to my lips for a careful sip. A spill in my profession is disasterous.

"Alright, we're on in 3, 2"

The stage director didn't say 1, but as she counted down on her fingers, she proceeded to zero after she stopped talking. I always wondered why she didn't just say 'Alright we're on in' and then countdown with the fingers only? I continued to ponder this as the words came out of my mouth.

"Welcome back ladies and gentlemen, up next we are joined by Hollywood funnyman Rudy Gannis..."

Cuecards and teleprompters are quite strange in that you find the words literally coming out of your mouth independant of.. anything really. You simply look, and the words will follow. I imagine it is for this reason only that I've had the ability to do this show for so long without going insane. You know how you see tv show hosts jotting down random things on a peice of paper? It's notes like those that made this story possible. You can do alot of quality thinking at work, I find when I come home I want to rest my mind as well as my body. I have a very demanding job - that is, for a hollywood one.

"...Ok, he's a very funny guy, and you can catch him at the Bellagio on saturdays; here to do some of his standup for us is the very funny, Rudy Gannis"

I had never even seen or talked to this young man before, this is often the case with these small time comic spotlights. He walked out. The first thing I noticed was his dress; it was almost too trendy, he looked like one of those people you would see on ET judging the worst and best dressed people of the Oscars or some shit like that. Then he opened his mouth.

"So it's good to be in LA, I'm originally from Baltimore but I just recently moved out to the hills. I love it here, love it. But I gotta say.. .. There's some things that have struck me as odd..."

It was a shame, cause the guy had the look and had a somewhat charismatic way with words, but there is an old saying in hollywood - you can't be funny with a work ethic. That was what 'Rudy' was, the rich nerd who wanted to hang out with the cool kids. And I mean who could blame him? High School never really ends.

Rudy was bombing badly. As his overpreparation was now starting to tip the balance from his well thought out jokes, dissolving that ever so fragil aura you get 1, at most 2 shots to establish. Rudy of course knows this, and with every lessened response to a joke, the more he starts to worry. When you can see it on his face, it's already way too late.

I take another sip of water as I know, somewhere underneath his designer clothing this man is drenched, and sinking fast. I look back to the clock again, feeling myself in the midst of another interval. You see in hollywood, everyone has made it, there is nowhere else to go. The waters are relatively calm, but every once and a while someone will fall from grace and create a ripple so the rest of us can feel important again. We all tune in daily to see the queen of high school puking her guts out, topless at the party. This is my job, the character in the suit, the funny man.

"Ladies and Gentlemen Rudy Gannis!"