She tore the hems from with out of her skin. Daunting and restless single key voices came from each open wound. Neither this nor that makes any sense. A curving sharp edge of the knife in her hand cuts the end of the thread. Wayward theatrics of bodily fluids- spore out conclusions of a worn out woman as she lies on the floor and stops moving. She’s done nothing. Nothing but help herself from dying. And the party just sees this girl on the floor. Bloodied in pain. They don’t know she is resting peacefully and not in any harms way. And she’s steady sitting up, leaning back on one arm, staring at them while they peer down at her. They don’t gasp, or help, or point, they just stare back the same stare at her. And somewhere inside herself the feeling of alienation dwelled sharper than when she was a child. And she knew. Alienation is a dark place. It’s somewhere where you don’t see anything. It haunts you in your sleep. It goes with you everywhere. There is nothing. Just you and the dirt. She goes at it steady, at her own pace. In time she will have something to unfold, because she analyzes everything. This may not take long to navigate, this novel. The direction may get, and be very sloppy, but we have to walk through the cracks of her past to figure out what is wrong, for her to live in the present and move forward towards the future. That is the most important thing here. We left off where she was writhing on the floor, people were staring, and alienation flooded in. She is aware and in-tune with this feeling. She knows it well. Though she has never known how to cope with it. She’s been aggressive. Right now she is limited to the facts of life and death. Because her intuition has given her this feeling that she was never suppose to have been born. It makes sense. Completely. If she has no feeling of life from God, and no life from the Earth, then where? Does she need a feeling of life from somewhere? Is mother not enough? No. And why not. Why does she need to feel life from somewhere? Alienation I guess is just a natural feeling. She delves into maybe focussing on the reason of why nothing matters. And suddenly peeks a hint of notion. “Wait,” she says to herself, “wait.” “Nothing Fucking Matters!” she says. She feels this light of darkness dissolving from her heart. “It’s okay.” She says. And you know, it is, because this is just the beginning to something new. If the Earth is to die, we are pointless, we are accidents. It makes sense. No one was meant to be here.

Zenith is me

I listen intently
with different
facing the wall
with no instructions
denying the world
one too many times
facing the world
one too many times
going at it again
doing this again
But then again
it is different isn’t it
straight I walk
the path is not
it is frantic
I am going
at it steady
hand in my coat pocket
hear my heart beat
my foot steps calling
straight i am going
straight the pumping takes me
that is all it ever is ever should be

Isis fighter

Isis fighter
In your gods name you will you slain hundreds today
you will rape children or women today
you will you destroy historical artifacts today
you will over run cities and drive civilians from their homes
or maybe you will be a delusional martyr
I don’t think I will ever comprehend as much as I try
to know why you are so angry and malicious
it saddens me to know I roam the same earth as you

sink hole swallowing

It’s that way again, biting my lip again, falling on things, lousy feelings, feeling no pleasure, heading for no where, stopping at dead ends, ends that turn me around, around to focus on nothing, focussing on nothing, my eyes use to see everything, now they see blindness, black space with no color, biting my lip raw, so raw it numbs it’s self, bleeding out my mouth, out where I speak to people, people who can’t hear me, I use to yell, now I can’t hear myself, biting my lip, the fatty tissue, swelling the lip, swelling so big, bleeding out the mouth, listening to the popping, the pop in my jaw, clicking in my ear, there is no time, not even to run from myself, where is the surface, I can’t feel the ground, the ground that earth gives out, sinking in a sink hole now, the sinking is degrading, swallowing me face first, elongating my legs out far enough they stretch to the streets, the streets that use to behave me, brave me, degrade me, all over again degrading, the sink hole feels me, I am one with too many -or too little memories, not doing enough to fix the problems, problems that numb me, the lip biting, numbing, sink hole swallowing.


I can not culvert into the world
Stuck inside a flood about to overflow
Into a space unknown
A king of backwash I’ll overflow
It doesn’t matter now
The rush pushes me down
Toward the dark I see so often
Across my knees I bend
At my needs of panic
And fear when I can not transform
Into a human being
Of attraction or affection
Or anything un-empty
I can not pull myself out
the backwash deformity

State of borderline flatline
Blue skyline dry grass against the hillside
Bland cornflakes in nonfat milk in a cereal-bowl
Static gone clear on the television tube
Doctor forget to call on the cellular telephone
Pills go empty from the pill bottles
Circular movement array teeter-totter
Convulsants erratic dancing unwanted
That is the end, sorry no story intendedCulvert_with_a_drop

One would say, “who are those two?”

“Mixed matched.”

A Buddhist blond, and some dark mysterious looking chick.

Paired up, across another, sitting outdoor’s, on the patio of a cafe shop.

Chatting it up, or bickering at one another.

They’re two stuck in an alley way,

torched for serenity. 

Drenched in mucus,

leaving though always,

one another clean.

We sacrifice ourselves,

in our own destiny’s,

and want the same thing’s,

better outcome’s,

a better reality.

In hope despair,

I hallow out my heart, in cause and effect, you will make it burst.

From the breathe I’ve taken, and filled my heart up of yours. 

Every care, every worry, every compliment, sincerity, fear.

Break it down -every emotion we have ever shared.

Beyond reason, you came into my life.

Beyond somewhere, we entered realms.

I will never second guess it.

‘The how bad’ we needed each other,

that very moment, this very moment still.

And infinity, the cycles of three we go through.

We will go-Ever-Go-Lasting, and laughter will never begin, to have an ending.

Happy Birthday Friend Of The Rose’s, Humming Birds & Dragon Flies.

And my Best Bud.

golden fixtures attached to the walls

rest incarnate drenched to the bone

brown serpent neglecting right of passage

against the ceiling hang low crystal

woman of death lurks down the hall

purple smoke screen veil the rest to show

gliding backwards flailing circles of dust

structure sliding an earthquake at dusk

lay under restraint hold down constraint

a party folding sequester un-incounter

foxes drinking bouquets of possum water

clinking crystal glasses talking yelling

the suffrage is over and listed acquainted

primrose and golden orchids bloom eternally


The intensity in the brain the facade of her well being, jolting the same old name, she is two people, and it is what she believes, bipolar, it is true. Following nothing, following nothing. Inking thoughts, thoughts, that is all they are. Just like an object, pointless. Steady headed, she is boring, linear. Guided by fear of white spaces in every crack of the brain, ugly face again. How on earth is surviving anywhere near, if it is so depressing. She is steady, no vernacular. Boring, habits forming non-motivational habits forming. Forming a line around her body, how will she move, a red line around her body, force so controlling.
Animated sloppiness. Down-low. Determinate the spine to a halt, gouge the eyes with the ink pen to the skull, but there is no backside at the end of it. A visit from the other please, let the other come out. She wants her mania back, none of this non-motivational side, gouge her eyes with the ink pen gouge them out. Her pacing is array, her pacing she misses, if so she could write better, and get it all out. So she gets her busiest, most messiest, electronic music, loud and out. Mind go crazy, she is addicted to mania, her pill’s work too well.
A plateau, her mind is and boring she is mad forgetful, unlikely to think even poetically, none the less even likely to write a story, bullets protruding her empty soul forego the excellent soundtrack of her life. Sometimes useful, sometimes outright strange, dead, uneventful. Clear in the background, compete she rests no more bleeding out poring out methodically drowning in her own piss and shit nothing makes any sense why try.

cloudsgrey/bipolr:short story; one

Slander. Murmur. Decay. The flowers try hard to be pretty and succeed well providing, happiness, smiles, and tears for the grave. The grave goes deep within, and down, then later with you, and now with a loved one. Down, down, it eases the hurt before the rot. In silent pity, not at all pity when the people down under begin their talk. Don’t want to fade away, be transparent, or otherwise after death, after the leaping demise. Shallow earth is life force and the force forever after. German shepherds ground junction nowhere it matters.
Cloud-gazing. Time spacing out. Zenith. Counting down not. Starving for nothing. Starving for attention. Loving to be lonely. Loving the unhappiness. Time exists only in the clouds passing. Mind is not racing. More or less. Stimulants. Injections. An inner lower vexed conversation. Back and forth denying source of relaxation. Her wellness wasn’t well at all. Her thoughts were contrived with her wellness being unwell. A pity which fell. A self pity of having never been fixed. Being fixed was her only wish, but then, she had been the only one existing. Though there were other things, but they were just other things. Walking alone. Always. It Never mattered. Never did. Walking alone does. Crowded. Catching the flu. And alone still it goes, catching the flu.
Granting the the frantic manic panic attacks -so the earth is good at what is does. Two things together are one. Doesn’t matter -doesn’t it matter? It doesn’t matter. Never contriving wanting knowing. The earth is only still once in time before you start going at it, at arms’ up. In womb -in mother, before you start to die.
There was a time one Holiday in Muskegon. Car ride. Compass center windshield. Pallet pouring a rain pour. Highway overpass’s. No center dividers. Sideway highway trees there for adoption. Grandma, in passenger seat Grandpa driving. Back seat, first big brother left seat. Second big brother right side. Little girl in the middle. Answer. Answer. You don’t answer. They talk. You wont talk. It is o.k. They will know another day.. Your forward is not their forward. Walking. They walk. It is all the same. Decreasing energy is not an answer. Increasing energy is not an answer. Nothing is an answer. It is all the same. It is all the same energy going forward motion.
Sky fade to black. Specks of hungry light unite intent tree tops bending minds. Staple tree. Ti tree. Falling from the sky . Trip to hospital but no ambulance. Doctors stitch the forehead. Blow up surgical glove to make lips smirk a hint of non fear. But fear. Pain. Fear. Iniquity. Blood. What happen? Nurse really is comforting. Bless this nurse what is her name. She speaks of friends, Like the one she asked about, Carrie. Soothing, leading, courting young motivational motion.
In Grammar school she was uncomfortable to look at her own cloths. Disheveled leaves align the floor ground . And unable to count. Only small counts until she hits the number Twelve. Twelve-teen. Thirteen-teen. Fifteen. Four teen-teen. On the swing. On and on she goes. Six-ix-ix-teen, seven-ixteen… Back and forth. Up and down. High equilibrium to the earths ground then up high again. Up level up. Come down go to school.
Then at night, later evening. A natural sleep over with Jaci, went out for a bowl of ice cream, then heard the kitten, stolen, screaming. Kitty. Kitty. Stupid cat. Orange tabby stick its head trough the open hole in the door of the closet. Take the door off the roll track. Dad called home to saw a slit for the nose. Kitty rescued. Orange tabby intoxicated by poison one day, one bad day. People fucked up. Exterminators. She happened ignorant. Happen. Happened.
Another one vacation, lot’s of vacations, parent never selfish. Yawing dust. Exhausting dusky City streets. Pick-up-truck. Cabin. Stuck. Unstuck in a world. Weird -weird -world. What is this place? Exhaled exhausted over and over again, doesn’t’ matter, what ever, why oh why does it go like this? What is this? Venting coast to the East. Heading North. Bean bags. First bean bag, big brother Red, his favorite color. Second bean bag, big brother Blue, his favorite color. Third bean bag, little sister Yellow, her favorite color, before she realizes her insides are black. The Blue truck’s navigator is Mom . Blue truck’s driver is Dad. Children bundled loose in the blue trucks’ cabin.
She said words. . The words she wanted to use. She said them to her friend of 13 years, which were now dying years. Friend never, never, came back. Happens, always when most likely needing her. Happens, when most always wanting her. Starving for attention. But She goes away healthy in a swagger. Steady. No pain. But hurt. Taking on the world. Melodramatic as always. Facing the truth. But not facing the truth. Swagger, distance tells all. Dancing like a muppet. Not what they say, or see. What the muppet’s do. How she moves, walks, talks, drives, and of corse dances. That’s how she does it daily to keep going. Surviving. If only the saddened people. Friends saddened. Whomever, who knew nothing, knew this, If only. And no day will come! You can keep talking. No day of happy people dancing away from a battle. Tenacious satisfaction. Abbreviated madness. habitual.
She sets astride in her cloudscape car…Photographer, at heart, and to show off especially to her family. –Camera shot. Blood shot. Song on repeat. No hesitation. Snap-shot, flip-flop, Pan-in, pan-out. Done, good. It’s good, it’s good, do it over. Stretch it out this time. Wait. Hesitate. Pan it out in script. Do it well, you see it well, what you want to see. Thousand hours couldn’t hold you in. A thousand hours couldn’t hold you still. Couldn’t put you deep beneath it’s skin. Take it well. Take it. Sustain your being. Simpleton. Newly new to this, beyond reasons she knew not to rely on herself, -didn’t do well -last long -was o.k..
Going at it day to day, -picking them off. But the Clouds couldn’t pull her through. Parallel. The river fell. The damn broke. Parallel. Broken note. She turns around. Agnostic. Atheist. Nothing. Internally everything. Danger provoked. Natural fear. Natural instinct. Nowhere is god but inside the face of every mirror. Where did she begin? Not from the beginning, but the pinpoint of learning. Where was it. And it doesn’t matter. And does it? It doesn’t at all in the slightest. The least bit.
The first day at school when wearing all black… fixth grade. Hair blown up in Aqua net. Nested knotted like Robert Smith. Eyeliner. Kids take her out back. To the field. To the tree. Their hang out. Her friends. Birthday party friends. Said what the hell are you doing! Tore the knots pelted her feet. Pushed her to the ground, left the field. Then Donna. Sweet dark smoking Donna.. We think alike… Vernacular. Can’t get around it. Passionate. Romantic. Increased emotion you can not get around it.. It is increased, they do that to you. People show fast emotions across their face, they do not blink, its not in their blink, not their look, or whatever… but a good-bye, or a good-night, and see you tomorrow. A ferruled, imprint, an increased heart-rate, forever, your thoughts forever, ever, where ever they are….An instant, fatal.
She listens intently with different instructions facing the wall with no instructions. Denying the world one too many times. Facing the world one too many times. going at it again. Doing this again. But then again it is different isn’t it. Straight she walks the path it is not. It is frantic, and going at it steady. Hands in coat pocket, hearing her heart beat steady, and calling. The future is a future. The mind is dark, but not darker. Clearing out now. Clearing out. Passing. Not sleeping anymore. Done. Then Donna, she, leaves up north.
Melodrama. Nothing is better and is more satisfying. Day after day it is satisfying. Will never get along without it. Bipolar. Forever and after. Where was the time. It was in denial. These short bursts of paragraphs, sentences all matter and match up and picked. Sculpted. For you. We are everywhere, all of us combined we all say the same shit, don’t lie. Count the times. You have maybe lied. No, lied. That is what we all do together, intertwined.
Bricks line everything. Even the sky. When you lie in bed at night and it is dark outside. Maybe you read your samuel Beckett book before bed, maybe this is something he might have said. But he didn’t. The horizon isn’t horizontal, it is parallel, and in fours, in the corners of your bedroom. She can do it better she says. Her ego may be bigger perhaps, but different. Lady, woman. Not man. Her ego bigger. Ha. He’s the man..

At break time from the coffee shop, she sits at the same bench sipping her coffee from her mug, studying the crows, doing their rounds at the traffic stop. …Hop, hop, hopping. The crows hop, along across the street. Drop. Drop. Dropping walnuts up five feet high from the sky down onto the street onto falling traffic then smashed by tires. She can watch the display all day long. Listen to the sounds of clicks and clacks from their throats. Watch them happy galloping, and giddy, in a team rooting for one another. And the cloudsgrey… Overcast, not flat grey, but rolling layers. Silver, Neutral, hints of blue, with no rain. The still air trapped, in the atmosphere. Her atmosphere, Joined along with the murder of crows. Murder of crows. As the saying is. So silly a saying, and where did it come from? So random. So dumb kind of. Alfred Hitchok comes to mind always first. The strange man.. The great man. Whom can direct an actor like no other man can. Set a scene, use black and white photography, like no other man can. Stand weird and stout, triangular, like no other man can. Ah the nineteen fifties. The suits, The woman, The fidelio, the veiled hats. The beauty and mystery. She never was there. Wished and fantasized, for her past. -But it doesn’t matter, thanks to film and photography, and the men and women who still tell there stories…
She use to be solitude type of girl. And a love for solitude it there for was. A bed full body solitude. -A bird yelling and punching with it’s beak at the cage solitude. A way of thinking she would do better in life. But it was a lethargic solitude. A false going on every day she’d do the same. The burning forward burning for reasons to sit her down. Lethargy is the devil. Lethargy… Something she lived through her whole existence, from birth, she guess’s from the beginning. A normalcy. Everyone was the same. They had to be. Until now. It is so different. Where did all the time go, manifested in anger, and adrenalin, here she is. She could park her car anywhere, she had her favorite spots. But growing up never gets better/but better,-more respected. She could sit there in her car forever and ever.
Friday is the weekend. Two days coming. The relaxing notion of freedom with children is the most blessing feeling. Then monday. Five days coming. Dogs. All week long. Walking. She Does it. Loves it. And still gets irate in life, frustrated. Life. Sadness. Depressed. Everything. Just like everybody. But intense. Manic. Racing. Suicidal. Compressed. So…On her bike, riding down the street, bopping her pig tails back and forth like Red Fragglerock, pig-tailed girl muppet. Traveling fast, flying, floating, feeling a levitation, hearing the music sound bouncing back and forth in her head, ear-buds opposite faced, with the motion of her pig tails, sloppily she thrashes around, rides like a drunk, in dreamland. Just like New Order says, “It’s never enough until your heart stops beating”… And the dancing, -singing guitars also saying something. ” There is no end to this”… And the singing bass guitars, rocking… And she is slapping the bass, air guitar-ing.. “There is no end to this”… “Remember life is stranger, life gets stranger every day”… She loves it, feels the music, all of it together a whole as one… Everything is perfect. Everything gets stranger… More.
Coffee. Coffee. Cigarettes. More cigarettes. Smoking. Alone. Talking. Nowhere goes randomness anymore, everything is justified. Stamped. Torpedo looks. Hot flashes. She hate this. Outside better. Black clothing intimidating to unsocalized people. Whatever. Use to it. Just the rude demeanor. Rude rude people out there. Somewhere everyday.
The sun goes down the way it should, but it puts a pull on her when it does late at night. It makes her wish nothing mattered. And wishing the pills were fresh across her face and not inside the bottle. Poor her. She bores a galore of despair on the floor, no more, wake up. Nothing like a panic attack. Resist it. Breath and drool. Breath in and out the drool. breath from your teeth deep and Moan. Smoke a bowl. Get it out. She does. Rewind.
Evil and good. What’s the difference They do what they can . But it isn’t enough. And the ones that stare, they don’t do anything at all. The gloating. The ugly ones, the ones with their mouths open when they eat. Which she could denounce them all. And who wouldn’t. Is that evil? No. Compare the bee that doesn’t do it’s work, communicate, keep up. it dies. What does the pain matter? Sooth the soul with dirt and rocks, make it last until the end. Take the buildings they’ve built, and make them your own, live in them.
When she is driving, she feels the car flying, like through space, especially at night on the freeway with the headlight traffic blowing toward her… Her favorite thing ever, space-mountain, at the front, with her arms out extended, what a thrill, and! ugh. Driving… All she does is hear voices. Not manic, but sometimes. Not telling her what to do really, sort of, but quiet. Dark for sure, sometimes hopeful, motivating, sometimes singing, playing notes, motivating, funny. Still saying though, one day it could all go a way of schizophrenia . In any case it does run in the family…
Wicked feelings of demise, and hurt maybe. No, not hurt. Pain. No one . Alone. Flying. No one, but you. More stilettos of every length and width. Fast forward. Fast forward the every emotion inside and out. She thinks to herself, screams out loud, sings out loud, “One day, when I am rich and famous, I will fuck you all in the ass! You rich fucks. You rich bitch. Done! I can drive faster than anyone on this freeway. I am done! I win!” , the exhilaration of telling the bitch off earlier in the parking lot, that woman, that ugly of a woman, the thicket of her face, what was she doing? telling strangers what to do, weird. Not stuck anymore. Push it open, move that door. Shove it with the left boot, there she goes. Ugh. Car.
Humanize her. Put her in a movie. Dehumanize her. Put her in a movie. Heading home. Alone. They were lame. She knew it. Didn’t want to go. Canvas waiting. Prepped. Ready to go. Cloudless yet cloudy. Burnt umber at the moon, wanting, waiting to turn rusty. Clear gaps awaiting her time.
A sculpture just like the one in the mirror if you would look up. It is cold. It is silent. It was never anything else, nor had she ever so slightly struck a curiosity. Time was present with experience with one eye clenched opposite a fist. One day. One day. The freeway will one day go forward forever toward her destiny.
It’s hard to do anything when she is stuttering and listening to Joy division. Completely complicated fractions. .. Sipping her wine, warm down her spine. Feels so good in the soul, feels go good in her frown. Write it all down. Ink trail bleed after brown ink on the paper. Can’t see well without her glasses. She remembers faces are not the same anymore anywhere, hearing voices in the walls, whispering hollow echos down the hall through the door, all up to her now. Get up, get out the door, walk the streets, to the liquor store.
She walks in slow motion. Slow-motion girl, where has all the time gone? Didn’t you know there is no such thing as time-travel. Except way back in memory. The graves, they own your name from the beginning Stone etched in your birth’s certificate. Obituary written daily. Watch the earth rotate. Watch the sun and moons’ power force the tides over her emotionally. Clamp her hands like lobster claws tight, no leverage. Tingle all over her deathly satisfying. Slow-motion where are you, Slow down more even so, No keep going. The ocean may be too rough for you, but the rogue waves are really nothing.
Shallow graves are nonexistent unless unfortunately death demise murder, suicide, and or, missing, or you’ve got another terrible story. He was found a few days later fortunate, at the transient trail, next the canal all wet, lying there three days in the rain, maybe longer, five days with out a word. There is nothing missing anymore. Everything is at her disposal.. Who knows what, but it doesn’t matter. It is all coming together, into place, once and for all. What a interesting intense destructive feeling a purpose can give you. A whole new high, grieving. Let the light in, but shit, a kind of thrill that seeks her. A kind of storm she wont wait for. Let a light hit. A bind in the brain that beats the head hard. Nothing is complicated anymore. Seeing in color. Seeing in color. Existential. Where is the black, hit the light, The light shit’s on her.
As a child, she’d been down this street so many times before. Smelling the cigar smoke, illuminating from the same cookie-cutter house from the middle of the block, resinating the area everywhere, the sweet smell, the sweet old nameless man. The smoke rust stops the sun, flips the street lamps on. Children start their hunt, romp, hide and seek fun. Hide in trees, Under hoses, taking stances, run for cover, count down their chances. Forward. following their footsteps, always following footstep, across the sidewalk count the steps, count the single squares in the cement. twenty Seven. Step on a crack, you what’s next…. No one, no mother, after dark, no one awake.
Starts her period thirteen years old, bloodied. There is a thing. Then at fifteen. he persisted, it was high school, they were freshmen’s. She had a little strength, if any. None in the the end. By thirty one, for sure. Her first hard core relationship. Anything you can compare to an adult relationship. It was love, but dumb, young love. Love, hard core love. It lasted, for the five summer’s. Then on and off and on and off. Still quaintness, maybe, a call on her birthday, valentines day, who could forget that? Mixed up after everything. After everything, after that. So many of them, and this and that, is that. Now, on four hand’s still cant count the weight of men.The the p.t.s.d she did it to herself. She still doesn’t know. And it all makes sense in it all now in a every which way. Vexed from the start like the beginning of the story says. Living. It just happens. Happens to everyone. She copes with pictures turned into dreams as memories. A stranger world of existence. -Thick pumping. -Thick pumping. Hard, fast pumping. In and out. Dick not what is thought. -Fast pumping. -Thick pumping. . It doesn’t stop. Harder still. End it will not. A stranger world exists inside her mind… Like cat skeletons stabbing her vagina in and out from the inside. Like bird beaks protruding her in the torso. Fix her bra, pull up her stockings, go out the door, run past the bathroom. Did she ever say no? Does she even remember? Demise it… Think when you enjoyed him…But FUCK that.. She can’t take it. Demise it and the shadow that haunts her.. She needs no sympathy, no. Just a fuck you fuck that. Not about to suffer again…. For anyone…..If the pills work, take them.
Get up, get up, again, what is she doing! Pain in the neck! Pain. Forgetting. . Agin, again… Dig around for it.. again. Find it. sit down.. Need something.. Get up.. Where did it go. She throws shit… Where is is.. Irate again. Found it, dug around. Go back, sit down. Go at it again… Can’t. Stuck. Easy isn’t it. No.
For shoulders, four arms. twenty fingers. , four hands. two bodies. four eyes. two mouths. two people. two people talking. Talking scribble scrabble, blah, blah, blah. Stories of the past. Good time’s, bad times, and they are none the less. Can’t go on like this, caring so much. No. NO. Not. But that’s what they say. “Calm down!” Always everyday the same. The people, shooting at her, laser pointer pointing directly at her head. Hollow body, hollow head, they don’t know she is ready more than ever right now. Facing nothing. But wait. No, She hides. Don’t relax it, resist it. Face it. They are not right, calm yourself. Worry no more about yourself, the contrive in yourself. She listens to the voices… She leaves it open, unable to care, the door ajar, far away forever, in day, in dark, wherever. The for whomever.
The cat walks across the floor, four feet along with beat, amazing. Her calico cat matches every room in the house. Any room. Any piece of furniture, any wall, anywhere. Her dog is a Shiba Inu. Orange and brilliant. Fox-faced. Matching the couch and walls in the living room, if she had to say. A glass of wine, home alone. Friday Her demise kicks in.
What’s so great about the living, Think if you don’t enjoy anything, If you overshot everything. The wind is howling, blowing over her.. The wind is everything. The wind is everything. And howling over her. Crooked steps down from here, slippery and old, holding the rail. The wind is everywhere, but she can’t see anything, the silence is howling through everything but her, a vast heart, in-between a cruel distance between the beginning and the end. Every step forward is a strain of what love is. So She paints to see inside herself. She can’t deny she’s dark inside, but too many colors out the outside world. Deep. Too deep they hit her hard. She paints to see inside herself. She gets it out stroke by stroke. Mixture by mix. If any pain, it can be fixed. She gets a dirty mess she loves. Gets deep into it. Her hand’s camouflaged in the landscape sun. Her head clears up, brush down and up the panel down and up the panel. Up.

Frank and Vivian

She went outside and lurking around the corner was her friend Frank, “Tess, Tess, c’mere, c’mere, I need to talk to you.  “She puts her head down an grumbles to herself, “fuck,” if this is like when Frank is all bonkers and shit she doesn’t wan’t to talk to him. “Hey, you know you ditched me after work the other day, why do you always run from me when I need you Tess, why do I alway have to hunt you down?”  Fuck he is all bonkers tonight,  shit.  “Dude, I didn’t ditch you, I have my finals and I had to go study, I am all busy and shit and I don’t really have time for everyones problems all the time.”  She spits in the gutter.  “Fine, it’s okay, I’m sorry, I’m not hunting you down, I’m just lonely that’s all, I guess I was all freaking out because I thought you hated me.”  “Jesus christ Frank, why would you think that, you are so insecure sometimes, you got to man up, and fucking be a man.”  “Dude I am a man, I fuck chicks, I love tits and ass.”  “Whatever, you know what I mean, I gotta go do some shit are you okay?”  “Yeah I’m okay, I’ll let you go.”  Tess gives him a hug and tells him to call if he needs to and goes back home.  Frank turns around and walks to the liquor store.

Frank makes a pitstop at Alice’s apartment.  She is doing the usual, playing her brand new nintendo system. “Hey what’s up?” Alice invites him in. “Hey Alice how you doing, I was just on my way to get some booze, are you drinking tonight?”  She points to her coffee table, “What’s it look like.”  There is a wine glass and a half empty bottle of wine there.  “I just polished off some brandi.”  And she lights up a smoke.  “All right, I’ll be right back, gotta go to the store.”  “Okay.”  She closes the door behind him.

Frank enters the liquor store, it’s the regular boss. “Hey.”  He continues toward the beer isle.  He opens the fridge and pulls out a couple of tall cans.  He gets some smokes and gets the hell out of there.  He gets back to Alice’s and just walks in.  “Yo.”  “Hey Frank, come in.”  Some death metal is playing low on the stereo.  “So Alice, my sweet alice, how are you?”  “I am just great.  I am out of money and my job is lowering hours.”  “Oh, lame.  I don’t work so I’m sorry you have to deal with that shit.”  “I know, when are you going to get a job anyway?”  “I don’t need to get a job, I’m on S.S.I,  the government pays for now,  I’ll figure something out, shit, Alice, fuck, why you gotta bring that shit up!”  “Sorry man, I know you are struggling, but you gotta fucking…”  “Dude, Tess was giving me the same shit, are you too?” “No, man, just chill, drink your beer, whatever.”

Frank burps really loud and enjoys it very much, puts his feet on the table and relaxes. He lights up a smoke.  “Fuck I gotta quit smoking, I’ve been like chain smoking these fuckers like crazy the past few days.”  Alice takes his smoke and takes a drag and sips her wine,  “wanna watch some Simpson’s or some Seinfeld or something?”  “Whatever dude, you got your tunes on, your wii on, it’s all good, just play your shit.”  “Okay, whatever. I’ve been on this Zelda trip the past week.”  “That’s cool, I don’t know why I don’t have a system, sucks.”  “Yeah this shit is cool I have it turned on like all the time.”  “I know every time I come here…”  “Well I got nothing better to do.”

Frank got up to use the bathroom.  “Need to take a leak.”  Alice just sat there in her torn up jeans and t shirt looking all cute.  She had pink hair this month.  She packed a bowl to smoke to ease the bollox of Frank.  Frank came back and sat down.  “Let me get a hit of that, fuck, what I really need is some klonopin or ativan, my doctor is being a dick and hoarding the shit from me.”  Frank drinks from his tall can.  Alice just doesn’t get it.  Frank sips from his tall can again, draws a smoke from his pack,  “you know, it’s not my fault I go a little loony sometimes.”

Frank finishes up his tall cans, has kind of had enough of Alice’s bullshit, and decides to leave. He never takes his coat off so he never has to put it on.  She lets him out.  “See ya.”  He puts his hands in his pockets and takes out his phone.  He looks at his screen saver for a minute, some dumb artsie picture he made a while back of some street cat missing its face.  He scrolls through his contacts and comes across an old friend he use to party with a few years back.  Fuck should I call that that dude?  Yes.  I’ll call him up, see what’s up.  I haven’t seen him in day’s.  So He pushes the contact and the phone rings.  It’s one of those songs rings.  Metal, ha of corse.  You can’t even make it out the service is so bad.

“Hello?”  Answers Doug and Frank says, “YO!  It’s Frank, whats been going on?”  “Hey, oh nothing,  I’m in town want to get together?”  “Fuck yeah, the night is still early.”  Frank says.  ”Okay, where do you want to meet?” Frank pauses, he is kind immobile at the moment.  “Well I don’t have a car right now, so…”  Doug’s all, “it’s all right I’ll pick you up where you at?”  “I’m at Alice’s, out front.”  “Oh, okay I know where she lives.  I’ll come get you twenty minutes.” “Okay.”  “See ya.”  They hang up.  Frank puts his phone back in his pocket, walks back to the liquor store and gets another tall can, walks balk to Alice’s and cracks it open, sits on some fake rock they put and make to cover electricity shit on the street, and drinks up.  By the time Doug gets there he is finished with his can.

Frank and Doug go way way back, they use party hard and stay up days on end just playing music together, recording song after song.  They were good too.  “So you been playing any music lately?”  Frank asks.  “Yeah, just alone, I play with a buddy of mine sometimes when he come in to town which is like never.”  “Yeah I play little sometimes, I have been going through his faze lately where nothing really feels good to me, so when I pick up the guitar all I want to do is throw it across the room.”  “Well I got a couple guitars at home wanna go jam? Of corse please do not throw my guitar.”  Frank smiles as says, “sure I’m buzzed enough.”

They stop for booze at the store on the way to Doug’s.  In the isle of the store Doug suddenly flials to the floor and starts writhing about, “Look I’m tobogganing.”  Frank starts laghing. “Dude your fucking funny man, I love you.” Doug gets up. They walk down the beer isle, they reach for some imported shit high alcohol content. They grab a twelve case and go towards self serve pay machine.  “Uh sir, you can’t pay for that here you have to go to the other cash register.”  Fuck Okay.  So they go to the other register.  Doug shows his I.D. and the lady is all, “this is from out of state, it won’t work.”  Frank’s all, “I got I.D.”  So Frank pays for the beer and they take off out the parking lot.

They get in the car passing some cute cute chicks in the parking lot.  Doug turns on the stereo, it’s The Talking Heads Heaven.  They reminisce for awhile and catch up.  Then Doug plants one on Frank,  “do you ever just feel like ending it all?”  They stop at Doug’s house.  Frank gets out of the car.  “What do you mean, are you going to do it?”  “No, no, just a thought, I don’t know why people can’t talk about it, that’s weird to me, that’s all, but whatever.”  “I can talk about it, what do you want to talk about?”  Oh, never mind.”  They make it inside.  Scramble to Doug’s room.  They start drinking.  Doug starts playing some of his songs he has written. Frank ends up getting plastered and passing out.

Frank woke up the next morning.  Doug was gone.  Frank went out to the kitchen of the house and said hello to his mom.  They chatted awhile and had a cup of coffee. “You need a haircut Frank.”  She says.  “Oh I know it is getting long. It’s all curly too it is a mess.”  “Well I need to shove to work Frank, you need a ride home?”  “No, I’m good.”  “Okay, I’ll see you later.”  She leaves out the garage with her purse.  Frank takes another cup of coffee from the pot.  Oops she left it on I guess I’ll turn it off.

Frank goes out to the back yard and smokes a cigarette.  Oh, it is Sadie their dog.  “Hey girl How you doing.  I haven’t seen you in a while.”  He pets her behind the ears.  She’s all dirty and dreaded.  She has this dripping beard all the time.  Her bowl of food is empty so he fills up with some dry food from the bag sitting there.  He finishes up his smoke puts it out and goes back inside and throws the butt in the trash.  It is going to be a long day, I can just tell.  If only Jaci were here, we always were doing something.

Frank still has his coat on.  His phone is not in his pocket.  Oh yeah he left it charging all night. So he goes and gets his phone and sees Doug texted him, saying something like he was at work and will be gone all day.  Work?  I thought he was just in town.  Anyway, so he decides to take off.  He locks the door behind him.  He walks to the book store where Florence works.  Aw she wasn’t there yet.  So he lurks around the book store for a minute and runs into an old friend.  She is pissed at him.  He hates her.  She just gives him the cold eye stare and walks away.  I need to get out of here.  So he takes off to the coffee shop.  She’s standing in line.  What the fuck. So he just gets in line.  There is some people in-between.  She doesn’t see him standing there.

In the meantime, Frank is standing in line, waiting to order a coffee and a scone.  That chick is just about to order.  She waits to the side for her latte-mocha-frappe shit, and finally Frank’s turn, he orders a small coffee and blueberry scone.  He pays, he puts a buck in the tip jar, politely thanks the dude for his coffee and turns to the door.  He makes it out with out confrontation.  Last time he saw that chick it was blunt force trauma.  She layed into him hard for lame ass shit that wasn’t true.  She has this crazy ego.  She is conceded.  Frank actually doesn’t even understand what her problem is.

Frank makes it around the corner, around the shop, through a gas station and an alley way, walks a circle to the park across the coffee shop.  The park is a square with shops all around.  It is the down town area.  There is a small playground on one corner of the park, and a stage with an overhang and fountain and some tables and steps on one other corner.  All around the park are benches.  There is a path that vertically goes through it, and sidewalks that circle it.  It is usually a busy park but this morning was foggy still and there was also still a chill in the air and no kids were playing.

Frank takes his small pill box out of his pocket and takes his lithium, buspar, and risperdal and pops it in his mouth and takes it with a sip of his coffee and closes the box and slides it back in his pants pocket.  Fuck I remember when this park was all dirt and gravel.  He scopes out the people around him.  He recognizes some faces.  There is this mental facility near by.  The mental patients come down there and just hang out and walk around all day.  They are mistaken as bums.  Most of them mind their own business, but once Frank was sitting in front of the coffee shop smoking, and this crazy guy was at the corner talking very loudly outloud to himself, crude words, and he saw Frank smoking, and came over to ask for a smoke, and Frank said he didn’t have one to spare, and the man freaked out and threatened to throw him through the window.  Frank doesn’t see that guy around anymore.

Frank sits there for about forty five minutes and just watches all the crazies and soccer moms all about.  The fat lady and her weird looking dog are still cruising around on her rascal.  He use to serve her coffee when he worked at the other coffee shop on the corner years back, she always kept her money in her bra and when she payed she would lift her shirt all the way up over her belly and she would reach deep into bra and take this flat wad of dollar bills out.  They were wet and soggy.  And she smelled of pee.  She is looking better these days.  Frank finishes up his coffee and throws it in the trash and takes a walk back to the book store to see if Florence has started her shift.

He walks toward the glass doors of the store and already he can see Florence at work through the windows.  She is stocking books in the philosophy section.  “Florence, hey you, how’s it going?”  He says, as he walks up behind her.  She’s kneeling on the floor, she lifts up to stand and turns around and sees Frank and immediately smiles and gives him a big hug.  Florence is a few years younger than Frank, they met through mutual friends, she use to date one of his friends he use to skate with.  “Hey Florence, looking good.  What have you been up to these day’s?”  “Oh just working a lot, trying to move out of my folks house, saving up.”  “That’s good to hear.  I haven’t been up to too much myself just roaming the streets.”  “You been recording any music or anything?”  She asks.  “No,  Jeff quit on me and moved away, but Doug is back, I think, and maybe we can start something back up, I don’t know, I have been kind of staying away from home lately, not really dedicating my time to music.”  “Oh man you can’t give up, your old band was so good, you are a good song writer, you need to keep writing Frank.”  “Yeah, I know, I got to stop drinking so much, wasting my time passing out, just last night me and Doug were going to jam, but I drank too much, and passed out.”  “Oh frank you don’t drink that much, do you?”  “No, I just drink excessively, when I start, I don’t stop.”  “Frank I have to get back to work, I’m sorry, but we should hang out soon.”  “Okay, yeah.”

Frank Picks up a copy of Albert Camus’s The Stranger, pays and leaves.  He goes back to the park and sits down again and cracks open the book and reads the first line.  “Mother died today.  Or yesterday, I don’t know.”  And he shuts the book.  Frank’s mom died in a car wreck one Thanksgiving day several years back.  Drunk driver.  His dad still lived in town, they didn’t see each other often.  Frank had a way with distancing himself.  He had two older brothers and he was even an uncle.  He rarely came around his family.  They would guilt trip him a lot.

Frank put the book to the side, took his phone out of his pocket and texted his dealer.  “Hey, you got anything?”  He waited anxiously.  A text came back.  “Meet me in twenty min.”  Frank got up and forgot the book as he walk away.  He needed to to get to Dee’s right away.  First he needed to get to an ATM.  He walked across the street to the bank and pulled eighty dollars out

While Frank was walking to Dee’s he started to feel anxious.  His hands started feeling numb and he was starting to sweat.  He sat down on the curb.  He suddenly remembered about the book.  He was in such a rush he forgot it.  Now he is feeling sick.  Panic attacks aren’t a surprise to him.  He knows why.  In his mind he knows he can’t be using drugs again.  So he sits there and salivates.

Frank ended up sitting there for about fifteen minutes ‘till he got up and walked back to the bench he left his book at, it was gone.  He sat at the bench and put his head in his hands.  Florence came out on a break.  “Hey Frank, what’cha doin?”  “Oh nothing, not feeling so well, I don’t know what to do really.”  “What’s wrong?”  “I don’t know, I don’t want to talk about it really.”  “Frank what happen?”  “Nothing, I just kind of had a panic attack.”  “Are you okay?”  “Yeah, I’m fine.”  Frank never talks about his mom.

“I need to get outta here, rest.”  Frank stumbles up, and says good bye to Florence.  She sits at the bench and watches him walk away.  Frank walks to his apartment.  He lives a couple blocks away.  The washer and dryer are on as he passes the laundry room.  He walks up the stairs to his door and out comes his room-mate.  “They threw out my cloths!  Those assholes stole my cloths!”  His room-mate is pacing back and forth in and out of the place.  “What are you talking about?!” Frank yells at her.  She has this habit of leaving her cloths in the dryer for a few days, someone in the complex got pissed and threw them out.  “Why do you leave cloths in there?”  Frank tells her.

Frank goes to his room and lies down.  He wakes up after a few hours and then shaves and showers.  His rome-mate is gone, it is nice and peaceful.  After his shower he cooks some eggs and toast.  He eats.  He cleans up after himself, washes the dishes and goes back to his room to lay down some more.

Franks phone goes off, he gets a text message from this girl who likes him.  She asks him what his plans are for the evening.  He replies, nothing.  They make plans to meet up at the bar down town.  He hasn’t wanted to hang out with Louise since last time he ran into her with his date and she made kind of a fool of herself.  Franks room-mate comes home with lots of weed and Frank and her smoke out in his room until he leaves for the bar.

Frank gets to the bar fashionably late.  The THC is weighing him down.  Louise is sitting at the bar with a beer.  Frank walks up behind her, “hey Louise, how are you?” and he sits down.  “Hey Frank!”  She almost yells, “How are you?”  she says.  “I’m okay”, and he flags down the bar tender and orders a beer.  Louise starts explaining herself to Frank, “hey about the other night, I feel really bad and stupid…”  “Oh it’s okay, you don’t have to worry, she didn’t care.”  “Oh okay good, I thought she was going to be mad at you.”  Louise embarrassed herself by acting like a jealous girlfriend, his date thought it was cute.   “Louise it’s okay, but are you okay?”  “Yeah, I’m fine, I know me and you will never be together, but I know you like me, I just don’t understand.”  “Oh Louise, you know I like you.”  “Then why do you always avoid me?”

Frank walked home from the bar that night feeling lonelier than ever.  Frank got home and was feeling antsy, so he decided to go back out for a walk.  It was getting dark.  He put his ear buds in which he grabbed on the way out.  One step in front of the other.  Listen to the beat.   A lady pushing  a stroller pass by toward him.  Two kids on bicycles ride across the way.  Swirling wind.  His chest relaxes with each breath he inhales.  He walks past the AA building, there are people outside smoking. He strolls by  and says hello quietly, not sure they heard.  His hand in his coat pockets, rustling around change and keys and other unknown items.  He walks toward the park, it is fairly empty.  A woman passes.  Too far to make out her face.  Louise.  Louise.  She’s on his mind.  Why is she so pushy?  He steps down the curb, crosses the street.

Frank decides he want to denounce all of his friends and people.  He wants to become some kind of recluse and not talk to chicks anymore because they are lame.  Maybe he is just having a bad day.  Doug hasn’t contacted him since the other day.  On and on went the days.  He was loosing interest in everything.  Things were hard to do.  He was thinking about getting a dog.  In the morning he would go to the pound.  He was very sporadic.

Frank walked the streets and avenues of his neighborhood.  One foot in front of the other, just the same as the other.  Walks a line.  Takes the sidewalk.  It is fall, leaves fill the streets.  Smell the air.  Crisp.  The earth looks dwelling.  Pace after pace gets tiring.  He lights up a smoke and  sits down.  Feels the cement.  It’s cold.  Damp.  Puts one hand in his pocket.  Smokes.  The album he is listening to is over.  A dog barks.  Distant noises.  Clanking noises.  Motor running.  Frank gets up with his one hand.  Turns around.  Goes back the other way, then turns again, then again down a different road.

Frank walks down past some trash cans on this dirt path road.  He remembers a wile back a party he went to near his house that was on a dirt path road that he could never find.  He doesn’t remember who lives there though.  He walks down the road and sees a car.  He immediately recognizes it.  He turns around and walks away fast.  He is panicking now.  Stumbling on his toes like a fool twisting his ankle. He doesn’t trip, and he scuttles back to the other road.

Alone, Frank recedes out the dirt road around the other road.  He paces gimping.  Walking home now.  Forget his name, forget it.  All is forgotten.  His panic comes down.  His toe is cramped.  Stubbed it while he twisted his ankle.  He puts his ear buds in and listens to some noise.  Feels forever but he makes it home.  Mel is on the phone in the living room.  The T.V. is on.  Frank changes the channel to some cartoons.  Mel jus sticks her tongue out.  On the coffee table sits her pipe and weed, she is real lax about letting Frank smoke her stuff, so he packs a bowl for himself and sits back on the couch.  Exhale the emotion out.

Vivian Vauxe Puts on her black ceramic (pearls).  She combs her bleached blond hair and paints on her lipstick.  Her dog jumps up as always and she lets him up on her lap.  She waits for the call.  She sits up, her dog gets down. She goes to her bed and lies down.  Her dog jumps up, they spoon.

In the morning she puts on her robe and lets her dog out, while she waits she lights up a smoke.  Her dog takes a while so she finishes her smoke, puts it out in the ash tray, goes inside and starts up the coffee maker.  It doesn’t take long, it’s one of those one cup machines.  She goes back inside gets her note pad and pen and book and goes back outside to her patio in the sun and lights up another smoke and takes a sip of her sugary coffee.  Her dog is playing to the side with a toy.

She got to thinking, about everything, her brother, her mom, her lame social life.  She ended up falling asleep last night through the call and never went out.  She constantly sabotages herself, which lends up leading her to being alone in the end.  She got up to pace and play with her dog.

She smokes and paces, while Frank is at home lying in bed.  His stomach is empty, he feels pain but it doesn’t grumble.  He lies there waiting for the grumble.  Finally it grumbles, just a little bit.  He lies there, there’s something on his mind, something he was suppose to do last night he can’t remember.  He had a bad memory, just when he was thinking he got a text, he reaches over and grabs his phone, it was from Vivian, saying she fell asleep last night and that she was sorry.

Frank and Vivian make plans to meet up at the park with her dog and take a walk.  Vivian puts her boots on, powders her face, leashes her dog up and goes to her car.  She drives to 711 and gets a coffee and a pack of smokes and gasses up, drives off to the park.

Frank gets up off the bed goes to the kitchen and opens the refrigerator, he looks inside, holds the door open, nothing to eat, except cheese and bread and eggs.  He takes two slices of cheese out and takes the bread out of the cupboard and makes himself a cheese sandwich.  He goes to the bathroom and brushes his teeth.  He goes back into his room and gathers his things, his keys, his phone, his wallet, and puts on his shoes and coat.  He steps outside into the sun and walks down the stairs past the laundry room and into the street.

Vivian parks her car.  She gets out of the car and lets her dog out.  She decides she wants some ice coffee.  She walks to the coffee shop across the park and ties her dog up to a table.  She goes inside and steps in line and all she can hear is her dog barking.  She can never leave him alone tied to things because he has abandonment issues.  She tries to hurry and order her coffee.  She reaches the end of the line and orders herself an ice coffee.  She pays and walks to cream station and pours a little cream in her coffee.  She tastes it, it’s okay, she walks back outside and grabs her dog and settles herself on a bench in the park.

Frank saw Vivian’s dog, looked up, saw Vivian sitting there with her coffee.  He walked over to her and casually says, “hey you over there.”    “Hi Frank…”  Vivian’s dog starts barking at him, “hey, what’s up with that?”  He walks up slowly, her dog mellows out and jumps up to greet him and licks his hands.

Vivian gives Frank a hug, they embrace, he smells her hair, touches her back shoulder blade. “I know it’s early but I feel like drinking,” Frank tells her immediately. “I have my coffee, seriously?” “Yeah, let’s go.” So the walk to Vivian’s car, she unlocks the door for him, and then she walks around and gets in after her dog. They drive to a bar with a patio so they can smoke and have the dog. She leaves her coffee in the car and they walk in the bar, the bar tender is this really friendly hot rockabilly chick. They order a couple beers.

They walk out to the patio, no one is around except an old guy smoking drinking alone.  Vivian pulls out a cigarette, Frank lights it for her.  “So Frank, why do you want to drink so early?”  “Oh I don’t know, just had a rough couple of days I guess.”  “What have you been doing?”  Vivian asks.  “Actually nothing.”  Frank puts his head down, pulls his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and pulls one out of the pack and puts it gently between his lips.  They are wet.  He puckers up, wipes the saliva from his mouth, lights up his smoke.

Vivian takes a hair clip from her purse and clips her hair up. “I alway’s like your hair clipped up like that,” Frank tells her. “Thanks.” Vivian responds, and puts her hand up in front of her face to block Franks view, “stop staring at me Frank.” Her dog Chile is sitting on her lap. She says to Frank, “so nothing huh, me too. Just living in the hell of my house, not saving money, because I am really bad at saving money, I need to to move out, my friend wants me to move to Oregon with her in six months and I am freaking out, what should I do Frank?“

As they were sitting there some guy comes up and asks for a smoke. “No we don’t have any.” “I’ll smoke you out.” he says. “Okay, sure.” So they smoke out with this guy he says he just got out of jail. Frank and Vivian get stoned and let him talk, he said was in high speed chases on a motorcycle and outran the cops multiple times, and told stories of all the times he got it in with the cops. He finished his story and left.

Vivian got pretty stoned, she doesn’t talk a lot when she gets stoned, so she stared off into oblivion until Frank started talking,  “My ability to create anything, well I guess maybe I’m losing my desire, to create anymore, I mean I see why bother.” Frank lights up another smoke,  “I mean I created shit and what do I get for it, nothing, People think I am some kind of freak, so I don’t do anything with it, I hate most artists out there,  too, I don’t understand most of it.”  Frank continues, but changes the subject,  “I mean Doug fucked up the band, I don’t know why we never talk about, me and him, it’s like this unspoken thing.” “Oh because he was acting all nuts and shit?“ Vivian asks.  “Yeah, he is his own worst enemy.”  Frank gets up to piss and grab another beer.

Vivian is wondering how wasted Frank is going to get.  She smokes her cigarette looks around, wondering who is going to walk through door, wondering how long she has to stay there.  Frank comes out, he has two beers, one more for Vivian, she’s barely touched her first one.  Frank cheers’s her and takes a big gulp.  “So you’re not working still?”  Vivian says.  “No, you?”  Vivian shakes her head and pouts.  “So we’re two losers sitting here in the afternoon getting drunk.”  Frank says.  “Yeah, whatever.”  Vivian throws her cigarette to the ground.

Frank says, “it’s all right, working is over ratted anyhow.  I don’t see why a job deciphers who I am,  it just gets a little crazy sometimes with all the time on my hands.”  “I know, I’m stuck in a rut too Frank, I’m going to be living at my parents house forever unless I save up some money, and plus nobody rents to dog owners.”  Vivian scratches her dog behind the ears.

Vivian plays with her dogs checks for a while, he gets giddy.  She drinks up.  Frank drinks up.  They get more beers.  They are having a good time.  Being super friendly with each other.  They kiss.  They have kissed before.  When they get drunk they flirt with each other.  They decide to take it back to Franks house.

Frank and Vivian leave the bar, they walk to Vivian’s car, and get in.  “So to your place?” Vivian says.  “Sure, do you want to pick up some more beer?”  “I’m okay for now,” Vivian says, and puts the car in reverse, “I’m kind of hungry actually,”  so they go through a drive through on the way to Franks and Vivian orders some french fries and a grilled cheese.  At Frank’s, Frank’s room-mate was at home cleaning up the place.  They go into his room and sit on the bed.

Frank gets up and puts some tunes on and opens his desk drawers and starts searching around in them, “I think I have some coke from awhile back I hid in here somewhere,”  and he starts taking shit out and moving shit around, “here it is, see, I told you, found it, it’s just a little but do you want some?”  “Sure,” Vivian replies, “let me eat this first,” and she shoves fries in her mouth.  Frank pours out the contents from the bag onto a plate and chops it up, then puts out a line for Vivian, “here you go.”  “Thanks,” she takes the rolled up dollar bill from Frank and snorts it through her nostril.

“So Frank, your’e not doing this stuff all the time are you?”  “No, this is from new years.”  “Okay, still though, I mean I shouldn’t even be doing any of this shit.”  Frank reaches over and takes the bill from Vivian and snorts up a line.  “You know, this stuff just makes me depressed now anyway,” Frank says, “I am always looking for a rush but never feel anything.”  “Well that’

s a good sign,”

Vivian lays down on Frank’s bed, the curtains are closed, the lights are off except a small desk lamp that lit Franks face, Frank sits down next to Vivian, “so I’m sorry I haven’t been around much really, I haven’t felt so great neatly,”  Frank says.  “Oh whatever, I have been busy anyway, been busy sleeping.”  “Ha, I hear ya, drinking and sleeping is all I ever do lately.”  “What are we going to do with ourselves?”  Vivian says and sighs.  “I don’t know, but I haven’t been wanting to care much anyway, shit’s too hard, I have given up.” “What, don’t say that, I know you still got some fight in you.”

They both light up a smoke. “At least you haven’t really giving up completely yet Frank, you want to do something at least, that is something, you are just stuck right now.” Frank doesn’t want to hear the pep talk, “Vivian, you are right, but I’m not sure where my new beginning is.” Frank pulls a pillow behind his neck and puts a cigarette in his mouth, “Can you pull open the window for me?” He asks.

Vivian spreads open the drapes and slides open the window, Frank lights up and takes a large drag.  Vivian asks is Frank has any weed, “I can get some from my room-mate.”  “Okay.”  Frank gets up and leaves the room, he sneaks out to the front room and takes some weed and the pipe off the coffee table.  “Life really is shit Frank, no, your right, I don’t know what I’m talking about looking forward, I can’t hold a job, I am miserable most days just trying to figure this shit out too.”  Vivian throws herself back on the bed, “pack a bowl, lets smoke.”

Vivian has a stalker that is about to get released from jail and she is afraid he is going to come after her when he is released.  It is a man she dated for a month before he started getting violent, she ended the relationship and he went crazy.  He would call her constantly and text her constantly, he ended up following her around and snapping photos of her and texting them to her, really creeping her out.  She went to the police and they arrested him.  She struggles with trust issues.


It begins with neglect
And you’ve hit the floor with bewilderment
Time starts passing and evaporating
Time starts passing in a way where it disappears into nothing
Then a shroud covers the body
Ill willed with animosity
In disbelief of perception
With what’s suppose to be awareness
It gets cold from there
Leaving dents in vulnerability 
A mark permanent in development 
And the body rests eternally

She is silent

There she is
In the silent
And her breath is short, her heart is beating
Can’t get away from the noises
But she is silent
And she is brave
The letters didn’t do much
The letters from back home
She misses everyone
But can’t go back
And every time the moon is full she is in danger of herself
The bright round object that holds her tight
She doesn’t like
Tight is her be-whiching
There is a girl
And she is in the silence
Running from the noises
But she can’t get too far without money
And her life is on the line
Somebody hated her
But it wasn’t for long
And she took a wave out into the ocean
And almost drowned
I can’t be her protector 
Or can I?
I lead such distance from myself
And slide by the reality of time
Silent woman
In the open wound of everything
Nothing is dark with the moon so full
And she mossy’s down the corridors of the hallways
Not thinking about the future
Is it right or wrong?
To be so forever
Lost in the world of this world
She lost her happiness
And fell to the ground
Without her, nobody knows
Knows what is to be better
As she climbs the wall up
She is climbing
And undependable 
Where is the moon now
When I haven’t got a clue
To what is important
She lifts herself up
And she tinkers on the level
Of broken and brave
Only together we will get on the same page
And it doesn’t matter that she and I are the same
My motions are slowly learning
To understand what has been missing
If only someone knew the truth
To what Iv’e become
Become so blue
And unsteady of general life
She is in the silence
Poking her head out
And I wish her well
As things turn into hell
I am with her as the sun rises
That is what I came here for
And nothing in this life has been useful
Get it on
Get it on
The first foot first
Left and then right
Can she return 
Into the glory of sunlight 
While the monster haunts her
Not a delight
The tremors
The tremors
Not a delight
She is silent walking, strolling
And there isn’t a car in sight
A lonely road, OH!
And she must go good-night
From the nasty war
In her sight
Whatever there is
There is a nothing
And the nothing is sore
Together we can fight
This nasty war
On to the first
Left and then right
Going into battle now and still so silent
What a waste of time
I can’t gather
It is in my eyes
And I am scared as she is brave
Id’e like to catch up to her and start a conversation
But like her I am too, silent
Picking up lost pieces of life
And I can’t run or I’ll lose my loved ones
But she is so tight
I am loose to a certain point
Loss of words, and loss from the important part of life
I will find her
And we will gather up the parts that merge
Because it is the only point

Everything you do

It was a month ago
Was it a year?
I lost my head in a cloud of smoke
It was over 20 years ago 
And I’m damed if I do, and I’m damed if I don’t
That is how it is now I believe
It’s all a joke
And yeah fuck history,
And fuck the past
But why does it dig so deep in the body 
And where is the end?
I’ve mourned so long
Just not straight in the head
Everything you do
Matters in the end
How sufficient now
Now that I bare no answer to a shredded thread
I just reason

feed you to my dog



I could eat your face with my mouth.

And tear your nose apart with my two front teeth.

-Feed you to my dog.

-Eat you with tea.

-On my knee.

Id’e smile with pleasure!

Because Id’e be eating you alive.

Or would I kill you first?

I don’t know.

I’m hungrou to my do


I could eat your face with my mouth.

And tear your nose apart with my two front teeth.

-Feed you to my dog.

-Eat you with tea.

-On my knee.

Id’e smile with pleasure!

Because Id’e be eating you alive.

Or would I kill you first?

I don’t know.

I’m hungry tonight!


The wrong


I’m at a closed door

I feel the ventilation through the gaps of it

I feel empty and alone

Presumably pale in the face

I am also unaccounted for

I am here for some reassurance 

That I am still alive

I know I don’t belong here

But iv’e no where else to go

And of corse I will regret it

For I said last, was the last time

And I know what I am doing

I am on my knees begging

But I am empty and alone

And unaccounted for

So where am I to go

But here

The place which gave me this disease

Of addiction

Addiction to need

The need to ride

Along side with the bad

The wrong

The ugly

The bloody

The takers

The users

The thieves 

The thugs

The fuck ups

And run aways

Thats all I am anyway


In the real world, there is no finish.

But I hope, and I think we keep on dreaming.

And I know for sure that out there somewhere,

there are people on a path, 

lonely roaming,

roaming lonely, 

lonely together.

Am I alone on the path roaming 

with the lonely people roaming

sorting into a swirling center ever going

with no ending?

A woman alone

with an emptiness so boring it roams un-endlessly?

But we live a lonely path don’t we?

And we live alone in reality.

Ever going forward into fantasy.

Into a swirling circle

with the lonely people 

so empty

so fascinating 



a million things 


those surrounding of what is suppose to be

your reality.


distance tells all

Distance tells me I’ve got to go-

Forward you know,

and into a horizon full of weird shadows.

I am completely confused at this telling future,

for it is unavoidable and out of control.

My wisdom has been open, to something new.

And in this case I am not suffering.

My wisdom starts stepping.

For shadows unknown,

lurking on the horizon.

Not only stepping, but moving, and moving with dignity.

And I can’t see anymore what’s happen before behind me.

When trails are all I see moving.

Because Steps are Stepping up into speed.

Distant shadows Future forward, distant forever,

walking forward.

The horizon keeps it’s distance.

As I keep going forward.



Distance tells me I’ve got to go-

Forward you know,

and into a horizon full of weird shadows.

I am completely confused at this telling future,

for it is unavoidable and out of control.

My wisdom has been open, to something new.

And in this case I am not suffering.

My wisdom starts stepping.

For shadows unknown,

lurking on the horizon.

Not only stepping, but moving, and moving with dignity.

And I can’t see anymore what’s happen before behind me.

When trails are all I see moving.

Because Steps are Stepping up into speed.

Distant shadows Future forward, distant forever,

walking forward.

The horizon keeps it’s distance.

As I keep going forward.