*In our last exciting episode, a bunch of fucked up shit transpired upon a stormy, dark night. Then a whore I adore died. Yada yada yada...*

I ain't no peon
I see no neon lights
I invoked this
Not neuroses
Most blinded
What I see - I write
I whisper things
Trees rustling
I dream at night
A leaf blown in the breeze
Breath is the freeze (ing breath)
Death
I fly on wings of thought (I'm free)
I can't go wrong
love is the key I brought
I'm on a spree
(killing)
All else falters - love is the only thing I need...I want...

I'm tall dark and manicky.
I'm an animal.
So dumb.
I'm like a chimpanzee.
See the feet?
No thumbs.
My ass is red.
So numb.

I'm bananas.

I've had it.

My lateral status is what matters. Collateral damage is just background static.

Brain matter is grey.

As a matter of fact it may.

Rain.

Brains splatter.

It happens.

What?

Oh, nothing. It don't matter. Rain splatters (as well). It happens. Mud? Please don't track it.

In Seattle it's reality. Rain is. It ain't some magical fathoming (assholes) Satellites tracking...my every move
Proclaim it, brother!

On tv screens they deceive
Fucking facts up with plainspoken dreecherber...

The fuck you say? Speak up!!

Huh? I forgot. Now tracking the exact word I lack with radar accuracy.

I'm baffled by radar screens. I'm racking my brains with a tractor beam.

Now the fact remains I zapped my brains... but sit back(RELAX!) the setback was transcended by upright seatbacks.

I sat there
Staring
Out there
Warily

Finicky
This was no picnic

Toward the abyss
I affixed my stare
Infinity
It bore into me
I got bored
Bear with me
I prayed. God, gimme your word.

Fervently. I murmured my fevered mumbling.

Swore - swear - sway. I swated the flies away.

Perfection. An inflection of my erection perhaps set God aback. Or my mention of science in the pursuit of why elephants trapse high in parades. I pureed the relevant thought into this rambling fury of nonsensical absurdity. Word?

Were it the nerve ending acting irksome or spinal fluid spewed beserkly through it (the cord I assume?). True.

Brain no worky. Family Feud. Circle jerking circus workers lurking in the nervous system.

Perking. I was ready. Without a doubt. Enough waiting. I'm out of it. Patience. I'm draining my brain.

My brain stem. Ahem. Thick and sticky. It clogs drains. Dispose of it properly. It involves flames.

<<<<<¿¡>>>>>>



Kids - don't trust nibblers.

****Back to the funeral***

I STOOD THERE. STARING.

AND YES... THERE WAS A TEAR IN MY EYE.

The rain fell silently all around me. I danced as a shiver chilled down my spine.

It could just as easily have been me there in her place. About to be in that hole. The whole thing had been a whirlwind. I'm sure there were people who blamed me for her death. But I never made her do anything. Well...I paid her good, cold American cash. She chose to get in that car with me. She knew the risks.

“Oh, liquid mind, teach me to whisper,” the minister said, shattering the silence. “Oh wandering soul, teach me to dance.”

Some dumb broad - her mom, must have been - erupted into tears. “OH WHY!? WHY, GOD, WHY!?”

She sobbed as several men came to her aid and ushered her away.

Roughly.

The minister, slightly irritated by the interruption, glanced at his watch, then went on, “Why, indeed. A vendetta? I wet my bed in the dead of night with a, 'How did I end up here!?' prayer that I send up. Fists clenched. Oh fragile heart, teach me to listen. Oh listless index finger, teach me to speak Klingon.”

I wasn't quite sure what that was supposed to mean, but I let it slide. Several others looked confused as well.

Someone made a rude comment.

"This girl here, lyng dead. Stiff as a door nail. She was a woman – that we can all agree upon. A woman who had many demons. All she ever wanted was a sense of belonging. Utterly alone, she spent her days wandering about, searching for the truth, watching stupid cartoons and, more importantly...doing other stuff. It probably would have been easier if she’d spent less time...I dunno. I got my notes mixed up. Maybe this is for the best. I knew her like I know anyone – which is to say I hardly knew her. Yet, she was like a sister to me, inasmuch as I don’t much care for my sister. Still, she did do some good, didn’t she? Maybe not. Would anyone care to make a few words on behalf of the dearly departed, even though she was fairly retarded? No? Good. Gotta go. Got another gig."

***

Later...

***

"To whom it may loom, this life is a strange and moonlit plight..."

-Some dead guy

It was a moonless night...

"Some service, Huh?"

I looked up from my perch at that barstool in some rundown bar in Bardstown, Kentucky. Or maybe it was Barstow. That's in California. I was nursing a shot of whiskey and whispering nursery rhymes to myself.

I was alarmed. Not by the guy. But by the alarm that went off. My phone. I had set an alarm. I fucking fumbled through my pockets, in search of it...

Found it.

Shut up. No. "Not snooze, you piece of shit," I cursed. Then I looked up.

There he stood. Laughingly.

What was I? Some laughingstock?

There he loomed laughingly.

Some party animal with barf in his afro and a marvelous saffron afterglow in his laugher, a half drawn samurai sword, katana, whatever the fuck it was, attached to his side. Was he Persian or African? More importantly, how did I know instinctively that's what it was?A motley mix. Or something. Who even fuckin cares anymore. It's 2020. We're all mutts. Inter-fucking for centuries. Not a bad thing. Anyway.

He laughed again. It echoed in the rafters.

He gave me a friendly rap on my shoulder and sat down beside me, uninvited.

He wore formal attire, sure, and his suite looked nice. Red and black. Italian? Albanian? Kohl's? Fuck if I knew - what am I, a fuckin tailor? But he obviously hadn't changed in over a week. Or so. Well - neither had I.

"I'll have what he's having," he said to the barkeep as he made himself comfortable, sheathing his gleaming sword and placing his large, dark hands on the bar.

He smelt nice. I'll give him that. I ain't afraid to say it. I've smelt a man. But a man's breath? Now that's a whole different ballgame. Let's make that clear right now before we go on.

So...he smelt nice. Well...he didn't smell like barf.

"They let you in here with that?" I asked, gesturing at the sword.

"Sure. Why not. It's fuckin' America. You can carry a gun in public. Why NOT a fuckin sword?"

"I don't know..." I muttered, "I was just askin'..."

The barkeep brought him his shot of Crown Royal and eyed us both warily before returning to whatever the fuck it was barkeeps do when they're not eyeing you warily. Wiping down the bar, I think.

"Ya," he said, giving me a look. "And I was just answering."

"To the Queen!" I droned, raising my shot glass.

"May the hair on her cunt never fray!" the baffling saffron chap with the afro toasted with the most emotion I'd seen a man show since...oh...well... my swell boat trip over the Ocean...

"Here, here!" I said with a wide sweeping swoop. Or swooping sweep. The whole saloon now was looming round the sound of our carousing. Our clowning of the crown (and her mound), like loony tunes, was bound to. Some mumbled curses. Others merely frowned.

"How dumb," intoned some bumbling bum who sat a few stools down, beside a bimbo (jumbo sized but nimble). 

"May the sun never set on that dried up old slit!" I added, then, with what I thought was appropriate enthusiasm, slammed my glass down on the counter - smashing it into smitherins.

"Hey! Easy, asshole!" the barkeep barked.

"Easy!? Take what easy? You think I take it hard!? Believe me, I take it easy, butter cup. It's all easy. Easy, breezy. Beautiful. I'm a regular mother fuckin Cover Girl. I got an idea. They come easy. Ideas do. Why don't YOU fuckin take it easy," I quipped. "I'll pay for the fuckin shot glass. Or, if you're worried bout the counter, don't get your panties in a bind, Tulip. You're ugly worn out piece of shit counter's gonna be just fine." I tossed him ten bucks.

The man set down his towel and leaned in closer, exposing a large caliber revolver under his disheveled black apron. "Ya?" 

Our eyes locked.

"Ya." I nodded and rose slowly to my feet, keeping eye contact. "Cupcake. But your head there. Your ugly worn out piece of shit head may not be. Not after I fuckin slam it into your precious counter about a hundred fuckin times. How's that for easy?"

Who did I think I was? I was long gone.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa..." red and black suite boy interceded. And right in the nick of time, too. Time ticked. Tic toc. The clock clicked. Or ticked. The glock? The glock clicked. The clock ticked. And...well. My cock flinched.

The Keeper, as he hereby shall now be called by all from this day unto eternity, plucked his towel up from where he'd tossed it and set back to wipin shit down or whatever the fuck it is barkeeps do when they're not eyeing you warily.

Yea. Verily.

He sighed and passively added, "Look...just. Take it, easy, okay?"

"Yeah. I'll take it easy," I chuckled. "I gotta save my hard on for your mom."

He arched an eyebrow. "Say what?"

Obviously he hadn't heard my jab. I thought better of it and let it slide.  "Nothin. I'll be a good boy."

The Keep narrowed his eyes. "You do that."

"So," I said, turning back to afro boy. "You were a friend of our, recently departed, what's her face? God rest her soul?"

Wow. I WAS bad with names. But I had really forgotten her name. Huh.

"Friend?" he repeated, laughing. His voice, the accent. I couldn't place it. Not foreign...but... "Nah. No friend of mine. But it's sad, you know. When they go. Hos do. Too many hos do. But they do. To see a ho go so young. It's a tragedy."

"Well...ya. It's sad."

He grabbed me by the collar, suddenly and with deliberate and machine like precision. I sputtered and feebly protested as he raised me off my feet.

"Norman Fogeno. Gramps, is it? He cares. About you. About me. About hos. That man...has the biggest heart, I tell ya. Full of compassion. Swelling. Swelling with compassion. Unfortunately, there are those who mistake this compassion for weakness. Snakes come in all sizes and colorss. They all have one shape though, and they slither. Norman Fogeno is bighearted. But he's not weak. And he's not stupid."

Blood pressure mounting, I clamored for something to grab hold of. "Thanks for the lecture, fuck-face," I said, grasping just as hard for the words as I was for something to grab. "I've known the man longer than anyone. Sure as fuck longer than you."

"Sure as fuck," Mr. Saffron laughed, releasing his grip. "This is your frindly reminder, you slithering little nobody. Your notice. And it's You either straighten up, get on your feet, and make things right, or we straighten you out - permanently. Your era of entitlement is officially ended as of THIS moment."

"The fuck? What does that even mean? You threaten me!? You tell that creepy arthritic oranguntan...hey!!! Where you goin!? Don't you walk away from me! I wasn't done talkin here! Hey! I ain't paying for your fucking shot either!!!"

People in the bar stared liked zombies. Eyes glazed over. Dazed. Just another day in America.

"Fuck!"

To be continued...

<>

To be continued...

The next one's gonna be REALLY good! I swear.