Thursday, October 31, 2013

THE LATEST

Tell you what how about how about that how about it in a telling way how about that disturbs a cut healed shut and the skin is closed for the day open for the night under the hair grown from thoughts of fancied habits meeting no one here just sitting around with an empty glass eyeing glassy eyes outside the perimeter the fenced out alternatives mending their pants smelling of asses kissed in the mirror for effect waking up from non-existence damn this match won't light it this waking up is only for effect.

Go back
Form a line
with your tests
for example
there was a man
who was left by his wife
in a car that wouldn't start
he tells himself
all he still sees
thinks he still sees
this is what he tells himself
that he can
that he can see her 
leaving still leaving
in the distance

It takes time for things to completely exit the picture and when they do all that time springs back into your hand like a rubber band misfiring drowsy wardrobe soaked in painkillers don't mention it until this finger no this finger is lifted that wasn't it what do you mean by lifted know that it was here and now realize that eyes were taken off of it and it was lifted taken out not off off for several reasons none of which is worth going over.

Tell you what how about how about that how about it in a telling way how about that disturbs a cut healed shut and the skin is closed for the day open for the night under the hair grown from thoughts of fancied habits meeting no one here just sitting around with an empty glass eyeing glassy eyes outside the perimeter the fenced out alternatives mending their pants smelling of asses kissed in the mirror for effect waking up from non-existence damn this match won't light it this waking up is only for effect.

Go back
Form a line
with your tests
for example
there was a man
who was left by his wife
in a car that wouldn't start
he tells himself
all he still sees
thinks he still sees
this is what he tells himself
that he can
that he can see her 
leaving still leaving
in the distance


- Max Stoltenberg

Sunday, October 27, 2013

BOWL RIM

They stopped asking for a while and during that time that disappeared like a flashlight with scant battery power turned on and watching it snap off pathetically and the light weakly breaks up into the darkness layered over the skeleton of Earth tucks the frail beam into its pocket of dead skin.  Standing in the absence of sight surrounded by the thickness of silence that whispers in the ears you're next until it becomes sorrowfully apparent that the air continues to stir its contents as it comes back to standing in the absence of sight surrounded by the thickness of silence that whispers in the ears both ears plural you're next singular until it becomes sorrowfully apparent that the air continues to stir its contents as it comes back to standing in the absence of take your pick and sometimes you will be right and more times you will be wrong because they stopped asking.

A third wasn't enough and in other instances it wasn't enough even though what had been told was not enough to convince one that what they had been doing or how they were trying to better themselves was not enough and that was that wasn't even enough to those who felt that way and those who felt that way who thought it might be better at first and then learned better of it to realize it was not enough decided or convinced themselves they had no choice to let those they always knew were never enough to really just accept the reality that they were not enough and that was only the half of it.

"Which one of you is going to read?" she asked.
"Him," he said pointing at Ooph who was just starting to open a bag of corn chips.
"Why me?" asked Ooph fumbling with the bag.
"Because Neetassel is getting sick of hearing you drone on and on about how much other people drone on and on," said Starchcrust who stamped each of his feet twice until he stamped his right foot an extra time because he was trying to reset his gonads after becoming too uncomfortable with his penis retracting.
"Have you thought maybe about retracting that statement maybe?" asked Ooph who assumed the at ease position in order to unstick his ass crack.
"Why did you put it like that?" asked Starchcrust trying to imagine the last time he was a passenger in someone else's car and they suddenly slammed on the brakes.
"Put it like what?" asked Ooph who returned to attention in order to make another try at unclogging his butt canal with greater velocity.
"I think we before we proceed any further might want to consider how we that is how I think we before we proceed before getting anywhere because we are not are putting things so think about it," declared Starchcrust falling forward.
"What could I have possibly said that would lead to your making such confused expressions of asshattery," asked Ooph trying to wipe from his memory his inability to snap in half a frozen chocolate bar.
"Are you doing jumping jacks?" asked Neetassel dropping a breath mint onto the carpet where a group of ants were collecting their dead.
"Neither of you are going to remember Loser World's menu so I'll just diffuse any suspense that might have been piling up and offer a couple of hints that do not involve re-enactments of any lesser known upsets in sports history," said Ooph wondering if he was oblivious to yet another one of his organs failing.
"Reverse engines, constable, and give our dear lady of frayed patience a straight answer and then we'll leave you to your blithering," said Starchcrust conducting a test tap of his index finger to one of his nostrils and stopping suddenly when he experienced a sharp pain probably due to a sharp dried chunk of mucus.
"I didn't know a constable gets a turn at reversing the engines," said Ooph analyzing the slimy substance underneath a scab he had just peeled off of his knuckle.
"Do the two of you flatulent confabulators know what happens if I can't manage to chisel the two of you into getting this crappy-assed wreck off the ground?" threatened Neetassel producing a replacement breath mint and sighing heavily when she noticed it was broken in half.
"I want to apologize in advance for any additional ways we may prove inadequate in complying with your quality of life requirements," blubbered Starchcrust picking at crumbs of ceiling plaster that had accumulated on his bottom lip.
"And what about you?  Are you going to apologize?" asked Neetassel seizing the opportunity while wondering about the shelves that collapsed in her linen closet.
"It's already too late for me to apologize in advance," said Ooph making a splapping noise when he sat down.
"What was that sound?" asked Neetassel after having opted to address the disgusting noise rather than the foul stench that accompanied it.
"Probably someone jumping out the window from the 17th floor again and landing in that pool of industrial waste build-up in that corner of the courtyard," said Starchcrust frowning at the piece of calendar he watched floating in the coffee pot.
"What corner of the courtyard?" asked Neetassel finally coming up with a 4-letter word for feces.
"The corner with the pool of industrial waste build-up," said Starchcrust thinking about the discoloration of the floor tile around the toilet in the bathroom at home on the 12th floor men's room in the back bedroom behind the fax machine room on the 22nd floor back when he was about 11, 12, 12th floor men's room next to the ladies when she walked out wearing the color that didn't belong in this desert haven't seen her in several months couple of years maybe she made it out of here who makes it out of here making out 17 in a dream that dried in the desert 17, 17th floor maybe tomorrow go up there and go to the window and look down at the pool of industrial waste build-up and then, "The pool of industrial waste build-up," he added.
"You already said that," said Neetassel.
"I did," said Starchcrust.
"Why don't you read?" asked Neetassel.
Starchcrust was silent.
"What?  Afraid of the responsibility if you're successful?" asked Neetassel.
"And that's your apology," said Starchcrust.
"I'm not apologizing for anything," said Neetassel, "when I have you two numbskulls."
"Numbskulls?  They could do better than that." said Starchcrust.
"Who could do better than what?" asked Neetassel.
"The kids who always managed to find me when I went out to the playground after lunch.  They'd gather the crowd around me and try to get me to recite something or sing a song just because they overheard me singing a song I learned from a record I got from the library," said Starchcrust.
"Library?" asked Neetassel.
"They were these flat black vinyl things that you scratched with a needle to hear music," said Starchcrust.
"And what's a record?" asked Neetassel.
"Something we all get once we gather up enough particles to make a critical mass inside our mother's uterus," said Starchcrust, "and they'd gather a large crowd and then would stare at me not because they were interested in what I was singing or reciting but just because they had someone else they could tell what to do manage and I would try to find a part of the school I could hide and sometimes I'd find a little corner or those stairs that led to the locked door of the basement.  That door was dark and I wanted to go in there but it was locked and then they found it and they would hang out there and ruin it and want me to recite or sing I couldn't bring myself to say no but I being on the spot that I had originally found as a hiding place was no performing place and they would become so disarmed and frustrated then they would really kick in the ridicule and leave me alone finally alone and they can't make me perform anymore that is as long as they can't find me.  That door had to be locked until they found it and had someone to poke scratch me with a needle to make music.  That door had to be locked maybe tomorrow look out the window on the 17th floor and look down on the pool of industrial waste build-up maybe tomorrow."
"You already said that," said Neetassel.
"Maybe tomorrow," said Starchcrust.

Sleep interrupted by the next morning under the desert sun the walls of the icetray burn hands that reach out chap and split lips of humor of entry into hiding in the wetness freezing slowly freezing within the walls of the icetray under the desert sun.

"You already said that," said Neetassel.
"Maybe tomorrow," said Starchcrust.

A third wasn't enough and in other instances it wasn't enough even though what had been told was not enough to convince one that what they had been doing or how they were trying to better themselves was not enough and that was that wasn't even enough to those who felt that way and those who felt that way who thought it might be better at first and then learned better of it to realize it was not enough decided or convinced themselves they had no choice to let those they always knew were never enough to really just accept the reality that they were not enough and that was only the half of it.


- Max Stoltenberg

Sunday, October 20, 2013

PLASTIC BREATH

The itch was up between wrinkled denial shadows return into the vents of the skull pressed and rolled into the matter that counters nothing as it becomes the runoff trickling towards the edge about to drip onto the floor blocked by a foot naked to blades being sorted by clumsy hands not the only one the only one for now despise now and as for the future what a stupid fucking word abhor making the sound of that piece of shit word with the mouth have nothing to wipe with again so it fell out and it lies on the gravel between us excuse me between nothing and not much more than nothing now that there's a there is a there is a space not even a space filled in by the crust of absence blown in there from the direction of that part of the world that never catches up this residence if you can call it that and the crust of absence couldn't care less to call it anything now that there's a there is a there is a space not even a space now despise now and as for the future not that again.

Damn damn what damn the water that doesn't seem to does not put out the burning get the algae that's not it get the cinnamon don't know why cinnamon is there not there pretending to juggle between empty palms these flaccid palms of the desert the desert and its space not even a space filled in by the crust of absence blown in there from the direction of that part of the world that never catches up this residence if you can call it that and the crust of absence couldn't care less to call it anything now that there's a there is a there is a space not even a space now despise now and as for the future not that again past present and future the triplets from the fertility drugs of time's brass knuckled instruments filled with old spit.

"What is it?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?  I can see.  I am still part of this thing, you know."
"You mention those as if they're actually positive attributes."
"I know.  I've been slipping more lately taking a soak in the vat of optimism."
"Where is this vat?"
"4th floor I think."
"You think?"
"No, it's on the 4th floor."
"You're sure about that?"
"Not really."
"I knew it.  You can't remember."
"I haven't been there in a while, but the damn stuff takes a long time to wear off."
"That's certainly the case and it's your memory."
"You're right.  It is my memory and I know this for a fact because of what occurred to me just the other day."
"And what was that?"
"What was what?"
"What was it that occurred to you the other day?"
"Well, I was speaking with the woman from the 6th floor when I went down to the 8th floor for something must have been one of those 4-inch binders we're having to use more recently."
"Recently?  We've been using those for over a year.  You probably went down to 8 for one of the 5-inch binders.  You don't have to go on.  This is a good example of itself just by what you mentioned or tried to mention so far."
"There was more."
"I'm sure there was."
"It'll need some shaking out, but if you hang on it might be worth your while."
"I doubt it, you make your memory sound like you're having trouble voiding your bladder."
"I was thinking more along the lines of clearing out a garden hose that hasn't been used in a while."
"They both sound the same to me."
"That's probably due to my having brought them up as ailments at one point or another."
"My memory is not as bad as yours.  So if this is some pathetic attempt to prove otherwise you can forget it."
"If you would just let me go on with what I was trying to say you'll see there was more."
"More regarding what?"
"About what I was saying about my trip to 8."
"Yes, 8.  Of course.  I knew what you were referring to all along.  It was my way of testing you to see if your memory was still intact on that one."
"You were testing me?"
"And you just barely managed even though I went easy on you."
"I don't like it when you test me.  Don't I answer enough questions, audits, questionnaires, surveys, and all the shit I need to keep myself together just so I can see your fucking face every morning and then you test me?"
"Yes and you just barely passed.  Would you like to know by how much?"
"Not really.  Not if you're going to do that thing with your fingers pinching them ever so close together."
"Steal my thunder why don't you?"
"Don't worry, there's plenty of surplus of that to go around."
"The answer is still no."
"No to what?"
"You going on."
"But there was more and the shaking out and all that."
"Don't even bother.  There's no point.  Am I right?"
"Probably."
"Who was the woman from 6?"
"I thought you didn't want me to go on.  Is this where we make that inevitable descent into your ex-wife?"
"What did you say?"
"I know.  It sounds better when you say it.  Insults have always had that quality for me.  They always seem to sound better when they come from someone else."
"How many times do I have to explain this to you?  It's the inevitable ascent that's the most painful thing about it.  That's what comes before the descent to fuck it all up.  It couldn't just be you're walking along the Earth and then it opens up and swallows you and has done with it.  No, there have to be all these hills and mountains to climb and fall off back into the desert."
"That's what she was saying to me."
"My ex-wife?"
"No, the woman from 6.  She was trying to tell me about what happened to her breasts."
"Her breasts?  Hardly ever have any interactions with these people on other floors and she has to pop her breasts out to you."
"She didn't pop out her breasts."
"They'd vilify me for whipping out my dick and grousing about structural and performance defects."
"You think anyone in any position is going to commit any time to writing criticism here?"  
"Maybe a memo?"
"Those are used for writing bullshit.  You know they break us down into little measurable units so they can have their building blocks of data for constructing floors and walls of information to make things look and sound better than they are.  That's what she was getting at."
"What who was getting at?"
"The woman from 6.  What she was getting at with her breasts.  She had so little time to tell someone else like me who had that look in their eyes of wanting to tell someone else about how they are no longer becoming."
"Unhappy with her looks?"
"No longer becoming anyone or anything.  She talked about filling and refilling her car so she could get here and keep herself from not going below a certain level."
"A certain level?"
"Where if she gets low enough all she'll feel is the backwash of others.  So she fills and refills until all she notices is how her breasts look."
"How do they look?"
"Never mind."

Damn damn what damn the water that doesn't seem to does not put out the burning get the algae that's not it get the cinnamon don't know why cinnamon is there not there pretending to juggle between empty palms these flaccid palms of the desert the desert and its space not even a space filled in by the crust of absence blown in there from the direction of that part of the world that never catches up this residence if you can call it that and the crust of absence couldn't care less to call it anything now that there's a there is a there is a space not even a space now despise now and as for the future not that again past present and future the triplets from the fertility drugs of time's brass knuckled instruments filled with old spit.


- Max Stoltenberg

Tuesday, October 1, 2013

DIRTY GLASSES

It's not in sight it's not in the cards it's not in the bedroom it's not in the estimation it's not in the sprucing up a bit it's not in the spilling of the tea into an ear head shakes the whole body up the wall up the walls and all that sort of textbook flowchart behind the handling of the fan making the unsneezed sneeze all that he has to hold on to towards an abrupt stopping of a nap with your head in the bookcase bottom shelf meanderings there's another word for it but not going to even try to look it up why even look into it around corners or into corners it's not in sight it's not in the cards it's not in the bedroom it's not in the estimation it's not in the sprucing up a bit it's not in the spilling of the tea into an ear head shakes the whole body up the wall up the walls and looking up towards the ceiling rotting as it does down upon the floor sending its notes and waving of the hand twisting the wrist to the strings and brass and winds it's not in the mountains keeping back the somewhere else from the yearning that is here and going out like a match that lit nothing very little going out like nothing very little lit by a match going out can't don't want to lift these thoughts out from under the fist around the mouth to break what send it from some we from someone else send it from the ceiling rotting as it does down upon the floor sending its notes and waving of the hand twisting the wrist to the strings and brass and winds it's not in the mountains keeping back the somewhere else from the yearning that is here and going out like a match like the toilet paper that won't be pulled out from between that which separates one's ass from one's foolishness whatever back to the match which has to do with the mountains and the mountains keeping back the somewhere else from the yearning that is here and going out like an old bulb in the bathroom and the toilet paper back to the toilet paper and the crack and the foolish pulling off of the slowing grinding slowing pain in the left cheek of the face sky and the grumbling in the sky vibrates the tables the chairs the pictures on the walls not there anymore try to remember that the next time there is a use for images all that is left is the tongue retracting from saying what has already been said.

What is that rock for?
Setting the table.
We don't have a table.
I'm making this the table.
We don't even have a this.
Back to that again.
It needs something else.
Like what possibly?
I need to go look for some.  I'll be back in a few days.  Make that several days.
Remember the last time you went off exploring.
No I don't.
That's my point.  I had to rebuild you from scratch.
I wish you had let me figure it out on my own instead of imposing your affairs into the whole chain of paper clips hooked together and calling it me.  I don't see how I'll ever be able to trace my steps back through your meddling to the previous me before that.
The problem is I've had to restart you several times.
So there's no telling how far back it goes.
It is all I have to say.
I might have run out on my own years ago but you had to keep making up stories.
Had to do something with that vague state you get into.

Mention it to the folded arms
Waste the breath and it
Beaten into blood
Her hands painfully lower 
herself into a fountain dry 
far from the center of the world
off and guessing has been

less insistent
eventually fallen behind
the back of the drawer of her underwear
socks with color untangled
by closed eyes
and folded arms
mention it to the folded arms
Waste the breath and it
Beaten into blood
Her hands painfully lower
herself into a fountain dry
far from the center

Off you go then.
What if I stay after all?
Stay?
Yes, if I stay instead of going then I can watch you to make sure you don't start meddling when you feel the need to start me again or rebuild me as you put it and you put it and that's the problem.
That's true.  All right then.  Stay.
Maybe you're trying to trick me into staying so you can engage me in conversation and exert your influence and the stories.
That's true.  All right then.  Go.
Maybe I have a better chance if I stick to my original plan of setting the table and looking for something else to set it with and exploring.  I enjoy exploring.  That's what I tell myself or was it you who said I was a curious sort.
No that wasn't me.  It isn't always me.  Sometimes it's you and when you said that I don't think that's how you meant it.  I am a curious sort is what you said about yourself.  Nothing to do with your going off exploring nothing to do with another table setting.
Another table setting that's when I was about to be off.  Sometimes I could manage to elude you for days at least I think that's what I could manage at times or a couple of times or one time perhaps.
Perhaps.  Or perhaps not.  The thing is the truth is a thing.  You are so fucking slow and you make it so easy to catch up to you.  Sometimes I even toy with you the very idea and spot you a few hours or a few days and I then somehow close the gap you bump into me and I see the fear in your face and how you try to force that terror-cracked face of yours into a smile and the ridiculous exchange ensues and you are so desperate for a bowl of fragments to call you.
You tell me all about the things I tell myself and then I just tell myself that's what I tell myself that I am letting you smear what you scratch off your skin into the stories you smudge on the tops of my cheeks under my eyes under my very nose just to amuse you.  I set the table and I know that when you mock every setting of the table more people end up in the ground entombed beneath where they tried to convince themselves to explore where they used to tell themselves what a curious sort they were.

It's not in sight it's not in the cards it's not in the bedroom it's not in the estimation it's not in the sprucing up a bit it's not in the spilling of the tea into an ear head shakes the whole body up the wall up the walls and all that sort of textbook flowchart behind the handling of the fan making the unsneezed sneeze all that he has to hold on to towards an abrupt stopping of a nap with your head in the bookcase bottom shelf meanderings there's another word for it but not going to even try to look it up why even look into it around corners or into corners it's not in sight it's not in the cards it's not in the bedroom it's not in the estimation it's not in the sprucing up a bit it's not in the spilling of the tea into an ear head shakes the whole body up the wall up the walls and looking up towards the ceiling rotting as it does down upon the floor sending its notes and waving of the hand twisting the wrist to the strings and brass and winds it's not in the mountains keeping back the somewhere else from the yearning that is here and going out like a match that lit nothing very little going out like nothing very little lit by a match going out can't don't want to lift these thoughts out from under the fist around the mouth.


- Max Stoltenberg