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Really? So? Really? So? So they say so they go there they go with their applications applying the crowbar an old crowbar an old metal arm bent on prying prying into things boxed up stuff stuffed into rooms into buildings into blocks into blocks wrapped in dust storms dripping with sour grapes spitting out teeth out the back window quickly quickly some are sticking to the bottom lip smoke them if you got them quickly quickly they’re coming around to the back window with the crowbar to pry or cover up the window in paper or plastic.
It was getting around and the way to get around was in metaphors and they didn’t get around very much between walls papered with directions speaking in a bed caught between blue skies must be can’t speak must be in a nothing’s coming out of what’s at the base at the base of the head down between the points of view hanging there like a useless private part dangling in public between blue skies in what must be in a what escapes from what can’t escape only to crash back down to the Earth and into the room inside from the outside where the crowbar and the prying continues.
The only record left to break was a broken record and there wasn’t that many of them left to break as they get repackaged as they skip along better than small legs that have forgotten as they had been broken as they had been squeezed out between tiles sticking it out together holding each other’s grooves together sticking it out together across wrinkles erased and squeezed out between tiles sticking it out together row after row beneath their feet where they had steamrollered into memory and spread things out stretched things out across the land stretching on to the point where there was no longer any vanishing point no matter how it’s sliced.
Didn’t wave back eyes looking through an existence that pretends to go on. Don’t know what they want they don’t know what they want pick for them read it off to them read it off the papered walls papered with directions read them off to them who didn’t wave back eyes looking through an existence that pretends to go on that pretends to look on at what didn’t wave back eyes looking through this view a view this view a view pretending to go on with this view a view pretending to be someone’s view pretending to belong to someone pretending to be someone really? so? really? so? gonna end up back in the front of the story in the back of the story by the back window back in the front when they come around to the back they do that they say that making any back turned to them the front that’s what confrontation does they did they didn’t wave back eyes looking through eyes bent into a metal arm prying while they insist to want something not knowing what they want pick for them read for them from the papered wall tearing pieces off for reading off from the moebius strips of directions where to begin?
Party of Seven No Six
They sat down at the table and were ready for soup on this very cold day overcast with suspicion. Monitoring each other’s movements as they each stirred around their letters around their bowls around the corner just around the corner would come one more of them to round things off. More on this later, but first it was the servant and how she had stepped back into the kitchen back into the backroom where she could be surrounded by nothing but the cold as they had their soup and their letters while she had stepped back into the kitchen back into the backroom where she could be surrounded by nothing but the cold but she would have to come out eventually and their soup and their stirring and their letters stirring their letters around their bowls around the corner just around the corner would come one more of them to round things off. More on this later, but first it was the servant and how she had stepped back into the kitchen back into the backroom where she could be surrounded by nothing but the cold.
Who are you talking to?
Nobody.
To yourself?
To yourself? To the tile to the wall that’s what she used to say how speaking to me was like talking to the wall and still no matter how still no matter how much it is now no matter how much it is what it is still is still she speaks still she screams at these walls pulling out the nails one by one hammering them in and pulling them out. To yourself? Are you talking to yourself or to the wall to the tile or to the wall? And still no matter how still no matter how much it is now how much it is what it is still is still she speaks still she screams and they and their prying having nowhere to go with this tile but in sinking in that’s what she wanted all along was for it to sink in sinking in with that sinking feeling. Got that sinking feeling I’ve been talking to the wall.
That’s what confrontation does they did they didn’t wave back eyes looking through eyes bent into a metal arm prying while they insist to want something not knowing what they want pick for them read for them from the papered wall tearing pieces off for reading off from the moebius strips of directions where to begin?
Party of Seven No Six
They sat down at the table and were ready for soup on this very cold day overcast with suspicion. Monitoring each other’s movements as they each stirred around their letters around their bowls around the corner just around the corner would come one more of them to round things off. More on this later, but first it was the servant —
Didn’t you read this already?
I think you’re right.
Skip ahead.
She would have to come out eventually and their soup and their stirring and their letters stirring their letters around their bowls around the corner just around the corner would come —
Skip ahead skip ahead.
While she had stepped back into the kitchen back into the backroom where she could be surrounded by nothing but the cold but she would have to come out eventually and their soup and their stirring and their letters stirring their letters —
Never mind.
No, wait. Let me finish this one section.
How would you know? How would you know you were finished?
She could be surrounded by nothing but the cold but she would have to come out eventually —
Just stop.
She would have to come out eventually.
Like talking to the wall. Like talking to the wall and still no matter how still no matter how much it is now no matter how much it is what it is still is still she speaks still she screams at these walls pulling out the nails one by one hammering them in and pulling them out one by one hammering them in like the hammering on the door where there was a stopping off for fast food there was hammering on the door where there was a stopping off for changing a diaper where there was a hammering on the door where there was a screaming outside where there was a screaming inside and still no matter how still no matter how much it is now no matter how much it is what it is still she speaks still she screams at these walls.
Didn’t wave back eyes looking through an existence that pretends to go on. Don’t know what they want they don’t know what they want pick for them read it off to them read it off the papered walls papered with directions read them off to them who didn’t wave back eyes looking through an existence that pretends to go on that pretends to look on at what didn’t wave back eyes looking through this view a view this view a view pretending to go on with this view a view pretending to be someone’s view pretending to belong to someone pretending to be someone really? so? really? so? gonna end up back in the front of the story in the back of the story by the back window back in the front when they come around to the back they do that they say that making any back turned to them the front that’s what confrontation does they did they didn’t wave back eyes looking through this view a view this view a view pretending to go on with this view a view pretending to be someone’s view pretending to belong to someone pretending to be someone.
- Max Stoltenberg
Flat the world was flat on its back his back he was flat on his back on the world that was flat rather more like a mound under his back couldn't make time for picking out where he had fallen. Skipped sandals came off after they scraped out an unfinished dance scraped out right off the cement skipped skipped someone skipped a turn and the play going around as it goes around doesn't seem right right off the cement skipped and scraped out an unfinished dance scraped out right off the cement skipped skipped sandals came off after they scraped out an unfinished dance scraped out right off the cement skipped skipped someone skipped a turn and the play going around as it goes around doesn't seem right right off the cement skipped skipped someone skipped someone's turn.
Flat the world was flat on its back he was flat on his back on the world that was flat rather more like a mound under his back couldn't make time for picking out where he had fallen. Depending on the approach how one approaches it they approached one on either side of the heap.
"Fallen in a heap or on a heap have you?" said Pasty.
"Is that any way to start?" asked Wafer.
"He could use a frightening start to jostle him up a bit," responded Pasty.
"You and your unorthodoxies," said Wafer.
"I think we got to him just in time," noticed Pasty.
"My brain-case is flooding with numbers," said Wafer.
"There you go flooding again. No wonder you never get anywhere. You're wading for the world to be turned into one humongous zero-depth pool sloshing around in circles stuck in your diluvian maelstrom," said Pasty.
"Maelstrom. You'd like that wouldn't you?" asked Wafer.
"I would, actually," said Pasty.
"You and your miserable miserable," idled Wafer.
"Well?" invited Pasty.
"Miserable miserable," continued Wafer.
"Do go on, Wafer," said Pasty.
"Miserable miserable," continued Wafer.
"I think you've covered this ground already," said Pasty.
"You and your," said Wafer.
"Don't hold back you hammered memory card. Allowing yourself to spew forth with the ample equine stream of jeremiads will remedy my feeling so one-dimensional," said Pasty.
"Miserable necrotic worm-like harbinger of of," struggled Wafer.
"Now is not the time to run out of inflammatory momentum. I can see the raw nerve open in the end zone," said Pasty.
"Harbinger of of," choked Wafer.
"No, you have to back it up all the way like you did before and give yourself enough space and time to refill the old bladder," said Pasty.
"My bladder isn't that old," insisted Wafer.
"Never mind that. In the end zone," said Pasty.
"What was that?" asked Wafer looking about the deserted lot.
"The raw nerve," said Pasty.
"No. What was that sound?" asked Wafer.
"What? What sound?" asked Pasty.
"What is that? I'm trying to figure out what that sounds like," said Wafer looking off further toward some boarded up homes and fields overgrown with thick weeds.
"I'm still focused on what your finishing insult was going to be but alas while voices hem and haw fumbling with the same turning and turning of phrase to patch over the stinking hole in the banner above our heads we shrug our shoulders and brace ourselves for the next condemnation," said Pasty.
"That sounded like when distant loud trucks run over something that makes an even louder noise," considered Wafer.
"You mean like mattresses filled with horse manure?" asked Pasty remembering inaccurately a familiar scene elsewhere or it was elsewhere that Pasty could recall more accurately unfamiliar scenes.
"How would they be loud?" asked Wafer as the implosion in his skull of a stereo that once was before it provided its feedback that was no more echoed and echoed like most of what he tried to say but got stuck in the echo as he blinked from the aftermath.
"I'd hate to be on the curb right there when those mattresses take those tires and give up their explosive wave after wave of horse manure. Could imagine it as an abundant stacking of overpumped mattresses. 10 or 11 of them," said Pasty.
Leaving so soon?
What are you writing with?
Turds, turds, turds.
Inveterate rot working its way onto the litterbox recipe nodules of cake and fancy free free of fancy stuck together and the cutting board lacquered with allergic expressions expressions so allergic to so many directions all the directions tried and even wrenching one's neck or back in directions directions each with their allergic expressions on the cutting board pavement cutting board office walls for tracking the whereabouts of hints of replies that give it all away between desks where it happened to her where it happened to him.
Leaving so soon?
"Wave after wave from the overpumped," repeated Pasty.
"I heard you," coughed Wafer.
"What was that word you used earlier? Damn good one," inquired Pasty.
"Harbinger?" offered Wafer.
"No. Not that one. I like harbinger but that wasn't it," said Pasty.
"Pestilence," answered Wafer.
"You never used that word," corrected Pasty.
"I know. I was getting to it eventually," said Wafer.
"Very good. Wish I could just say what that word was though. The one you said," bemoaned Pasty.
"Interrupting a long drawn out stomach virus with a brief invocation of a scathing adjective can somehow come up alongside ejaculating into a mostly browned banana peel," said Wafer.
"Not quite the comparison I would readily grab off the charred shelf," said Pasty.
Leaving so soon?
Where it happened to her where it happened to him.
Where it happened mostly to her.
"It was him," said Wafer.
"Him?" asked Pasty.
"It was him down here between us on this heap here him the heap here who must have made the sound," said Wafer.
"You don't say," said Pasty.
"I do. Him down here between us on this heap here him the heap here. It looks as if he's moving even or trying to," said Wafer examining the heap and beginning to kneel down to get closer.
"Leaving so soon," said Pasty.
"He's definitely attempting some movement," said Wafer.
"Well, you like that. That's what you've always wanted, isn't it?" asked Pasty.
"I thought that's what you've always wanted," said Wafer.
"Maybe. Just not as much as you. I'm still reflecting on where I stand on that one," said Pasty.
"Still reflecting?" asked Wafer.
"Normally, yes," said Pasty.
"Really? That's still around?" asked Wafer.
"Of course. I mean, it could be. I'm still reflecting on that one as well. I've added it to my repertoire a spell or so," said Pasty.
"Your repertoire?" asked Wafer.
"Of reflection," said Pasty.
"Perhaps you'd better hurry that up because he's mouthing something like he's saying something," said Wafer.
Leaving so soon.
"It's all right. Speak up," said Wafer.
"The power's been off," whispered the body on the heap whispered the heap.
"By the looks of you, I'd say, yes, it has been," confirmed Pasty.
"Where I was," said the heap speaking up a bit.
"Where you were?" asked Wafer.
"In a coma, I think. Must've dropped off behind the wheel of my car," the heap said.
"Where's you car?" asked Pasty.
"In the garage. Couldn't keep the door shut on that chapter for a final chapter. When your eyes open again so much nothing can pass by all too suddenly. Can't tell you. Can't tell you how many days or weeks it was probably more or less. Who the fuck knows. Forget it. Just go on. Keep walking. It's the shape as you walk as you look. It's the shape of this town. Could tell when I first got here that the shape was going to let me in and never never let me out. Just go on. As you walk as you look or try not to. Can't help it. Can't help ignoring the shapes of things."
- Max Stoltenberg
Nothing could make her move toward anything while she heard the pounding of her hands on her desk in her head where anything could make her move toward nothing. Thinking of attempts she had made attempts she had made to think to think of dried clothes warmed and uninterrupted by other sounds sounds of other voices and their spit spit darkening the fabric. But first the slamming of the lid of the laundry basket but next things first for she was covered in ifs, ands, ors, and buts. Can not can not can not can not can not bear it either way. There they are there it is needing and not needing something cracking something up or down or out or in two cut in two cut short in a brief patch over that tear in the blouse came that way through a brief patch when visiting or when visited by those people that posture he had so important to him even when he reached down with his hands cut short in brief red threw the pair in the bin could drop it off won't join it for now let it drop away with its clothes that grow and thin around her drop them off let them drop off into a dark hole growing in her skull in that back corner see the back of her the locks coming down that yellow dress with the tiny circles lollipops maybe there they are there it is.
"Maybe maybe you could turn around before."
"Before what?"
"Before the 5 minutes."
"No."
The corner sank into the tar slathered over the gap. But first before the slamming of the lid of the laundry basket but first before the slamming turn around can not can not can not can not see her face from white page to white tabletop to white laptop to white screen to white blinds to white tile to white door paneled impaneled paneled to white light outside to white rocks to the white line space to the white line space to the white line space stop space to the white lines on black tar slathered over the gap where the corner sank but first before the slamming of the lid of the laundry basket but first before the slamming turn around turn around please and show that face those lips a drop of snot on the edge of them but first turn around before the slamming of the lid of the laundry basket what is that on the lid? Are those lines are those shapes want to count the sides count can not can not can not can not see her face from white page to white tabletop to white laptop to white screen to white blinds to white tile to white door paneled impaneled in a big hard wooden box they had to count had to had to count now one time too many.
"Maybe maybe you could turn around before."
"Before what?"
"Before the 5 minutes."
"No."
"Don't say no to me."
"You say no to me."
"Say no to me again and I'll say no to you again. One time too many two times too many three four ten too many times too many. Can not can not can not can not count my teacher used to say to me she did. She could count they could count me out unless they wanted me to sit in a big wooden box with others they had counted on count me out count me in the c word screamed at you to put your undies on with that voice that screamed at me couldn't let me run around with my fingers visiting them or did they visit us together in the brief patch surrounded by hedges told me there were mountains beyond the things you told me they told me couldn't count one time too many two times too many three four ten too many times too many couldn't count on what they told me couldn't count the teacher told me didn't add up have me taken away they told me no equals ever not even for a brief patch the brief patch surrounded by hedges with those behind them they told me couldn't count on what they told me surrounded by ifs, ands, ors, and buts. Say no to me again and I'll say no to you again. Yes just makes stay but no might make me move might make me stir might make me scream might make me fume might make me smolder might make me might make me might might think think of attempts of of attempts to think to think of dried clothes warmed and uninterrupted by other sounds sounds of other voices and their spit spit darkening the fabric."
- Max Stoltenberg
The way was off topic. The radio was left on while nothing came through clearly. The sound of static crinkling from the radio was like a cork had been pulled out and what was thought and what was thought and what was thought stuck to the lip the corkless mouth and its sound of static coming from the radio was like a cork had been pulled out and what was thought plausible and what was thought sustainable and what was thought enduring was escaping from the room not much room left for escaping through the butthole into the beyond protection beyond surge protection beyond explanation beyond explanations that had pissed them off far beyond any reason or response far beyond any simmering in a vat of bathos. Come come on let them come come on do they follow following on the rim beyond and on come come on let them come on do they follow following on the rim beyond and on come on escaping on from the room not much room left for escaping what was what was thought on come on what was what was thought on sustainable or plausible what was what was thought on had been pulled out with the cork from the radio static crinkling on static going on the way off topic ongoing.
The way was off topic and yet another thing was emerging up out of their food. They crawled into their own cavities. Is that a reflection or someone else's appliances across the way? Heads rest on dirty hands haven't gotten around to washing them this time or the other. Haven't gotten around much anymore just going around and around these holes in the ground they curve like the little smiles that faded away in the car window on the way the way was off topic. Big mouths big teeth grit their stuff when the next round of little smiles begin to fade away in the car window on the way the way was off topic.
"What are you looking at?"
"Give me a little more time. No one ever gives me the proper amount of time I seem to need to think. I keep trying to tell myself there has to be more in there."
"More bullshit you mean."
"There it is again. There you are again."
"Me what?"
"You and my bullshit. There you are again. Like something sticking out of the ground to trip me up just when I'm trying to right myself. You and my bullshit. Very good."
"Bullshit doesn't need the proper amount of time for more of it. It needs to be shoveled into bags and set on fire in front of the right doorstep."
"Good luck with that as you choose among those who are getting tired of ignoring all those messages whether live or recorded of being randomly selected."
what was what was thought on had been pulled out with the cork from the radio static crinkling on static going on the way off topic ongoing.
The way was off topic and yet another thing was emerging up out of their food. They crawled into their own cavities. Is that a reflection or someone else's appliances across the way? Heads rest on dirty hands haven't gotten around to washing them this time or the other. Haven't gotten around much anymore just going around and around these holes in the ground they curve like the little smiles that faded away in the car window on the way the way was off topic. Big mouths big teeth grit their stuff when the next round of little smiles begin to fade away in the car window on the way the way was off topic.
"What happened to your hair?"
"Schoolyard."
"What happened at the schoolyard?"
"No. I thought I saw a schoolyard. It's hard to tell in the darkness of night."
"It's hard to tell anything at this level."
"And what level are we at?"
"Lower than the one before."
The walls were dripping dripping with windows windows on murkier things along the way and the way was off topic as it so happened as it so-called passed them by without their seeing without their knowing without them. Hot compresses cooled and dried into scabs that took their time and everyone else's. Hot applications to front porches compressing burns and cuts swelling emergencies burning their messages against eyes closed into frozen dinners.
They didn't see it coming. They saw it coming. This is what they told themselves after Chapter 10.
And now Chapter 14.
Which opens with a devastating and intriguing devastation of anything resembling a way out for the animals the insects the squirming the can't sit still and why should they keep moving? sit still?
And now Chapter 15.
Which begins with a benighted intrigue lapping at the shores of towns where they are on all fours having their milk pinched from their chests holding their breath that molds into armor for surviving the next wave of annihilation and they are still there with their heavy armor plating to slither along until the next wave of annihilation and they are still there for the next flashback.
Flashback . . .
. . .
Flashback . . .
Scene 4
"What happened to your hair?"
"It's gone."
"I can see it's gone. What happened to it?"
"No. The light is gone."
"It's been gone. What did you think you saw?"
"I know I saw a light. It's just hard to tell if it's our reflection or another's."
"Nothing is coming alongside us if that's what you're getting at."
"We just have each other's words is that what you're getting at?"
"I can keep quiet."
"If you want. I go on and on to relieve the nausea."
"Silence or speaking makes no difference to me. I feel discomfort all the same."
"That grimace on your face makes me imagine what must have been the expression on the face of the guard who following orders from the coordinator threw the person pretending to be a patient at the hospital out onto the street. It was also what he said what the coordinator said or maybe it was what the patient said as they lay in their gown on the curb. Something about if misery loves company then what does relief love? A good dump. These seats have something filthy on them."
"That would be us."
"It wants us to advance to the next chamber."
"What what number is that?"
"It says number 8."
"We've advanced to that one before."
"Then that wouldn't be advancing now would it?"
"No. I suppose not. It's as if our conveyance is chasing it's own tail."
"Or we are just chasing our own tails or looking for the carrot in the next chamber they shake inside our heads. What is that running down from the windows?"
"Some type of secretion to breakdown the buildup from the outside."
"How many? That's what I ask myself as I pretend to see stars in the dark of our windows as we pass along the way. I ask myself how many stars I see when I know that it's the sparks - the sparks of our own friction."
"How many? That's what I ask myself when I wonder how many stomachs we need to pass through as the universe digests us. That's all."
"That's all. Is that all you have to ask?"
"No. That's not all."
"What else do you have to ask?"
"What happened to your hair?"
The walls were dripping dripping with windows windows on murkier things along the way and the way was off topic as it so happened as it so-called passed them by without their seeing without their knowing without them. Hot compresses cooled and dried into scabs that took their time and everyone else's. Hot applications to front porches compressing burns and cuts swelling emergencies burning their messages against eyes closed into frozen dinners.
The way was off topic. The radio was left on while nothing came through clearly. The sound of static crinkling from the radio was like a cork had been pulled out and what was thought and what was thought and what was thought stuck to the lip the corkless mouth and its sound of static coming from the radio was like a cork had been pulled out and what was thought plausible and what was thought sustainable and what was thought enduring was escaping from the room not much room left for escaping through the butthole into the beyond protection beyond surge protection beyond explanation beyond explanations that had pissed them off far beyond any reason or response far beyond any simmering in a vat of bathos. Come come on let them come come on do they follow following on the rim beyond and on come come on let them come on do they follow following on the rim beyond and on come on escaping on from the room not much room left for escaping what was what was thought on come on what was what was thought on sustainable or plausible what was what was thought on had been pulled out with the cork from the radio static crinkling on static going on the way off topic ongoing.
- Max Stoltenberg
The table the window the apple and the thing outside can't quite make out what the table the window the apple and the thing outside doing being can't cover this whole face divided among the table the window the apple and the thing outside why do they do that with those things those people just things misshapen and misunderstood people things among the box wet with old food and laundry detergent burning into the buttons on shirts on cars on depressing into the holes of skin of things people things among the box wet with hallways leading inward so out of here to stay planted in the dried place place place.
The table the window the apple and the thing outside can't quite make out what the brushing up against the other contours glued over a womb that burrowed into her gagged withdrawal fumbling around books given away to the curb run over with traffic and its matching shapes and colors consolidated service limited but not there while skin grinds to the water between mountains under harsh light of eyes bargaining for connection to electrocute her pupils closing the loop the way is done around and around the loop around the noose tightening the noose around the bottleneck dry heaving on street after street.
The table the window the apple and the thing outside can't quite go anywhere with this this note this scribbled look on the face divided between dark hands whose hand is that held up in the night over the bed no one there sharing this moment this moment silent and filled with silence silence filled with dark fingers bargaining for connection to whose body to electrocute her pupils closing the loop the way is done around and around around the loop around the noose tightening the noose around the bottleneck dry heaving on street after street whose hand is that held up in the night?
The table the window the apple and the thing outside it won't go away can't get away found along the road put in the backseat behind the wheel along for the ride driving
"What are you driving at?"
The table the window the apple and the thing outside it won't go away can't get away found along the road put in the backseat behind the wheel along for the ride driving
"What are you driving at?"
"Where to?"
found along the road in a line of bobbing heads bobbing no water still anyway hold on to the edge of the road or you'll drown in the living room
"What are you driving at?"
"Where to?"
"When do I get my chance?"
found along the road slices of what has gone around and around around the loop around the noose tightening the noose around the bottleneck dry heaving on street after street whose hand is that held up in the night?
"What are you driving at?"
"Where to?"
"When do I get my chance?"
"How about I make the rules who get's a chance?"
"You've been playing for hours."
"How else am I going to move up?"
The table the window the apple and the thing outside can't quite go anywhere with this this note this scribbled look on the face divided between dark hands whose hand is that held up in the night over the bed no one there sharing this moment this moment silent and filled with silence silence filled with dark fingers bargaining for connection to whose body to electrocute her pupils closing the loop the way is done around and around around the loop around the noose tightening the noose around the bottleneck dry heaving on street after street whose hand is that held up in the night?
Speaking to no one else in particular just anyone else but the asshole never mind found another one along the road found along the road in a line of bobbing heads bobbing no water still anyway hold on to the edge of the road or you'll drown in the living room.
"You are such a good judge of video game flesh."
The table the window the apple and the thing outside it won't go away can't get away found along the road put in the backseat behind the wheel along for the ride driving
"What are you driving at?"
"Where to?"
The table the window the apple and the thing outside can't quite make out what the table the window the apple and the thing outside doing being can't cover this whole face divided among the table the window the apple and the thing outside why do they do that with those things those people just things misshapen and misunderstood people things among the box wet with old food and laundry detergent burning into the buttons on shirts on cars on depressing into the holes of skin of things people things among the box wet with hallways leading inward so out of here to stay planted in the dried place place place.
- Max Stoltenberg
Squinting and wide-eyed the bubble wrap vesicles popped or were left alone. The wind played with the volume control of the land. Voices were raised to pull conversations to match what they were wearing out and that was their form of overcoming or coming over or getting something over with or getting with something to be to be prevented from falling off the back back to that. Metal gleamed in upper parts of windows on the upper floors. They smiled and gleamed for eyes to look up at them and see their teeth and feel their own cavities the ones that separated them and their bodies and their thoughts. A severing had passed through the town all slow like and stayed for some time a time that stretched its legs and wrapped them around for a hearing with words shaped with grammar that deadens penultimate nerve endings and endings that take their time some time a time that stretched its legs to wrap them around the buildings looked up to and looked at where metal gleamed in upper parts of windows on the upper floors. They smiled and gleamed for eyes to look up at them and see their teeth and feel their own cavities the ones that separated them and their bodies and their thoughts. A severing had passed through the town all slow like and stayed and stayed and still staying some time a time that stretched its legs and wrapped them around for a hearing with words shaped with grammar that deadens penultimate nerve endings and endings that take their time some time a time that stretched its legs and drew eyes to where its legs came together and the metal gleamed in the upper parts of its windows smiling with the shining brightness of its sharpened blade between its legs ready to come ready to come down.
Stool: What were you going to say? What were you trying to say?
Gash: It wasn't that.
Stool: So, you're giving up on that now?
Gash: No. It was never that.
Stool: That's your story and you're adhering to it?
Gash: What it never was is what you want it to be.
Stool: I'll bump into you some other day and find you and maybe I will just come across someone who reminds me of you and makes me forget you for good.
Gash: What good?
Stool: Of course. I will just stumble upon someone who reminds me of you and makes me forget you for whatever.
Gash: Whatever. What a word for one to use up all its limitless empty expression for seamlessly slipping out of the atmosphere and drifting off between systems worthless systems.
Stool: Stumbling will occupy my days to fall against or topple into someone who will never pull a trigger any trigger to evoke a crumbled fragment of you sticking to a drawn out roll of undeveloped film.
Gash: They might ask you to pull their finger instead and separate one of many old bones in their hands their bones their dismayed bones.
Stool: I'll separate your head from the rest of it.
Gash: It was the ending up in room after room and the purpose for my movements the getting up early the walking faster in the dark and the reasons would cut their hands to scale the fences and all the wires to get away from me to get as far away from me to reach the next sunset and its darkness before it is polluted with people and their hurrying to beat the light before it beats them to a pulp and its engulfing of the front rows of the solar system.
Stool: Stumbling about for me the brushstroke over my mouth painting the how it will be. I should get on with it then. Is there any rationalization left for me to stay?
Gash: You were causing me to think of a brief little narrative at least I think it's not too long or I could abridge it if I am able to discern the appropriate spots to do so.
Stool: I know I am off as much as the next person and I am next to you as the next person, but why postpone being off and on my stumbling through what lies ahead to smack into yet another decaying excuse. I must be off sooner than later otherwise it'll prompt breaking another shovel digging up our tired routine including the lists.
Gash: Yes, the lists.
Stool: The latest turn your blithering has taken can drive one to being off and on his stumbling way sooner than later or it will be the lists and how to address you now. Damn! I went and said it. May as well get it over with before I embark on my bumbling off-ramp or on-ramp or off-ramp. The latest turn the blithering self-conscious reflection on the latest turn your blithering has taken leaves me more confused how I am to address you before I depart for good for whatever.
Gash: I'm glad you've chosen to delay long enough to bring it up. You are a sporting and accommodating sort of fellow. As a matter of fact I added a 4th page to my list of how I might prefer to be addressed.
Stool: The only address I'd perhaps consider would be your former location seeing that your current shelter was replaced by a rather sizable hole in the ground.
Gash: The bastards. They're using more potent explosives these days. Some bastards have no manners.
Stool: I better be saying, "Have a good dump and farewell."
Gash: Before you go, would you like me tell you the abridged narrative or I could read to you my latest additions I made to a 4th page on my list of ways to address me?
Stool: No, no. It's no good.
Gash: How about a short synopsis?
Stool: No. It's no use. I am beginning my rotation of my body resulting in my back to your smeary face.
Gash: How about summing it up in one sentence and then you can decide to tarry a little more or leave for good for whatever.
Stool: One sentence?
Gash: One sentence.
Stool: One very short sentence?
Gash: Extremely short.
Stool: No more than 6 words?
Gash: I've got it down to 3.
Stool: Just 3?
Gash: 3. No more no less.
Stool: All right. Well, let's hear it then.
Gash: OK. I do appreciate it.
Stool: 3?
Gash: Got it refined down to its very core.
Stool: Definitely 3?
Gash: Yes, 3. I've been saying 3.
Stool: 3 beyond a shadow.
Gash: You, turd. Do you think I've miscounted?
Stool: Actually, yes.
Gash: Why? What number is in your head?
Stool: 49.
Gash: Are you for real?
Stool: No. I was really thinking 25.
Gash: Wow. Glad to see I've moved up slightly in your estimation of my not meeting your expectations.
Stool: I wouldn't say from 49 to 25 is slightly. Somewhat considerable.
Gash: Somewhat? You're saying somewhat?
Stool: Now don't be too remiss when it comes to your I'm certain inevitable condensed narrative. I have to be able to dig some amusement out from this dung heap before I about-face and take my pin to the soap bubble that was once you.
Gash: I'll give you inevitable.
Stool: Yes, you will. Go ahead.
Gash: 3 words.
Stool: Say them.
Gash: Her skin bio-hazard.
Stool: Her skin bio-hazard?
Gash: Yes.
Stool: Interesting.
Gash: Well?
Stool: I said, "Interesting."
Gash: Which one do you want to follow? Her skin or bio-hazard?
Stool: Which one? Well, that's a tough one. I kind of like them both.
Gash: I'm getting that, but which one?
Stool: This is harder than I expected.
Gash: I thought you would either silently mouth the words "fuck off" and do your about-face or you might give me a little salute with some flourish and offer, "May your night of the runs be not too runny and farewell, Thou Bio-Hazard" and then do your about-face annihilation of my bubble planet.
Stool: Those sound promising as well and I'll most likely get to them, but I'm honestly torn.
Gash: Really? Do you want me to try again.
Stool: I'm game.
Gash: Her skin bio-hazard.
Stool: Well, consarnit! I am dumfungled that you came up with this flipping sockdolager.
Gash: And I'm touched that you found a way to use that many words from the 3rd page of my list.
Stool: It's a toss-up, my Dear Prophylactic Laden With Sputum.
Gash: You never seem to tire of Page 2 either. Don't think I won't be adding to the menu after you depart.
Stool: Why should you abstain from such an endeavor? I'll take the bait.
Gash: What bait?
Stool: Tell me about her skin.
Gash: Now that I've gotten you to stay this long, I don't particularly feel all that eager to go into what I never much went into myself but it very much ended up going into me.
Stool: You mentioned you could slap together an abridged version.
Gash: Slap flinching and ducking beneath a trestle train trestle no not I think not there's this knot down here down there under the train trestle I think not. I have an idea. How about I do the about-face and run along used to run along not a lot of playing I think not but a lot of running along yes an about-face and walk fast along the alley and I can either make it to the desert never too far from the desert or maybe someone something I think not too improbable to think that I just might have something someone thing stop me dead in my tracks yes stop me dead dead you know where I'm going with this you always have know where I'm going with this stop me dead I think not too improbable for something to stop me stop me dead deader than something else anything else and do me the favor of I think not too much to ask or if it's too much to ask then never mind taking your hand to the dirt or wherever I drop dead to wipe away my tracks. Do it thoroughly or do it half-assed or don't bother. I think not now that I think of it those used to be the choices now they seem to have been wiped out and replaced I think not too unlikely when disliked by so many so disliked that when it comes to wiping someone or thing out it sure gets dragged out I think not too far off the mark about how it sure gets dragged out.
Stool: Tell me about her skin.
Gash: Her belly button.
Stool: You don't have to restrict yourself to 3 words.
Gash: A rare accomplishment when I consider how much my silences have provoked many a resentful exclusion.
Stool: Self-inflicted I think not too inaccurate a surmise.
Gash: So I have been told. Yes, self-inflicted. I have been trying to keep my head down deep enough between the tidal mounds of waste keep my head down deep enough out of sight of the self I have been inflicted with.
Stool: You can't outfox it, man. At some intersection somewhere sometime they posted belonging on your back.
Gash: Hammered it into me to keep it between the shoulders.
Stool: You've underestimated relationships.
Gash: I think not. I have an all too exact gauging of their effects. They keep needling you. Like a lancet drawing out more pus than seed.
Stool: I used to complain about grapes with seeds in them. I demanded my seedless grapes. I think not any measure of exaggeration when I say how very precious it would be to encounter some seeds no matter how dry and put my tongue to them.
Gash: Tic-tac-toe.
Stool: Noughts and crosses.
Gash: Her belly button had the center square. A dagger cut in on us on her. Superimposing game after game. Deeper and deeper. Got to keep this head down deep enough between the tidal mounds the tidal mountains of waste got to keep this head down deep enough out of sight of the self this head has been inflicted with. Put the spoon away and stop stirring it with the spoon put away that big spoon stop stirring it with the spoon put it away stop swinging that really big spoon at this head you can't see it keep it down deep enough between the tidal mountains of waste got to keep this head down deep enough.
- Max Stoltenberg
Where did that go? Where was it? Somewhere in the vicinity of having to do with a lot not a great deal just an empty bare space of dirt of desert a vast tub drained of where was it? Somewhere in the vicinity of having to do with a lot not a great deal just an empty bare space of dirt of desert a vast tub drained of where was it? Been there somewhere at least the hot breeze and the whipping dirt is wearing away the edges of where thoughts meet with everything else or else flying dirt in the hot breeze decorticates the how it doesn't add up blown away so blown away along the path along the curb along the fence along the edge inserted into walls between this and that and by the way where did that go? Where was it? Somewhere in the vicinity of having to do with a lot not a great deal just an empty bare space of dirt of desert a vast tub drained of where was it? Somewhere in the vicinity of having to do having to be having to do depending on who you talk to or who talks to you at you look away out the other side of the universe parked somewhere in the vicinity of all the other universes waiting in line for the toll booth as they leave their coordinates from inside the tollbooth with that look that looking for something look leaving behind the tollbooth windows getting covered in thicker layers of dirt flying dirt whipping dirt in the hot breeze whipping against what has what hasn't things and their attributes things and what they get to be called and thrown away and their what have you escapes at the moment stuck to the choking on the air the hot breeze and its crack of the whipping dirt trying lamely to spit the sand out over the top of the teeth bottomed out on the basin and its tollbooth left have they to look with that searching look for that dried hose for washing away this small pool of spit up brought up sand along with bits of undigested food sticking to feet weakening under the encumbrance of having of having or trying to bring this up at the wrong time and on the wrong rock hovering somewhere waiting to get in that line that goes on away from and goes on towards the tollbooth empty while they slap the hose against the dirt thumped into the hot breeze like exhalations don't bring it up stay down doesn't matter if staying down lying down breathing heavily before her opening up beginning to glisten that was stay down stay quiet not too loud they'll hear starting to dry starting to chafe said too much to them said too much to the plastic to the metal to the whipping hot breeze carrying too much said too much too far can't get far enough far enough away still here not too loud.
"Hang it up."
"It's already hung up."
"Then how come someone's still talking?"
"I don't hear anything."
"Yes, you do."
"How do you know what I hear?"
"Because I hear it and you're close enough."
"Close enough to do what?"
"You're right. You and your questions. Hang it up again just to make sure the talking stops and then move away."
"I hung it up again which makes how many times?"
"You and your questions. And stop trying to count!"
"Now we move away."
"Now we what?"
"You heard yourself, don't deny it."
"Hang it up again."
"We've been trying that."
"We have haven't we?"
"You and your questions."
"No, it's you and your questions."
"Whatever, now the next step, remember?"
"The next step. The moving away step."
"If we move away we'll break apart."
"We're already broken apart."
"Next step. We've been changing our mind going up and down these steps that wrap around someone else's head."
"Can't wrap your head around it."
"Can't untangle it."
"Should we try to hang it up one more time?"
Somewhere in the vicinity of having to do having to be having to do depending on who you talk to or who talks to you at you look away out the other side of the universe parked somewhere in the vicinity of all the other universes waiting in line for the toll booth as they leave their coordinates from inside the tollbooth with that look that looking for something look leaving behind the tollbooth windows getting covered in thicker layers of dirt flying dirt whipping dirt in the hot breeze whipping against what has what hasn't things and their attributes things and what they get to be called and thrown away and their what have you escapes at the moment stuck to the choking on the air the hot breeze and its crack of the whipping dirt trying lamely to spit the sand out over the top of the teeth bottomed out on the basin and its tollbooth left have they to look with that searching look for that dried hose for washing away this small pool of spit up brought up sand along with bits of undigested food sticking to feet weakening under the encumbrance of having of having or trying to bring this up at the wrong time and on the wrong rock hovering somewhere waiting to get in that line that goes on away from and goes on towards the tollbooth empty while they slap the hose against the dirt.
- Max Stoltenberg
