Archive for August, 2008

warden pt.1

Posted in Uncategorized on August 12, 2008 by elihindman

Alien stone farms

I was working as a guard for 25 years….started down in Texas…just south of Kennedy in Karnes County…the John Connelly Unit…I was so good they offered me the position or vice warden over at the Georgia State prison…I loved driving through southern Georgia, on account of it’s bursting beautiful groves of peach farms and lovely pines that dangled old man’s beard moss from every branch like a creepy Christmas tree…and at that time my wife had just passed from breathing, to feeding the earth in a box…and I felt like falling in love again…with the Georgian landscape…I remember when the warden joined my wife to help fertilize the green grass in a big fenced off park that must have looked like some kind of stone farm to aliens…I always thought the land was for the living…I’d rather they push me out to sea…let the fish eat steak for once…

The gorilla in charge of forgotten men

Maximillian Ritter was the warden’s name…he was a great gorilla of a man…with hair that shot up and down his body, thick and dark…some would joke that his skin has never felt the touch of his suit shirt or pants…his torso must have had a treasure chest inside it, for it jotted out very imposing and, much like a gorilla, was the main feature you could see from afar…he was a very moral man, and forbid any sinful playing within a prisoner…when a new pack of inmates would arrive, after the guards walked them around like pork chops and applesauce, the warden would come down from his office and give them his commandments…”you’re here to pay in full for your crimes, to beg of the lord your forgiveness, and to serve your common neighbor with what little respect and dignity your poor souls have left within you…and if any of you turn to the devil…if you get lost in this house of wickedness and redemption you may call upon the chaplain, you may call upon the virgin Mary herself…but never will you call upon your neighbor, for he is filth…as are you all from this day until your last”…and to “call on your neighbor” of course he was talking of homosexual thoughts of lust, or acting there upon…he had a great vengeance for such fruity things…I watched him catch 2 men in the shower room…after calling on the guards, he had the two men beat with Billy clubs and sentenced them to 2 months in solitaire…he made the guards cuff the men together, one man behind the other, with shackles on each hand…it looked like they were lined up for lunch…bound together and bloody, they were marched through the main unit floor…it was a vast hall lined with 2 floors of cells running parallel alongside it…they were paraded for every hooting, raving mad inmate to see…the warden behind the guards, who were behind the men pushing their nude dripping bodies forward…the gorilla spoke abroad “these two men gave unto the devil’s temptation…I will not speak of their actions, for you vile creatures would get off on such a thing, but I will promise you all this…give in to the devil’s hands and you will march to your own shameful solitary hell”…as I’ve been told, there wasn’t any deviations of that kind for quite a while after…as I’ve been told too, the devil wasn’t just in those prisoners but inside warden Ritter as well…I’ve never seen such a devil inside that big treasure-chested gorilla, but I’ve been told about a time…a time shortly before he stopped breathing and became fertilizer, the devil took him over…and I was told that he found one of those fancy prisoners doing fancy things to one another…I heard he took them up into his office at a late hour of the night and forced them at gun point to castrate one another…and sent them to the infirmary…and after the infirmary to solitaire…and I was told that they bashed their own heads against the walls until they stopped breathing…

History and it’s bastard children

Dr. Martin Luther king was transferred from Dekalb County jail in Decatur, to Georgia State in 1960…I wasn’t here yet…I would arrive just 2 years after…imagine such a man in such a place…he would go on to do great things for man…man never really did great things for man…about 20 or so years ago this prison , in splendid and beautiful Georgia, would pay any volunteer up to 20-25 dollars to “flip the switch” on a inmate in the chair…imagine that…you could create life and destroy it with no consequences…unless of course you’re a man of faith…but after hearing such a thing, I don’t really attribute man with faith…after all, there would be a line of volunteers wrapping around the death row building…they would drench the inmates with salt water to help the electricity scorch their bodies in haste…that chair is still here…although, like the volunteers, it’s just a heirloom for morbid curiosity…if you look back in time, you can see a mirror…but everything is quite askew…the reflection is yours, but there’s nothing behind it…almost transparent and ghost like…this prison was very transparent…the soul of these cinder blocks and wire and bars and steel and marble and aluminum…all used up…like an old pair of jeans…they just cover it enough to get the work over and done with…and before I retired, I found what little heartbeat this castle of Hades thumped about…

The man with the quiet eyes

I didn’t operate like Maximillian…I wasn’t outright or righteous…I was not a believer in a god, or religion…I didn’t believe that one way for one person is the only way for all peoples…you can’t treat life like a zoo in a blender…so my approach was estranged as to running an entire building that’s purpose was to keep wasted souls from harming those that are smart enough to get away with it outside…I did not believe in forced castration…I was a quiet warden…they called me the “quiet eye”…I did most of my talking through my eyes…I knew these men were here because they did not care about feelings beyond the immediate…these men did not look onwards to a future or afterlife…these men, in my opinion, were true men…they lived life , as they knew it, like it was the only one they were sure to live…I can agree with that…after all, the only proof in life after life is the green grass of the cemetery grounds…the men under my watch were good and abiding…the guards ,for the most part, were fair and gentle, yet heavy handed and decisive when they had to be so…all in all, my entire career as warden was neither groundbreaking nor half hazard…I was fair, there were no riots, minimal homicides, minimal suicides, average violence and sexual misconduct…the true men new that behind my quiet eyes, I had no faith of future or foolish dreamy landscapes within the clouds above…respect and understanding can bash into a head just as fiercely as a Billy club…I had simple rules, and was a simple man…I remember shouting my self introduction effortlessly in front of all the true men my first day as the boss…”you are all here…it is not my concern how it is you’ve become who you’ve become…it is not my concern what you have done to prove you will be what you will always be…it is only my concern how you will be it…and if you must fear anything in this prison, do not fear god…do not fear the guards…do not fear your neighbors…and do not fear me…fear yourself…you are the one you have to question…and right now you have eternity ,as you know it, to find your answer”….this was very true, in prison or strolling down the street with your lover and a pocket full of gold…free or not, you have to answer yourself, at the end of your road…and if what you did with life wasn’t enough, then you waited too long to ask…

friends and enemies

As one spends a better half of his life in one place, they would accumulate friends…and enemies…I had a fair handful in both…most of the prisoners were my friends…most of my employees were my enemies…I did not intend to share a hopelessness that these men had…I never knew how close I was to being a permanent fixture in that place…I was but few morals away from being a exhibit alongside the dusty electric chair…but I stayed along my path…I questioned myself every morning…I liked my answers…to be more in step with prisoners while expected to run a staff that very well is not, was a tricky maneuver…I had a lax routine…I would wake up, in my quarters just a room off of my office, shower and shave…I would have my secretary hang my suit on the bathroom door knob along with any notes to start the day…she would pin them to my jacket sleeve…I would read them while dressing…”a fire was started in cell 34-A near the mess hall corridor, grave shift unit manager still investigating. Man from Georgia Tribune called about interview with you and ex convict who was released last month claiming you helped him find Jesus and turn life around. Raw foods delivery inc reported 2 missing tire irons from freight after last delivery as driver’s inventory revealed so.”…such a briefing was more potent than black coffee…I would then address my morning notes, and take care of whatever business they entailed, then leave the office and start downstairs from cell 1 to 1000, and greet every inmate personally…I would only say hello to the inmates that were human enough to say hello first…and when finished with my morning conversing with all the prisoners, I would gather the morning staff inside my office, and wish them one more day on this beautiful planet in this beautiful Georgian countryside…





warden pt.2

Posted in Uncategorized on August 12, 2008 by elihindman

A child’s face on a adult’s world

The last day as warden ,in the world as I knew it, was one that I can only explain as conclusive…it all had begun just 8 years prior to my parting ways with that thin soul of a prison…a group of shackled men arrived that morning…not too feral of a group…just another gang of lost men…as I’ve done so many times, I lined these rattled confused men in front of me, and gave them a burly lecture…as I gazed into their eyes, one by one…from left to right, I froze in mid sentence…looking into the face of what seemed to be a child to me…but he was decades away from such youth…I only saw the face I knew when I was too a child along side him…his name was Elliott Nelson…he was my best friend when I was 6…and he stayed my best friend throughout high school…and when the big war, the only good war came he left his family and friends at home…he fought every day of his life from that war until his end…and I was there for the first and last of his true manhood…I finished my speech and sharply cranked my head oppose his persons…I wanted to know why he was here before I looked at him…but I knew that he was the only one who could tell me…the paper work and the files, the courts the trials the judges the juries…they didn’t have to answer to men…only men had to answer to men…

Fucking the time away

I waited 2 weeks before opening the time capsule that was Elliott Nelson…I was doing no better off than a sailor on a snow hill with my own morals…I was indeed fucking my secretary…that morning I had fucked her in the shower…my daily schedule was becoming less strenuous with work details and more riddled with sporadic fucking…at 66 years of age, fucking was something of a new sensation all together…I understood why most of these men end up in a place like this…women are closer to the concept of the devil than the devil himself…somehow, between all the fucking and wardening, I found strength and vitality to walk down to Elliott’s cell…it was about 6:45 pm in late October…so the sun felt a lazy as most of these men’s will to be anymore…it seemed like it rose and fell as swift as a swallow during autumn…I approached his holding room…”Elliott Nelson, I’m Randal Bertrum…do you remember me?…I’m not just the warden, but I was your best friend during the best time in any man’s life”…he replied with hesitant “yeah…YEAH! I’m sorry Randy, I was so lost coming here…I’m still so lost…you look good!…what are the odds?!”…I smiled inside, but began to tear up standing there…”the odds aren’t great…what happened after school? I mean, In the war that is..”…Elliott answered…”well, I killed many men…I killed many women…I killed myself…my youth…I’ve been dead a while now…as far as the specifics of the war, I’ve long erased everything…minus the faces of the dead in witch I had a part in making, after I was in a tank that blew up and lost vision for 5 months, was in and out of a coma…I was shipped back to the states…everyone loved me…and I hated everyone…I hated myself, and all those stupid faces of the dead…I wish sometimes I could be one of those faces”…Elliott wasn’t my childhood counterpart…the world had fucked his life away…and I could feel his discontent because I too was fucking my life away…

Time warps and their unforgiving rules

After that first day, that first talk, me and Elliott regressed into children again…but not all at once…it started in a leisurely pace…after fucking and fucking, I would make my rounds down the corridors, greeting all the old souls one by one…and I would arrive upon Elliot’s cell, and we would chat about what dreams we had, or how it felt to fuck such a young pretty thing every morning…we would talk about the other prisoners, and rib them and make note of their unpleasant characteristics…like locker room talk, it was the fountain of youth every morning…wake up, fuck a young pretty women, and goof on our fellow acquaintances…this grew and grew…with every day came serious questions, just after the light foolishness of our new found childhood…we would swell every day…swell and swell for knowledge…knowledge for one another and their past…to fill the gap of time war and work and love takes from us all…one day he asked me what my life was like before I came to Georgia, and what my wife had been like…”oh, it wasn’t fireworks every day…I worked as a guard for about 24 25 years or so…I never did like these places, so don’t think I’m some kind of control freak…the pay was good and my wife, Mari, was never happy with it…eventually so died from cancer…and I had no reason to stay in our home…it wasn’t our home anymore, just a building with pictures of people who didn’t exist hanging on the walls…I took this job…I like being around hopeless souls…I’m a hopeless soul”…Elliott had told me much about his life as well…”after the war, I married a German girl…her name was Hilda Ahner….she was a huge women with crazy blue eyes and dark flowing hair…she was what you would call jolly…not in weight, but in spirit…she drank happily…and I was her polar opposite…I hated life and living…after trying for many years, she finally left me for my best friend…soon after, they went back to Germany”…

To confess is to be blessed

It was inevitable that I inquire what vile horrid godless crime our fellow patriots convicted Elliot for committing…and on the day I asked him, he seemed knowledgeable to my finally having gathered up the vigor to do so…”why are you in this place Elliot? You know why I’m here, and it wasn’t just by chance that you’re here with me…or is it?”…Elliot confides “about a year ago, I was living in a little shit hole, almost as small as this very shit hole…and I worked at some gloomy factory making refrigerator pumps…I was so very alone in that huge building…it seemed to stretch for miles…and all but 50 employees, counting myself, inhabited this enormous hanger for machines and assembly lines…I would work 12 hours without ever seeing more than a shift supervisor…I began to imagine the war…I vividly saw the soldiers killing, and raping…I smelled the blood of children and burning flesh…I felt the plains shuttling over the crimson skies before they firebombed the color from the earth…and I couldn’t separate it…I was 17…and in the factory at 38 I couldn’t separate my realities…both I’ve lived through, bombs and dead faces…bullets ripping through warm flesh…and big machines and assembly lines…pounding and vibrating…burning metal and copper…making product after product…it was not at all different than war…and I began to drink and drink…one night after work, I sat at a bar and drank my brain into a nightmare…I left the bar and began walking down the street towards my shit hole…a car flying down, broke through a red light with ease…it collided with an adjacent car heading through the same intersection…the cars twisted together…glass exploded, tires melted and puked black smoke all over the streets…the cars belched anti freeze and oil and water like a pig running across a shooting range…and the entire atmosphere was war…I ran to the mangled cars and tore a women from it…her daughter was unconscious in the seat next to her…I put my hands around her neck and ripped her throat out…she was still alive…I thought she was a soldier…I walked around to the car who had sped through the light…I saw a young man still inside bleeding from everywhere…I helped him from his car and screamed “medic! Man down!” I looked into his frozen eyes, and asked him where those ss fuckers came from…he threw up on me…I dropped him and walked back from the fiery pile of steel and rubber and flesh…the smoke rising to the sky like a phoenix…I wondered when air support were coming…I was gone…”…Elliott looked bewildered and lost as he told the story…it was as if he was reporting a mission statement to his superior…


To escape within

After hearing that story I began to think that life wasn’t all that meaningful…I felt rather inadequate…I would go on to discover just the opposite…I was part of something substantially epic…I did not completely know this yet…I kept picturing a women lying in a warm collection of maroon blood…her throat a chasm…a emptied elevator shaft to transport nutrition and air and water…I kept seeing Elliot shivering like a sick dog beside her…looking around at his painting of reality as if a crocodile were staring into the eyes of a butterfly…completely oblivious…this world did not create him…nor you, nor I…we just became…and while sorting it all out, we may rip a couple windpipes now and again…I was not depressed of this vision…it was more of a spiritual awakening…I stopped fucking my young secretary…I stopped goofing on the inmates with Elliot…I stopped walking down the corridors greeting all the true men every morning…I sat in my office, reading the bible…picking at it like a vulture hovering above a battlefield…“who wrote this?…why do they think we are so dull?…why must we constantly quest for approval within each other to acknowledge that we, as man, have so much more importance in a world we’ve designed as our own?…how the fuck can we think it’s tolerable to go on assuming we actually have any position in this world, this world of theirs?…have we gone so mad as to even think that if the earth stops flourishing and producing affluently that we are it’s sole reason to it’s demise?”…for days I would ask these questions….and these questions replaced my questioning myself…and I became more inaccessible and isolated…my thoughts scattered about like a spilt puzzle box…and months would pass, I would be in and out of reality…my job would be fulfilled, and drinking would be my reward….I would make human contact by interacting, but I wasn’t occupied whatsoever…and one morning, pinned to my sleeve of my suit was my memo…”Elliott S. Nelson has escaped. There’s absolutely no signs as to how, and the grave shift unit manager is investigating how it was possible that he burnt a hole through concrete of the floor in his cell.”….

It would please me to fertilize just as soon as possible

As I read such nonsense I would think that someone had ripped a page straight from the bible and pinned it to my wardrobe…but I threw on my suit as promptly as possible, and flung my office door open to question my secretary…”is this some sort of joke?”…I asked Elisabeth, my young interest…”no sir, go see for yourself…I took a look on my way in…it just doesn’t add up”…I looked at her one last time, and my dick fluttered a bit…she was striking…and the male organ does not follow any sort of schedule, it is impervious to tardiness or readiness…it just does what it does…I left the office and headed for the stairs…I turned the corner and a line of guards were headed up for the morning brief…I told them I was privy to the news and to wait for me in my office…I wanted to look in private…the guards agreed and just as the last one past, I grabbed his arm and quietly asked him for his flashlight…he unbuckled it from his belt and handed it over…I thanked him and we went on with it…I reached the bottom of the staircase in the building…I turned the corner and proceeded briskly along the rows of barred-off living quarters…I reached Elliott’s cell…I fumbled through the giant key ring that hang beside me…flipping through it like a rolodex until I found my number…623…I opened the cell….it was mid January…the 11th of the month…it was 6 am…and black as the ocean floor outside…I clicked on my flashlight…it was so quiet that morning, I could hear the hound dogs outside barking barking…calling out “where are you?!” and again and again…the manhunt was going on outside…but after I looked around, I knew they would find not a drop of human existence…the walls were powder blue, and blotless…pictures of airplanes and pretty girls all lined up about eye-height…almost perfectly spaced and centered…the cot was made…the sink was dry and without slime and grit…the mirror was seamless…and in the middle of the floor laid a hole about 3 feet in diameter…it’s circumference charred along the way, as the mouth of a volcano…nothing beyond the floor but dirt.…the prison was build on top of hard soil that was cased in a concrete barrier surrounding the length and width of the entire structure…no one has ever tunneled out…matter of fact, no one has ever left this place alive as they knew it…so I looked around, under the bed I found a notebook…I immediately hid it within my suit coat…I knew that the answer was inside that notebook, I just wanted to read it alone, somewhere far from that thin-souled prison…I retreated to my office, where expecting guards and officers and local law enforcers and man hunting teams all awaited my input and order…I said this…”I’m not feeling too well this morning…I believe the years are pulling the rug from under me…as for this escape, I’m almost positive it was a tunnel job…the dirt that we see now was probably once propped into a great makeshift railroad to freedom….if only it didn’t collapse by the time Elliott reached the wall of concrete just 15 feet south of his cell, he would have had time to reconsider and crawl back to his much more lingering death…I’ve checked his cell, as I’m sure you all have too…I found nothing alluding to his escape route….if you feel you must tare up his cell and dig for his body as we knew it, then go right ahead…I for one think he’d much rather remain fertilizer here and now…and get it over with…now if you excuse me, I’m going to take the day off to see a special doctor…I’m just not feeling right…the senior unit manager can answer any questions from here on out”…and I walked out of my office and never returned…

Wearing the ring that matters

I called a cab fro the payphone just outside the prison walls…I waited for about 15 minutes and climbed into the cab on my way to escaping my fate…the notebook had begun to moisten from it being pressed between my right arm and rib cage…I finally revealed it to myself, laying it upon my lap…I decided to fly to Mexico, Guaymas Mexico…I rented a small beach home in on the coast of the gulf of California…I did not settle in, or rest…I went to the back porch that overlooked the ocean…I poured a glass of cold vodka…I opened the notebook…and read…”Elliott Nelson, January 10th 3:30am…I know you will find this Randal….I know because you and I are aliens…not the such that movies in Hollywood are made, but social and humanistic aliens…we long for a better life in happiness…there is a step you can take to achieve such a thing…to be born in such a world…I learned this in a dream…or a reality…I’m not sure or ever will be sure of witch it was…I approached a white cold dead body in a ruined village…I turned it over as it was stiff and frozen forever, like a stuffed bear…I will never know why I turned it over…but as I looked into it’s empty eyes, it began to cry and gargle and spit mouthfuls of phlegm and I screamed and kicked it over and over…and I looked down into it’s brittle face…it was horror…caved in and wretched…it’s jaw began to move and grunts and noise fell from it’s agape mouth like a whale…I went to smash it again when I was paralyzed…my legs would not move, my back would not move…and my head and eyes were fixed into the gaze of the spoiled face…and it spoke as clearly as ever…”imagine a world…a world all around you…a world where you don’t matter…a world that exists for itself…and you cannot change this world…you cannot reveal this world…and you will never be happy in this world…because you will never be of this world…imagine all of your waste and your slop and your refuse…imagine it in a pile…imagine you and everyone you know and everyone they knew all helped put all your sludge in a pile…now imagine watching that pile fester and grow and spoil and rot…imagine it becoming life from your endlessness…imagine it growing into beings with faces and identities to one another…imagine it creates more of itself and learns to talk to each other and festers together and spoils together…and imagine it growing so big it takes over your world…and imagine you trying to stop it, but it thinks it’s only here to maintain it’s sustain…imagine it taking you over and you becoming nothing…and imagine you finding the only way to stop it…the only way to stop it….”…and after reading that passage, I burst into a ball of fire…erasing anything I ever was…I left behind a ring of charred nothing…

the wallet

Posted in Uncategorized with tags on August 11, 2008 by elihindman

So I found this guy’s wallet…it was empty, less the personal identification card…when my armature detective work led me to his crummy 1 bed studio on the corner of Lime and Page I quickly found nothing of a reward awaiting it’s return…rather, a greeting from a local janitor or maintenance man…either way he wore no jumpsuit or 1 piece apparel adversing his occupation….just a tool belt littered with black wall screws and small levels and tapes and screwdrivers and hammers…his name was Steve….he told me so, after asking me casually who “the fuck” I was…I believe he was scraping the gunk from a spring attached to a screen door adjunct to the balcony…or the modest living man’s balcony…most people would call it a fire escape…”I found this man’s wallet” I shouted to Steve amongst the springy metal clanging….I then held the wallet out as though I was picking the onions from a burger, then spreading it to present it’s emptiness and shiny compartment that held the id within it…”that guy disappeared a couple months ago! I just finished haulin’ his shit down to my box truck!” Steve gleefully added and went on…”guy never paid last month, didn’t even call my boss to say what’s up ya’know? So I took his shit. I’m getting this unit ready you looking’ for a place? Lot’s of tail in this building. I like to inspect the showers whiles the ladies are still in em’ ya know!?!” this guy was fucked…I nodded like a dropout at NASA orientation…clueless to his slimy ways I gave him the old “sorry for wasting your time good sir” wrap up and headed for the stairwell…along my way through the tarnished-brown brass handrail that ran about the hallway like spider veins I crossed by a young spirited thing…she looked fresh as if a innocent baby girl fell into a bucket of magical old timely growth syrup and climbed through youth with the spryness of a marine training in boot camp…she smiled at my grazing her with dirty eyes…or so she thought…I was just noticing her child-like face…however the musky hallway broke it’s silence when she spoke initially “excuse me” she pardoned…”sorry…hey, you didn’t happen to know this guy, or where he skipped to?” I asked as though the man’s wallet was my mustache for I didn’t realize I was practically holding it’s spread upon my upper lip…”yeah, well no…I mean I know that guy…he was my neighbor but I didn’t know him well at all, or where he went…I did know that he worked at the bowling ally down the street”…I wanted to get a little more from her…just to feel out if she was into me…what with my casual talking skills and ability to hide my face from strange women in dark hallways…”so you didn’t know him well enough to think that he’d miss his wallet, or should I just pitch ? There’s no cards or cash, just his license…I found it outside my restaurant”…she gave it a half a second then fired “you own a restaurant?” “no, I mean the place I work, or, well I’m a chef at Bennigan’s” …she wasn’t impressed…nor did I blame her….”look, I’m just gonna pitch it then…if you see” I then paused to look down and wave to id into the drab light to find the guys name “Namber Jay Jonathan he’s shit outta luck”…she found the rite key, plunged it into her lock and replied “sure” before slamming the door…

….I killed a few hours spitting off the pedestrian highway overpass…I walked down one of the shittier streets to see the circus…little gaggles of black kids running barefoot through the taco bell wrapper littered streets cursing with plastic beads and berets dangling from their hair…there weren’t too many trees in those neighborhoods…nor was there green lush grass…just fast food wrappers and cups and straws and butts and shiny soda cans…I liked walking down through those streets…the brave white boy…yet those streets weren’t all that scary…just filth and poor people glazing in the sun…kids being bad…parents being worse…I knew there was always something to see here…even though the rest of the world would rather look away…looking is about all there is left for these streets…I managed to go a full minute without a car drive past with a rattling trunk and other car parts blaring some mediocre radio rap…for that minute I heard no birds either…but not silence…there were plenty of sirens screaming about in the close distance…I made my way towards the bowling ally…maybe John J. Namber stuck his super with the rent, and left his shit behind because it was shit after all…maybe he’s still shining balls, or greasing lanes, or spraying shoes…

….I found it easy to kill time in the bowling ally…pitchers of beer for $4.00…that was hi-point prices…but the hi-point was long closed…and served better food….this ally was strewn with every type of loser longing for the win I’ve ever seen….not to say these were hopeless saps…no, that’s to say that these people appeared to want it all in life…but sacrificed not an inch of themselves to get it…I’m saying that they were screwed…they knew it, and they also knew that living with it is the only means for happiness…a man bellied up to the bar…I was frame watching…I heard this guy slam his beer down on the bar top…it was louder than the bowler who’s pins just smashed into the pin setting machine’s mouth with a glorious strike…as I turned my head to spectate this man’s need to make himself heard I noticed that he was standing up at the bar, angled in my direction preparing to depart towards my way…maybe he’s headed for the john…maybe he IS john…for some reason unknown to me still, I flipped out the wallet ping ponging my head into the wallets flap for a profile of the guy that was headed my way…back and forth what seemed like a thousand times I bobbed down into the license, up at this raging bull, back down into the license, back up to the raging bull…before I had time finger the line-up he stood before me…”names’ Johnny. That mine?”…I looked down at the leather scrap, considering whether to answer with a explanation as to why the wallet was bone dry, or let him do the talking..”um, uh..ya…yes…I found it behind my restaurant” “you own a restaurant?”…damnit…I need to rephrase that…”no I work at one…hey the thing was empty when I found it just laying out in the parking lot” “ that’s fine. Just glad to have my id back…that fuckin asshole bartender just gave me shit about not havin’ id…can you fuckin’ believe that!?! I come here every fuckin’ day that asshole has seen my old ladies tit’s on a Friday night and he wants to get all arbitrary on my ass!?!? Sheeeeeiiit.”…feeling freshly washed with cool waves of relief, his reply was the closest thing I could imagine to a baptism….”hey, no problem…how did you know I had your wallet though?” “excuse me?” he puzzled…”how did you know, I just sat down a second ago, and heard you slam your beer down and before I knew it you were headed straight at me”…I looked peekish still…”because this isn’t real”….I wandered what he meant by that…but rather than asking so I replied “huh?” he said “this isn’t happening. None of this. I’m not real. That wallet isn’t real. That bowler over there…he’s not real. That cute girl serving onion rings and soda pop isn’t real. The bald bastard behind the shoe check booth isn’t real. I’m not real. You’re not real.”…I don’t understand…I want to tell him that I know he’s fucking with me…I’m not a regular loser here…I know he thinks I’m some young kid who’s fooled around with drugs or something and he wants me to lose my cool, or flip out or freak out or whatever….but I’m just not feeling his lame attempt to grind my gears…so I play along “oh man…dude, I shouldn’t have eaten that brown one man…whoh, like I can taste the bowling balls and the lane grease is flowing through me like the dahli llama.” “okay…you don’t exist kid…I don’t exist…this isn’t happening…this isn’t happening…” and he begins to get louder “this isn’t happening!” as he stood on a cheap plastic chair that he furiously grabbed moments between yelling, now full screaming with muster deep from his chest “THIS ISNT HAPPENING! THIS ISNT HAPPENING!”…spit flinging from his pink frothing mouth…his eyes turn into black marbles, his pupil flows open and wide leaving almost no white left as though someone had spilt a bottle of ink behind his eyes…and in mid sentence he swayed side to side and began clawing at his chest as I cross my arms above my head to conceal my face from a spiratic burst of fists…the raging bull named Johnny fell from his cheap plastic podium and exploded red gel and liquid from his mouth like a geyser venting red lava…chunks of black matter broke the red spray into random spurts as they cleared from his throat…and his eyes turned all black…like a reflection of the deepest chasm at the bottom of the Atlantic…they then began to smolder and smoke and melt down into his sockets…I didn’t know what the fuck was happening…I heard a whizzing…a build up of tension faint but growing…it sounded like a piano string being wound tighter and tighter as a hammer smashed into it…then a pop shot out, and Johnny’s chest separated like a bear trap, and wires sprung from his trunk as milky white oil splashed out…the wires flailing weightless over his chest spitting little drops of oil and sparks as the haze of smoke floated up and up until the room was full and thick like a cannon’s blast….silence overtook the slapping of wires and gurgling of ooze…the smoke waved along like a stream limping by a bed of rocks…I had no idea what had just happened…I lifted my hand to see if I could make it out in the cloudy air…I saw a faint silhouette…then a loud stomp…CLANK!!…the smoke flew away as if it were being sucked into space…and the room cascaded away square by square, it looked like big cinderblocks all compiling the surroundings that painted a bowling ally…flipping over one another and raising off it’s balance to float away into nothingness…it started from the left side of the ally…and slowly lifted and ripped apart into tiny pixels and sucked into itself…into nothing but whiteness….it came closer to me, as I was the center of this episode…and all that was under me…the nasty cigarette burnt soda stained beer soaked red carpet tore into a million pieces and vanished…and the lifeless monstrosity lying before me with milk saturated wires and red mudded face with melted eyes crumbled like sand and evaporated….the pan was immense and final…the right side of the wall, the trophy case, the vending machine, the last lane…all gone…all white…so white I could not see anything…and that fucking clank stung my ears for moments after…then it stopped…quiet blanketed me…I felt a prick on my neck…I felt my head being moved around like a melon being inspected at the market…then my head dropped…slammed onto a metal pillow…I was lying when my head was dropped…and the white turned to black faster than a star burning across the sky…and then I saw very little light…so very soft and gentle light…and I felt it…like a million little damp dead bugs hitting my face…first it got in my eyes, but I couldn’t move…I couldn’t close then…I didn’t care…I cant explain…but they kept tossing the little moist dead bugs on my face…and the faint light dispersed…and I couldn’t see…I could only hear and smell….I heard a scrape…a grunt…and the bugs as they landed…and I smelled wet damp dirt…earth and dark dirt…

matchbox and cobalt

Posted in Uncategorized on August 11, 2008 by elihindman

The lone hand grenade

…he was 28 years old…nothing unusual about him…he lived in a town too small, worked a job too dull, and lived a life too sad…he was so happy once…weren’t we all so happy once?…some of us can find the reasons for happy again…some of us can find the darkest shades in a white horizon…at this point in his life, and by “his” I mean “Randy’s” for now, Randy had all but given up…and his conditions weren’t asking him to stick around either…he had just moved out of his comfortably quiet and roomful apartment…into a 12 by 12 matchbox with a bath and plenty of pests to spare…he also left behind his true and only love…she was his sunset…she was also his hand grenade…they were each other’s hand grenades…constantly using each other for safety and protection…keeping each other organized…keeping each other unified…winning the battles together…and randomly pulling the pin when they weren’t looking…exploding all over the place…friendly fire and then some…they could never regroup and move forward…they left only pieces of each other on the battlefields…and he still lives everyday inside that war…like a true veteran…he misses the times he got out alive…and even the times he was ripped to shreds by shrapnel…“love is almost as meaningful as war…almost no one sees it coming, there’s almost always casualties, and there’s never 2 winners“…so he sat in his little meat locker…and winter would come and go…he would write music or short stories….he would drink…he would wonder why he was still alive…and he did wonder why almost all the time…a couple times a week he would try and call her…write her something…nothing ever came about these attempts…only more confusion…and so down he would slip…nothing ever became easier or brighter…and he decided that there was no point…

A close call to the suicide hotline

….this was the perfect morning…Randy thought, for once, that something great would happen this day…that the clouds would not clear, the birds’ songs would not please, nor the life he lived not matter…but he did see the final page…and he grew so tired of reading life with a candlestick, because the story was just too miserable to him…so, on that day…Randy had bought a cheap $150 single barrel pump action Remington shot gun from a local store when he decided to take the crumby apartment in the crumby neighborhood…he kept it unloaded, for he had very mixed feelings as to guns and what they should be used for…“in one hand you should be able to own a gun and use it if your life depends on doing so…yet they are marketed to a rural constituent for the purposes of hunting, witch in my mind was a very human ritual that has been as relevant as the bible in the last 100 years…after all, we need not kill animals with every advantage, considering we can buy their body parts already cooked and on a bun, and not even get out of our automobiles“…it just seemed like a middle American marketing scandal to him…and rather than just work harder and find a much safer place to live within his means, Randy took whatever….wherever…he didn’t care anymore…anyhow, that morning he had woken up drunk…he was already 2 hours late for work…his head felt like a burlap sack full of fighting wildcats….he pulled the black sheets that blanketed the cheap window overlooking a busy street below…it was cold…the sky was as wild and warm as an ice tray…he couldn’t find a reason to set foot out there…it may as well have been Pluto outside…he felt like an alien already…before he turned away, letting the black curtain slide into place locking out the day, he noticed a large box truck parked just below his window…he lived right of center of the main entrance…someone was moving in…he had just woken up and could already hear the scuffle and chattering of the new tenant rustling about the halls…“great, more people I have to avoid“…Randy put on a record…he walked over to his closet…he pushed aside a wall of hung shirts and pants, parting them like hair…against the wall rested a cold blue steel pole attached to a wooden handle and stock…he pulled the shotgun from it’s hiding place…he then slid open a shoebox just above the hanging wardrobe on a shelve ahead…he clawed 3 red tubes…these tubes had brass ends and held hundreds of small metal pellets within them…they were loaded with gunpowder and built to explode sending shrapnel flying out at hundreds of miles…he finally decided that he would use the shrapnel…he finally decided that his life had glory and reason…and he put the red tubes into the side of the cobalt -blue and wooden machine…he pulled back the loading mechanism…it sounded like a thousand soldiers marching…schlick! schlick!…and an explosion happened indeed…

It sounded nothing like the movies

…and another…and another…and if you would have ever guessed that a shotgun blast igniting within a cheaply constructed, close quartered tiny slum like this one ever sounded like a Hollywood shoot ‘em up, you would be grimly surprised…for it would take a cannonball bursting through twenty snare drums to replicate the sound of Randy’s shotgun…if it had went off…or if he was convinced it had gone off…because after he carelessly fingered the trigger down towards the floor, and expected his brains and skull to flee towards the ceiling, he heard nothing but a enormous crash of knuckles slamming into his front door, just feet from his small couch on witch he sat casually trying to escape this alien world he had ended up on…and another…and another…as alcoholics or drunkards sometimes have moments of mental opposition…as if one second you’re in the corner ranting about work, or religion, or politics…slobbering and spitting drunk…with the passion of a arch angle…something inside switches off…and you just turn away…nothing of that content matters anymore…no politics, no religion…you just want to go home and sleep…or call you ex-girlfriend…or vomit…or cry…or drink more…and Randy had a mental opposition…the white slid down his face like a toilet flush…and color injected him with haste…his shotgun placed aside the couch…and his body now standing in front of his door, unlatching and unlocking…it was as if he had just woke from a dream…neither bad nor good, just a dream….and jarred from his unconscious consciences he sprang into our world…the awake world…yet he wasn’t dreaming…he was about to blow the brains out of the back of his skull…and the shot was the last thing he heard…yet it wasn’t a shot….it was a bang on his door…and he flung it open, to stare at the face of his mortal alarm clock…he wasn’t sure if he should be happy about being interrupted…and in his doorway, completely ajar, stood a young lady…slim, caramel skin…short, and blue eyes…she was smiling…not just smiling, but radiating the feeling of smiles…her eyes glimmered against her warm skin, and dark hair…Randy spoke…”hi”…she intercepted “hi, sorry for bothering you” as if she knew what and why everything was happening, yet had all the answers and was not at caution “my name is Francesca…I’m moving in next door and I wanted to know if you could give me a hand?”…and she looked at Randy as if she knew he had no choice in the matter, that everything that would happen was and is already going to happen and always was going to happen…”I’d love to”…Randy replied…and he turned to grab his keys, and lock up…and on the couch sat Randy, skull and brains dancing down from the ceiling, blood gathering like a spring feeding a lake at his feet, and the blue smoke fluttering from his mouth…he locked the front door, took Francesca’s hand and they walked down the hall into nothing…….



there are waves

Posted in glory in the overlooked on August 5, 2008 by derek yeager

There are waves in which we produce
some may never be seen,
many will be felt
Our tangible existence will soon conclude
this is why we must keep our water clean
We cannot filter all the muck
What we perceive isn’t always clear
We have adopted a language which makes things clear in this reality
But how clear is this wave
It has been diffracted and in essence creates
newer and different waves
Do I hear everything around me?
Do I feel the vibrations of this place?
Certainly I do but in a perception extremely complex
To round about I believe it is important to keep our waves clean
What I’ve felt many times others have as well
We are tools of diffraction
I believe we need to keep our waters, our waves, and our perceptions clean
This may be of no importance to many but
perhaps they have not recognized the general
functions of wave decomposition

good nature, you fail me (and i despise that album)

Posted in guilt in the serenity on August 2, 2008 by tony saputo

there is a worm in my side
i have stabbed the entry point and veraciously attempted to save us all
alas we forget when charity can be in vein and fighting for goodwill can be a laughing matter

all i can think about is the knife
about why did we not meet before
about the purpose and meaning
the collections of tears anguishing over my own sorrows
how can i save anyone, anymore?

how can i speak with a tongue that can live in mystery
or version myself the wayne manor of another reality
connecting myself to an non-empathetic stance
what the fuck is my problem? 
why do i think i am so different? 

foolish paths of simple men has brought this world into the cross-hairs of a smoking gun
and a fatal posture
the next years will be the coming of mediocrity and closed mouths
agape my soul and being
i will never hold back again 
i cannot let go of this conscience