Monday, March 30, 2015

CLEFT EYE

The danger of it hovered the head the back of the head one of the shoulders sounded familiar like a script like a repeated meeting of things that didn't belong together and yet kept bumping into each other heard that one with the ear in the tall plastic cup with the design scratched out most of it scratched with some utensil some writing utensil had those removed at least that's what the dress the wrinkled dress told me and laughed now that wasn't good was it? was it? used the last tissue from the box the last box from the last time she disappeared when she looked looked like she was looking and I as I looked right at her looked as if I was looking right at her she disappeared without moving nothing moving about that that feeling that sensation of danger the danger of it hovered and perhaps another visit to the closet would settle this at least just this one time in the closet balled up in a corner and listening to the sounds orbiting around the corner I was in this corner of done for things this corner of had my chance and I never made swing at it many times too many times for this feeble memory of whose was it again the danger of it 

hovered

"You're exaggerating."
"Of course I am exaggerating."
"I can tell ask me how I can tell, Stamen."
"Stamen? Isn't that part of a plant?"
"It's a good name. Now ask me how I can tell."
"That is the genitals is it not?"
"You're not going to ask me are you?"
"Why would you name me after plant genitals?"
"Not you. This guy I used to work with in another building. They actually let us use tools there? Remember those? You probably don't."
"Why would you name me after him? Did he walk funny?"
"I'm just pretending you're him for the rest of the day. You probably won't remember what we're saying after you take your next shit."
"Is it because he dropped things or only read the first couple of sentences in every email he got?"
"This will all be falling out of your ass momentarily."
"Is it because he would foul up what he thought were profound quotes or the air at large?"
"Just for the rest of the day. Until he died."
"How did he die?"
"In the desert."
"Exposure?"
"Dead end job."
"I use less contractions when I exaggerate."
"There was this plastic snake that had two heads and the one plastic snake head said to the other: Help me to launch an all out attack on the rear. I think there is another head back there that could make trouble for the two of us. And the other plastic snake head replied: Ask me how I can tell that is a dumb ass idea. And what do you think the other plastic snake head said?"
"I use less contractions when I exaggerate."
"I am not being that overt you glued shut ass crack. The other plastic snake head didn't say anything because the little girl whose toy it was came along pulled it apart into its segments and put it away in a drawer."
"And what does that have to do with anything?"
"There was this stapler on a diving board in the desert."

scratched out most of it scratched with some utensil some writing utensil had those removed at least that's what the dress the wrinkled dress told me and laughed now that wasn't good was it? was it? used the last tissue from the box the last box from the last time she disappeared when she looked looked like she was looking and I as I looked right at her looked as if I was looking right at her she disappeared without moving nothing moving about that.

"I see a face."
"Where?"
"In the cloud next to that creepy tree."
"Which creepy tree? They all look creepy."
"In the middle of this cloud here next to this creepy tree here."
"This cloud here?"
"Yes that one. Doesn't that look like a face to you?"
"Where you see faces I see clouds that withhold their rain."

What she had tumbling about in her head she did not want to put through another cycle wetting the towel is as far as she rubbing the sleep out of her glasses the town did not sit well on her stomach or any other part for that matter could not be destroyed but a voice was plucked out and hung over the fence looking over its shoulder this this doing of this out of context what should we call it she many times called him out of context speaking from the middle of his sentences trying out what trying on another as she walked away to come back with a beginning and end maybe that's what she went to get or find we'll just sit here until look for a place to sit until.


- Max Stoltenberg

Monday, March 16, 2015

GLASS HALF-FULLY POLLUTED

It was the dawn of another disappointment pains in the body blood in the mouth spat into the sink and swished around thoughts to be discarded and brought back up with the plunger of memory alas what a shitty instrument to have about convincing the torn paper with nonsense on it anyway that it cleaned something that filled and emptied and refilled with shit like this mind point with this finger to this head here.  Pull back to a coffin merging with a corner filled with grounds for dismissal dad doesn't like the entry again what we're saying being said the sides of the hurting head pump into the other side of the glass where blurry faces mumble colors to number stapled to questionnaires don't mention the part of the having trouble breathing when you talk no position whatever they offer won't slow won't thin out the heavy breathing don't tap for too long and then the broken record this should have been engraved a broken record that's what it always sounded like still sounds like when it's played back pulled back to a coffin merging with a corner filled with grounds for dismissal dad doesn't like the entry again what we're saying being said the sides of the hurting head pump into the other side of the glass where blurry faces what is that smell building up in my mouth it must be my words making me sick point with this finger to this head here.

The office was abandoned the air almost rid of the stench of people their chairs venting what their asses left behind food left in the refrigerator for weeks fuck the air upside down sunglasses that had been thrown on the desk pushing a paper clip through a hole for plugs cables someone pushed their chair back to look under the desk to see where the paper clip had fallen.

"What's wrong with you?"
"I'm sad."
"No, what's wrong with you?"

No don't get up where are you going? I hate it when someone walks away from a conversation and doesn't want to face it what I'm saying what I'm asking turning it off won't work this going on without you if you have to be dragged all the way through your walking away little person little knot twisted in on itself little rubber plastic end of the balloon of this little twisted end trying to tie this off this is on and will stay on until I say it is over and done with until I say later for you little twisted balloon end nobody come back here from down the hall you can hear me on the inside of the other end of the building.

"What's wrong with you?" 
"I'm sad."
"No, what's wrong with you?"
"I'm sad, I tell you."
"There is something very wrong with you."
"Sad is the fucking shittiest way to describe it."
"You do have a shitty way of describing things. Stop describing and admit you're weak. I just figured it out. That's what's wrong with you. You're weak."
"I'm sad and weak."
"And not as good as you think."
"I've rarely thought that I was good enough."
"And you like to slap that victim card noisily on the table."
"Right after I eat my own waste."
"You're proving my point."
"That's why I was brought into this world to prove someone else's point. I have been stuck on a spike and you jerk it around and make me say whatever it is you want me to say."
"Shut the fuck up."
"First you have to shut the fuck up. Do you hear that? Coming from the break room. Someone's probably taking what doesn't belong to them again. They look at your food and see your name on it and take it anyway."
"There's nobody in the break room."
"They found a way out. I haven't yet. More than likely I'll be going out as ashes inside a coffee can."

Paralyzed arguments squirm around
Flail their gassy defensiveness
Don't have a leg to stand on
That hasn't stopped the beating
of a chest of drawers
deposed stack of experiences
remember the way she warmed
the shitter for you
both of you
plugging up holes
stopping 
so much desert
room for the vapid
in all directions
spin yourself and fall
that way

The fly swatter itches with dirty blank stares pouring into them what's left over and recycled there was a manner in which it could be but not now maybe not tomorrow nothing will do it not a movie not a book not a carving not a slicing not a hearing not a voice not a smashing not a sound the fly swatter itches with dirty blank stares pouring into them what's left over and recycled used and reused mop water there was a manner in which it could be but not now maybe not tomorrow nothing will do it not a movie not a book not a carving not a slicing not a hearing not a voice not a smashing not a sound not a sound.


- Max Stoltenberg

Monday, March 9, 2015

LITTER BOX ENTRANCE

Shoulders sore blades itch decisions seep into the sheets pillows soaked with thoughts tangled into re-charger cables still interested? still interested throat clearings is about the most of it developing into nothing more than getting up to go to the can passing by the handle pull on it and see if it is still even there even there still interested? most use gotten out of it amounted to underwear that had seen its last dump dropped into the waste basket in the bathroom those plastic clips don't do what they're supposed to do that sounds like a voice singing a tune thought it had a voice in it and now it is more like a droning of the neighborhood a droning is more than a voice now less than a catastrophe and that brings it back to this issue of suicide hanging in there again would think hanging really hanging could make what actually cares about living you know rise to the occasion and then give it up and be dead but but there is has been this not doing that and hanging in there with a neck sticking itself out you know rise to the occasion someone else's thing waving it about excuse you put that back that brings it back to this issue of a droning of the neighborhood what do they have under there a dried out bag on the sidewalk they put that dropped it into the trash thought they did and it felt somewhere back there and I still can't bring myself to end it hanging in there for eyes mouths ears that listen to something else and haven't missed a thing just don't feel like it and refuse to answer just like I never did only once and that was the end of it the only end I could bring myself to got myself into under the roof with them out from under it just enough under the gutter dug them out and threw them down to me what the skies mixed with where we lived a mess of ingredients for getting into my eyes mouth that listen to someone else until my responses my attempts at reflections end up more like a drone of the neighborhood and that was the end I could bring myself to got myself into under the roof with them.

"I don't want to talk about it."
"You don't have to if you don't want to."
"What do you mean if?"
"Since I meant since."
"But you said if."
"It was an accident and don't say there aren't any."
"I wasn't going to. At least I'm not one to say if when I meant since."
"I'm sure you've mixed words up many times."
"Of course I've mixed words up. It's commonly referred to as communication."
"You know what I mean."
"Apparently not."

The bottle was empty their bottle was empty the one they had been sharing and the startling thing or not so startling thing as they somehow managed to remain a thing or became more of a thing each of them more an item scribbling that smudged on the back of a plastic card none left as they thinned them out their words to each other like planers shaving away the sides of their frames of reference both of them knew that they had both forgotten who had drank the last amount and yet both insisted that the other knew that the other was in denial and took turns blaming themselves that's how it went when the man who taught the self-defense class for women went home and put his hands around his wife's neck and saw in her eyes how his laptop crashed right in the middle of his latest first person shooter. Temptations to open close open another tab ran up his tab in the bar downstairs down the street if it had been down the street he might have turned down that alley that to the used bookstore down the steps where the old woman in the trenchcoat would piss. One would walk carefully down the steps or not remember and stare at the drain in the concrete in the corner the dark corner across from the steps and not put it together not put anything together.

"Are you still planning your suicide?"
"Planning? Planning. I'm beginning to make my approach over the idea that it might be better not to plan it and do it on a whim so that it serves two purposes."
"The only reason I'm asking is to pretend that I give a crap."
"So I take it that you don't want to know about the two purposes that it might serve?"
"It does make me wonder why something to be done to confirm the purposelessness of life would serve not only a purpose but twice as many."
"One: it is not planned so there is less chance of objection or backing out and two: it reflects the lack of planning involved that characterizes my life."
"More planning goes into avoiding having to make a plan."
"And then you take this as your cue to go on about how skepticism enters in only because it emerges in the context of what we do know about the world."
"You're talking about incredulity."
"Only when I encounter the fuckhead in the house next door. Can't even rely on my backyard. I sit there with my ass in the dirt looking through a chain-link fence. A see through wall vulnerable to other encounters and social interaction that makes my brain fall into my mouth and choke on my thoughts that's how responses get stuck you know."
"You need to let your neighbor be someone to challenge your ideas about things."
"They already do that. My neighbor blocks my view of the waste of the world."

Saw something the other day shoes that's what was seen the other day the other day what was seen was shoes they are still shining shoes that's what was seen the other day.

The bottle was empty their bottle was empty the one they had been sharing and the startling thing or not so startling thing as they somehow managed to remain a thing or became more of a thing each of them more an item scribbling that smudged on the back of a plastic card none left as they thinned them out their words to each other like planers shaving away the sides of their frames of reference both of them knew that they had both forgotten who had drank the last amount and yet both insisted that the other knew that the other was in denial and took turns blaming themselves that's how it went.

"It was an accident and don't say there aren't any."
"I wasn't going to. At least I'm not one to say if when I meant since."
"I'm sure you've mixed words up many times."
"Of course I've mixed words up. It's commonly referred to as communication."
"You know what I mean."
"Apparently not."

Temptations to open close open another tab ran up his tab in the bar downstairs down the street if it had been down the street he might have turned down that alley that to the used bookstore down the steps where the old woman in the trenchcoat would piss. One would walk carefully down the steps or not remember and stare at the drain in the concrete in the corner the dark corner across from the steps and not put it together not put anything together.


- Max Stoltenberg