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With a picture with pieces to start to continue lips on knuckles elbows trembling with sighs from next door's arrivals and departures adjacent to the opposite catching of the next drift. Nightmares alternate with work's presumptuous lot clicked on that accidentally there are no accidents with them with a picture with pieces to start to continue lips on knuckles elbows trembling with sighs from next door's arrivals and departures adjacent to the opposite catching of the next drift. Clicked slid tripped stumbled and staying still until the falling over under the weight of lids screwed down and screwed is what it is screwed is the is as the here and now is held by the ears shaken until the mind caves in with forced attention to details what's in there is hair that has been twisted and wrapped around the holes in the floors pieces of pictures of pieces of heads plucked like unsustainable notes from unfinished pieces of music.
Frogs had a part in it or perhaps rips in shirt sleeves catching on another collapse another faltering no patience too much patience ignorance is on the way it's coming why bother the tubes to the bags bring more ignorance is on the way. Stuff and something else it was on the list somewhere or the list was somewhere went somewhere was supposed to be going somewhere getting some turned the page over for more and it was gone between turning it over between glimpses of pieces of words with pictures with pieces to start to continue lips on knuckles elbows trembling with sighs from next door's arrivals and departures adjacent to the opposite catching of the next drift. Why bother the tubes to the bags bring more they bring more ignorance ignorance is on the way.
“I guess I didn’t want any,” said Skids looking away from the clods of rice.
“You guess?” asked Rugklam with frustration and thoughts of gazebos toppled over on their sides in the desert.
“That’s the best I can do,” replied Skids turning back to the discolored rice with a glare.
“How long are you going to keep on passing up what we find?” asked Rugklam lifting and tilting his right foot to allow a rock to dislodge and slide off the back of his slipper.
“Do you remember the music store that closed a couple of years ago?” asked Skids suddenly with fascination.
“It was more than a couple,” answered Rugklam having to shake out a companion rock off his slipper as well.
“Whatever,” quipped Skids, “they had one of those displays that – what did they call them?”
“An endcap?”
“No, not an endcap. It was free-standing.”
“A free-standing endcap.”
“No! I’ll have your ear lobes. Even though I’ve no use for them, I’ll pull down on them both like dismantling a shower curtain,” growled Skids standing with his hands at his sides while his thumbs and index fingers practiced their pincer grip.
“You can have them since you’ve pissed on my offer of rice,” said Rugklam.
“You call that an offer? We haven’t had rice in so long long long a time and the only rice that can be discovered doesn’t have any precursors to any hints of any coming attractions of any molecules of rice fragments resembling anything the color of white,” Skids retorted.
“Just pretend it’s wild rice,” said Rugklam badly hopping on one leg to vainly remove a third rock (a pebble) this time.
“I should have said tearing off your lobes would be like dismantling a tremendous movie curtain,” Skids reconsidered.
“Or you could act as if it’s domesticated rice with yellow food coloring number 23 unless that evokes shades of urine, but that shouldn’t matter since you’ve already voided yourself on my idea. The chicken or the egg has been forever replaced by pseudo-friends or others taking the initiative to expedite the spoilage of one’s ideas. If that doesn’t suit your fancy try brown food coloring number 161 in spite of its suggesting some other modality of decorating that snakes its way from the depths of one’s gut,” stated Rugklam attempting to recall a poem that began with references to a lake fouled with ethylene glycol underneath a diborane gas cloud (sheep drifting past a billboard plastered with the latest algae product line).
“One of those towering big red movie theater curtains, you know what I mean?” said Skids enthusiastically gesturing with his outstretched arms.
“Careful or you’ll flip our house,” warned Rugklam.
“Don’t come between me and my long-sought father’s approval,” announced Skids.
“I thought you didn’t give a shit,” asked Rugklam reminiscing of days of old before nothing but desert to the horizon when weeks were filled with bland days of rain (filed between sloppy penmanship and deformities) and a sharp corner of a heavy wooden desk to impale one’s forehead.
“Oh, that’s right. What would I do without you to help keep me focused on my indifference,” said Skids thankfully.
“Haven’t I always told you to get out more and form at least one other relationship, one other relationship besides me, one other relationship per decade,” reminded Rugklam.
“You do nag,” commented Skids swatting at a cloud of gnats.
“Then think about it on those nights when you can’t sleep and your nose doesn’t bleed so much so I don’t have to go through my lecture once again,” implored Rugklam.
“You know I can’t curl up into my corner without my carbon steel ice pick to clear my nasal allergies and lull me to sleep and forego the need to keep a calendar or a bowel movement log,” said Skids plagued with the inescapable image of the TV tumbling down the flight of stairs (a slice of mildew is too much to ask).
“I thought you promised to stop that whittling through the blasted face mask to get at the carotid. Sounds like you want the lecture after all,” declared Rugklam.
“The one about the psychological benefits to be reaped from investing in the speculations of relationship and its derivatives?” inquired Skids.
“That’s the lecture,” confirmed Rugklam eying a rather large roach.
“The one that opens with the joke about the prostitute and coffeemaker?” Skids checked to make sure.
“A poem. It opens with a poem about about the one that makes reference to a lake,” corrected Rugklam continuing to follow the rather large roach that seemed to have expanded in size.
“A lake?” asked Skids.
“A polluted lake,” replied Rugklam distracted by the word barf in his skull (pointy corner of a hard solid heavy wooden desk).
“Industrial hazardous waste?” inquired Skids.
“Yes, that the lecture,” bragged Rugklam, "can't say I'm familiar with the one about the prostitute and the coffeemaker" (impale forehead here).
“Well, there’s your problem. It’s your ingredients for oratory for hanging over an audience of one. I’ll not have it. The carbon steel ice pick comes to join me this very evening,” insisted Skids.
“You will have it. That’s all you and I do is have it. You’ll put it off, but just for a short while until you listen to it again, all of it again. You’re trying not to think right now of the parts the ones where I’ll lay it on extra thick in the absence of crisp toast and you’ll play right along again. You’ll be my crisp toast. You’ll be it right out as far as the crust. That’s as far as you can extend yourself,” wheezed Rugklam.
“Should’ve described dismantling a colossal movie theater curtain,” lamented Skids.
“Are you trying to scurry uselessly around inside that festering head of yours?” muttered Rugklam.
“Bringing down a movie theater curtain works much better than a shower curtain,” insisted Skids.
“You’ve let your priorities sink into the tainted lake and thereby have missed out on the opportunity all the opportunities for relationship like the restorative sinking of one's teeth into a thick tall sandwich and all its layers."
“Relationship has done it's job of reciprocating with it's own bite. Clamped with all of its influence down on these lips. When will I no longer be able to utter another word? Don't know if I can get my poisoned tongue out from between the ricin and mercury.”
“Mercury. You think yourself some messenger spluttering forth words to peel away appearances. You’re nothing but a thief and after all I’ve done for you. This skin won’t shed any faster than you’d like it to. You and I will just have to content ourselves with a fermenting body that won’t empty fast enough.”
From "The Prostitute and the Coffeemaker"
Testy she's testy
He's testy as well
His testes making another pot
She's making another pot
A pot shot at the design
or lack thereof
wretched black and blueprints
Filling in the things tough all over
Swinging lower than usual
Might hit the greasy tile
Why
Congested dishwasher
Nobody has any reason
to ignore what's been
what's been under
under
Why
of all the miles of dirt
miles of death
their deaths
can't get the goat
his tired sick head
in this dirty lap
out in the miles
of dirt
dust storm obscures
the setting sun
why
another day of
his tired sick head
in this dirty lap
out in the miles
of dirt
dust storm obscures
the setting sun
why
another day of
his tired sick head
these hands
drop things today
and tomorrow
twitching with the ebbing
and the ebbing
can't get the goat
his tired sick head
in this dirty lap
out in the miles
of dirt
dust storm obscures
the setting sun
“Dismantling a shower curtain is so intrusive like invading someone’s privacy.”
“Invading someone’s privacy, where are we going to find some food? There was nothing else in the dumpster. We’ll have to go farther, and you’ve never liked that.”
“They used to have these displays that had music on them that you could rotate around and around. And I would go in there and turn that display around and around and find the same stuff. I’d come back and spin that thing and come across the same pieces. Then I’d have to talk myself into waiting longer giving them more time and then come back after weeks after months turning that display around and around and still find the same stuff. Curled up with my carbon steel ice pick and my bleeding nostrils carotid nearby or trying not to tip this shanty over or walking on and on between places on and on between turning that display around and around and having another rotation of this thing this Earth to talk myself into.”
- Max Stoltenberg
Sharp once in a moon that has been lost haven't kept track of the what was it once in a moon that has been lost and drifted away lost in thought is that what it is was once in a moon inside the moon drifting away haven't kept track of the streets the names the street names behind the building behind the clouds fogging up the mirror tapping pruney fingers that once twice or once held a pen clicking still in the inner part of the ears between half a mind to think it through out the other side of the moon in a moon once in a moon that has been lost and drifted away lost in thought is that what it is once in a moon inside the moon drifting away haven't kept track of the streets the names the street names behind the building behind the clouds fogging up the mirror tapping pruney fingers that once twice or once held a pen clicking still in the inner part of the ears between half a mind to think it through out the other side of the moon falling into blackness the only thing that still holds like the black ink on finger tips pruney fingertips tipping over back into the darkness falling into shells for filling them in with paper and desks and machines loaded with darkness falling into shells for filling them in with paper and desks and machines loaded and unloaded shells filled and emptied dumping out paper and desks and machines crashing out crashing down onto floors of shells filling them in with paper and desks and machines loaded with darkness falling into shells for filling them in with paper and desks and machines exchanging plus one other opinion exchanging machines and desks and paper within them filling in emptying out shells into falling darkness.
"Put it away."
"But I."
"Turning off the light."
"One more page."
"Tomorrow."
"You'll turn the light off again tomorrow."
Shells into falling darkness. It gets dark. Stuffed shells emptied shells. It gets dark. Falling crashing crunching crunching numbers. It gets dark. Paper and desks and machines and labels and lines and numbers and letters and numbers mostly. Hurts sitting on this hard chair after removing the dirty ripped and uneven cushion from the hard chair after after and now there's not much else to say but but what? oh there's the hard chair after never mind the after there is no after no more after so let's have an end until something else inside the moon shaken about between these sweating ears dripping the perspiration of jokes coming back right back at the chin lost the wood the brick and all the adhesives of identity now there's an explosion to take a load off a load out of the spinning rotating metal can coughing up all the dirty crummy laundry leave it there for them to walk on trip over perhaps stomp and stamp to mix in their swollen footprints their advances impressed into the dirty crummy laundry paving over the pores of the globe occluding them into another blemish on the rough surface of their order. It gets dark.
"Hurts."
"Did you say something?"
"Hurts."
"What hurts?"
"Inside before the top of the chest under the bottom of the neck."
"Where's your water?"
"I think it spilled into the bed."
"I've told you to make sure to seal it good and tight when you're done with it."
"I guess I wasn't done with it."
It gets dark.
"It doesn't feel wet."
"You're lucky this time."
"It feels different."
"It feels dry."
Dirty crummy laundry paving over the pores of the globe occluding them into another blemish on the rough surface of their order.
"I said it feels different."
"Different than dry?"
"Different than wet. Like the inside of a body."
Hurts sitting on this hard chair after removing the dirty ripped and uneven cushion from the hard chair after after and now there's not much else to say but but what? oh there's the hard chair after never mind the after there is no after no more after so let's have an end until something else inside the moon shaken about between these sweating ears dripping the perspiration of jokes coming back right back at the chin lost the wood the brick and all the adhesives of identity now there's an explosion to take a load off a load out of the spinning rotating metal can coughing up all the dirty crummy laundry leave it there for them to walk on trip over perhaps stomp and stamp to mix in their swollen footprints their advances impressed into the dirty crummy laundry paving over the pores of the globe occluding them into another blemish on the rough surface of their order. It gets dark.
It gets dark. Inside a shell emptied and stuffed with paper and desks and machines falling and crashing and crunching crunching numbers. Numbers can run paper and desks and machines into the ground or a star into a planet.
"Did you say something?"
Sharp once when it came to directions when it came to rules when it came to this. When it came to the anecdote regarding the young lady wrinkling at the computer as her stale toast as her life and its crumbs made their way down her legs as she sat on the hard chair wobbling on loose screws that hold her legs under her sagging nods into brief sleep interrupted by unsteadiness trying again to hum when lips before they had been re-absorbed into her brittle head buzzed wax paper on father's comb against the window as a fat bee hovered and suddenly collided into the glass sending her back go back back to the silence the silence of scribbling scribbling outlines of spiders gawking through furry legs at the bloated less than half full glass elephant in the middle of the room slightly to quite off center. Sharp once when it came to directions when it came to rules when it came to this.
Sharp once in a moon that has been lost haven't kept track of the what was it once in a moon that has been lost and drifted away lost in thought is that what it is was once in a moon inside the moon drifting away haven't kept track of the streets the names the street names behind the building behind the clouds fogging up the mirror tapping pruney fingers that once twice or once held a pen clicking still in the inner part of the ears between half a mind to think it through out the other side of the moon. Hurts sitting on this hard chair after removing the dirty ripped and uneven cushion from the hard chair after after and now there's not much else to say but but what? oh there's the hard chair after never mind the after there is no after no more after.
- Max Stoltenberg
Calls cut short by long fuses that go out along the way the wayward meandering buttoned up in a repellent breeze locking the door noisily as the next step is taken taken away. Eyes move back and forth with the reflection of the clock pendulum swinging back and forth swinging back and forth in its glass compartment glass box swinging back and forth can see it in one's reflection about all the reflecting done in the past back and forth back and forth the next step back and forth taken away something is burning has been burning back and forth smoke pulsing back and forth in its glass compartment glass box pulsing the sidewalk pulsing maybe bending the knees soreness plain as plainness pulsing through the veins a vein pulsing in the wrist one of the two back and forth from a something around the neck pulsing smoke blurry not quite in focus like the old sidewalk putting the side of the head an ear to the sidewalk for a pulse a side of the head an ear back and forth decisions decisions adding subtracting arrows cracked and some other thing wrong with them adding subtracting decisions decisions back and forth to this to that to it step to it next step is taken taken away hair threading into the cracks of the concrete side of the jaw stubble skin scraping against the cheek cold cheek of the world can't go our separate ways not with the reflection and the pulsing of the smoke out of focus pendulum back and forth in its glass compartment glass box.
Shoes stopped a couple heels away. Worn laces dribbled down the mouths of footwear held half open as if pathetically squeezed and divided to be silenced and made to utter confirmation of embarrassment. Hands dug into coat pockets and pants pockets and emerged and re-emerged back and forth back and forth and forth and back. Fingers were snapped to summon thoughts that would not come out of their dark corners.
Hal: Who's calling who?
Smudge: Don't call us.
Hal: Let me guess. You beg to differ.
Smudge: I beg to dissolve right in.
Hal: When you stretch your arm doesn't matter which or it might across the table while holding a glass doesn't matter if it has anything in it or it might where do you go?
Smudge: This one again?
Hal: This is a variation or do you want me to come back later?
Smudge: I haven't for quite some time.
Hal: You haven't what? Been at a table?
Smudge: Well, that, too, now that you bring it over here, but what I mean is that I haven't stretched out my arm.
Hal: Making a soggy paper plane out of yourself are you?
Smudge: You know me too well and it doesn't matter or it might.
Hal: Heard anything yet laying there?
Smudge: Nothing but a lump in the surface that's slunk along right over here and started jabbering.
Hal: Once there was a man and it wasn't me damn it so don't even think of it a worm might come from a nearby puddle and make its bed in your ear or under your cheek or make you blink incessantly as it pushes the envelope into the corner filling up with tears.
Smudge: There hasn't been a puddle since before I had the misfortune of making your acquaintance whilst having you trip over me at the dump.
Hal: That's not how it happened.
Smudge: Aw, fuck, he's gonna go cosmogonical on me. Nearly deflated one of my lungs with those shoes. The very ones.
Hal: Incessantly blinking. How does that sound? Let the words crawl about in your ear and settle in your cortex. I repeat, how does that sound?
Smudge: I heard you the first time. That's the problem. Still too much matter left to hold to let it seep in. A crawling a digging could do some welcome damage.
Hal: Back and forth back to it once there was a man not me a man once there was who before he jumped made sure to look.
Smudge: Which way?
Hal: It doesn't matter or it might. Now look what you've done. It wasn't a man it was someone who and it wasn't me so don't even go on about it. And it wasn't once there was a man who jumped. It was more than once. It was many times. It was many many times.
Smudge: Grave mistake.
Hal: All those repetitions?
Smudge: Not likely. Don't call us. We'll call you. Which way? I'm asking which way is the grave underneath the surface just below the surface of all the insisting all the plans all the rubbing the ear the jaw the stubble against the world where the body goes the one trying to get back to breaking and entering puts up with the exhausted back and forth her putting up with it only so long after never seeing those green hills you talked about never got that far she putting up with it only so long after never seeing putting up with your not being able to rub two words together anymore. Don't call us. We'll call you. I'm only asking which way is the grave underneath the surface just below the surface?
Back and forth from a something around the neck pulsing smoke blurry not quite in focus like the old sidewalk putting the side of the head an ear to the sidewalk for a pulse a side of the head an ear back and forth decisions decisions adding subtracting arrows cracked and some other thing wrong with them adding subtracting decisions decisions back and forth to this to that to it step to it next step is taken taken away hair threading into the cracks of the concrete side of the jaw stubble skin scraping against the cheek cold cheek of the world can't go our separate ways not with the reflection and the pulsing of the smoke out of focus pendulum back and forth in its glass compartment glass box.
Shoes stopped a couple heels away. Worn laces dribbled down the mouths of footwear held half open as if pathetically squeezed and divided to be silenced and made to utter confirmation of embarrassment. Hands dug into coat pockets and pants pockets and emerged and re-emerged back and forth back and forth and forth and back. Fingers were snapped to summon thoughts that would not come out of their dark corners.
On hold hold on a sunken relationship like socks and sandals that have parted too late too late too late napkin crumpled between her lips touching the clouds caught in her lashes making them making her making everything appear thinner everything appear as it is thinner and just won't go away hold on a sunken relationship like like like too late in a bed heads rolled up into the sheets from the guillotines of waking moments depends on off to the next appointment for mummifying her little body in the tilted chair of the next appointment clamping open shrieks that pierce into the subsequent go ahead take a sip too cold too late the too late of the clouds caught in her lashes making them making her making everything appear thinner everything appear as it is thinner and just won't go away hold on won't be but a moment on hold held shut.
On hold hold on to what holds it back back at the zoo for another viewing of what used to run around play having gotten the eyes over the shoulders out of sight out of mind out of their minds they go again there they go again out of sight out of mind out of their minds they go again there they go again and they're off coming in on the outside coming out on the inside alongside all the inside jobs outside of it all alongside the big hands try to squeeze their hands held holding on on hold under shrieks that pierce into the subsequent go ahead take a sip too cold too late the too late of the clouds caught in her lashes making them making her making everything appear thinner everything as it is thinner and just won't go away hold on won't be but a moment on hold held open for filling in forcing in the filling in of the holes around the time of having not cared or known about the holes being there including the ones by the water dragging it along into this gap where other feet can't be found to stand for toes to spread and fingers to squeeze into the pockets between little fingers that learned to snap the other day the day before the rest will snap snap into place.
"Can't read."
"We'll tell her in just a about how long a length of time would you say it should be?"
"Can't read. Maybe about as long as it takes to go down the hallway."
"It's not a very big hallway. Can't even put more than a picture or two a few pieces of tape."
"My throat is folding against reading. We could walk slower or even stop by the drawing of all the rectangles she made."
"Not so loud," was spoken through eyes that tried not to meet those other eyes holding out while holding on on hold hold on to what holds it back back at the zoo for another viewing of what used to run around play having gotten the eyes over the shoulders out of sight out of mind out of their minds adding stuffing filling in forcing in, "the old runaround," was dropped out through eyes that tried not to meet.
"You want me to do what? Run?"
"No. You were right slower is good. Something has to be another dead pet how many can she be told about and then her lips and her cheeks will move like when she has food in her mouth I told her to finish that she just can't bring herself except her eyes are doing that now they're slightly more open held open clamped open by what is filled with light forced open by light the air around us you can put your book back in your room."
"That will make it longer for me for us to get down the hallway to her her eyes you're talking about her eyes and I want to put the book away. I put it down so I can't see the cover only see nothing on the back so I don't have to think about it."
"We're face down."
"Like when we play cards and don't want to give it away. What we have in our hands. What do you think she'll want next? What can she have next? Can she have anything next? I hope it won't die so soon."
"I think she heard us. She's coming down the hallway."
"I want to distract her about the rectangles she drew, but she should know."
"We have something to tell you. Something sad."
"I don't know if I can go back to reading stories."
On hold hold on under the sand another one this time under the sand buried hiding from not to meet those other eyes holding out while holding on on hold hold on to what holds it back back at the zoo for another viewing of what used to run around play having gotten the eyes over the shoulders out of sight out of mind out of their minds adding stuffing filling in forcing in, "the old runaround," was dropped out through eyes that tried not to meet. Like when we play cards and don't want to give it away. What we have in our hands.
- Max Stoltenberg
He was testing himself no he was being tested no he was being tested by himself by somebody else other than himself tested by himself row row reach for another tissue is it the last one just a few more maybe one more could be the last one not another in the house could look around but then the hunt the search could come up empty empty blank thin metal cartridge no thick metal cartridge thin skulled or thin skinned and all that all that what? are you kidding for it now hence yes no but there was this gate come up to it and sneak looks into paths of leafless trees what things one large rock not too big on the ground by one of the trees had something on it thought there was and now it with a gesture of the fingers lifting both palms up a bit and then the fingers gesturing you know and maybe you don't like a transparent fish and its last pulsing life ebbing out of it as it were gesturing then the fingers palms up only slightly and these will be the only words stuck impressed into the base of the finger where a ring has been and some other things you know and maybe you don't for no more breakfasts together for no one else to overhear food being cooked or burned if you like that sort of thing of course not run its course has it as it were palms up only slightly testing the impenetrable or the not there at all not anymore. He was testing himself no he was being tested no he was being tested by himself by somebody else other than himself tested by himself no he was testing to see to hear go back a bit to the by himself no by somebody else well there is that somebody else well as a matter of course by somebody else there is the business of on somebody else's behalf the sitting at the table and looking out the window overlooking the fallen blinds rehung rather poorly hanging on hanging in there so to tug on another tissue this could be the last one or the next tissue that has fallen in brushing against the side of the inside of the box brushing against the walls of the box boxes of rooms another sheet another layer could be the last one or the next one that has fallen in brushing against the side against the walls of the inside of the box of the thoughts bent slats rehung rather poorly hanging on hanging in there so to tug on another tissue another layer this could be the last one or the next tissue next layer that has fallen in brushing against the sides walls of the box boxes of rooms fallen in.
- Max Stoltenberg
The sign was not there and then it was there when did it never mind that's the problem maybe now it is gone again where did it go did they ever put a sign there it is again the sign the sign covered in what the rain brought down or splashed up from the street the streets connected wired into so many other streets perpendicular acute and obtuse as the what happened is here again to stay as long as the broken collar shock collar brushing the dandruff of melancholy from the shoulders surrounding the same confused mind lost never mind that's the problem now it is gone again where did it go did they ever put a sign there it is again the sign the sign covered in what the rain brought down or splashed up from the street in green and brown and brown and green and darker green and yellow brown and darker or lighter hues of what would that be brought down by the rain or splashed up from the street as the rain washes a tad off as well as splashing up more to cover and darken as observed by one of them joined by another and they make their way who's way is it really what had they agreed to as they made up some way up the high rise.
They did it by moving inside to the elevator which had an attendant. Neither of them could make out what kind of an accent he spoke with. After he rolled his eyes when they told him what floor they were going to he mentioned his once being a poet. She asked him to remember a poem that he had written. He tried to discourage her from stirring anything up now that they were inside and soaked and needed to dry from what they, too, had been splashed with outside.
"Don't make the man go back. Not now. Don't bring it back to now," exhaled Balforceps with trailing wheezes.
"Just because you listen to your dismal music too loud so that it reverberates in every one of your social encounters doesn't mean you have to project the same horseshit on to everybody else," punctuated Tralissa without a stammer except maybe a quieter after comment like "yeah" or "there."
"No, no, don't fight," said the elevator attendant pushing on the stale air in the elevator with his free hand.
"See, you're triggering some old conflicts he probably just barely survived. Just great. Now how are we going to settle this devastated man down?" questioned Balforceps shaking his cup of coffee with a sneeze.
"I'm sorry we carried on like this," apologized Tralissa.
"We carry something each of us," responded the elevator attendant.
"Yes. Some primordial residue we burn with our inner spark to fuel us on," Tralissa offered with the image of her favorite self-help book blown out of her hands by a sudden crosswind while she lounged in the backseat of her friend's convertible as they drove that time through the desert over that really tall bridge what a long way down into the shadowy canyon it went.
"No, no. I was going to say we carry the illness of life and spread it back and forth to each other so we never get over it. I don't like the sound," insisted the elevator attendant.
"Of dismal things, art, music, you mean?" probed Tralissa with her whatever metaphorical thing that gave some impression of being like a probe probing for something other than whatever.
"No, no. I like dismal music. I could probably talk to your friend for hours," replied the elevator attendant trying to belch as non-explosively as was scientifically possibly.
"Oh, great," muttered Tralissa rolling her eyes.
"No, no. That. That there. That's what I don't like. The sound people make when I tell them my dislike for what are they called the little red boxes they use on your chest my chest and they say clear clear for them they think they make space for me but it's a space for them so they don't don't have to get on them what's going back into me so they can have another warm body to attend another spot because they don't want to listen to me wanting to give up and they want me to let go of all the things they don't want to hear but I can't give up because they need someone to keep showing up so they can go down and up and down," said the elevator attendant looking at the walls of the elevator car and Tralissa's face to see if he got any of his spit on them or her or her.
The elevator shook to a stop as the attendant turned the crank. Tralissa moved towards the door and then smacked the sides of her raincoat when the door did not yet open.
"Finally," Tralissa spluttered.
The attendant gripped the crank and paused. Balforceps widened his eyes.
"I think I remember one of my poems," remarked the elevator attendant.
"That would be cool," commented Balforceps.
"Not now. Forget it. Sorry. No, thank you." Tralissa replied tapping on the elevator door.
The attendant opened the door slowly.
"Clear," reported the attendant.
"You're not being very polite, Tralissa," observed Balforceps as he reminisced about several of his most recent insults especially about the one involving comparisons between openness and bodily orifices. Shouldn't have put so much in to it never wanted the help they said so themselves. It couldn't be helped.
"Let's just go to the shitty assed fucking meeting room. No offense. Have a nice day." Tralissa growled.
As the two of them exited the elevator, the attendant quickly closed the door behind them muttering, "Since when is finally?"
The two of them stood by the closed elevator door looking down into the long narrow dark corridor. The length and dimensions expanded with the deepening of their symptoms. He took another sip of his coffee.
Tralissa asked, "What was the number again?"
"I don't know. He just said it was the door at the very end," responded Balforceps as he closed his eyes to the fading screeches of strings at the inconclusive conclusion of some chamber piece almost ending almost stepped on that dark piece of shit there's a piece of shit in the hallway prompting him to start walking ahead of her.
"What is that horrid smell?" Tralissa gagged.
"More of that horseshit being projected about, I guess."
"I'm keeping up with you away from it. Hopefully, it'll be less noticeable down the hall."
"Less noticeable. Why is there a hatchet sticking out of the couch? What I've noticed is that if you show any signs that you might be getting over a flu people take it as their cue to unload their complaints on you as if that's the tempo of recovery and haven't even gotten out of the mucus covered woods yet," Balforceps commented as he approached the stained door at the end of the long narrow dark narrow corridor long dark corridor.
"Drinking that swill won't help you get better. You shouldn't have even agreed to come. He's not even here yet. Maybe he won't show up. I heard most of those invited were sick as well. What's in the couch? Invitations finding all that uneaten food between underneath the cushions. The conversations the laughing the body aches I think I'm coming down with what everybody has. Need to trim my toenails damn it."
Sliding down in front of the door, Balforceps sits and coughs into the inside of his left elbow. He takes another sip. He shivers.
"Sit down," he offers patting the floor.
"Are you sure you want to touch the floor?"
"The rain washes it off and splashes it back on and washes it off and splashes it back on," he uttered haltingly as another cough and shiver went through him.
"You should go. You are not well."
"I should stay so I could spread the good news about sickness and give him a taste of it. But, that would only succeed in making him more unavailable. He's so impervious to all that gets spread around, all the harsh words the collisions of earth."
"See that's the crux of your problem. He's got the vision and you've got the meat grinder grinding up anything that has any meaning."
"Vision's been my problem since I started squinting in that stark ugly classroom. They must have knocked it out of me after each hit in the back of the head and they would taunt me with guessing who it was that time. I think that's why I couldn't care less about remembering people's names. The only kid who she didn't take her she didn't stay in our town very long forgotten her name went along with the attendance list too bad that was I think it was before the streets and everything was connected and there were whole ways of dirt leading down to I think it was a forest or the ocean no no it was just a fen," he trailed off with another wheeze and hacking cough.
"You should go."
"He might show up."
"At this point I'd hate to think what it would be like if he did show up and take his place and the stages and the roles."
"Now what kind of attitude is that?"
"What difference does attitude make now when now is so full of what's happened and it's now for as long as I don't know like trying to play a harp covered in some kind of insect. You pick you're good at that."
"I had a feverish nightmare similar to that last night now that you bring it up where I'm trying to kill these bugs I can't describe them they just keep getting bigger and longer and the only way I try to kill them is by holding them down with both my feet and strangle them with one hand don't remember which while I use the other to apply all the pressure I can with a big enough pot lid as the head flies off and astonishingly nothing sprays out like I was expecting. I start my morning sickly with the darkness about me taking its time to dissolve the images of decapitated bugs and pots and lids hanging like some mocking constellation over my sweaty face trying not to swallow what's collected in my throat."
"I'm not a big fan of doing the dishes."
"There will always be dirty laundry."
"Oh, shit. I think I just heard the elevator coming back up."
"I think my fever is spiking again."
"You didn't have to do this in your condition."
"Condition? My condition leaves me contemplating knocking on any one of these other doors to borrow their bathroom for a window to jump out of or self-examination of how I should have tried harder and stuck with stuff more stuck to it more should stay more stuck to the canvas to let another thumb smudge me into whatever texture they're trying to shape this horseshit into," he muttered as he coughed took a sip of his coffee that was losing its warmth as another shiver went through his body inside his soaked clothes inside his drenched raincoat.
What happened is here again to stay as long as the broken collar shock collar brushing the dandruff of melancholy from the shoulders surrounding the same confused mind lost never mind that's the problem now it is gone again where did it go did they ever put a sign there it is again the sign the sign covered in what the rain brought down or splashed up from the street in green and brown and brown and green and darker green and yellow brown and darker or lighter hues of what would that be brought down by the rain or splashed up from the street as the rain washes a tad off as well as splashing up more to cover and darken as observed by one of them joined by another and they make their way who's way is it really what had they agreed to?
- Max Stoltenberg
Bloodshot eyes squinted as knees bent as the bug slipped its flatbed under the microwave. As for coverage as for cover as for not being able to reach much else lately the coffee mug was under pressure as its top capping things off breathed like an ill dog as its dying lungs took it and three working, if you can actually describe it in that way, legs for another reheating that would have its fade its moment evaporate into the dust of existence.
Within maybe is that where it is emerging towards toward up the ladder somewhere in the garage that corner of the garage by the table covered maybe within maybe is that where it is emerging towards toward up the ladder somewhere in the garage that corner of the garage by the table covered as for coverage as for cover not being able to reach much else lately much else service for a waistband for a threading of some of this here has been dumped out back for waiting for those to call them don’t know who to call not OK apparently not to know how to go about it funny thing once did.
Meanwhile back to the bug bump on the back of the bump big bump how long has that been there not OK apparently not to know how to go about it funny thing once did. Only just now putting some things together leaves dead leaves together with yellow fingers together in a pile putting things some things together for picking up sorting away disposing of it before the wind in the wind when is where it will whip around from the back of the bump big bump how long has that been there not OK apparently not to know how to go about it funny thing once did.
Meanwhile back to the bump backed up the toilet has been backed up where is the broken suction with the duct tape to provide more suction provide now there’s a sound of an image taking all other images with it as the bug slips its flatbed under the microwave provided that provide now there was a sound replaced by silence replaced by shit festering somehow does something to silence call it looking why call anything anything?
Meanwhile back to the backed up toilet backed up tobacco caking up the pipe tailpipe fucked by weeds the interior has been ripped out of the skeleton of it yards away fields away deserted deserts away impaled by the earth as for silence as for the soundtrack of the breeze sliding through its remains advertising some kind of return as it could be called and is called return to whatever it’s called stop calling why call anything anything?
- Max Stoltenberg
