Wednesday, December 31, 2014

WHERE HEAT LAMPS MEET

I'll tell you about the upper parts of her ideas of lowered looks into it the way to rumble behind us rushing into things books purchased and forgotten skipped when they were young more presentable then plastic bins larger now for coffins for the dead ends of our imagination tried to go beyond the furniture and broke the window cracked glass smirks at us behind us rushing into things books purchased and forgotten skipped when they were young more presentable then plastic bins larger now for coffins for the dead ends of our imagination tried to go beyond the furniture and broke the window cracked glass smirks at us behind us rushing the wind the blood out through our outstretched arms lowering to the bottom that has fallen out lowering to the bottom lowering lowered looks into it the way to rumble behind us rushing the wind the blood with each note tapping in her ears her hair still now I'll tell you I'll tell about the box that had the shoes once filled with sore feet tilted in the direction of moving on dealing and getting over it catapulted towards the side of the building about the third or fifth floor why only prime numbers you may ask as you walk away it may have slipped your mind to ask how long she lasted we may have neglected to ask the question how long any of us has lasted overstayed this unwelcome visit a department a division neighborhood planet with a hostile bedside manner.

They heard something downstairs and each of them distracted themselves with area codes from their earlier years taking turns distracting themselves with types of elevators conventional hydraulic, hole-less hydraulic, roped hydraulic, traction, geared traction, gear-less traction, machine room-less, and ones with an elevator operator. They listened hopelessly to the silence upstairs and each of them distracted themselves with their least favorite foods taking turns distracting themselves with cold people and the utterances they had wasted on them. They heard something downstairs and each of them distracted themselves with struggles that had been minimized by others taking turns distracting themselves with the platitudes others had minimized their struggles with without hearing anything upstairs nothing upstairs.

"Are you going to check?"
"I was just about to."
"Go where?"
"Go check."
"Check where?"
"Upstairs? Downstairs?"
"Why did you say upstairs first?"
"I eventually settled on downstairs."
"When have we heard anything upstairs?"
"Only what we've been told or told ourselves."
"Never. We've never heard anything coming from upstairs."
"Why do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Ask questions when all you have to do is just say what the deal is and not drag it out."
"Because you seem to forget what the deal is and it gets frustrating."
"It's frustrating from my side of this craggy forehead."
"Are you going?"
"There's nothing now."
"Upstairs, but what about downstairs?"
"I don't really care anymore."
"Fine. I'll go myself."
"It's been it's been"
"Don't bother."
"Something I should have done more often."
"Whatever."

She dragged her cursor over the fountain that was out of service dried up discolored with weeds at its edges waiting for a link to pop up and the music stopped and then she was suddenly aware that there had been music trying to identify the style she clicked on the image and a warning emerged of potential infection she tried and hesitated to smile to herself in the darkness the headlights muffled by the thickness of the snowfall it looked so dirty in the night never mind the odd shapes of flakes a poorly made puzzle cut up and falling about them her she went to her reminders that still shined on her phone and added that they she not have to drive so slowly as they she made their her getaway that bumped into deeper clumps of teabags tissues snot pus blood each separated with monitors acrid aftermath of experience they she continued on speeding up slowing reminding as her phone's screen extinguished itself and joined the darkness and what fell about them her swallowing and ignoring the soreness in their her throat.

"How long have you been down here?"
"I've lost track."
"So it was you making that noise."
"I tried not to knock into anything."
"Really?"
"I think it's the floor down here."
"Sure, blame your clumsiness on the floor."
"I could have done that more often in my life."
"That sounds familiar."
"We're running out of things to say."

She opened the door to see what they would say now the voices on either side of the room the office the desert her face she had finished was about to finish and it had to go like this debilitated by what they would say now the voices stuck to the sides of the mixing bowl of her mind she was about to finish she was done since all sounded so familiar her age trying to desperately outpace how old everything sounded the same tired information she was so tired she opened the door to see what they would say now to see what kind of day would happen again she opened the door as she fell out of the car.

In the middle of the road she tried and hesitated to smile to herself a stunned red grimace twitching with shock smelling of nostrils hammered by asphalt she opened the door to where it was coming from and she was picked up in the middle of the road she tried and hesitated to smile to herself a stunned red grimace twitching with shock smelling of nostrils hammered by asphalt she opened the door to where it was coming from and she picked up where they she had left off.

"That sounds familiar."
"We're running out of things to say."
"The only thing we had in common was that we preferred the singular they."
"I had something to my name once before the ground was too hard to scratch it in with a stick. I had made $200 and took it to a bank to open an account. Life has erased so much from my memory except for how the guy carried my money like it was a little blap of shit."
"Did you hear something?"
"From downstairs?"
"Finally. I don't have to go over this with you like I did upstairs."
"Never heard anything from upstairs."
"Exactly."
"So?"
"So what?"
"Are you going?"
"Going where?"
"Going to check it out?"
"Just tell me instead of doing the asking me questions prolonged thing."
"I guess I look to comedy too much like leftovers."
"When was the last time you came across any leftovers?"
"Exactly."
"Whatever. I'll go downstairs."
"Let me if you really don't want to."
"Don't bother."
"Never mind."
"All that is on my mind these days is what if it never was."

She opened the door to see what they would say now the voices on either side of the room the office the desert her face she had finished was about to finish and it had to go like this debilitated by what they would say now the voices stuck to the sides of the mixing bowl of her mind she was about to finish she was done since all sounded so familiar her age trying to desperately outpace how old everything sounded the same tired information she was so tired she opened the door to see what they would say now to see what kind of day would happen again she opened the door as she fell out of the car.

In the middle of the road she tried and hesitated to smile to herself a stunned red grimace twitching with shock smelling of nostrils hammered by asphalt she opened the door to where it was coming from and she was picked up in the middle of the road she tried and hesitated to smile to herself a stunned red grimace twitching with shock smelling of nostrils hammered by asphalt she opened the door to where it was coming from and she picked up where they she had left off.


- Max Stoltenberg

Monday, December 22, 2014

AND THE SCARF

Maybe that should have been it the undelivered letter sitting on the corner of my avoidant peripheral seeing eye dog over the hill behind the eight ball dirty toaster filled with burnt crumbs maybe that should have been it the unwritten letter catching in my throat swamped by the plausible riding the waves of greasy napkins doing this while your mother is here in the other room with the lawyer I think she said he was staying over for the night everyday an issue everyday an issue this while your mother is here in the other room with the lawyer I think she said he was renting space in my nerves I think she said he was maybe that should have been it the thoughtless phone call floating in the cup left on the counter for 4 or 5 days or a couple of weeks with hairs of exaggeration sticking out of it maybe that should have been.

"Has the water started to boil yet?"
"Have they taken the tube out?"
"Are bubbles starting to form?"
"Is anyone going to stop by and determine that it has been long overdue and remove it?"

Gnarly propensity for chewing at fingers peeling off fingernails like trying to open a bag of stale chips this that could never be put right this that could never be put quite in the way that I would feel like my whole life has been a series of landscaping mishaps projects sabotaged experienced in my being as the constant extractions of a post-hole digger between my shoulders where my head once was.

"Has the water started to boil yet?"
"Have they taken the tube out?"
"Are bubbles starting to form?"
"Is anyone going to stop by and determine that it has been long overdue and remove it?"

They stood to one side of the pile of garbage rejected from a white elephant party as either too important or not tacky enough they didn't know where their town was where their house was in relation to the organic food store couldn't find the right honey made a right onto the wrong street at the wrong right wrong light where was the street for getting rid of stuff somewhere on their street in the back of their house their yard spilled out into the desert the city was a mirage pretending to be an opportunity for at least those who stood to one side of the pile of garbage she walked around to the other side and tried to put her foot down tried to push down her side of the room just to even things out rejected from a white elephant party.

"Then you'll play the last one."
"Then what'll happen?"
"Then you'll have played the last one."
"And that'll be the last one."
"Then the first one will start up again."
"It plays over again?"
"That's what it does."

I'm breaking it down this larger thing into smaller segments separated by days I take most of the day to clear my throat and sometimes it leads to hiccoughs and sometimes it leads to my heart beating in even more disturbing patterns and then another segment settles it smooths it out into a lulling stupidity you know what I mean no you don't never mind I'm breaking it down trying to keep my hands off the buttons never know what might happen.

"What happens is that it starts over again."
"It starts over?"
"With the first one."
"Is that what he told you?"
"And now I've told you. I've told you what he told me. What do you make of it?"
"What do I make of it? What did you make of it?"
"What did I make of it?"
"Did you try it out?"
"Did I try what out?"
"To see if it starts over again. Did you try it out?"
"Of course I tried it out."
"And?"
"I tried it out and then I had to stop."
"Stopping defeats the purpose don't you think?"
"Not if you don't want it to start over again."
"You don't want him to be right do you?"
"I just don't want it to be that way."

All he was going to leave behind were the dried bits of his mucus he had picked when he found himself stuck waiting between the walls of moments that he fancied were more significant than all the ones he found himself stuck waiting when they asked what he had discovered he would say or not say anything only realize that he had found himself stuck waiting and notice on the floor what was still on the carpet what had dropped out of his nose what was still on the carpet they had asked him on to ask him what he had discovered he would say or not say anything only realize that he had found himself stuck waiting between the walls of moments that he fancied were more significant than all the ones he found himself stuck waiting when they asked what he had discovered he would say or not say anything only realize that he had found himself stuck waiting.

"And did they eventually see him?" asked the man with the rash.
"They eventually resolved to see him, but decided as a group or rather they were countermanded as a group by one of the mid-level chaps that they should have him fill out an application for the position he had been hired on before his company was acquired the third time," answered the woman with parrot calendars in her office.
"One of the mid-level chaps did you say?" asked the man who was rather rash.
"One of the upper mid-level chaps," answered the woman parroting the man with the rash's way of saying mid-level as she could hear in her head how he had almost spewed carbonated soda trying to say stamina in the booth they shared at the last miserable fair.
"You mean the position he was hired on before the fourth acquisition," answered the man with the rash.
"Not the last one," answered the woman with parrot calendars in her office.
"I'm not saying that. The next to last one. I know that," said the man who was rather rash.
"It might as well be the last one with them wanting him to start over at the bottom not completely all the way at the bottom just barely above it," said the woman parroting the way the instructor of a mandatory webinar spoke out of her ass.
"Deboning the trout are they?" asked the man with the rash.
"Deboning the trout they have," answered the woman with parrot calendars in her office.

What death bed? Wake up to another wrinkle another fold the collapse drawn out accentuated in more folds and wrinkles obscuring the notches made in the doorframe marking the ascent of shoulders that now only move up and down in shrugs and the weight of disinterest. What death bed? The one behind the behind the curtain peeled away by the last why did you say that you have mouths to feed what death bed what will you say about the risks not taken besides the birthing in the desert under blades in the dark of night surrounded by cinder block shaking with traffic and the indigestion of the world besides the asking for your name to include in the next hat the next glass bowl of accusations. What death bed? The one behind the behind the curtain peeled away by what you say by keeping your mouth shut you have mouths to keep shut mouths to let speak even though they may drop you into the next hat the next glass bowl of accusations.

"Has the water started to boil yet?"
"Have they taken the tube out?"
"Are bubbles starting to form?"
"Is anyone going to stop by and determine that it has been long overdue and remove it?"
"Why don't you say flatscreen nobody says tube much anymore."
"Can I return it?"
"Only for the original item you got."
"I may as well take it to donation."
"I heard they have enough now to make a version of the town with less expectation."

Gnarly propensity for chewing at fingers peeling off fingernails like trying to open a bag of stale chips this that could never be put right this that could never be put quite in the way that I would feel like my whole life has been a series of landscaping mishaps projects sabotaged experienced in my being as the constant extractions of a post-hole digger between my shoulders where my head once was.


- Max Stoltenberg

Sunday, November 30, 2014

BEHIND THE FAN

I am down
behind the fan
A metal face 
greets the rest of the sweating
darkness for me
The machine that pulls
the cage together
rattles itself
nor coping with errant
brushstrokes spitting up
prepositions at right angles
to hungover storytelling

"I think the hallway this section of the hallway glitches over here," said the man with the briefcase.
"I am down," said the woman carrying several notebooks.
"No, I'm not blaming you. I was just pointing out the funky area part of the hallway," said the man swinging his briefcase to point in the direction of what he was indicating.
"Sometimes the lab waste can really stink up the place," said the woman grimacing and then smiling thinking of Mord's comments on the last stench something along the lines of dead rotting gamey animal smoked in burnt rubber and baby diapers piled to perfection.
"Not bad smelling. Glitched as it doesn't render properly," said the man shaking the briefcase about as if to simulate a rip in the fabric of the simulation.
"Oh, that. Yeah, that's been there since the last wave," said the woman trying to figure out some lyrics she heard in a song at the bar last night or was it the night before that or was it the night before that?
"Last wave? Of turnover?" asked the man with the briefcase jiggling it to the left and then to the right to represent whatever he thought it meant to anyone who might understand that particular movement of briefcases not knowing that one of the guys in the DLC department had a laminated chart in his cubicle.
"Actually, we're not sure. Some think it's turnover, some think it's management, and some think it's the new technology we're using," said the woman having possibly come to the conclusion that she might have confused a solution for the freecell game she got stuck in the other night with a game of mahjong or that she might have confused a solution for a mahjong game she got stuck in the other night with a game of freecell or that it might have been two other completely different games on her cellphone or her kindle the night before that or the night before that.
"That is the damnedest thing," said the man with the briefcase stepping back after noticing he had pulled his briefcase back away from that part of the hallway.
"One of the women in advertising thinks it could be a combination of software upgrades and turnover or a sequence of various combinations of combinations or the weather we've been having lately," said the woman scratching her head and feeling the anger in her jaw and gums towards how the local supermarket had rearranged their shampoo and body wash aisles.
"What weather?" asked the man with the briefcase checking to see if it had picked up any strange build-up from the air outside.
"Dust storms," said the woman.
"I didn't catch your name," asked the man with the briefcase loosening his grip on the handle ever so slightly to appear more nonchalant.
"You didn't catch my name because you were so focused on my ID# APN621," said the woman smiling an oh-by-the-way-go-fuck-yourself smile.
"What would happen if I walked through the glitched section of the hallway?" asked the man with the briefcase tightening his grip on the handle.
"Nothing, just brain damage," said the woman looking him in the eyes as he tried to maintain eye contact.
"That's a load of crap," said the man with the briefcase widening his eyes as he stared back at her.
"If you walk through that part of the hallway you might find yourself suddenly overcome with a sudden urge to visit the snack machine," said the woman making a smacking noise with her lips.
"Maybe it is the smell my senses are becoming more fucked up lately as I get older," said the man with the briefcase loosening his grip on the handle and worrying that it would slip out of his hand and fall to the floor and echo loudly in the corridor.
"Have you ever had a stroke?" asked the woman seeing the worry in his face.
"My family thinks it was a stroke, but I think I have always had trouble taking things in self-preservation you know and expressing myself," said the man with the briefcase gently bumping the side of it against his right kneecap.
"I doubt it. The cameras at both ends have taken in an overly long conversation an exchange of loads loads of crap as you would say. I tend to tarry when people like yourself think they can fuck others after they've had their way with words when they see glitches. Don't think I'm going to tell you don't hold your breath because I want you to hold your breath. I want to see your face turn purple with every wave every wave that is more seamless than the next. You may have a bad allergy season here and there, but you'll just wipe it all off along with the build-up on your briefcase."
"I don't have any allergies," said the man with the briefcase swinging his briefcase a little.
"Lucky you," said the woman.

I am down
behind the fan
A metal face 
greets the rest of the sweating
darkness for me
The machine that pulls
the cage together
rattles itself
nor coping with errant
brushstrokes spitting up
prepositions at right angles
to hungover storytelling

"I am down."


- Max Stoltenberg

Saturday, November 15, 2014

SNAPPED FINGERS

The soda machine's noise kicked on and drowned them out their gibberish in the adjacent office storage muffles our noise with a noise of its own its own standing in the back alphabetized to the back or shuffled to the back the not so random shuffling to the back of the container of jarred cubicles he woke up with a headache and pain in his stomach after grinding his teeth through a night of nightmares there were several but he remembered only one at the moment and only a piece of that one was left something about a very large bug eating at his groin in a graveyard the pain was always higher up and he was dead down below the what they called the basement when they looked at the house by the ocean that flowed into the streets that must have been from another one of his nightmares earlier in the program more dust from the desert was getting in under the door where the weather stripping was missing.

"Can I bring him in?" asked the pale officer standing in the doorway.
"What have you cut out of your diet now?" asked Lurk sitting at his desk.
"Why? Why do you ask?" asked the pale officer stepping back a bit and thought about rubbing his hands together at the heels and how it would feel the bone and skin working the cud of his melancholy but resisting knowing the probing questions it would generate.
"No reason. It couldn't possibly be your dour imitation of a chalk outline," muttered Lurk listening to another screw pop out of his chair.
"I do feel like I'm slowly being erased inside the lines," offered the pale officer trying vainly to bring back to his mind which article of clothing that marked playing card had ended up in.
"What did you ask me about?" asked Lurk experimenting with the new fucked up position the chair tilted in.
"What's wrong with your chair?" asked the pale officer suddenly thinking of another definition of escort interrupting his image of his laundry room and the card swishing in a wet ass pocket."
"Curiosity dragged out the cat's life as it climbed the chart of most popular defense mechanisms," croaked Lurk staring at the weird shape on the wall drawn in brown marker.
"I need to change their litter when I get home," said the pale officer inadequately using cars to substitute for feline shit logs in his brain.
"If you get home," said Lurk.
"If I get home," said the pale officer.
"Did you ask me something?" asked Lurk.
"When?" asked the pale officer.
"I don't know. Why did you come back here?" asked Lurk an upside down neon tetra floated in his thoughts.
"Let me go to shift command and ask," said the pale officer taking a few steps to leave.
"You're going to shift command to have them dislodge your memory?" asked Lurk.
"Sure. Why not? I'll throw in an apology as well as a recitation of some barely related block of text of policy," said the pale officer.
"That's jacked," said Lurk.
"How is that jacked?" asked the pale officer.
"It's jacked like the jack of clubs," explained Lurk realizing he forgot to flush after his last restroom visit following that heavy lunch.
"Why did you put it like that?" asked the pale officer.
"Put it like what?" asked Lurk.
"All this talk about playing cards?" asked the pale officer.
"I bought this crappy deck the last time I traveled. The last time I traveled. The last time. Couldn't make out what anything was. The last time I traveled. The last time," said Lurk trailing off into a mumble.
"The last time," said the pale officer.
"The last time," said Lurk. "Why does it bother you so much how I put it?" Lurk asked.
"I'm not bothered," insisted the pale officer.
"The color went out of your face," said Lurk.
"I thought the color was already out of my face," said the pale officer.
"It is. It just looked like it was the next stage of some anemic fading," said Lurk seeing his one and only failed gardening project superimposed over his inbox.
"It," said the pale officer.
"It," repeated Lurk. 
"My place is a mess," said the pale officer.
"And you're telling me this because?" asked Lurk watching something bob in his water bottle after he took a sip.
"I was watching this thing on TV," said the pale officer, "this thing on TV about a bus driver who is waiting for one more person to start taking his route who wears headphones and he will decide that day to drive them all to their deaths as they listen to their music and audiobooks and talk although he hasn't worked out what would be the best place to drive them and then this old woman with her granddaughter get on and the little girl talks his ear off. At the end of the day he goes home to kill himself it was either a bottle of pills or something else I don't remember and instead he decides to clean his house and they show him starting with his toilet. And I sat there watching this smelling my couch smelling my house smelling myself and I got up to go to take a dump and I sat there holding it and then I let it go not all of it I held a little back some of it getting stuck on its own and then I let the rest go some of it letting go on its own. And here I am taking another shift staying over thinking I'm between shifts between cleaning my couch and not cleaning my couch between taking the garbage out now or taking the garbage out tomorrow between listening to something or not listening to something no matter where it comes from a flat-screen or a person and no matter where it comes from I'm listening or not listening something is telling or something is telling something is always telling."

Keys
I lost my keys
Can't get the cabinet door open
The potatoes have long arms
Scratching crouching
pulling at strings
dangling at the ends
of what they said
what they send
from outside the town
outside the distant town

Lurk went on, "I was playing a video game and after I had finished another quest I looked at the book of monsters."
"Book of monsters?" asked the pale officer.
"The monsters I had killed," said Lurk, "I could click on each picture and see how many of each I had wasted. I could click up to page 6, but the arrow went all the way to page 30 with a place for a picture of each species.  8 on every page. You know how many that is?"
"240," answered the pale officer thinking about whether he would go shopping or leave another item off his menu.

The soda machine's noise kicked on and drowned them out their gibberish in the adjacent office storage muffles our noise with a noise of its own its own standing in the back alphabetized to the back or shuffled to the back the not so random shuffling to the back of the container of jarred cubicles he woke up with a headache and pain in his stomach after grinding his teeth through a night of nightmares there were several but he remembered only one at the moment and only a piece of that one was left something about a very large bug eating at his groin in a graveyard the pain was always higher up and he was dead down below the what they called the basement when they looked at the house by the ocean that flowed into the streets that must have been from another one of his nightmares earlier in the program more dust from the desert was getting in under the door where the weather stripping was missing.


- Max Stoltenberg

Friday, October 31, 2014

RECEPTION PORTCULLIS

Stupid jokes crackle tuning knobs twist hesitantly and dramatically carelessly through the hall as figures are dazed with punchlines and step into the autonomic reflexes with the caffeine buzz did you read it read all of it deleted it and scrolled through down to another career no the interest evaporated before we even got to this screen oh that's right there has never been a we. Tapping on the window shadows moving away edges of a cart retreating or large box cleaning or removing the window putting the glass or more wall in its place more wall it is. Who here remembers who is still here that remembers who used to be here stuck here who remembers what is slapped against the side of the head stupid jokes crackle tuning knobs twist hesitantly and dramatically carelessly through the hall as figures are dazed with punchlines and step into the autonomic reflexes with the caffeine buzz did you read it read all of it deleted it and scrolled through down to another career no the interest evaporated before we even got to this screen leaves brown and dry can be found under the desk toward the back where shoes deposit them from under the steps through trash during an explosion orange peeled to reveal dark wet standing up slowly who gets this kind of help what if they don't make it what if I do and I did so to speak so to speak with a tapping on a window shadows moving away edges of a cart retreating or large box cleaning or removing the window putting glass or more wall in its place more wall it is.

"Imaging, may I help you?"
"I was wondering if I could speak to someone regarding hold on I wrote it down."
"Do people still do that?"
"Do what?"
"Wonder."
"I don't think so just a phrase really."
"I couldn't come up with a reason to disagree with you more. Now how may I help you?"
"What did you just say? I didn't quite follow all that."
"It was awkwardly constructed. Never mind. How may I help you?"
"I wrote it down here. I just can't seem to read it."
"I can't read my own handwriting. I make things up."
"I think that says brain."
"I do the same thing with my thoughts as well. I just assume. It's not like I haven't done it before."
"Could you put me in touch with someone regarding a brain?"
"That'll be quite enough of the touching. You'd think with it being imaging it would be look don't touch."
"I'm sorry. I meant to say contact. No that doesn't work either."
"You used the word speak earlier. That'll do."
"I did? I did."
"And you want to speak with someone regarding a brain?"
"If it's not too much trouble."
"We don't image brains actually."
"You don't image brains?"
"Despite the public criticism of lowering our standards."

Lifting a remote dripping with sweat seeing the trail connected to the bottom of the potted plant soaked looking to the left a bloody kneecap stabbing the gut foreheads shaking in disapproval that was to be expected forgot enough to allow encouragement to accumulate enough on the tongue to open your mouth slam the top of your knuckle-headed head down hard enough to shut it the fuck up enough who had it last the first and the last really claim nothing really delete nothing when it clings to the inside of your skull except when you need it to get out of a cage in the shape of what you imagined was your calling in the shape of who was calling.

"Is this being recorded?"
"Is what being recorded?"
"This conversation. Is it being recorded?"
"What we're saying is not going to end up anywhere if that's what you mean."
"I gather that the gist of this is that there is no gist."
"The thing I dislike most about the way they designed the break-rooms is that they have one for each half of the building."
"And what's wrong with that?"
"Each half has their own break-room. You can go for years without bumping into anyone from the other half of the building."
"Except if they're bringing them around to introduce them on their first day or escorting them out on their last."
"I have a list of phone numbers for other locations where they can have you speak with someone regarding a brain."
"I used to work at a place where they had one break-room for the entire building. Very few people ended up being in there in the end. Everybody got fed up with everybody and fragmented off into various complaining chambers of the facility."
"That's discouraging."
"The whole outfit specialized in discouragement. They developed packaging that was intentionally frustrating to open in order to discourage theft. It only led to their shit being smashed and destroyed by angered consumers."
"That's terrible."
"And angered staff."
"Anger burns down a lot of decorations as well as undoing all the hard work that went into those meticulously crafted displays."
"All we have left is discouragement. Anything else just keeps that fucked up packaging blowing out the assholes of assholes."
"You sound very angry."
"I did mention angered staff."
"I know."
"I used to be part of that angered staff."
"Those were the days."
"Until they escorted me out. Sometimes they'd take us out in pairs and trios."
"You sound like you're still carrying that around to fester inside you. You should let that go."
"No no no. Don't give me that. I had a therapist once who told me not to let anyone give me that. What was it she used to say? Don't let the temperature go down on your anger."
"That sounds very wise and very old. Was she old?"
"It doesn't matter she's dead now."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Sinkhole I think it was."
"Do you like bowling?"
"Not really."
"I'm looking for that list of phone numbers."
"Take your time."
"You're being sarcastic aren't you?"
"No really I've got more time than I want ever. That's always been my problem. Even when I didn't seem to have enough time to get crap done I still ended up with too much time at the end with no end in sight."
"I know what you mean. Sometimes it pools between us so we can talk. I never seem to be able to say what I really want to say and then I take advantage of opportunities that always seem wrong like I'm trying to tuck in my voice somewhere with someone."
"Conversation is artificial seasoning to sprinkle on a tasteless existence. I find that it's better to stay quiet and say fucking nothing to shutdown the sales pitch everyone has."
"Hopefully, I'll find that infamous list."
"Did you say hope?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact I did."
"Hope is a pile of dead birds at the foot of a cellphone tower."
"Here it is I found it."
"It doesn't say brain. Wrong wrong number."

Lifting a remote dripping with sweat seeing the trail connected to the bottom of the potted plant soaked looking to the left a bloody kneecap stabbing the gut foreheads shaking in disapproval that was to be expected forgot enough to allow encouragement to accumulate enough on the tongue to open your mouth slam the top of your knuckle-headed head down hard enough to shut it the fuck up enough who had it last the first and the last really claim nothing really delete nothing when it clings to the inside of your skull except when you need it to get out of a cage in the shape of what you imagined was your calling in the shape of who was calling.


- Max Stoltenberg

Sunday, October 19, 2014

A TILE APPROACH

I eat shit. The dust and sand get into my mouth thanks to the hot shitty wind. The hot shitty wind blows around the dust and sand that have settled on the shit on the ground. I eat shit.  I he sat moved on toward the was looking around the terrain building room the room on one of the upper floors on one of the floors on the way up there ended up being more further up past the room at the stairwell hearing those footsteps echoing in the room the walls did that repeating the ups and downs and had nothing to say soundless where there was nowhere to go except no exceptions but burrowing into the gaps filling up with the infected ways of looking at things that stood still and were breaking down on the inside built up by empty canned sayings bled onto footsteps echoing in the room the walls did that repeating the ups and downs and had nothing to say soundless where there was nowhere to go like I he did he moved toward the wall that sometimes echoed sometimes whispered he wouldn't tell anyone except those who know already they had their ways of knowing of information.

On the other hand on the other side sometimes whispered sometimes echoed on this side in this head his head less of that later has a hole in it and that's how there must be less of that later if anything left later and there will be enough of it to annoy the most foolish listener looking for whatever and a whatever to your fucking face and you heard that probably.  Probably not only saw you scratch your head washed it lately?  I stick it in the toilet now and again. And again do it again for the bottomless amusement it bestows upon the eyes that widen the smiles that curl into a sweaty mustache of pubic threads of condescension.  There is a bottom to amusement and there is a backdoor to trust ten nine was when they looked at each other eight smirking to each other over the man growing smaller by the seven stupid answers to make them laugh over wooden chairs and desks six it was stolen five that's what happens when I count try to take an inventory of things laying in the sand as it runs out through that hole less of that later has a hole in it on this side in this head his head that head heading for the glass an invisible thickness for keeping things in and out fucked either way less of that later or more if it annoys those annoyances that have to sit down again the air has been turned off over all those brief weekends and running out of it slowly ever since less of that later is that what was meant by by whatever up to the glass the tile the wall and the whispering starts up once more or just continues a background or sideways din for leaning all that steel and glass fell reunited into another acronym a vacuum cleaner several floors high or complexes long or stories downloading indefinitely sucking the redundant juices out of you and spitting them in a glass invisible thickness for keeping things in and out fucked either way time to wipe the crack the gap filled in they fill in all the gaps no room for anything except that whispering steel falling clattering rumbling stomach sit down wipe they fill in all the gaps no room for anything except that whispering steel falling clattering shattering did she hit him over the head with something finally no it was him she can't hear her speak up I know it's him it's me waiting with the glass invisible thickness keeping things in and out either way was that her him probably stirring both their voices slosh against the rim there is another rim even on that side on the other hand even there.

"Why does she do it?" I ask. No, he asks. "Why do you do it?" he asks himself. No, he asks her after asking himself after tugging on a bunch of tangled wires. "Why do I do what?" she asks after losing her train of thought something having to do with she loses it again when this doesn't help. "Why do you put yourself?" he loses his train of thought after pausing too long to try to put it into words find the words when this ear comes away from the wall and the pacing starts continues for space a little bit of space from the invisible thickness no place just rims bumping against each other. Stepped on a spot that squished with extension where eyes cross and necks try not to stick out change the subject or skip ahead spoil her disappearance betray her footprints up and down the stairs echoing whispering, "because I don't know I don't know because it might be that I can't defend myself because I didn't defend myself by staying put or putting myself last dense tissue on both sides pressed in the middle by the structures internal and external until you just wait lock yourself in and confine yourself to only go beyond one locked door at a time while you hover over your own stink and wait until the complaints run out will they run out and my latest belonging will have expired?"

How did she get it? Who gave it to her? "Why does she do it?" I ask. No, he asks. "Why do you do it?" he asks himself. No, he asks her after asking himself after tugging on a bunch of tangled wires. "Why do I do what?" she asks after losing her train of thought something having to do with she loses it again when this doesn't help. "Why do you put yourself?" he loses his train of thought after pausing too long to try to put it into words find the words when this ear comes away from the wall and the pacing starts continues for space a little bit of space from the invisible thickness no place just rims bumping against each other. Stepped on a spot that squished with extension where eyes cross and necks try not to stick out change the subject or skip ahead spoil her disappearance betray her footprints up and down the stairs echoing whispering. "Why do I do what?" she asks after losing her train of thought something having to do with she loses it again when this doesn't help. "Why do you put yourself?" he loses his train of thought after pausing too long to try to put it into words find the words when this ear comes away from the wall and the pacing starts continues for space a little bit of space from the invisible thickness no place just rims bumping against each other.


- Max Stoltenberg

Wednesday, October 1, 2014

MORE OFTEN LESS OFTEN

Dead branches had been knocked out of a paint bucket that he had accidentally kicked with his right foot.  Before he began to run back through his thoughts he bit the inside of his left jaw of his mouth.  That brought up his left hand to the left side of his face his left your right no both his left and your left if you just turn around no he'll turn around see if you can follow having a hard time following this you turn around and go back the way you you were rejected always turning around and going back over it when the sting of thoughts begins to fade think of fading is when he bites the inside of himself. Close a door and turn off the light and step outside and stop the chewing under the dirty grey skin that barks up the wrong tree had its branches yanked down around the ankles of the desert what a waste of connections relations they were called once calling out into the hot wind that whispers your name what your name sounds like when it is erased very slowly along the limbs the dead limbs of dead branches that had been knocked out of a paint bucket that he had accidentally kicked.

He said that she sounded as if she had been silently reading something speculative and had to suddenly turn up the volume to speak. She said that whenever he opened his mouth he sounded as if he had never opened a book. He said that she should talk since he had never seen her with a book and now that he was reminded neither of them had seen any books. She said that he reminded her of how much her silences drove him crazy. He said that she reminded him often of how less sane he was every day as those were flushed around them in the desert. She said that they reminded each other of how much they would really like to be able to flush what they squatted over including all the rest of it. He said that she reminded him of all the times he reminded her of how it was all too flat for any of that. She said that she would occasionally remind herself that the images, the continuity, the symbols, the signs, the frames, the vantage points, the concepts were gone and all that remained was naked reality decaying under the fraying strands of what remained to cover them as their words grew duller left alone together growing more alone from each other the only thing that could grow in a world worn down with nothing sharp left to end it all with.


- Max Stoltenberg

Sunday, September 21, 2014

TILTING AT EMPTY DRUMS

A man sits at his abyss and hangs his arms down around the outside of his legs thinking of depressing prior events that crash landed him on the roof of the lies that spread out into the parting of company and flat buildings obstacles to suicide obstacles.  That is all to be known you can insist on the underneath what lies underneath lies lies that spread out into the parting of company and flat buildings obstacles to suicide obstacles that is all to be known you can insist on the underneath what lies underneath a layer of fat sandwiching thick slices of repetition and the monotony of doing what you're told and now grown up having done having been done with all that telling them to do what they're told their faces and the flat buildings keeping a man sitting at his abyss and hanging his arms down around the outside of his legs thinking of depressing prior events that hang about as he hangs in there hanging in there.

Haven't been here in a while have been here all the while off and off about going off and someone went off a while back in a while all the while haven't been here in a while have been here all the while off and off about going off and there it is there it is not someone is not someone went off a while back and here here for now is here for now once again determined to speak through these tusks sticking through this bloody head haven't been here in a while have been here all the while but for now looking down at the floor the ground underneath the floor pulled it up and peeled it away characteristic by characteristic a nanny once said to me tried to say to me what she preferred who she preferred and she couldn't bring herself to tell me because she was too ashamed have only seen nothing but those uncomfortable smiles ever since when someone can bring one of those as far up as the layers of fat as far up as the food that wants to escape from digestion the thoughts that want to escape from digestion nursery rhymes step with wooden knees stuck in stubborn and bent phrasing stuck that way their way of being digested or claim they want to be and can never be as far up as the food that wants to escape from as far as the eye can deflate itself into a squint.

I went outside and they went in
I went inside and they went out
No water for tough pills to swallow
See a face only upside down
not in a spoon
plenty of emptiness
too much room
no utensils

"She face-planted," he said as the person he was telling the story to walked into the back wall of the office.  "Oof!" Lemp exclaimed as he staggered back after smashing mostly his nostrils and some of his upper lip having knocked down the last remaining human resources poster. It fell on the carpet where the rip in its threads made when someone fucked with the refrigerator. "Who fucked with the refrigerator?" Biltong had asked in that vague accusing tone while standing next to the printer with curled up papers jamming under one of the corpulent training manuals (think it was labeled 8 of 11) that had been dumped on top of it. 

"He face-planted," she said as the person she was telling the story to walked into the back wall of the office.  "Crap!" Thram exclaimed as he staggered back after smashing mostly his nostrils and some of his upper lip having knocked down the list of birthdays that had been consolidated from a by month list to just a list for the year.

"Did you say oof?" asked Ducko opening the bottom right drawer of his desk looking for the citalopram and finding only coffee grounds and some white-out.  "I did," said Biltong in that abstract contingent tone munching on the crumbs of pill and brushing his beard to dispose of any incriminating evidence. "Even though it sounded like crap," added Biltong. "Can't help sounding like that when you walk face first into a wall," said Ducko thinking about the woman he collided with after refusing the need for directions to a brothel while commenting, "I know where I'm going."

"This cup is gross," declared Hurley biting the underside of her ring finger fingernail to get at the peanut butter she had dug out from behind where her braces and lower teeth met.  "I use it to brush my teeth after lunch," answered Lemp thinking of the depressions in the man's face he saw waiting for the bus not this morning but the morning before.  "I saw you brush your teeth around 2 yesterday," chimed in Prankman looking up from saving her work again and missing out on another opportunity to undo more screwed up column data sorting.  "That was my post-lunch snack - usually a mini-mammoth coffee cake brimplet or a brain-puncher," said Lemp adding, "not this morning," looking at the stain on Hurley's blouse that refused to come out in her laundry.  "What's not this morning?" asked Hurley worrying about missing a meeting when they had just had one that morning.  "I saw you brush your teeth around 4 two days ago," chimed in Gash letting out a quiet long slow rancid fart the culmination of eating the same shit everyday, the rotting of his internal organs, scheduled random burns of the pubic fields around his butt-hole, and his involuntary participation in scientific experiments.  "We have got to talk to maintenance about that horrid gas leak in this building," barked Hurley staring at Gash who wasn't quite finished.  "I have an appetizer before I go home to have dinner - usually a coffee candy," said Lemp asking, "what're they called?"  "Pips?" suggested Gash smirking.  "No, they are not called pips," said Lemp scanning the office to see who else was surfing.  "Isn't that a growth on a bird's tongue?" asked Hurley looking at her cellphone.  "Did you look that up on your phone?" asked Gash just about finished. Hurley continued thumbing and said, "No, I'm calling Nest a dumb-ass for going out with that jerk from security. What's his name?" 

"I thought we didn't have any security anymore," said Biltong looking out the window at some strange shaped objects in the desert unsuccessfully trying to convince himself they were a mirage.  "They hired one back after the roach coach got stolen," said Hurley realizing she had typed two p's. "Why doesn't he stay retired?" asked Ducko rotating his mug to the appropriate position after spilling on his crotch. "He gets bored," Thram said turning off his game of solitaire before anyone else noticed not noticing that Ducko had noticed. "Pee pee," laughed Gash. "Do you mind?" said Hurley thumbing the word shithead into her cellphone.

"I think he quit," said Biltong.
"The security guy?" asked Hurley.
"Well, him, too, but I was referring to the last guy they had left in maintenance," said Biltong.
"What the hell?!" exclaimed Hurley.
"Do you mean this or your text?" asked Gash.
"Both," muttered Hurley.
"She means neither," said Thram.
"I mean both and neither," said Hurley.
"That sounds like the horseshit from the morning meeting," said Ducko.
"What was that ass-fuck's name from security?" asked Hurley.
"She's changing the subject," said Ducko.
"I am not and you're afraid to open up to a new experience and enrich your stifled inner life," said Hurley.
"I don't know, but he had a horrible posture like Alkaline," said Thram.
"There is nothing new about this experience and my inner life what's left of it smolders from opening up to this breeding ground for parasites," said Ducko.
"Alkaline was his influence, but he couldn't get the demeanor down right," said Gash.
"Did she have to face-plant?" asked Lemp.
"Alkaline reminded me of Zorm," said Thram.
"Yeah, Zorm," said Prankman sneezing.
"Ass-fuck actually thought that was a cool way to carry himself," said Hurley.
"Why don't you tell me another anecdote where someone doesn't face-plant?" asked Lemp.
"Zorm is where he got the influence for that telling throat clearing," said Thram.
"So nothing's going to be done for the stench in this building now?" said Hurley.
"What do I type in on this screen?" asked Prankman pointing at her monitor and looking at Hurley.
"You act as if all I have are face-planting anecdotes," said Ducko.
"We're all plumbing conduits for the waste of the world to pass through on its way to the ocean," said Gash feeling like he might begin again.
"I have a nice piece of misinformation," said Biltong hunching over in his chair.
"You're doing it the right way if you're getting the same error message as me," said Hurley to Prankman while continuing to pump her thumbs into her cellphone completing the sentence it's your funeral.
"I'm just requesting a different anecdote that's all," said Lemp.
"I never thought Alkaline's throat clearing was telling," said Prankman.
"I doubt anything makes it to the ocean from here," said Hurley.
"I'll have more anecdotes after they decide if they want to go through with this merger or not," said Ducko.
"Zorm's influence was Monocle and that sigh so heavy with bewilderment and contempt," said Thram.
"Does anyone know why he has to start his anecdote over after someone decides on the merger?" Lemp asked everyone in the office.
"You and your doubt," said Prankman.
"Am I the only one who gets that feeling like they're that tiny silver ball in one of those little kid's plastic toy puzzles and someone big is about to tear the lid off again and make it fall into place?" asked Gash.
"Me and my doubt. It was an arranged marriage," said Hurley setting her thumbs in motion again to write the text of her apology.

A man sits at his abyss and hangs his arms down around the outside of his legs thinking of depressing prior events that crash landed him on the roof of the lies that spread out into the parting of company and flat buildings obstacles to suicide obstacles.  That is all to be known you can insist on the underneath what lies underneath lies lies that spread out into the parting of company and flat buildings obstacles to suicide obstacles that is all to be known you can insist on the underneath what lies underneath a layer of fat sandwiching thick slices of repetition and the monotony of doing what you're told and now grown up having done having been done with all that telling them to do what they're told their faces and the flat buildings keeping a man sitting at his abyss and hanging his arms down around the outside of his legs thinking of depressing prior events that hang about as he hangs in there hanging in there.


- Max Stoltenberg

Thursday, August 28, 2014

BONEHEAD QUOTIENT

The development around from the how things were developing testing the dirt the gravel brought by foot by the foot underfoot testing the dirt worse than expected that is this is not true talked about this discussed this preparation for the worst or worse than that actually actually say that while you while I move my fingers like this like little worms just waiting to attack my eyes have to get through the glasses first no lost those a ways back ways back back then had more ways now there is only one way the long way round the middle of the blind entertainment and its sayings about how blind it is when there was a desk between us the performance capacity was abnormally boundless pouring out and forth over the belt keeping pants a sick trunk I wave my cup where did it go got up it did when you spoke too much and too loudly plosive articulation firing in all directions between us the performance capacity was abnormally boundless pouring out and forth over the belt whipped against the glass of the window taped to the dark stars sinking into an imagination stabbed hundreds of times doing the math no favors no nipples no mouths sewn with silent waffling.

"Who are you talking to?" asked Shrillage.
"No one," said Deskman.
"You were saying something."
"I thought you were ignoring what I was saying."
"I was. I was really trying and then you have been going on and on of late. You hadn't before that, but started up again of late."
"Of late. Yes, yes, I have. Took another crack at it. That's been my problem a terminal ability of not being able to stay resigned. One time I caught myself looking up at a ceiling and then I thought about all the times I looked up at ceilings when I started out not knowing where I was disoriented and all. Then I thought about all the places I spent so much time stuck in familiar with and sick of and how I could can never recall what those ceilings looked like bland tents of meeting."
"And now we have no ceiling at all except for sunless days."
"A thinning towel separating us from the kiln of the void."
"What did I say?"
"I have no idea. Something about sunless days."
"No, to start things off."
"I don't think it was anything you said. Bombardment of some sort or other. Bacteria from a meteor. What's it called?"
"Panspermia."
"Sounds like a non-stick birth control."
"We're both confounding variables of birth control."
"But we're quite stuck."
"Just can't seem to locate the off-ramp. What I was asking about is what did I say later on?"
"You said that it wasn't what it looked like and besides CPR dummies have no lower half."
"Not that. Earlier today."
"Was there an earlier today? I got up late."
"I got up late as well. Doesn't happen very often."
"Was that rain? I felt some drops on my arm."
"That was me unclogging my nose. What did I say to start off this latest bit?"
"Latest bit of what?"
"Conversation."
"Is that what this is?"
"At least it has the wrackful aspects of one. That's what I tell myself."
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because I want to know what I said so then I'll know what you said and then I can make a pathetic claim that I've been maintaining some loose greasy hold on who I am."
"I feel greasy too."
"Maybe you are a non-cohesive contraceptive after all."
"Contradiction you mean."
"Is that how you pronounce it?"
"What we've been saying is non-cohesive."
"That makes sense."
"That makes a plop splash in my skull."

Because I said because I said
because you said because you said
Caught me in it caught me in it
Quarterly uncrumpling
of the used banana peel
dried from the Sun's disgust
flaming spit into the wind
sliced with the blades of exasperation
rays of cloud shooting through
shooting
always that 
until
the overflow
sends
it to the increased vector falling backwards its a hose got in your way always got in your way and now I'm gone or you are gone I'm the contraction you are gone and I'm left with the contractions when further apart or closer together make a lot of empty space to be lost didn't say it last time the last time was it was that when it was went unspoken you wanted to know and he wanted to know what was said and now that I'm thinking about it because I'm the contraction and I'm left with the contractions when further apart or closer together make a lot of empty space to be lost didn't say it last time the last time was it was that when it went unspoken you wanted to know and he wanted to know what was said and now that I'm thinking about it because I'm thinking about it now it's not a matter of what was said but who was said and they went away with who was said much uglier than when they entered mirrors ironed their faces charred reflections they went away with who was said much uglier than when they entered as they exit out of doors no longer there there that's what you get with a desert.

"Put it down. Put it down now," demanded Deskman.
"Put down what? When was the last time you've seen me with a prop?" asked Shrillage quite outraged or bordering on outraged.
"Put down the psychology you've been using on me."
"What psychology?"
"And without a license."
"I fulfilled all the requirements."
"Was it worth it?"
"Not really. I let that balloon float away and vanish."
"Then I was not mistaken."
"More like cliches."
"Psychology is nothing but cliches repackaged re-wrapped to pass by your brain like a syndicated curriculum stringing the same line of duller colored bulbs around the gutters of your head goading you to spin yourself around like a childish overgrown lummox faking it until you make it to being impressed with the repeating cartoon backgrounds."
"My uncle once had a friend who wanted to be a tutor and he thought it would be a good idea to let him practice on me at no charge. And after a week or so of lessons he stopped me while I was trying to explain something or other and he looked me in the eyes and said, If I could teach you to relax I would feel like I could make a difference. You don't have to be so earnest. I get it. You're not a phony. You just need to find where you fit. And since then I've found that I don't fit anywhere. I am authentically at the bottom spilled out onto the desert after all that fighting along the surface tension of the machine of existence."

Tested untested tested untested a corner poking the wrist pushing it in squatting on a corner poking the wrist pushing it in the music is over dim bulbs of notes crushed into bubbles polluted filled in tested untested tested untested a corner poking the wrist pushing it in squatting on a corner poking the wrist pushing it in the music is over dim bulbs she was up in the tree had climbed the branches thick obscured what who she was no trees around here.


- Max Stoltenberg