Sometimes
Got up and did a different rendition of a song I wrote in the nineties. Thinking about Interstellar a lot. Cooper receiving messages and his daughter getting older, when he returns they are the same age, he lost twenty-three years.
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Trying everything I can to avoid cleaning up what I've written because it will take so long, there is so much written. Then it's spilled over on to the Internet. Now I understand these authors who post what they are doing then suddenly everything is removed and it's like, wait for the book. The review and editing process looks like it will take awhile.
And when the time is right and when the end has come maybe you can't be arsed for half a million – The Smile, Read the Room
How much worse can it get
It depends what else I remember
But you have your whole life ahead of you
Not if I keep looking behind me
How do you get out of it
I only have to be strong enough to pull the trigger one time
•
It all flows downhill
Where is it going
Compressing in a mass
One final lump?
If there were enough it would catch fire
Become a star?
Eventually a black hole
Pull in all the matter around it
One final massive fuck you
Is that how you are going to go?
No, this is about me
•
Would you? Could you? In a tub?
Cut them! Soak them! Here they are.
I would not, could not, in a tub.
•
You could reach out and ask her if you could just be friends
That's helpful
They were interrupted by voices outside, men yelling at eachother, a door slamming.
All the units were separate in the center. Cinder block squares with inner walls to separate the toilet, shower, and sink from the kitchen on the other side of the wall that stretched to the refrigerator. The desk and chair in the corner that served as a dining table or workspace. Twin bed dominating the corner of the room, no space for an end table or book shelf just a few milk crates piled up under the desk, kicked further back each day, newspaper reading or radio listening. He sat on the bed by the door and she was at the desk, chair turned to face him.
One sec
There were no windows in the unit so he had to open the door.
Two men stood on the other side of his sunfaded yellow compact car.
One drew a pistol from his pants and the other looked angry so he pulled the trigger and a small hole appeared in the front of the man but behind him a gout of blood hit the wall. The man dropped to one knee and gripped the hole in the front, tried to exhale but something was now missing.
The man with the pistol put it away and climbed into a pickup truck, it started with a growl and tires spun kicking gravel around the lot as tires chirped onto the dusky street.
He ran to check on the man with the hole and looked down. He was trying to cough but there was nothing there anymore. His face crossed, one hand reaching out, he was pleading, bargaining.
He knelt next to the man and took his hand and the man joined him in mourning, quietly dying next to him.
The sound of the street and the college town came up, a stereo too loud, people shuffling in their units, someone screaming into a phone, he's been shot.
The lips blue, skin growing pale, eyes that were pinched shut now slightly open and distant, hair flutter.
What does love look like
Who the fuck knows
What does love feel like
Giving or receiving
Do you spell that with capital letters
They laughed. It was starting to get dark, the street lights coming on in the parking lot. They waited by the exit with the diner and people rushed past.
A couple with interlocked pinky fingers, lots of face piercings, hair long and unkempt, bouncing as they walked in step with eachother. His pants sagging and cuffs a bit worn behind his sneaker heels. Her clothes were tight fitting except for the sweatshirt, a large dark blob with jagged and smeared looking words on the back, probably her boyfriend's.
I bet they could tell you
Why don't we ask
Be my guest
Can't, love-shy.
She looked at him and smirked.
You learn something new every day
Learn something new every day
He passed her the cigarette and she took a drag, dipping the ash off onto the side of his bluejeans, watched the embers fade in the cuff, smiled at the ring on his engineer's boots.
You think he puts a leash on her
Why
Look at how they hold hands, it's like they're connected
What if she puts one on him
I don't fuckin know
She passed the cigarette back and he held it in his hands and watched them get into their car. A white Mitsubishi eclipse.
Strange coupe
What?
Their car, it's a strange coupe
You think the stereo is any good
Fuck no
What do they do in there when they're driving
Talk, touch the cock
Is that what we're gonna do?
If you play your cards right
After the other couple drove away her gaze drifted back to the cigarette and when he noticed he handed it back. She dipped the long ash onto the side of his leg again and it tumbled into the cuff.
She looked up and he was smiling at her, staring right into her eyes.
She took a drag as an excuse to cover her face, pushed her hair out of her eyes, gave him the predator look and then coughed because she had inhaled too much.
He smirked and looked away.
She broke my heart
You broke your heart
What do you mean
What did she tell you
She said she didn't want to move too fast
And what did you do
I know
No, say it, Davis wants to hear. Gabe is waiting. We all want you to say what you did.
He looked nervously around the circle of people sitting in their fold out chairs in the meeting hall, their voices echoing. This time no orderly, doctor was away somewhere else in the institution. It was just the patients and Fielding.
I counted the number of text messages she sent me each day.
And then
Then I made a spreadsheet.
Davis had been sitting back in his seat, his fingers between his teeth, occasionally running a hand through his hair, whenever things got too heated, when it looked like Andy was going to cry again. He asked, how is that moving too fast?
How does counting the number of messages a person sends you every day and then putting that number and the date into a spreadsheet lead to moving too fast? Is that what you're asking?
Fielding looked angry, there was a sweat or grease on him now, Davis sunk in his chair, he did not want the attention. He looked around and the entire group was looking at him.
Gabe tried to intervene, he had been sitting casually, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Did you tell her?
Everyone looked back at Andy.
What do you think
You can tell us, use your words, Andy.
Fuck
A low chuckle spread through the room.
Yeah, it's alright. Laugh it up. You'll all get your turn.
The words could've come from anyone but they were surprised because it was the newcomer. They turned to face them.
I just want to bury myself in her
And then what
Then lose myself in her, she can dissolve me and absorb me
That's not how people operate
I know, it's codependent and addictive behavior
Probably a bit manic too
Yeah
And what happens when she stops you
They don't let me get that close anymore
Is this part of that six foot social distance thing you keep talking about
You know what this is part of
How would you like things to go
Like, if I were healthy
Yeah, spell it out for me, take me through it backwards
He snorted. The doctor waited with his pen hand resting on the clipboard.
We would wake up in bed together, she would have slept over and into the morning.
That's how it ends?
That is the end that I want.
Okay, and what happened before that?
Fucken
Alright.
And before that we are at, he searched the doctor's face and there was still no sign of emotion, wherever people fuck now.
You don't know?
Haven't found out.
The doctor wrote something down.
So we are there and we are talking about whatever people say before they have sex.
The doctor was staring blankly at him again, a hint of interest.
Before that maybe we trade ess tee eye tests, he smirked but still nothing.
And you arrive at this place from what?
Drove there after the date, maybe we were seeing a movie. Talking in the parking lot and walking to the car.
How is the conversation?
I want to share something with her, to be vulnerable. And, for her to share something back that I can understand, something that makes me feel a deeper connection. To make me invite her to sex.
She doesn't invite you?
Do women do that now?
The doctor wrote again.
Great.
The woman's howl, the distortion and drums, crash of symbols. The guitar stepping from note to note in a repetitive way. The song is about regret. She took a knife and opened herself up, created a beautiful wound for him, welcomed him in. And he did not notice. Now it is just this gaping portal for the bugs, dirt, lint. She is begging for bandages, a salve, some kind of care or attention, affection. And eventually she screams that she wants to be taken. But he won't.
Why does this art look so dated
What do you mean
Misshapen heads, busy in the wrong places, the colors are strange, a lot of yellow and orange in with the black, and there's not enough of that
It's almost fourteen years old
All of it
Was that a question
He continued to flip through the portfolio.
Why fourteen years?
He's an alcoholic.
Drunks don't paint?
A silence between them, he continued to turn pages.
No, I don't like it
Alright, I'll let him know
Tell him to get out, go to some openings, see the world, maybe turn on a television
I got it
I want to help him but, who did you say this guy was again?
They reminded him.
Fuck. He thought for a moment, looking out the front window of the gallery at the street to cleanse his palette. What a fucking waste.
Why don't you remove her
What
They were sitting at the all night diner. Hashbrowns spread out on the plate in front of him, a bottle of vinegar hot sauce on one side and a napkin on the other. He picked it up, pulled off the small red cap, and shook it vigorously.
Why would I do that
Why wouldn't you do that. You're fucking miserable.
What if she noticed?
What if she didn't
He stopped the shaking and twisted the cap on slowly then stared into his friend's eyes across the table.
A group of people younger than both of them had appeared in the club. They wore paper party hats and carried party blowers, wore plastic frames like glasses. They were laughing, talking too loud, greeting eachother as they arrived. Intoxicated.
Haven't you given her enough
What do you mean
Your time, your attention. You are living in mourning. You look at her shit
Okay
He paused waiting for some concession but his friend looked lost in thought, looking through the party that was seated in the center of the diner next to them.
Okay what, you're gonna remove her
Okay I get it, man.
I don't think you do. I think you need closure. And you are never going to get it. You have to make a moment.
Try to see her again?
Fuck no, are you even listening to me
They locked stares again, his friend was angry and he didn't seem to understand why.
I just want her to let me go
You need to let her go
Why couldn't we just have a fight
And make up
He thought about it, seemed to be coming to some kind of understanding, then someone dropped a flask on the table next to them, the smell of whiskey.
He took the dishes she left behind threw them one by one into the dumpster watching them break apart. Next, the photographs in the frames, most printed out from cell phone pictures taken when they started dating and were still going out together, willing to have their pictures taken. Then photos of the dogs when they were young or puppies, when they were still alive. He watched the glass break, the photos drift out of reach, some settling face down, others torn from the force, sometimes a dog or her face smiling up at him, eternally frozen on vacation and young.