Man in picture. More.
March 3rd, 2008 | 
Author: He slips inside. The key is smooth, the knob twists. He enters and shuts the door behind, very quiet.
He throws the bolt.
I see it in my head. The bolt.
I smell lamb and garlic.
Then I breathe shit. Overwhelming. No air in these fumes. He smells homeless. He smells like piss and puke and shit and sweat. It’s a stench so monstorous.
I gag.
I’ll retch. I’m sure.
I hear him begin to fill the empty ice trays on the counter. He turns the faucet off after the first one and he whispers….. too full. Very slowly he poors a thin stream into the sink.
He moves to the bathroom.
I see the spring loaded roll snap into place as I hear it.
My eyes are crusted. He’s rolling away from me. Out of my bed.
Crusty eyes and blurry vision.
Out of my bed.
What?
The front door closes.
My rabbit is dead.
His name was Watership and I adored him.
He’s been sprayed on the walls of my apartment.
His skin is on the floor. The carpet. Ears and all. He was my boy. His velvet nose.
He slept in his cage at night. His water bottle smashed on the marble mantle. He was so sweet and docile. Above the fireplace is a crude scrawl in his blood. It looks Japanese.
I think of that song by The Vapors.
There is fur in the wire around the door of his cage, he liked his cage, he came and went willingly, so I undersand he struggled violently.
He was soft and cocoa brown. His eyes were kind and he shuffled to rub his face on me.
Ever heard a rabbit scream? I have. Sounds like a baby human.
I break all the way down. Collapse. Fold. Fall. Lose it.
I scrape his remains.
Thoroughly. I collect them, all I can get or lift, and deposit them in a ceramic pot I made in grade school.
I don’t know what to do with bowl so I cover it in plastic wrap and put it in the freezer. I’m disgusted by it but it’s all I have.
His name was Watership, I adored him.
As I sit here, I miss him. He was innocence.
There’s a big piece of lumber always propped against the wall by my trash chute. It’s handy for forcing fat bags of trash down the maw. It looks vaguely nautical, like it should be on a medium sized sailboat. It’s been here for the two years I’ve been here.
I take it with me. Back to my apartment.
Hours after dawn and I still smell his fucking pigs.
I will wait forever for him.
He is fucked.
I’m not sure what he is. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to kill him.
Posted in
That was quite disturbing!
William Shakespear slipped out of the medicine cabinet, and hit the audience with a nighmare. I like your roc ‘n roll trips way more.
Shakespear slipped out of the medecine cabinet?
part I. Corazon Bandida; So far the only thing I have in common with Jodi Foster is that we both know what it is like to be viewed by night vision goggles under precarious circumstances.
Today when I went to open my car door, I’d noticed my fingers had left a red sticky smudge near the key hole. Later after my p.m. cafe I was transported into this encounter:
He looked her face up and down, as if sizing up a dead rodent in the road. His lipes remained chizzled tight closed, but the eyes stated you’ll die for that infraction American Twit.
Minus any culpability she had let her car door, scratch against the skin of his metallic skyblue jaguar. Though clearly Russian he was well connected with local associates. His Pelo refused to stray the same way his icy eyes had a fixed mark on her face. She could also see that it wouldn’t be him, that would commit the deed and that there was no way to retract her action or destiny. He’d set up his market where the money was and she wasn’t dancing the game, so for this her life would terminated.
When the tennant arrived home, the key would no longer unlock the door, she looked thru the windows, to see that only a cabinet and a few wall hangings of hers remained. Determined not to let it end, between them this way, she managed to break into a back door window without cutting her arm. Though the alarm went off, she silenced it with familiar ease.
Wondering how much of her past she could regain from this war. She began roaming the floor like a panther in search of more terrain. Barefooted her feet padded back and forth across the floor, rubbing clumsily against everything like a cat in summer heat.
part II Corazon Bandida: Meanwhile upstairs the Mark, was tossing and turning like a fish out of water trying to swim in somebody elses sheets. Knowing she could pull all stops out,
with the end results having already been spelled out to her by those eyes.
It was better than any imagined free fall; floating from the bridge listening to something sweet by early Neil Young. Time and space ceased to exist the world had no sides, a bottomless sky. Though the Mark, was out of her senses she could vaguely smell the tennant, she could hear those animal feet on somebody elses floor, in somebody elses place. She was getting far more than she bargained for when the day began. Though none of this belonged to her she was easily enticed to play.
The Mark, rolled over towards him and asked; did the alarm just go off? Just then she tumbles with force violently onto the floor, arms trying to claw her apart.
But as suddenly, the angry animal squeels stop, and the tennant responds to his command to cease the attack. Then with utter obedience and in some sort of fake European accent; she asks, “so your saying that I should let her live?” He was also using an accent and casually sais, “well why not let us pretend that were not cannibles; who would believe her anyways?” The tennant used her feet to kick and stomp the Mark, down the stairs.
part III Corazon Bandita; You would have thought that the Mark would have scurried out of the way greatful to be alive, but no she was willing to do anything to keep the her spot next to him.
Having watched him earlier shuffle thru the desk she’d seen a box of ammo, and figured a gun may be near by. She pulled open the drawer, and found her vengence!
As she creeped back upstairs she thought tonite I’m going to have a say so over my destiny. She heard the tennant and him laughing over smoke, and wine.
As the tennants eyes met up with the Marks, she pressed the trigger, and said time for you to die, he was yours now he’s mine.
As warm blood oozed from the place where he face had been, he pushed the dying tennant away, and mumbled something about roc ‘n roll will never die..”hey, hey, my, my, out of bluesky and into the night, unless blind never free, they seem to covet whatever they see. The Mark, still with blood on her fingers, melted back into his arms..so hot as if to be summer in the cold of night. The end