So he says to me, he says: Oh man, it was beaut I tell ya. Yknow what I mean? And, yknow, I dont even react. I dont flinch. I dont nod. I dont tilt my head in that do-tell way. I dont even pretend to pay attention. Im stone cold. So cold, I am practically a corpse. You could put pennies on my eyes and take off my shoes, Im so still. But its not like hed notice. I could have flies buzzing around my decomposing head and hed still be acting like Im frikken Jay Leno kissing his ass.
Black skirt, grey cardigan, black pea jacket, skinny jeans, white blouse with pearl buttons, white lace bra, three pairs underwear, one pair socks, one pair tights, black boots
I can see that his lips are moving. There are his teeth. Hes animated, baring gums, rotting gums. His tongue darts in and out and his face scrunches up and down, up and down. The sound is, sadly, not turned off, though it is muffled. I feel like I must be falling asleep but my eyes are wide open. It sounds like a radio in the house next door, waaaah waaaah waaah Yknow what I mean? I can hear that part, not that it matters. Its a rhetorical question. I do not know what he means, I do not care what he means but somehow from the inside of my stomach comes a hoarse uh huh.
Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, moisturizer, foundation, mascara, eyeliner, lipstick (two shades), tweezers, razor, hairbrush
Im just wasting, I mean killing, Im waiting. I bide. Biding, Im biding. But Im working. Im working on it. I can feel it coming, just barely. This feeling, Ive been waiting for this feeling to fully form. For years, it keeps coming back but I just cant put my finger on it. What is it? Its like a flavour? Maybe its a song. Ive almost got it.
You know how your speakers make an electronic quiver right before your cell phone rings? There is a kind of vibration in the air. Its a signal, some kind of signal but its getting garbled right after the transmission. So I dont know what it is, I just know that it is. Yknow what I mean? This guy! This guy is jamming with my frequency, big time. He is messing with my thoughts. Im not getting anything, not what he is saying, not that flavour/song thats now spiralling away. I am not even here. Hes acting like hes got something going on, some kinda THING. I suspect that his something is actually nothing.
Journal, black pen, red pen, scissors, gluestick, watch, walking stick, hood
I am not a prisoner here (I am a free man). Im smashing rocks. Im darning holes. Im swinging my foot up and down, thighs pressed together. That foot is powering kitchens. That swinging foot is heating the swimming pool. That foot is lighting up the marquee. In a way, this is a good time. In a way, there is something important going on. Im squeezing those thighs, my muscles are getting so strong I could snap this guys neck like a chicken bone, not that Id let his neck near my gluteus maximus. Hes truly amazing, going on and on, completely oblivious to the fact that I Well, I stopped being polite ages ago, years ago, eons ago. Entire geological eras have taken place in the time that has elapsed since I stopped nodding my head like a nice little lady. My body language is all but cursing. Im practically walking out the door. Im nearly gouging his eyes out with my cheekbones. Hes talking at the side of my face as tho I were a slit in a confessional. Yknow what I mean?
Black salt, lodestones, vinegar, Florida water, goofers dust, coffin nails
The time has come, I close my eyes. Here it comes! Its a song, a beautiful song that fills my mouth with flowering persimmon, its coming out my nose, humming like the deafening roar of a thousand bullfrogs. One two three Slowly I open my eyes. The bar is quiet, someone slides a quarter into the jukebox, Atlantic rhythm and blues. The stool beside me is empty. The bartender slides me another drink. Nice. Ive still got it. Ive still got it.