Oxy Killer
Greta pulled into Wilber’s driveway honking her horn!
Her pile of crap rusted Chevy pick up truck with a bumper sticker on it that just said,
“I hate fucking cops”
Wilber was right in the middle of a dream where he was having hot passionate sex in Hugh Hefner’s back yard in this golden waterfall, fucking some beautiful blonde with silicone tits the size of watermelons, surrounded by other beautiful drunken blondes all giggling, naked, and playing volleyball in the sun.
“HonkHonk!” Greta honked her horn again.
“What the fuk” Wilber mumbled to himself. He opened the window, and yelled
“What the hell do you want!”?
Greta stuck her half toothless moldy mouth out of her pick up truck and yelled..
“Time to go to work asshole!”
“Oh shit, gimmee a few minutes, I gotta get dressed!”
He stumbled to the toilet and began barfing all this whiskey and bean and ham soup out from the night before.
His mother started pounding on his bedroom door as he was hugging the toilet.
“Greta’s here to pick you up for work! You’re going to be late again if you don’t hurry!”
“Leave me alone ma, I’m getting dressed!” Wilber yelled.
How pathetic Wilber was. 42 years old, living at home with his mother, late for his dishwashing job at café Elwards. For a brief moment, Wilber thought about pulling his 45 out of his closet, loading it, and just ending it all right then and there. He had the thought of killing myself about 1000 times a day. Lately, he had been loading the gun drunk at night, depressed, just sitting in his room with it pointed to his head. Wilber had been playing Russian roulette for 3 weeks now, and each night somehow after spinning the chamber, it always clicked empty. The game had to continue. And it would be when he got home from work that night, as it had been for three weeks.
HonkHonk! Wilber heard ringing in his ears again. He put on some deodorant from the dollar store. He couldn’t find any underwear without deep skid marks in them, so he decided to not wear underwear that day. He tossed some filthy jeans on that had filthy foreign stains festering on them. There was one shirt left hanging in his closet that his mother had gotten him at a flea market. It was about 4 sizes to big and said on it “Don’t mess with Texas” he put that on and it hung down below his knees it was so long. The honking from Greta continued. Wilber put his Kmart flip-flop sandals on with no socks and stared at his infected ingrown toenail for a second or two. It was all red and swollen with some sort of greenish yellow pus oozing from the tip of it.
Wilber’s mother started bickering at him non-stop, as he headed for the front door. Nagging is the last thing he wanted to hear with his throbbing hefty hangover. Honking and nagging! He wanted to go back to Hugh Heffner’s backyard pool party.
“What happened to the AA meetings your parole officer said you have to attend? What the hell do you do all night locked up in that filthy room of yours? If you continue to drink they will put you back in prison! Your AA sponsor has been calling for the last week! Don’t you return her phone calls? Do you hear me WILBER! She seemed like such a nice church-going lady that sponsor of yours!”
Wilber just stood there staring at his mom, not saying a word.
Shaking slightly from his barf episode. She started up again.
“You look a mess, don’t you even shower anymore? Have you completely given up on life son? When are you going to finally get your act together!”
“I gotta go to work ma,” he said, pushing his way past her.
“You're just like your father! A good-for-nothing low life!” she screamed.
Wilber climbed in Greta’s passenger side window, because her passenger door would never open, it seemed to be welded shut. He lit a Marlboro red.
“Bout phucking time dickwad!” Greta spit, revving her engine, turning up the Iron maiden blaring from her half broken tape deck. She started backing out of the driveway when Wilber’s mother came running out the front door.
“You forgot your lunch son!” she yelled,
running after the truck with a Flintstones kiddy lunch pale she had kept for him since his early school years.
She ran up to the window and handed Wilber the grade school lunch box.
“I made your favorite, tuna sandwich with melted cheese on wheat bread. There’s an apple in there as well, and your ulcer medicine pill, don’t forget to take that.”
“thanks ma,” he said, grabbing the bag.
Greta zoomed off down the street, her tale pipe backfiring, loud as an m80. They were late for work again.
“I made your favorite, tuna sandwich with melted cheese!” Greta said, mocking his mother’s voice and laughing hysterically with her life long smoker’s cough.
“Shut up bitch.” he told her.
They smoked a joint of dirt weed on the way to work, and walked in glossy eyed about 25 minutes late. It was busy as hell for a late afternoon lunch shift. The two asshole cooks, Bert and Jerry were slamming pans around. Cooking up crap for rich people to shove down there fat bellies of greed. Jerry was part owner of the restaurant. Him and his faggot brother Bruce. Jerry was an arrogant loud mouth sweaty jerk off with a huge chip on his shoulder about life.
He had long hair in the back, but was going bald on the top. He always had the long hair pulled back in a greasy thin ponytail. He also had been playing guitar for 25 years and seemed to think he was Stevie ray Vaughn brought back from the dead. Wilber always thought jerry’s guitar playing had no soul.
“You fuckers are late again, I aint gonna put up with this shit much longer!” he yelled at Greta and Wilber.
“Now get in the back and start washing me some pans, pronto!”
Wilber and Greta were on pan duty, which sucked. The other two greasy trailer park renting dishwasher dudes were up front rinsing the plates off and sliding them into the dishwasher on plastic crate like holders.
Pan duty consisted of three large sinks. One filled with boiling water. The second sink filled with soapy boiling hot bubbles. The third sink had a small amount of bleach in it and of course, boiling hot water. All the sink water was so hot that it took your hands and wrists at least ten minutes to get used to the burning sensation. You weren’t allowed to were rubber gloves either, another odd rule from Jerry. This is how Jerry demanded the sinks should be. He would even walk by quickly all night dipping his finger into each of the sinks making sure the water was scalding hot. If it wasn’t he would make Wilber and Greta empty all the sinks out and rewash every pan they had already washed. It was ruff on the hands with those green scrubbies because some of the pans were so burnt with shit
Potato augrat crap from the night before that it sometimes took a good ten to 15 minutes to clean just one pan. Jerry refused to let us use a knife or razor blade to scrub the crusted mold off.
“No knives! The knives are mine, and they are special! And they will scratch all my expensive pans!” he used to yell.
Greta and Wilber stood washing and scrubbing the pans for a few hours not saying much to each other until a conversation began. Wilber with his bad back, hunched over like a cave troll.
“You know Greta, I use to have a job making 70 thousand a year before I got busted and went to prison.”
“Yeah right, and im the queen of England,“ Greta spat in the sink.
“I did, I was a computer technician for a large company before I got busted, had my computer science and business degree as well.
“No shit?” Greta asked.
“It’s true.”
“So why you washing dishes then?”
“Cause after they locked me away for 4 years for having 2 ounces of weed, it is permanently stuck on my record, and no one will hire me.”
“Why don’t you just not bring that shit up when you are applying for jobs?” Greta asked, scrubbing a pan away till her fingers began to bleed.
“Because my dickhead parole officer watches me like a hawk. He will make sure whatever job I get, that the employers know about my prison record, so that makes it impossible for me to get a decent job now.”
“Man, guy sounds like a fucking asshole.”
“You could say that.”
“Life sure is fucked up sometimes man, but least you aint a gimp in a wheel chair, you know, my second husband is in a wheel chair now from his third drunk driving accident.”
“Yeah well, I’m slowly but surely getting my revenge on society.” Wilber said, dropping a pan by accident because it was burning his fingers.
Jerry came running in the back, sweating, looking pissed-off as usual.
“What the hell was that loud banging noise? You dropping shit again Wilber? You fucking inbred reject! I pay you to wash these dishes, not drop them!”
“Sorry boss,” Wilber mumbled.
Jerry stuck his fingers in all three sinks and looked even more frustrated.
“Not hot enough! Empty all the sinks and rewash all these pans now! I got paying customers out there waiting for my gourmet dishes!
Now hurry the fuck up before we run out of pans!”
Jerry stomped away farting fire.
“Why doesn’t he just buy more pans, so he doesn’t have to worry about us keeping up on the shortage of them?” Wilber asked Greta.
“Cause he’s a cheap ass mother fucker who’s probably gonna keel over some day from a massive heart attack.”
“Let's hope so.” Wilber chuckled.
“You know that fucker is getting sued for slapping a waitress in the face her first day on the job?”
“Shit, doesn’t surprise me.” Wilber grunted.
“Yeah, when I went to prison, my wife took the kids and left me, moved to North Carolina with some new chump published poet nerd boyfriend she worked with, never heard from her again.”
“Damn Wilber, you never told me all this shit. We been working here four months, and all you ever do is occasionally mumble a few words everyday.”
“Yeah well, I guess today I felt like telling you about some of my hardships Greta, it all builds up too much at times, as does life. souls burn, minds carry dynamite, till the breaking points with dud lighters.
“Yeah well, kid, life aint easy. My fourth husband used to beat the living shit out of me, till I finally called the cops on him after he broke two of my ribs for the second time. Two years I let that drunken fucker beat me every night and torture me with his sexual devices.” Greta said, scratching her fat ass.
“Jesus Christ Greta, why did you put up with that shit for so long?”
“Because I loved him, and I still do, I visit him twice a week in prison, he tells me he has changed, and that he found god in prison.”
”That’s fucked up Greta, nobody ever finds god no matter how hard they search,” Wilber said, dropping another scorching pan to the tile floor.
Jerry came running in the back, with a look of fierce hatred.
“FUCKING IDIOTS!” he yelled, running back to the front line, flipping his cod, his steak, and his gourmet spiced dishes of crap people paid 30 to 50 dollars a plate for.
Mr. big shot culinary school graduate from the pristine New York culinary school of arts.
Jerry’s brother, Bruce, ran the business side and advertisement aspects of the café elwards. Did all the papers and book work shit. Dealt with the snobby rich customers in the elegant dining room.
Bruce came walking by Wilber and Greta humming some Back street boy’s song in his 3-piece suit. He never wore the same tie twice.
“How are my two favorite employees doing today?” He said, in this extra gay voice.
“Fine” Wilber and Greta said.
Bruce pinched Wilber’s smelly ass, “eww firm!” Bruce said, walking off laughing this horrible evil insane laugh he always broke out into every night.
A really good looking hot waitress walked by Wilber and Greta to grab a dessert out of the back freezer. Wilber had been eying her since he got hired. Almost everyday he tried to talk to her, but she treated him like everyone else treated him, like a low life dishwasher. Her name was Eve. She was what Wilber’s wet dreams were made of. She was the type of woman that knew every man in the world wanted to have sex with her.
She flaunted it well.
Wilber knew he never had a chance with her, but still liked to bother her whenever he could.
“Excuse me Eve? Was just wondering if you might like to go see that new jack ass movie with me, after a good dinner, when we get out of work, I’m paying?”
Eve glared at Wilber. Wilber looked into her eyes smirking.
“How many times do I have to tell you this! DROP DEAD DISHBOY, I wouldn’t go on a date with you if you were the last male on earth! DROP DEAD WHITE TRASH SKUM OF THE EARTH!”
Eve stomped off, flipping Wilber the finger.
“Maybe next week darling?” Wilber laughed.
Wilber was convinced Eve really wanted him.
She would come around. They all do in the end.
Greta started laughing so hard at Wilber, that huge chunks of cancer ridden smoker flem came horking out of her crusty rotten stomach, splattering all over the hot watered sinks.
“What did you mean by you are getting your revenge on society Wilber?” Greta asked, filling up the 3 sinks with the tap fully turned to hot.
“I am not at liberty to talk about that, at the moment. You’ll find out soon enough, I got a weird feeling it’s not going to last much longer. The game only lasts so long.” Wilber said, looking down at the bubbles forming in the second sink, having a strange acid flashback.
“Whatever.” Greta spat, in the sink.
The long shift finally came to an end. Their hands were bleeding and skin peeling off.
“Hey Greta , you mind driving me home? I don’t feel like calling my crazy mother for a ride tonight.”
“Sure Melvin, I mean Wilber,” she chuckled that smokers cough.
They were both walking out the way they came in 8 hours ago when Jerry came busting out of his brother’s office, cursing, and looking pissed off.
“You skumfucks better not be late tomorrow.” He yelled at them.
“Sure thing jerk off.” Wilber mumbled under his breath.
“What the fuck did you say to me!” Jerry demanded.
“Just said, we’ll see you tomorrow boss.”
“Get out losers!” Jerry screamed, stomping off into the back room to check on all the pans they had scrubbed.
Greta started her truck. Wilber had another flashback.
Wilber thought about the time Jerry had gone out of town. Jerry’s wife had called Wilber out the blue and asked him if he could come over to try and fix a broken toilet pipe she had. Wilber had thought it strange she would have called him, but showed up at her and Jerry’s huge house anyway. Their kids were at her mother’s house she had informed Wilber when he showed up with his box of tools. Wilber could smell she had been drinking heavily when she opened the front door, locking it behind them.
She showed Wilber where the toilet pipe had broken, and Wilber got down on all fours, his plumber butt crack hanging out of his stained jeans. He got a wrench out and started fucking with the pipe. When he turned around, Jerry’s wife was standing there naked with an evil lustful grin on her face. Perfect body for a woman in her 40’s. Long blonde hair with the bluest eyes. Thighs made for breeding, breasts like painted pictures from playboy backyards. Swollen silver dollar pink ripe nipples. Perfume radiating from that naked flesh, it would drive any man into lustful thoughts.
“Take me Wilber, take me now before I change my mind,” she said in a slow sexy drunken voice, fingering her cunt lips rapidly.
Wilber started wondering if this was just another one of his weird sexual dreams, but as he stood up and grabbed her warm flesh and pulled her close to him. He knew it was really happening. She ripped at his clothes and pant zipper, as he sucked violently on her neck and nipples. They fucked like wild beasts on the bathroom floor for hours in every position imaginable. But suddenly after Wilber had made her cum multiple times, her sex filled expression changed……
“Get the hell out now! just get out! I’m not a whore, do you hear me! I am not a whore! Jerry has been cheating on me for years with every waitress who wants a raise! Do you hear me? get out! That little bitch Eve flashing her shit left and right! This never happened dishboy! Don’t breathe a word of this to anyone!” She yelled, breaking into a psychotic tear fit.
“Sure thing mam, take care, you ever want to do this again sometime,
you know where to find me.”
“Get out pig scum! All men are the same! Get out dishboy bum!” she screamed, throwing an empty bottle of whisky at him, that missed, shattering a family portrait just behind Wilber’s head.
Greta drove down the backwoods road, blasting 70’s rock music from her half broken tape deck. Wilber stared out the window, snapping out of his memory of Jerry’s wife, puffing on a Marlboro red.
“So shit, why you going home to that old bag of a mother you got Wilber? why don’t you come on over to my trailer and have a few drinks with me, I might even have some more dirt weed around the place somewhere.”
“Well. Mother is expecting me home, I don’t want to disappoint her.” Wilber mumbled.
“You fucking sissy, come on over, just for a few drinks’ Greta demanded.
“Alright then, but I need to fix something up at your place, if you don’t mind.”
“Fix what? All I got is ramen noodles and some toast, and leftover grilled cheese sandwiches from a week ago, but no butter left.”
“I aint talking about eating Greta, I’m talking about shooting up some of my Oxycontins.”
“Shooting what?”
“Oxycontins, hillbilly heroin, my latest addiction.”
“Dam Wilber, you are just full of surprises, I didn’t know you were a gawd dang junkie!”
“Relief is a human word Greta, each human finds their temporary relief in different ways, mine has always been narcotics.”
“I aint never seen no holes in your arms though man.” Greta insisted on continuing with the subject.
“And you have also never seen me wear a short sleeve shirt to work Greta, even when I push my long sleeve t-shirts up, I only push them up enough to where no one can see the scars, or holes, as you put it.”
“Whatever,” Greta spat out her window into the dirt graveled road.
They pulled up to Greta’s trailer. Wilber noticed all these tied up pit bulls, and German Shepard’s in the back yard. Looking hungry and pissed-off for being tied to the side of some shitty trailer for their entire lonely lives. Wilber always hated people who owned animals and treated them like shit. Wilber always liked animals better than human beings. He thought about telling her about what a fucking true dirtball she was, but decided to keep it to himself, after all, who was he to judge?
She opened her trailer door, and Wilber‘s nose got a gigantic whiff of stale cigs, cat piss, rotten cheese, and broken molding dishes sky high in her small kitchen sink.
“Damn sinks don’t work, all plugged-up like the dam toilet.” Greta informed him.
Wilber disappeared into her bathroom to shoot up some of his oxycontin, plugging his nose from the stench.
After that needle hit his arm, as always, he felt so much better about life. All troubles were gone. And even if they weren’t, it no longer mattered with those warm narcotics rushing through his blood.
They sat on her couch drinking. Greta started pulling out all these moldy photo albums. She kept showing Wilber all her x husbands and kids from all the marriages. She went on and on about her kids and all her x husbands.
Wilber tried to be polite, nodding and occasionally saying.. “Wow, man.”
After a few hours…..
“Well, it’s about time for me to get going Greta, mind if I borrow your truck to drive home? I’ll pick you up for a change in it tomorrow for work.”
Greta suddenly started crying. A drunken withered old lady in her 50’s with a life of hardship. Crying all of the sudden in front of her dishwashing friend.
“What the hell's wrong with you?” Wilber asked.
“Fucking everything. EVERYTHING WILBER!” she sobbed.
Man, Wilber thought, just what I need, a crying old scab of a woman on my hands.
He tried to pet her long scraggly wal mart dyed white blonde trailer trash hair.
“It’ll be alright, just get some rest, I’ll pick you up in the morning,” Wilber said, grabbing her truck keys.
“Don’t leave, god please don’t leave yet Wilber! Just stay with me for a little bit longer!”
Wilber set her keys down.
“Alright Greta, but mother is expecting me, I’m already late for video night.”
“Video night?” Greta sobbed.
“Yes, every Friday night mother insists on watching a movie or two she rented.”
“You fucking nerd Wilber! Your mom sounds like a fucking nut case” Greta spit from her tears.
“Well, one thing I have learned in life Greta, is we shouldn’t judge people so much, without taking a look at ourselves, I mean truly taking a look at ourselves.”
“Your right.” Greta sobbed, climbing on top of Wilbur.
“Just hold me,” she sobbed.
Wilber held her, patting her head again. He heard her hungry dogs in the back yard howling for food. He suddenly felt very violent. He tugged on her hair, yanking her up off the couch by it, tossed her to the trailer trash stained carpet.
“People like you shouldn’t own animals!”
Greta lay on the carpet, crying more.
“I know, iI'm sorry Wilber, all those dogs are from my x husbands, I don’t know how to take care of myself, let alone those dogs, don’t beat me.”
“I aint gonna beat you, you stupid bitch, but maybe every once in a while you should feed your dogs, untie them, take them on a walk, let them sleep inside!”
“I know, I was a shitty mother, and am a shitty animal owner, I’m sorry.” She sobbed.
Wilber grabbed her keys, and started heading for the door.
Greta stood up and ran after him. Pulling on his shirt with enough force to send him flying back on the couch. She jumped on top of him, and began shoving her smokers tongue down his throat. Wilber pushed her off of him half laughing.
“Jesus Greta, iI'm really flattered, but I gotta go, it’s video night with mother.”
“Fuck you too!” Greta screamed.
Wilber sped off in her truck feeling woozy from the oxycontin and all the booze he consumed. His heart gave weird rhythms that were not normal. The arteries to his heart were working the best they could to keep up with all the poisons Wilber put in his body everyday. He was an addict. Always had been. An addict of anything he ever enjoyed.
Wilber pulled up back to his mother’s house.
“Where the hell have you been Wilber? I was getting worried. You know it’s video night!” his mother screamed at him as he walked in red eyed.
“Sorry ma, got caught up doing some overtime at the office.”
“You don’t work in an office anymore Wilber! You’re a lousy dishwasher!”
“That’s right mother, sorry, well anyway, what video did you rent, we can still watch some of it?”
“It’s the tele tubbies special, a new release, shall I pop it in?” Wilber’s mother asks.
“Mom, I don’t want to watch the tele tubbies right now, I told you I only like to watch them in the morning when I get stoned and haven’t had enough sleep.. speaking of which.,,, You got any weed mother?”
“No, you stole it all.”
Wilber gets up off the chair and pops in the video.
“Did you hear the oxycontin killer got another one today?” his mother asks him.
“What is that? Like 17 dead now?” Wilber asks, as if he doesn’t know.
“I think it’s 18, the newspaper is over there, it’s headlines again.” His mother tells Wilber.
“Lots of fucking sickos in the world mom.”
“That’s for sure son, that’s for sure.”
“I guess I got a roach of some kind bud left.” Wilber’s mother says, lighting it up, and passing it to her son.
The tele Tubbies special starts and Wilber and his mother watch it, occasionally one of them laughs hysterically after minutes of silence.
They turn it off after a while and promise to finish it later.
Wilber kisses his mother goodnight on the cheek and goes back to his room after eating some of her home made pot roast.
Wilber shoots up some more oxycontin in his room. He pulls his gun out of his closet for the nightly ritual of Russian roulette. 18 nights he has played the game. He twirls the guns chamber around with one bullet in it. He looks in the mirror and points the gun to his head staring viciously at his own eyes. He wanted the game to end. Not to save innocent lives, but just because he was so tired of living. He felt his revenge was sufficient. 18 dead, the area in a complete media frenzied chaotic panic. Grocery stores covered with armored troops outside of them, checking everyone before they enter. The president of the United States calling the oxy killer ‘a worthless coward’ on fox news. Wilber smiled in the mirror and pulled the trigger. Click. Nothing. No bullet tonight lodged in his sick mind.
“Fuck!” Wilber screamed, realizing the game must continue.
He pulled out some baby food in a jar he had bought earlier at the grocery mart. He pulled out 20 oxycontins, 80 milligrams each, for cancer patients only and began to crush them, mixing them into the baby food. He carefully glued the tamper proof seal back on before screwing the cap back on. He shoved it down his underwear and drove to the local grocery mart at 3 am. The military patted him down before he walked into the grocery store. Not finding a thing, hating their jobs, just like Wilber.
Wilber quietly shoved the contaminated baby food back on the shelf. Wilber then bought some dead cow flesh to make chili, and some other odd munchie treats, like string cheese, beef jerky and such, candy bars…
He drove home smoking a Marlboro red and passed out as soon as his head hit the sheets after taking his anti psychotic medication, zyprexa.
The next day his phone ringer shot his head from a deep dream. He was dreaming of sex again in Hugh Heffners backyard. Wilber grabbed the phone.
“Whom the fuck is calling at this time in the morning!” he demanded.
“It’s 3:33 pm. Not the morning you fool, where the hell’s my truck? We're fucking an hour late for work again. Now git your ass over here and pick me up!” Greta yelled, slamming the phone down.
Wilber’s mother started pounding on his bedroom door.
“Wilber! Wilber! Wake up! You’re late for work again! The oxycontin killer killed a baby the sick bastard! He’s gone and killed his 19’th victim! It’s all over the news! Get out of bed son!”
Wilber lifted his head from pillow.
“Leave me alone ma, I’m just getting dressed for work.”
He headed for his bathroom toilet to vomit and wondered when the game would finally end. He had now killed a defenseless child. All his other victims had been adults. Society hated him even more now. He was glad about that. He drove over to Greta’s trailer blasting her shitty stereo after shooting up some of his never-ending supply of oxycontins. Later that night, after work, Wilber and Mother finished the Tele tubbie special. Wilber went to his room afterwards. He ate some of mothers beef stew before heading off. He took his anti psychotic medication. Wilber hoped this would be the last game of Russian roulette. That night the tele tubbies and 19 dead people haunted his cold hot sweat ridden sleepless sleepy junkie dreams. He saw an old man in his dream, holding a cue card up in the middle of a snowstorm. The old man was naked with a long white beard that hung below his cock. The beard was braided with human souls. The cue card the old man held, almost reached the clouds of other worlds, it read, # 20, in big letters.
A tear was falling down the old mans cheek in the dream. The tear was made of blood.
Greta pulled up into Wilber’s driveway and began honking!
Just as the old man in Wilber’s dream began torching the cue card with gasoline.
Leaking Ears:
Fortunes hand like a slick poker dealer sliding cards of thought under withering turning sleepless bodies. The sweat covered sheets & a constant shiver of looks as the clock turns 3 am, 4 am, 5 am, unexplainable rapid 3 minutes dreams spring head forth from almost spinning concrete narcotic pillow. Nightmares covered plugged in toasters with forks stuck shooting electricity down my crooked spine. What conscious conclusions of unconscious itches left unheard while voiced Valium’s scream oddities at no one-almost full-blown bed fire with smoke awake in panic. Generations of self inflicted scars from habits that try to kill frustration’s wrath. Monkeys with soap opera teeth in flowered dresses holding q cards for Wednesday night’s hissing air, coyotes packed together howling just outside. Turn air on, turn heat on, turn them off. Get so angry that you laugh for no apparent reason squirming around in delusions. Once you have eaten too much you cant stick your hand down your throat into your stomach cavity and pull some of it out. No need for forced vomit when eventually the body rejects the greed of ones own consumption – wanted remedy, but got something worse from starting points I fall. For up is down down is up, in-between doesn’t exist. Pupils like pin pricks exposing fragments of soul tar just around rigid corners running one legged through heavens doused in hellion balloons gone pop. Did I wake up yelling or had I been awake while yelling about constant changing imagery and meaningless words digging digging digging non stop in side my skull in search of momentary bliss.
Burble burp;
The windows broken in all its divine shattered glory- glass shards laying form to my bloody feet, don’t believe people who tell you about walking on glass without bleeding. What if vitality’s grace rode a half green horse with yellow sparkling wings- above through thundering clouds yet never spoke to its rider. The glass in my somewhat painful feet is a sign of the barking creatures out in them oh so near woods. I’m missing the point, left spinning around this global winter air, yet my face is flushed and burning like blazing fires in oil slicked sea’s of ones own circling mind. If these flying white pebbles from sky beaches in space rained down upon all of earth would anarchy just be a daily chore, like brushing one’s teeth, like waking to a new day with no real purpose for continuation. Horizontal cumbersome illicit palpations in realizations blotch out for reasons only they can coincide with, dreams are ones only entertainment when its all come to bleeding feet, bloody knuckles, messy parts strewn among chapped up dry slivering debris of painted portraits ruined. My mind moving so quickly that it’s yelling at me to slow down. Every time they signaled me I retreated into unexplained thoughts that nagged at my brain like those invisible nats flying around ones head after heaving to hard.
Fact-about 65 percent of new marriages will end in divorce or separation.
More human beings need to learn how to be alone-
Fact- it could be over exertion, indigestion, drugs, or angina signaling a heart attack-
Fact- about 90 percent of all food borne illnesses can be transmitted from animals to humans
Fact- you can be electrocuted while talking on the telephone during a
thunderstorm-
Many phobias are real, many imagined, yet they exist and multiply everyday we lift our weary heads from warm feather pillows & shuffle body to blue bath tiles to let out the waste in us-only to be surrounded by others who reek of falsehood and whose souls shine programmed brains in eyes made of silly putty. Repent for endlessly globing the mixture into sweat glanded overrides. Wobble while you walk strong through illusions one can only fathom in certain climactic forfeits. Appear before judges demanding that you are the president! For your horse has golden wings!
Punching air
Empty nights filled with abnormal tic tocs
Standing perfectly still wondering when
The ventricular pumps will give up
Eye sliced red lined promises never kept
Again with twisting of neck
Loneliness looking to fill another void
Moving quickly to fight off nods
Pill sliced dog walk at 3 am
Bitten by keetars ruled no pet
Everyone has a time to exit
Cry kick and scream; explain you’re not done
See if it happens again
Random Ignorant thoughts
The baby ape sat behind the bed, just out of reach.
Curled up kitty ate tuna at midnight.
Yesterday was the same as today.
“Want to go out for a beer?”
“No, I’m busy”
when we sleep we eat out of ourselves.
Extended furry legs spray painted black and white.
Whiskey snout ear long gated brain ache bright light work shit.
Her tummy hung down passed her knees fermenting into the night’s waterfall mirage.
Santa clause sat in the middle of the mall sweating his ass off, hung over, the music was slowly driving him mad as each kid came up to sit on his lap, and either cried, or said what their greedy little beaks wanted for the big holiday.-5 fukin 50 an hour for this shit. Santa thought to himself pulling on his reindeer overalls. Two snooty lil punk kids stood high above flicking spit wads at him from the upper deck of the mall.
Mama kitty purred in the barn with her cubs suckling on her mama kitty nipples.
Papa kitty was out in the woods, ripping a bunny rabbit apart with his sharp teeth. Pulling the intestines out, stuffing his papa kitty furry belly.
Phone cord ripped now gone over to see if see saw said where torn artery said play on the swing set without sandals from downtown rip off.
“Would you like to go to an opera?”
“No, im busy”
big clouds turn dark blue-black white thin expansion lost weighted memories forgotten time seem morning came to be swallowed.
Enter world of snarks in hidden boxes to release trip mine shot gun rocket gun taser tau. Blowing peoples heads apart inside a computer game out of shear boredom.
Baby ape runs in fields through knee high corn past pastures of babies nuzzled in warm blankets near fires and smells of chicken soup frothing around the wooden cabins.
horse carriages in green fields bringing medicine on sunny days to junkie farmers plowing fields of cotton to sell a nickel a piece. Relief is a human word.
Exotic temples planted on purple mountains filled in harmonic voices that echo silent strumming acoustic guitar ashes. Stars from a Cracker Jack box floating along Santa Cruz candle lit shores summons coast of peacefulness among the wars.
Man on the side of the road on acid naked hitchhiking in winter storm with a bag of magical stones slung over his numb shoulder wondering just when it all began to happen.
Young boy milking cows on an iceberg in the middle of the Atlantic when he looks up into the sky above to see a 747 coming down out of nowhere, doing a nose dive into all the screaming voices stuck to suitcases. Seawater rapture waves death, a swimming cow with calves.
A pirates boat with angry armored Jamaicans and Vikings screaming and swinging swords from over due hunger holding flags of conquer, eyes made from steel machines.
A man on break from work buys two packs of cigarettes and a cheap Japanese looking knife with a dragon on it for seven dollars and 99 cents. He nibbles on peanuts. But they could be cashews. his left eye is doused in visine yet is still redder than a slapped virgin’s face. Jonny wakes up in the sewer next to a toad. Trucks on the freeway overhead pass buy leaving loud echoes in his ears. He pulls a picture of Santa clause out of his back pocket.
It’s wet with mud and grease on it. Alligators are moving in to the swamps of the sewer in search of a holiday meal.
“hi, would you like to maybe go see a movie sometime, if your not to busy?”
“no, I cant, I’m busy”
Nick drake walked into the bookstore today with his guitar and he sat on the bench across from the register and began playing a new one he had made up since his death.
“but you're dead” I told him.
A girl I work with came up to the register and said
“whom are you talking to?”
I looked at her. “huh?”
I looked back at the bench. There was nobody there.
Space ship world eyes eat lamb fat gross gravy clumps of stoner wished
parasite traveler gypsy mask torn. Whatever you take to come up always makes you come down. Whatever you take to make you come up always makes you come down.
Lips in motion like seagulls over road kill rodent, I tried to swerve the vehicle..
Where’s mymind.
“would you like to take a journey to another part of the world with me? I have some frequent flyer miles out in the tomato pastures.”
“no, I cant, im busy”
“whom am I speaking too sir Henry?”
“my names Richard, as in dick, I’ll be your bartender for the night, what would you chumps be having tonight?”
two divorced ladies stare at each other, than back at dick.
“We’ll have two bloody mary's with a pickle and a slice of lime in Smirnoff please.”
The two ladies say at the exact same time. Then they whisper odd bird chirps to each other in fast forward motion.
Richard walks off to make their drinks. A slight chill running straight up his narcotic blooded spine. “fukin freaks tonight” he mumbles, looking over at these two guys in identical clown suits watching a boxing match on the large screen. Sitting in high chairs. All the clowns ordered all night was cheap canned beer and tomato juice.
A phone rings in a graveyard out in tim buk two. Two boys are cutting open a pumpkin in the middle of the graveyard.
“are you going to answer the phone?” one says to the other
“what phone? What are you talking about?” the other boy says, digging some seeds out and holding them up to the moon.
“the one the baby ape is calling on!”
a waitress gets an eviction notice. Her husband steals the kids. Her car broke down. Her fridge is empty. She has a cd in that only skips. She is staring at an atlas that leads to the center of her stomach. Her energy opens even with the stale air encircling her. She lifts her head up and watches a late night TV show while finishing the last of her husband’s vodka. She goes to bed smiling. Humming about her new Santa clause lover she met at the mall that day. On a chance encounter at the pizza food court. the blues Christmas mixed cd is blowing hymnals down locked gates in forests gone.
Ginger bread eggnog 14 faces rum ships into ports made from pier 39’s, fake mustard strings. rubber chunks. Larry ate barbecued apples with cooked duck on his canoe raft.
Swollen nose like Santa. Aches from abuse as if worked on a roof all day. Instead toxins carry with in their pleasure foams, all the pain in ones delusional whore infested universe.
The Christmas tree was free because all the vultures had bought one to early.
Pine needles among oriental rugs. I’m going to rent a 2 bedroom ginger bread house and invite humpty dumpy over if he brings Dorothy’s lizard for skoz for show and tell we told what could not always be told without eyes strapped to jets few fly.
“would you like to take a flight on my airline and maybe have some dinner over a few glasses of the consumption of your choice?”
“ummm, I’m kinda busy, but. Sure why not. I’ll do it.”
“you will what?”
“I said I will go”
“sorry, I didn’t expect that answer, so now I must change my mind, and inform you to whom are we speaking. I’m busy”
“what are you talking about?”
“what do you think im talking about!”
Rain fell over the lake in heavy downfall as lightning cracked through the humid air.
Richard the dick brought the divorced ladies their drinks.
“can I get you ladies anything else? I mean you two freaky chumps?”
the divorced ladies cuffed each other’s ears and made quick odd bird like sounds, giggling at Richard. Sipping on their drinks,
staring over at the two clowns watching boxing.
A man walked in looking lost and hungry, weathered and torn, scratching his head with a bloody nose swollen from years in life’s laundry cycling vibrator.
“a pay phone!” he shouted at dick
KOO KOO LeaF
Hearing things that don’t exist
Feeling things that aren’t there
But maybe they are
Convinced someone is coming over to get me
To take me away and lock me up
Every creek or crack or movement
Is a sign that soon they will pull up
Breaking down my door
They are even in my computer
They try and delete my works all the time
Convincing myself it’s all real
Am I torturing myself?
Or is it some vast conspiracy that I can’t control
I know what im not suppose to do
And I know why, yet here I am doing it
Pulse rate beyond rapid
Fluttering mind of paranoia wont let me be
I hear someone walking around outside the window
Maybe they have a walkie talkie
Maybe that person is calling the others to move in
All my lights are out, but I bet that doesn’t convince them
Maybe even my beloved cat is in on it
Signaling them with his mind control whiskers
Under his fur and skin could be radio transmitters planted by them
Maybe the food I bought a few nights ago
Had poisonous tracking devices in it
That they put there, to watch me, all lodged up in my stomach
Maybe that’s why I refuse to eat today and yesterday
I started reading a new book today, bored and agro phobic to venture out
But the main characters name turned out to be mine
It frightened me, why would the author pick my name
Was he watching me from my bookshelf last night
Planning the entire episode
They want me to buy another gun because they stole my last one
I do believe if the phone rang right now my heart would stop
They have all my phones tapped, at work, and at home,
What if time doesn’t exist but for me only, what if humans no longer needed sleep,
Maybe sleep is just a big cover up to keep us quiet at times
So we can’t really see for too long what they are plotting
Im convinced the over head lights at work have been tampered with
To make things way to bright, their rays try and brainwash me into insanity
To finally pull the rip chord that didn’t work
By the end of each workday I have these intense headaches
If I only had a job where I worked alone, where no one could see me,
They could read what I wrote and send me money for it, but could never see my face,
I would never have to answer questions or talk among the employees
Who by the way seem to all think they are in on some private joke
And they think I don’t know what goes on, like I don’t have ears,
They too might even work for the walkie talkie people outside
Getting over time pay to spy on me
and report back to the head leader who tampered with the lights
Who may have implanted that stuff in my food and in my cat’s stomach?
Has my mind crossed over into some other world no one else can feel?
Or maybe that is all part of their plan to make me think that the voices aren’t real
Some extravagant plot to try and medicate me again
It use to be a passing phase until too many coincidences started happening
Last night I had written an epic chunk of the novel for hours
Then suddenly my computer crashed and it was all lost
The document was still there, but was now written in Japanese with a virus attached to it
And could not be restored to its original format, don’t you see?
They are slowly trying to do me in- constantly keeping tabs
I even tried to make friends with a few once, but they had orders to be silent
They also control the ice maker in the freezer and only make ice
When they feel I have obeyed their constant demands, they even hired an x
I better stop telling you all this, they are getting pissed off
I can tell by the radio waves in my cat and whatever they implanted in me
I hear more then one now outside with an advanced walkie talkie
They are taking up positions for the plan they originally stole from me
When I was younger, they broke in and stole my maps I had been working on for years,
Not earthly maps, but maps to the other world, which now, I’m afraid of
I better go out in the woods now and hide, I think if I eat tree bark
It will scramble their radio signals for a short time, until they start again
White vans
The white van was out front when I pulled up to work
The sun was out and I was chain smoking, almost barfing,
Hungover again again again, what the hell was I doing up till 5 am again?
I noticed some of the crazies out front
Sitting on the bus stop bench
Smoking cigs, drinking coffee and looking up at the sun
Talking babble amongst themselves
Thorazine robots shuffling their feet slowly to just another day
Janet was sitting on the bench inside
Directly across from the register
Her mustard stained sweats, gut pooping out of 3 sized too small Mickey mouse shirt
Johnny cash was singing Christmas carols over the loud speakers
when I walked in
She no longer called me Charlie Manson
Or tex Watson, or Elijah.
She saw me when I walked in
“Nicholas! Hi! What you doing cowboy?”
“hi Janet” I mumbled
women employees snickering about my so-called girlfriend
8 hours left AND COUNTING……
I STARTED PUTTING BOOKS AWAY!
Janet sat at the middle table
Mumbling to fat housewives buying romance novels
The fat ladies got scared
As if they are so much better then Janet
Fuk, people, people !!!!!!
Janet With this black guy who drools all over himself
from the white van
He always tells me chuck Norris is his dad
“hey Nicholas! Do you have the book helter skelter!”
janet screams for the zillionth time
her caretaker comes up to her
this black lady, and goes…
“janet! What did I tell you bout behaving in public?”
janet looks down at the ground, sad..
“im sorry miss snurdles, I was just talking to my friend Nicholas”
“well keep your dam thoughts to yourself girl;”
“no mam, its ok, janet and me our friends, I don’t mind”
I tell her caretaker
“as long as she is behaving herself” her black caretaker mumbles, walking away
back to the clearance isle in search of xmas gifts
I put books away, and walk by janet.
Saying..
“books, books, books”
she chimes in with her response she always tells me
“and more books! Mr!”
“that’s right janet” I laugh
the Indian girl I work with walks by with a cartful of books
janet loses it
“dam northern Germans! So dark skinned! Like me!”
the black drooler guy sitting next to her
starts mumbling
“no janet, shh, keep quiet.. shhh”
some yuppy mom walks by janet
and janet goes
“hey mary sue! Member me from Austin college? Its me peggy sue?”
the yuppy mom walks off scared
janet looks at me, and I say..
“books, books books,,”
“and more books !”
she screams
soon the white van leaves
all 16 mentally challenged people load up in it
I stand on the register
Staring out at the sunny day, trapped,
Just like her, trapped..
& Janet’s eyes wave goodbye to me
till next time
