Sunday, October 28, 2012

IT WASN'T

It wasn't when the lights went out that it suddenly dawned somewhere in the muffled whispers of confused thoughts that an asphalt rug was being rolled out over so many others their voices could not be distinguished from the glaring silence.  Was that when?  It couldn't have been that.  It wasn't when the lights went out that it suddenly dawned that it had never dawned on any somewhere anywhere.  So much ado about one immense false start.  Just forget it.  That's what they said at all those points that had stopped working strung together with a whole lot of nothing.  There was coughing.  There was that shit.  And there was that as well.  It wasn't when the lights went out.  Was that when?  It couldn't have been that.  It wasn't when the lights went out that it suddenly dawned somewhere in the muffled whispers of confused thoughts that an asphalt rug was being rolled out over so many others their voices could not be distinguished from the glaring silence.  All the music was gone.  Replaced by the sludge in the throat tightening to flush it all down.  It had suddenly dawned that it had never dawned on any somewhere anywhere.

"What is she?"

It wasn't how they looked when they let go and gave the impression that they weren't sure.  It wasn't that.  It couldn't have been that.  It wasn't how certain they appeared how absolute the separation spread and was sucked into their face like cocoa butter into dry red skin and was engulfed by their blue eyes.  It wasn't how they looked when they let go and gave the impression that they weren't sure.  It wasn't that.  It couldn't have been that.  It wasn't how certain they appeared or how anything appeared or how uncertain any impression scratched the surface certainly not the first one but then again the others they've made their appearances just keep mentioning those or don't.  It wasn't that.  It couldn't have been that.

"What is she doing now?"

It wasn't because of a withdrawing that the sand on the edge of that cliff spilled out from between their toes.  It wasn't that.  It couldn't possibly have been that.  Have to always look around for a window?  Do they?  Find some hole in the dark clouds?  Do they?  Have to skin their knuckles writing with that rock in the asphalt rug?  Do they?  Marking that spot with that X that marks the spot?  Do they?  It wasn't the having or not having?  It wasn't that.  It couldn't possibly have been that.  It couldn't possibly have been having been wrapped up in it.  That one little patch of skin that hasn't been eaten away yet.  Just underneath the flow and the just forget it they kept going on about just underneath it carries all those microscopic particles of existence all those teeth taking more bites out.  It wasn't that.  It wasn't because of a withdrawing that the sand on the edge of that cliff spilled out from between their toes.  It wasn't that.  It couldn't possibly have been that.

"What is she doing now?"
"Seeing another asshole."

It wasn't.  It wasn't when the lights went out that it suddenly dawned somewhere in the muffled whispers of confused thoughts that an asphalt rug was being rolled out over so many others their voices could not be distinguished from the glaring silence.  Was that when?  It couldn't have been that.  It wasn't when the lights went out that it suddenly dawned that it had never dawned on any somewhere anywhere.  So much ado about one immense false start.  Just forget it.  That's what they said at all those points that had stopped working strung together with a whole lot of nothing.  There was coughing.  There was that shit.  And there was that as well.  It wasn't when the lights went out.  Was that when?  It couldn't have been that.  It wasn't when the lights went out that it suddenly dawned somewhere in the muffled whispers of confused thoughts that an asphalt rug was being rolled out over so many others their voices could not be distinguished from the glaring silence.  All the music was gone.  Replaced by the sludge in the throat tightening to flush it all down.  It had suddenly dawned that it had never dawned on any somewhere anywhere.  All the music was gone disappeared into the Earth and leaked out very sluggishly in a grinding and a groaning drowning out the wind passing through the trees.  

"What is she doing now?"
"Seeing another asshole."
"Let's just forget it."
"He said continuing to look through the binoculars," he said continuing to recall his latest nightmare of finding himself in the backseat of his aunt's car holding himself as an infant with diarrhea and the vehicle has somehow crashed into a wall of cancerous cells inside the dying pancreas of his grandmother.
"That's a good idea.  Instead you can finish that story about the depressed astronaut who volunteers for the space expedition to find and go into a black hole."
"He finds a black hole in his throat."
"Fuck you, man.  What is she doing now?"
"Seeing another horror film."

That's what they said at all those points that had stopped working strung together with a whole lot of nothing.  There was coughing.  There was that shit.  And there was that as well.  It wasn't when the lights went out.  Was that when?  It couldn't have been that.  It wasn't when the lights went out that it suddenly dawned somewhere in the muffled whispers of confused thoughts that an asphalt rug was being rolled out over so many others their voices could not be distinguished from the glaring silence.  It wasn't when the lights went out that it was then that was so apparent how so many bodies disappeared.  It wasn't that.  It couldn't have possibly been how they did it.  Was that when?  It couldn't have been that.  It wasn't when the lights went out that it suddenly dawned that it had never dawned on any somewhere anywhere.  So much ado about one immense false start.  Just forget it.


- Max Stoltenberg

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

OFF THE BALD FACE PORCH

Pissed.  Nothing else could possibly capture it especially since the piss ran all over the floor where it seemed to spread the echoes of urination leaving the faucet of her lower body and toes lifted up and splashed down into the warmth looking at the tile forming a description an upcoming contrast with the yellow and it occurred to her like all the other things that occurred occurred to her that the tile was yellow already yellow this yellowing life and setting had been yellowed already late as usual taking it on the scalp where the hair of bald face lies grow back exposing more open patches ran all over the floor where it seemed to spread the echoes of urination leaving the faucet of her lower body and toes lifted up and splashed down into the warmth looking at the tile forming a description an upcoming contrast with the yellow and it occurred to her like all the other things that occurred occurred to her that the tile was yellow already yellow this yellowing life and setting had been yellowed already late as usual taking it on the scalp where the hair of bald face lies grow back exposing more open patches ran all over the floor where it seemed to spread the echoes of urination leaving the faucet of her lower body.

Her lower body.  Going down.  Heading for a crack a cracked head splitting headache an ugly split from which she kept diverging the void in her empty life widening across the gore heading for a crack a cracked head splitting headache an ugly split from which she kept diverging the void in her empty life widening across the gore across the clouds across the sea across the porch felt something would feel something outside on the porch and go through it not just the door go through it the routine the routine of being foiled among the fences wiry numbers and their clinging digits won't come out in the wash after wash coming back again skin wrinkling into her eyes the curtains dark thick won't respond to the pulling the unfurling knows better now can't cover the windows now knowing better about the windows and yet just a better longer list of the obvious still stuck knowing better about the windows stuck on the windows on the world the windows on the living room the dying room stuck on looking out stuck on looking in the windows are stuck uncovered.

"Where were you?"
"Where was I?"
"Yes, where were you?"
"In bed most likely."
"Most likely probably, but I wasn't asking about that.  I was trying to bring you back to where you were in the story."
"In the story?"
"The story you were telling."
"The story I was telling?  I thought you meant the story I was in."
"No, not that one.  That's a different story."
"Really?  I thought it was the same old story."
"Why are you touching your chest when you say that?"
"Why are you touching your chest?"
"I was just trying to show you what you were doing."
"Is this where you tell me maybe I hadn't thought things through before I got here?"
"Not maybe, you didn't think things through."
"I don't miss that photograph of me and my parents it was photoshopped you know," she said rubbing her face with her hand.
"Having trouble waking up?"
"I'm having trouble wiping your bullshit off my face."
"I didn't know they had photoshop back then but your breast size doesn't exactly match your age."
"That's right.  In your day you and your family cropped your memories with a pair of scissors and denial."

The porch and the next door neighbor's itinerary scribbled in the yard and tangled up in with the weeds as a kite doesn't know where to go with it just wants to find some wind and you had to open your fucking mouth wrap some gauze around your head and when it's on good and tight don't know why the word "good" is in there except to replace something like "until bloody snot falls out of your nose" and then you'll find it necessary for some reason for some reason to be necessary while you wonder who slammed the little doors under the bathroom sink can't sink can't sink into it can't sink into the bed for the darkness to envelope you no can't sink into it the bed pushes against the spine to pry you off used to like rubbing thick fingers stained with his cigars into the top of your head of long hair until one day he brought his thick fingers united in his angry palm down on the top of your head.

"Where were you?"

Don't know don't know why don't know why the word "good" is in there except to replace something like "until bloody snot falls out of your nose" and then you'll find it necessary for some reason for some reason to be necessary while you wonder who slammed the little doors under the bathroom sink can't sink can't sink into it can't sink into the bed for the darkness to envelope you no can't sink into it the bed pushes against the spine to pry you off used to like rubbing thick fingers stained with his cigars into the top of your head of long hair until one day he brought his thick fingers united in his angry palm down on the top of your head.

"Where were you?"
"Where was I?"
"Yes, where were you?"

Don't don't tell them don't tell them that don't tell them what?  come on, don't tell them what?  that you were disappointed?  that you were covered in your own disappointment standing in front of the windows on the world the windows looking in on what you were covered in the clouds are too high for your disappointment covered in it steaming while standing there covered in it and feeling a slight chill from the outside leaking in through the sill hairs on the arm bending towards the chill bending towards the glass bending towards the porch bending towards the weeds bending towards the clouds that are too high for your disappointment covered in it steaming while standing there covered in it and feeling a slight chill until they tell you to get away from the windows they'll get you unstuck with those thick fingers united in his angry hand brought down on the top of your head and the long head of hair the long face bring that long face away from the windows bringing you back bringing you back.

"Where were you?"

The porch waving at people from the porch as they pass by thinking about their passing waving in return passing by and returning to pass by the next day tomorrow the porch waving at people from the porch as they pass by thinking about their passing waving in return passing by and returning to pass by the next day the next tomorrow continuing to wave continuing to pass by to return to pass by continuing to think about their passing passing thoughts passing into passing and bringing the hand down to the skirt to the lower body missing the thigh and instead pushing some of the skirt into one of the holes of the milk crate on the porch.

"Where were you?"
"Where was I?"
"Yes, where were you?"
"In bed most likely."
"Most likely probably, but I wasn't asking about that.  I was trying to bring you back to where you were in the story."
"In the story?"
"The story you were telling."
"The story I was telling?  I thought you meant the story I was in."
"No, not that one.  That's a different story."
"Really?  I thought it was the same new one."
"The same new one?  Is that what we're telling ourselves now?"
"Or I could bring myself back to the story I was telling."
"And I'll pop in and out while you do."
"And I can rock back and forth while you pop in and out."
"You're on a fucking milk crate."
"I've always had the wrong furniture wherever I've been.  Getting hooked on handles tearing dresses bruises on my legs from corners and legs.  Tried joking about it and it wasn't long before even I was no longer amused.  It was like I got to hear myself as well.  It's one thing not to be able to fit in somewhere it is quite another to realize you're being barely tolerated.  Makes you back up from the handles.  I was told when I was growing up that I needed to stand in the gap I just didn't know it would be between the dresser with all the drawers of boxes of cancelled checks and dad's porn mags underneath and the back of the closet."
"Aren't you neglecting the whole idea of purpose?"
"Purpose?"
"You need to start with the purpose something serves in order to make it fit in the proper spot."
"I don't know about that.  I've come to feel it in my body, clothes, and my head, my thoughts that it's about the role you play.  It's in my head and my thoughts that I don't have the right furniture in there as well.  I rearrange and rearrange until something bumps against something else and it's not about knocking all that shit down it's that the shit breaks through your wall and you're left with a sudden change in cabin pressure.  It's more about the role you've been playing over and over or the different roles you've been trying out for and it doesn't matter whether it's the ones that you're forced into or it happens to be a day you can plunger the toilet.  It doesn't matter with the passing by and the waving they want to stop and talk and tell you they don't like the way you play."
"You thought I said purpose.  Maybe it was awareness."
"Is that what we're telling ourselves now?  I thought awareness was how old you needed to be before you learned how doomed you are."
"Something like that."
"We have to be getting warmer when it becomes obvious all the cold that will fill everything after this failure of taking up space."


Pissed.  Nothing else could possibly capture it especially since the piss ran all over the floor where it seemed to spread the echoes of urination leaving the faucet of her lower body and toes lifted up and splashed down into the warmth looking at the tile forming a description an upcoming contrast with the yellow and it occurred to her like all the other things that occurred occurred to her that the tile was yellow already yellow this yellowing life and setting had been yellowed already late as usual taking it on the scalp where the hair of bald face lies grow back exposing more open patches ran all over the floor where it seemed to spread the echoes of urination leaving the faucet of her lower body and toes lifted up and splashed down into the warmth looking at the tile forming a description an upcoming contrast with the yellow and it occurred to her like all the other things that occurred occurred to her that the tile was yellow already yellow this yellowing life and setting had been yellowed already late as usual taking it on the scalp where the hair of bald face lies grow back exposing more open patches ran all over the floor where it seemed to spread the echoes of urination leaving the faucet of her lower body.

"Where were you?"

Was it the story about the orange slime working its way into the town and we join the action where the slime has reached into the dumpster behind the taco drive-through?

"Where were you?"

It was the student who has been using a time machine that keeps bringing her back to the same moment where her younger brother tells her the one about the ventriloquist who jerks off while sitting on the knee of the statue in front of the courthouse.

"Where were you?"

In the middle of the office party where human resources was experimentally drinking from the clear bottle the new guy brought in so everyone could see the baby mouse floating in it.  And then the scene changes to more advanced times in the distant future where the employees have lunch at their desks positioned under tubes plugged into the genetically engineered giant 3-ton star-nosed mole in the underbelly of their office complex that they have been feeding off of for the past fiscal year.

"Where were you?"

Or we could just skip to the part where you tell me to tell you the one where you leave because you are leaving because you're tired of the popping in and out and you just want to be out and I tell you the part where you come back because I bring you back with my telling you about how with all the handles and legs and the corners and the torn dresses and bruises that we can lie together broken together on the flap of this cardboard box lying together on this flap until we fall in or fall out.

"Where was I?"

Her lower body.  Going down.  Heading for a crack a cracked head splitting headache an ugly split from which she kept diverging the void in her empty life widening across the gore heading for a crack a cracked head splitting headache an ugly split from which she kept diverging the void in her empty life widening across the gore across the clouds across the sea across the porch felt something would feel something outside on the porch and go through it not just the door go through it the routine the routine of being foiled among the fences wiry numbers and their clinging digits won't come out in the wash after wash coming back again skin wrinkling into her eyes the curtains dark thick won't respond to the pulling the unfurling knows better now can't cover the windows now knowing better about the windows and yet just a better longer list of the obvious still stuck knowing better about the windows stuck on the windows on the world the windows on the living room the dying room stuck on looking out stuck on looking in the windows are stuck uncovered.

"Yes, where were you?"


Don't don't tell them don't tell them that don't tell them what?  come on, don't tell them what?  that you were disappointed?  that you were covered in your own disappointment standing in front of the windows on the world the windows looking in on what you were covered in the clouds are too high for your disappointment covered in it steaming while standing there covered in it and feeling a slight chill from the outside leaking in through the sill hairs on the arm bending towards the chill bending towards the glass bending towards the porch bending towards the weeds bending towards the clouds that are too high for your disappointment covered in it steaming while standing there covered in it and feeling a slight chill until they tell you to get away from the windows they'll get you unstuck with those thick fingers united in his angry hand brought down on the top of your head and the long head of hair the long face bring that long face away from the windows bringing you back bringing you back.

"Something like that."


Bringing you back with thick fingers united in an angry hand brought down on the keys as the screen goes blank and comes back brought back to life bringing you back with thick fingers united in an angry hand brought down on the keys as the screen goes blank and comes back brought back to life with its message internal error bringing you back with thick fingers united in an angry hand.


- Max Stoltenberg