Nothing but the booze biding her time for stumbling over cracks in the pavement over crotches so over that pulling on that rope coming out of the closet taking it on the chin on the eyelids it hangs over notches it was notches and cracks in the pavement for stumbling coming back to it after a after a what do you want to call it what do I what does she want to call it what do you have to do with it? Nothing but booze biding her time for stumbling over cracks in the pavement over crotches how they got there having to do with the rope that rope coming out of the closet taking it on the taking it that's what it comes down to as we most of us her this curls up at the bottom.
When did it go? When did it ever go through her eyes? That might be why she sat down since the sky had forgotten and the air well the air all the wrong things intersected with her an existence for collisions and that might be that is probably why she sat down on the bench. The bench was along a trail that was along a wash full of weeds behind a building that was along an empty parking lot and she looked out over the weeds and saw a few people and tracked them carefully to see which way they would go along with various commentaries about their possible quirks and manners in which they would opt to commit suicide.
All of the few people went on their sullen ways except for one who stopped by the bench and stood by the overflowing garbage can and fished around in his pockets. She took out a piece of paper and a mechanical pencil.
The fire had worked through half the office even though the send button had been hit on the email along with its urgent status along with its indicator to see who would read it along with who would delete it along with its subject line re: re-evaluation of re-credentialing.
"You have a mechanical pencil," he observed as he did not observe his hands were in his pockets motionless and no longer searching around.
"He crawled past the broken coffeemaker to keep under the billowing smoke which had become a color he wasted time trying to figure out if it was more yellow or brown," she said as she scribbled on the paper.
"Is that how you create emotional distance by referring to people in the third person?" he observed as he did not observe a piece of garbage get blown by a gust of wind against his shirt.
"His knees felt the change in texture from carpet to tile and then the wetness of a strange spill on the floor," she continued to say as she continued to scribble on the paper.
"I'm going to give up on my pockets and admit I have nothing left and lower myself again to examining what the trash can has for me while I try to think of what to say to my ending up on my knees," he observed as he did not observe he had stepped in the remains of something that had died who knows how long ago.
"He went through a list of possible suspects in his head of who might have been responsible for the nasty spill as it spread through the left knee of his pants. As he began to compile the list he found himself conducting at first a statistical comparison of the number of women to men and then he paired them together thinking he was clever and adept at something despite what he told his brain every day he mechanically trudged to work to fill a cubicle so he could fill in little fields in the PDF files on his computer screen," she said as she ignored how small the scrap of paper was.
"You look like you're trying to forge a prescription. Is there even a letterhead at the top? Won't do you any good without a letterhead at the top," he observed as he did not observe he couldn't move any closer to get a better view of her scrap of paper because he was standing on the loose shoe lace of the shoe he was attempting to lift to start with.
"Anger at himself fumed inside his body as the office blazed around him realizing the relationships that already existed and no longer existed between his pairings. He was going to start it again another conflagration of his anger directed out towards everyone else. He was going to start it again and he fumbled around inside his pockets for what for a match to ignite his hatred for them all?" she said scribbling a little on the bottom corner of the scrap of paper.
"You didn't write all you just said. It's definitely a medication. Is it an anti-depressant? Is it an anti-psychotic? Is it a mood stabilizer? Whose signature are you going to put? Maybe I just happened to come along at the right time to tell you if the signature you are forging belongs to someone worth forging," he observed as he did not observe she was looking at him and had stopped scribbling on her scrap of paper.
"What's the point?" she asked moving back and forth along what had been said and what was going to be said.
"What's the point? Well, I could tell you if well I could-"
"You couldn't tell me anything. I could tell you something."
"You could tell me what?"
"That you're like a dog startling out of one of it's dreams and sniffing around all the usual places."
"That's true. I do do that. Don't know why though."
"I could also tell you something else."
"Is it about animals? I once bumped into this crazed nutjob with long white hair and a soiled kilt who told me there used to be these things called wildlife documentaries and they had a lot of chunks of bloody flesh and close-ups of red teeth."
"I was going to tell you to take your serendipitous happening to be here and shove it up your ass."
"I've done that. I keep pulling it back out. You asked what's the point? And I guess there is no point in saying anything about anybody's signature when I don't know if there is still going to be medications or doctors for that matter."
"There's going to be meds and doctors to coat the shit people pull back out of their asses. And I was referring to what's the point of trying to continue with a story when men come along to fuck up the ending? They want to handle the timelines while relegating women to the clotheslines."
"Perhaps I should forge my way to the cliff."
"It doesn't work anymore."
"What do you mean the cliff doesn't work anymore?"
"So many bodies have piled up that jumping off doesn't kill you. And don't give me that if I had a time machine horseshit."
"I don't why even up."
"I don't know why I even showed up. I leave out words when I get upset."
"That's a combination of starvation and hopelessness."
"I don't recall ordering that. Who ordered that?"
"Don't look at me."
"Will you be here tomorrow?"
"Probably not. I'm getting tired of stopping at these places to stop and rest. They're conveniently placed next to receptacles of overflowing garbage."
"There might still be another cliff further on where the bodies are not stacked too high to break your fall."
"More others to get in the way of my ending."
"Don't let me hold you up," he observed as he did not observe her mechanical pencil had no lead and he lifted his other shoe to walk on along the weeds along the wash along the trail behind the building along the empty parking lot.
When did it go? When did it ever go through her eyes? That might be why she sat down since the sky had forgotten and the air well the air all the wrong things intersected with her an existence for collisions and that might be that is probably why she sat down on the bench.
Towards a lease on extinction
Decrepitude lined the film
over their eyes
packed with a haze
not to anyone or anyone in particular
only from desks and aging chairs
means and ends twisted into a helix
nor trippingly wrought from bent metal
shattered views of the world
carriages of the latest arrivals
and coffins and beds of the oldest
middle ones bunching up between
the cracks forming around the toilets
out of order
- Max Stoltenberg