*Another attempt at something that went nowhere*

When Visible entered the saloon he knew he was asking for trouble. He walked quickly to the back of the establishment, the whole time hiding his face under his wide brim hat. The back corner was dark so he raised his hat a little, in time to see a whore approaching his table. She sits, leans back in her chair and raises her skirts to reveal stocking’d legs.

“Fancy ‘a swig an’ a poke Mista?”

“I’m expecting someone.”

“Sorry Mista, I ain’st be doin’ two’s ya.”

“Well that’s fine. I don’t fancy a poke.”

“Shame, me cunny’s real slick fer ya.”

Visible reaches out with his gloved hand and touches the whore’s knee.

“I think you’re right, why don’t you go grab a whiskey for me. I’ll toss it back we’ll see what happens next.”

The whore stands and goes to the bar. Visible removes his hat and places it on the table. Pulls his long jet black hair into a ponytail revealing his tattooed face. The whore returns with the whiskey. Stopping short of the table and dropping the glass to the floor. The crash brings the attention of two men at the bar. They approach the table. Visible stands and removes his shirt and gloves showing a tattooed torso to match his face.

The whore runs to the men who have drawn their pistols.

“Dat man da devil,” the whore exclaims.

The men remain speechless, only holding pistols at Visible and examining his tattooed body. They eyeball the intricate muscles that are painted into his arms, the heart that rests in the center of his chest enclosed in an armor of rib cage.

“What you is Mister?” one of the drunkards asks.

“I’m just a man trying to meet someone. I didn’t want trouble till you brought it amongst yourselves. I would appreciate it if I sit here in peace until my company arrives.”

The other drunkards speaks. “Well you done fucked that up ain’t ya son. We don’t take kindly to freaks or demons here. You see we God fearin’ people. We ain’t gots no use for your devils. No you leave or we’s make you leave.”

A man speaks from behind the drunkards.

“I think my partner has just the same right as any of you fine gentlemen to sit, enjoy a drink, await his company and leave. Now, if you have a problem with him, well, then I’m sorry to say it, you have a problem with me. I have a nasty habit of solvin’ my problems, just can’t let that rest on my conscious.”

A gun cocks followed by the releasing of steam. The drunkards turn to face the man behind them. He is hold a short barreled shotgun that has been modified with a tube at the top that is releasing a puff of steam. A ticking sound can heard and gears are at work beside the trigger.

“Vis, grab your gear, I think we have had all the hospitality we can take today.”

Visible replaces his shirt, gloves and hat then joins the side of the armed man. They back towards the door, the steam gun still pointed at the drunkards. They are about to exit when a giant black bird flys in from behind them and lands on the bar.

Charlie, the man with the steam gun, draws his attention to the bird.

“Well, this changes everything now don’t it,” he says.

A gunshot rings out from behind the bar.

“Get the fuck out or I’ll bleed you out,” the bartender yells at the two strangers and bringing the pistol down to point in their direction.

“Or not,” Charlie pulls the trigger of the steam gun. A loud roar emits and a mix of gunshot and force spews from the barrel. The two drunkards, the whore and the barman are all but disintegrated. Charlie and Visible use this distraction to run out the doorway.

They climb onto the backs oif the horses they arrived on head through the town with much haste. Visible looks back at the bar, a black cloud had begun to stream out.

“Charlie, look,” yells Visible.

Charlie looks back to see the cloud breaking up into individual black birds.

“Shit. Crows.”

He raises the steam gun and points it to the cloud and pulls the trigger. The same emission spews forth cutting a hole into the cloud and littering the ground black.

“Vis, just go, don’t look back.”

Something Sick For the Rest of You

“Watch this…Hey Johnson!”


“You go to baby molesters anonymous yet?”

“It was a one-time thing!”


“What was that all about?”

“Johnson molested some like twelve year old or something, thinks because he only did it once and has not done it again, yet, that he’s fit to be a normal everyday ding-dong how do you do citizen of the free world.”

“Doesn’t he have to register or something?”

“Yeah, had to go door to door telling everyone how he’s a sick fucker with a lust fer yungin’s. However, he adds how it was a sick disease that has been cured by a newfound love fer the lord above, like that’s a saving grace. I mean shit, like a holy man has never touched a yungin.”

“I just don’t get it, how can this be tolerated?”


“That that ped is in here eating, drinking, look he’s chatting it up with that guy, someone’s father, I mean that dude’s got a kid…”

“Maybe he’s buttering him up, few more drinks he’s thinking, few more drinks and his son’ll be all mine, maniacal laugh.”

“I’m being serious, why isn’t there…, what am I saying? How is it that that fuck is drinking with us, not drinking with us in the literal sense, but in the same vicinity, the same building, the same continent that isn’t overrun with cannibals, which doesn’t matter because cannibals have more class than to eat a ped.”

“On the other hand, maybe cannibals don’t have that much class, maybe it’s that they think if they eat a ped than they will absorb that ped’s soul and become a freakin’ ped themselves.”

“Or maybe they don’t wanna eat some dude who has a twelve year old’s cum in their stomach.”

“That’s pushing this conversation a little too far.”

“Look, I don’t want to have this freakin’ conversation. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if the world we lived in would punish those who deserved it.”

“You mean Johnson.”

“Fuck yeah I mean Johnson. He should be in jail getting fucked in the ass by some spic drug runner.”

“Are you holding back something? Are there some repressed feelings at work here? Was there a family member that was just a little too friendly when you were a wee one?”

“No, I wasn’t molested as a child. This is just a matter of decency. We live in a world that worries too much about what might happen and forgets about what has happened. We’ll make up a war to prevent something from happening, but we’ll release criminals who have committed acts of cruelty amongst our fellow man. And they’re not reformed. As soon as they get out they look fer that next child to touch, that next lady to force themselves upon, that next homosexual to beat three inches from death. There’s a difference between thinking something and committing something. You can think all you want to. It’s just a thought. People think all the time about killing that hateful boss. But it never comes to fruition. But committing that act, there’s no going back. You’ve tested those waters and the swimming’s a good time you’ve never experienced before. And believe me there will come a time when the water gets just a little too tempting, be it a hot day or you’re just looking fer some exercise. But you’ll jump in and swim till your heart’s content.”

“Well since you’re mister high and mighty go do something about it. You can talk the talk, it is just talk right? But can you make a difference? If you’re gonna sit here and blabber this is bad, this is not the way it should be and shit. Stand up! Fight fer your rights! Show the world that you are one hundred percent male. That you eat pussy fer a reason, so it doesn’t eat you.”

“This isn’t a joke.”

“I’m not fucking laughing Nicholas.”

“Then what the hell are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re no different from anyone else. You have this, let’s call it a map, a topographical map, and in the valleys are the indigents of the world, the criminals, the “gangsta” blacks, hell maybe all the blacks. In the plains you have the Mexicans, cause your white ass isn’t gonna plow the fields. On the hills, you have the Asians, you don’t care if they live or die, you just want to fuck their women. Last of all you have the all mighty white man, standing tall on the highest of peaks, not a care in the world except those rare times you have to venture to the valley. You do live in that paranoid world where all black men are gonna rape a white woman, right? I’ve seen you, a black man passes you by, you grab your ass making sure your wallet’s still there.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You wanna talk shit, say that person’s bad for this and that reason. However, you don’t see. You’re a scared little turtle; you’ll come out of your shell to badmouth someone to your friends. You can’t speak your mind when they’re around, no, at that moment you’re pissing your pants with your mouth clamped shut.”

“None of this matters anymore. Look, he’s leaving. We can go back to our normal lives.”

“If that’s what you want to do. Go on with your normal life little turtle. Just think that in the time it took us to have this conversation you could’ve done something. But instead you wanted to sit here arguing with me about who knows what.”

“Whatever. One more drink and of I’m out of here.”

“Goodnight little turtle.”


My Closet is Trying to Kill Me

He lays his head down. Pulls the covers up to his chin. Closes his eyes.


For the many nights that this has happened, he has never seen what is causing the ruckus. Not yet anyway. And it never seems to awaken any of the other occupants of the household. The only conclusion that his adolescent mind can muster is, just that, it is his paranoid adolescent mind.

Then the whispers start.

We want you. We know you. You’ve seen us before. Death will bring you. Death will bring you. Death will bring you.


With the combination of banging and ghostly whispers, he feels a loosening in his bowels and a terror growing in the pit of his stomach. He pulls the covers up to his eyeballs. Staring intently at his closet door, opening and closing with brute force. A brutality so strong that on the last closing, before he jumps out of bed, splinters the door into two pieces.

Out of bed, he storms down a hallway, tramples down his many stairs, bursts through his front door and heads to what he sees as safety. His auto. He runs to it, entering and immediately locking the doors. He breathes in then out slowly. Peace in Japanese craftsmanship.

He closes his eyes, trying to fall asleep. Fifteen minutes pass. His eyes open as if sensing something. He looks up to his bedroom window. His overhead light has been turned on. Behind the lowered blind, he can see a shape the size of an average sized adult. The shape starts to move, as if running in circles. Continuously running past the window. He watches in wonderment and fear. The shape then stops abruptly in front of the window. After a few seconds pass, the blind begins to rise slowly. The figure is human, male, naked, and red. The blind rises a little higher. Not red, its blood, the figure is drenched in blood. Its chest is revealed. Then neck. Head. He sits staring up at the window, having a blood-covered version of himself staring right back at him.

He wants a closer look. He reaches for the door handle, pulls it. The door opens slightly before he jerks it back closed in fright. For his blood drenched twin is now looking at him through the driver’s side window. Its hand touches the outside of the glass. Then begins violently slapping and leaving blood streaks against the surface.

He reaches for the ignition switch. No keys. He slaps himself in the head, he forgot them in his room, and he’s sure as hell not going back there. So he clambers over the gearshift and into the passenger seat. He quickly glances over to his bloody twin, he is still there, now with his face to the window, moaning.

Opening the passenger side door he leaps out ands runs. He runs like he’s never had to run before. He runs and runs. Every now and then slowing to a walk to catch his breath. Runs some more. Making lefts and rights. Onto avenues and circles, cutting through cul-de-sacs. Eventually reaching his destination. A small white Spanish style home on the corner of avenue and road. He goes to the back of the house. Opens a window and crawls in.

His girlfriend is sitting on the floor, whispering something. She jumps at the sound of him falling onto the floor behind her.

“Hey!” she says turning to face him.

“Hello,” he takes a deep breath. “What’s going on?” he asks pointing to the candles and open book.

“Just some breathing exercises. You know, I’m a yoga freak.”


“Yoga, you know, Pilates and shit. What are you doing here?”


“You want a blowjob?”

“Let me catch my breath,” he pauses. “Huh?”

“Do you want a blowjob? Is that why you came running over here? Looking at some Cindy Crawford pics? Watching a little Fair Game were ya?” She smiles. “Feeling a little horny?”

She moves along with the motion of his head and eyes, trying to block his view from whatever it is she was up to before his presence.

“Wait…What are you doing…Why are you doing yoga…at…three…in the morning?”

“It’s never too late, or early, whatever, for some stretching and breathing and shit,” she scoots up to him; he has now placed himself on the edge of her bed. She starts to unbutton his pants.

“The mood just struck me. You know like you wanting a blowjob.”

Finally catching his breath, but not stopping her from pulling his pants down to his ankles he completes a sentence.

“I ran over here…oh yeah….because a bloody version of me was, well, I don’t know what the hell he was doing exactly, scaring me…oh, God, yeah…my closet door, banging, bloody version of me…that’s the good stuff…in my room.”

She speaks, though with a mouthful it is indistinguishable. A translation:

“Bloody version of you? What? That’s ridiculous. Just admit you wanted some sucky-sucky.”

He doesn’t understand a word, though doesn’t really care. Because of the task she is engaged in, he has a chance to gaze at the mischief she was causing before his appearance.

“I don’t think a pentagram is used in yoga, I could be wrong…Ow!” she bites down, distracting him.

“Oh yeah, I like it when you invite the canines over to play. Woof, woof,” he says, confusing her just enough to pull her off. She looses balance and falls back a little. Giving him an opportunity to grab the open book that lies on the floor. He reads. Then looks at her.

“You’re a sneaky one aren’t you?”

He quickly puts his dick in his pants and zips. Looks at his hand. There is a glistening in the moonlight. He wipes in on her bed.


“Yeah, that’s the most important thing right now, me wiping your saliva on your bed sheets.”

She smiles.

“The whole time it was you? I was scared shitless. I was scared so shitless that I almost shit myself. I thought my closet was trying to kill me.”

“I guess I’m caught,” she holds up her hand, there is the same glistening. “Dickhanded,” she laughs.

“Now is not the time for jokes, my dear.”

She gets serious. “What is it time for, huh? More blowjobs? I might as well get Nickelback tattooed up my spine for as much as I suck.”

“What are you talking about?”

She farts. Then looks him in the eyes.

“This, this whole thing. You coming into my room at anytime of the day or night or whenever and expecting me to be your fuck rag. I just wanted to scare you a couple of times. Then it got fun. So I kept it up. I knew if it got bad enough you’d come running over here seeking out my pussy as a comfort zone, you small dicked, insecure, scaredy-cat. So, I’m caught. Hardy-fucking-har.”

“I’m not staying with you after this.”

“I’ve got a line of long-shafted sailors just waiting for a piece of this. It’ll be nice being filled up for once, not feeling as though I’m empty inside,” she farts.

“You’re fucking crazy.”

He stands and walks to the window. He sticks a leg out, stops, looks at her as though he is going to speak, he says nothing, climbs all the way out.

“Hey!” she calls to him from inside.

He sticks his head inside. “What?”

“Sweet dreams,” she farts.

He flips her off, turns, and walks away. He pulls up his shirt and removes the book from his waistband.

“Yeah, sweet dreams to you too, you gassy bitch.”



Bootie Who

*This is something I started working on but never finished*

“Just look at all of them, they’re everywhere. And…and one day we’ll be like that, so ancient, so frail, so transparent…”

“So oblivious to the world surrounding us,” Tommy cuts in.

“Exactly, we’ll know what everything is; technology, sex, we’ll just forget what to do with it.”

“It’s not that we forget what to do with it, I think we want to forget because those tools of the trade just don’t work anymore: erectile dysfunction, senility.”



“You know, loss of bone density…no, doesn’t ring a bell?”

“I know what fucking osteoporosis is. It just has no relevance.”

“It has relevance. It’s something we have, bone density, and with age we lose, just like with sexual functionality.”

And it pretty much stayed like this for the rest of the day. Tommy and I sipping java, eating coffee cakes and discussing our worries about the years to come. That was how my day went. My night is a completely different story. It started on my walk home.

On the many a nights that I make the trek from the quaint coffee house, three blocks to my apartment I usually occupy my time whistling a tune. Be it a one hit wonder from the eighties or current tune being played on the rock radio stations, it is whistled loud and proud from these two lips. On this hazy, damp night, I had chosen Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody to help make the excursion fly by. (For I had just rented the new Mark Paul Gosselaar movie and I couldn’t wait to see if he had chosen a role that would revitalize his career and shut up the naysayers who believe that Zack Morris is all that he’ll ever be. I know your saying to yourself, “He was in NYPD Blue. Didn’t that shed his Zack Morris innocence?” No, it did not.)

Just as I’m rounding the corner and approaching the stairs leading into my apartment building I come to the last bars of Freddie Mercury’s masterpiece.

“A great choice,” I whisper to myself as I climb the stairs and journey into number 133.

Once inside I hang my keys on the key hanger I made in shop as a high schooler, immediately walk to the phone, and check for messages. There is one; I push the button and out of the tiny speaker, I hear my sister’s annoyingly fake yankee accent.

Hey Les, my cah broke down this mahnin’ and I have this really hawt date tonight. So, I have two favahs ta ask, one, can I bahrow ya cah tonight, and second can you watch little Hilary while I’m gone? I’ll owe ya big. Call me back, love ya.”

Sinking Ships and Whatnot

You look like the kind of girl that has traveled the seas.

What does that mean?

You look as though you’ve collected a lot of booty.

Are you saying my ass is fat?

I’m saying you’ve collected a lot of booty. If you take that to mean your ass, then that’s what it shall mean to you.

I don’t need you speaking in riddles.

Shall I exacerbate it in paragraphs?

Speaking fucking english please.

You’re the one that wanted these muffins.

Muffins. Not witchy speak.

Muffins tickle my brain’s wit.

Well, stop. It’s fucking annoying.

Why? So we can talk about purses and who has the bigger penis? Milo Ventimiglia or Ben Affleck?

Who the fuck is Milo Ventimigigilia?

He was on that show where people were superheroes or some shit.

Had that little asian dude.


Is that racist?


I called him little, you know…

Know what?

Asians have little penises.

So you do want to talk about penises?

Not really, just asking. Don’t want to go into an hour long conversation about them.

I don’t know.

Isn’t that what you’ve heard?

I’ve heard a lot, mostly bullshit. I can’t say yes or no until I’ve seen at least fifty asian dicks. If ninety percent are small, then yeah, the majority have small penises.

Can we please stop talking about penises?

It’s just the sign of the times.

What does that mean?

We don’t really know anything.

Are you trying to relate penis size to the meaning of life?

I’m doing no such thing. I’m merely commenting on the state of the adolescent mind.

You are confusing the hell out of me.

That is far from intentional.

They Know Who You Are

This is a sort of sequel to a story I wrote called “In Your Eyes”. It probably won’t make much sense unless you read that one first.



I never in a million years thought I’d be holding my father’s head in his last moments. The world works in mysterious ways. That seems to be true these days.

On the morning my father died I awoke with a need to be pretty. I wanted to go out and flaunt myself, cause sometimes you have to make other people jealous of the things you have just to keep yourself sane.

I dolled myself up and took a trip to the local mall. It was there that I found him. The one I’d lust for a day. The one that by the end of the night would kill my father and, himself lay dead on my apartment floor.

I first saw him as I stood in line for a coffee. I saw him looking my way, though who wasn’t. There was something different about this guy. There was a gleam, a hunger, a wanting in his glassy blue eyes. They drew me in. Made me forget I was in line for refreshment.

When I finally looked away it was my turn to order. I requested a frosty vanilla beverage, paid, received my order and looked out in the crowd for that mysterious stranger. He was no longer where my eyes could find him. I put him in the back of my mind and began my venture of spending more money than I had.

After three hours of driving myself closer to bankruptcy I decided to call it quits and journey home. I took an elevator down to the parking level, exited, and saw him. He was leaning against a support column smoking a cigarette. I’d never seen cancer look so sexy.


I had seen her long before she noticed me as she was standing in line for coffee. I followed her from the apartment knowing that this was going to be my next meal. I could smell the other inside her. It was strange at first and I didn’t understand fully until I stealthily brushed by her outside of the Macy’s.

It was after this that she saw me and I knew I had her or him or it or whatever I should call…her? I’ll explain this. Her blood contained the scent of two hormones. The male and the female, and not like everyone else, they were stronger, unnaturally stronger, as if there were two separate beings inside her. As I watched her waiting for her coffee it all came clear to me…she is transgender with still a lot of male hormone. This didn’t scare me away, for who am I to judge? I would be shunned much worse than her if my true identity were to become public. If anything it peaked my interest, yes, I knew that sex would most likely come into play, though if you want to look at it that way you’d have to ask yourself which of us is the more perverse? The one having sex with a former male or the one having sex with the undead?


I made my way to my vehicle. The heels of my new pumps clacking loudly on the concrete. My shyness began to overwhelm me so I stopped and removed my heels and continued my trek barefoot. I know, why get all dolled up if you’re too scared to approach an interesting character? It’s just all part of my girlish charm.

I reached my car, pressed the unlock button on my keychain and threw my bags into the backseat. It was then I heard him. He was standing behind me. The smell of his cigarette wafting into my nostrils.

I took a deep breath and said, “ You aren’t going to rape me are you?”

He made a noise that was kind of a laugh and a grunt, then said, “Why would I do that?”

I turn to look at him, “I’ll clue you in on a little secret…don’t say anything that could make a girl question her looks, especially if you want to be friends.”

He takes a drag of his cigarette and looks at me with those haunting eyes. A smile creeps into his lips.

“Is that all you want? Friendship?” he asks.

“Hey, we just met. I’m still not convinced a crime isn’t going to committed.”

“Never hurt a fly,” he says.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Could use a little nourishment. You?”

“I’m famished.”

“There’s nothing around here,” referencing the parking lot.

“I’m sure we could find somewhere.”

We gathered ourselves into my car and began the adventure that’d end in death.


We decided on a diner two blocks from the mall. I wanted somewhere crowded and loud and light on the wallet. He was fine with whatever I chose. I ordered a hot pastrami sandwich on rye bread with a sweet tea. He ordered a chicken caesar salad for which he only ate the chicken out of.

“Not as hungry as you thought?” I asked.

“I don’t want to spoil my dinner.”

He was creepy and mysterious. I was loving every minute of it.

“I can’t believe they banned smoking in restaurants,” he said.

“The shit they pull.”

“Tell me about it.”

There wasn’t much conversation during the whole meal and I attribute much of the silence to my shyness. I think his creepiness also played a significant part as well. The majority of the time I was lost in his eyes, Trying hard to read the story they were trying to tell. I got lost in them, just as I had begun to at the mall.

“Your eyes are amazing.”

“They tell all there is about me. They withhold my deepest secret.”

“You have a secret do you? This secret wouldn’t involve young beautiful women and lonely roads and sharp knives?”

“Nothing like that. Just secrets like anyone else has. We all have things we keep to ourselves. Afraid of what would happen if the world were to find out.”

“I guess, though it doesn’t have to be so dramatic.”

“I know you have a secret.”


“I can sense it. I can smell it.”

“Are you saying you have powers? Like a psychic? Wait, I know, you’re a werewolf from the moors of England. Like that movie.”

“Could be.”

“I doubt that. I was just fucking with you. Werewolves are just campfire tales.”

“You never know, lucky its not a full moon tonight.”

“I guess I am.”

We talked for another hour. The time came for us to pay the bill and leave. We had that awkwardness outside of the diner of what to do next. All I could think about was stripping off our clothes and fucking all night. It was hypnotic eyes and my horniness that made me forget I had made plans for that evening.


My secret didn’t surprise him, which surprised me, though I should’ve known it wouldn’t because of our conversation at lunch. We were on the couch kissing and touching. It was when he reached between my legs my true self was exposed.

“Does it frighten you?”

“I told you, I already knew.”


“I could smell another inside you. What I saw on the outside didn’t match.”

We kissed again which led to sex which led to the both of us falling asleep on the couch. We were awoken by a knock on the door. I then remembered that my father was stopping by for a late supper.


“Who is it?”

“My father. I totally forgot.”

“What should I do?”

“Go into the bathroom and get dressed, I’ll try to sneak you out.”

“You do know you are a grown up, we don’t have to sneak around like children.”

“This just saves a lot explaining that I really want to avoid.”

He ran to the bathroom as I threw on my clothes and answered the door. My father entered and I was pushed violently to the floor by the man I had just coupled with. He was grabbing at my father and ripping and tearing at his neck with a violent ferocity. He used his finger to dig into my father’s throat, trying, for what is seemed to be removing head from body.

I ran from the carnage. Searching the apartment for anything I could use as a weapon. In a hall closet I found a red aluminum baseball bat. With it in tow I ran back into the living room to find our attacker had successfully my father’s head from his body. He was now slamming against the corner of my kitchen counter trying to crack it open like a coconut. While he was occupied I snuck behind raising the bat and dropping it forcefully against the back of his skull. He fell to the floor, looking up at me with his haunting eyes.

“What are you?”

‘I’m everything you have to look forward to.”

“Don’t speak in riddles.”

“Your simple nature would we refer to us as zombies.”

“Zombies?” I ask impatiently.

“It’s as real as anything you know. You have hell to look forward to.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I was inside you. My DNA is mixing with yours. I am your future.”

I had listened to enough so I hit him again and again, crushing his skull with my little red bat. When I finished I picked up my father’s head and placed it near his body. I laid beside him and fell to sleep.

In time what he said became reality. I became one of his kind. I became a monster. I’d never been happier.

Swamp Kittens Hide in the Rectangular Flora of a Forgotten Island

A: If I could speak to you in riddles, know that I would because there is nothing more warming to my heart than confusing the ones I love.

B: It’s like there’s an aura around you. A blackness that fades in and out. Not shadowy, no, more glowing, yet dark.

C: The cause and effect of happiness is that right around the corner there is going to be something to rip you apart. Both feelings are temporary, yet one’s effect causes more damage upon your soul.

A: We know it happens yet do nothing to stop it’s…it’s…

C: Contradiction of presence.

B: The aura has changed from a dark to a blue. The shade of a hazy winter morning.

C: Auspicious precognition.

A: A merriment that no one holds dear for waiting for the outcomes we know will strike a fear into a civil man.

C: Application of distance to a forgone conclusion.

B: It changes color with the light of your smile. Your lips seem to call to it. The more disagreeable you seem the darker your spirit.

C: A time once past when everything was something and records were a tale of pretentiousness to the belief that everyone has a story to tell and there are ears to accept it.

A: We fear the outcomes that could lead us not to search any longer.

C: A fear held short by our nomadic insightfulness.

B: What were you thinking there? You changed from a blue to an orange, an orange that brought about summer in the eyes of virginal youth.

A: Love neither here nor there.

C: Of another plane in time that won’t work in this alignment of the cosmos.

A: A love to make dreamers forget to sleep.

B: This love brings about a green of renewal on a scorched landscape.

C: Product of a time stolen.

A: Happiness for once and for all.

B: A lush flora.

C: Complacency in a fiction you once believed.

A: The effect of it’s cause; heartbreak.

B: The blackness returns.

C: It starts anew.


A: Why is it so easy for women to just let relationships go?

B: They are heartless creatures, my friend.

A: Is that really what you think?

B: I think maybe that each month a little piece of their compassion slips out with the rest of that junk.

A: So why do you date?

B: I don’t. To put it plainly I fuck around.

A: That’s not what I want.

B: Do whatever is good for you. I choose not to extend a relationship over a week’s time. Here’s the truth they don’t want you to know. No matter the person, you are going to grow tired of each other eventually. Then you are stuck in that position where you have to make it work. That’s not something I look forward to.

A: That just cannot be true.

B: Like I said, do whatever you want to do. Just don’t come crying to me every time you get your heart broken.

A: There has to be that one person out there for each of us.

B: And if you meet that person, good on you. I’m just not going to put forth the effort.

A; Why am I even friends with you?

B: Because you are a sad sack that thinks love will fix all your problems.

A: …

I Just Met You, I Know This is Crazy, Have a Seat, Talk to Me Maybe

A: I’m sorry…do I know you?

B: Ugh, why does everyone think that they know someone?

A: Didn’t mean to offend you, you just look very familiar.

B: You are right. We had sex at the gay bar, gay bar…

A: What?

B: No, we didn’t do that.

A: Are you mentally stable?

B: What kind of question is that?

A: Right now? A pretty logical one.

B: I really don’t know. Have a seat.

A: I think I should be going.

B: You started this.

A: I’m sure you have things to do. Besides, you moved your head to the right a little and from this light I can tell that you are correct, I don’t know you. Have a good day.

B: Why not sit and kill a couple of minutes?

A: Why?

B: You are kind of cute.

A: I have a boyfriend.

B: Who said anything about boyfriends? I just thought it’d be nice to have a chat with an attractive woman. Who says I’m trying to get in your pants.

A: Just the usual expectation.

B: Very confident of yourself.

A: I’m not going to sit here to be verbally abused.

B: Confidence is a good thing. It kept you suspicious of me until I made you feel at ease.

A: Wouldn’t say I feel at ease. Just curious where this is going.

B: Doesn’t have to go anywhere. We can have a glorious chat. Stand up. Go our separate ways. Only have the memory of this as a reminder that it happened. That one day you had one of those what if moments and took it.

A: So what do you want to talk about?

B: How’s your mother these days?

A: You don’t know…she’s fine. Little neurotic but at sixty-two who isn’t.

B: Spend enough time in one body and you have those moments of neuroses.

A: You’ve been in more than one body?

B: No.

A: If you want me to talk to you you have to speak like a human being.

B: How am I speaking?

A: Like someone you saw his family butchered as a child.

B: That’s a very bizarre statement.

A: Just keeping with the times.

B: Not that this has anything to do with how my development into the adult that I am now but, as a child I did see a dead body.

A: Really, like “Stand by Me”.

B: Not at all. I lived in apartments and the man that lived downstairs from me took a trip into the woods that held ground behind us. Took a gun and shot himself. I saw a gathering, thought maybe it was an ice cream social. I was wrong.

A: What did you do?

B: What could I do? Just accepted it and moved on. Didn’t really know the guy so I couldn’t sympathize, I mean yeah, sucked he did that. When the next day came about I just lived my life as if he were still downstairs.

A: So you are the friend of a friend of a friend that knows someone that heard about a boy that saw a dead body.

B: You have it backwards. I’d be the boy that saw the dead body that told someone who told the friend of a friend of your friend.

A: Right. Nothing like that ever happened to me. Had a friend that said she saw an angel.

B: Wings and all.

A: Actually no. Just an old lady on an electric scooter at a grocery store.

B: Like angels do.

A: Exactly. Said she knew it was an angel because she looked away for a second and when she turned back the lady was gone.

B: Could’ve been a ghost.

A: Or an old lady on an electric scooter who forgot she needed her goiter medication and scooted off to get it.

B: Or…it could’ve been an angel.

A: You believe that?

B: Never know. Can’t be proven one way or the other unless you can find the old lady.

A: Probably dead and gone by now.

B: Or, saving souls and picking up a bag of frozen peas all in one stop.

A: Do angels save souls?

B: I thought faith saved your soul. It’s all kind of confusing. I know there is a lot of water involved.

A: I nearly drowned when I got baptized.

B: As a baby?

A: No, found God as a teenager. Thought it would change my life. Put me on the straight and narrow.

B: Did it?

A: It felt good to have the illusion of being loved. But when it really came down to it, when I needed Him most He was never there.

B: Maybe you almost drowning at your baptism was a sign you were going down the wrong path. I put a lot of faith in things happen for a reason.

A: Do you think that things happening are a plan from a spectral being?

B: I think that the decisions that we make lead us to the life we are supposed to live. I don’t believe there are coincidences. Say I didn’t look to the left when you were walking towards me. You can say that all you want because no matter what I would have. Why? Because this is happening. I wouldn’t be explaining why this wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t happening and since it has happened there is no way to make it un-happen? I was supposed to look to the left and you were supposed to ask me if you knew me because that is what we were supposed to do. Just like if you build a time machine to go back in time to save your wife from dying, you can’t because if she doesn’t die you never build the time machine. It’s what you were supposed to do so you can’t change anything that led up to it.

B: You are saying that we were destined to meet.

A: Not saying that at all. I’m saying that we met because we were supposed to. I don’t know why we met or what this is even all about. Could just be a chance encounter to have a conversation with another person. Happens all the time.

A: You are leaving out the one part you are scared to say.

B: I’m not scared to say anything. I’m not going to try and say that we were destined to meet because you are my soul mate or such. Just met you. Don’t know you. One thing I do know is that you have a boyfriend.

A: What if I didn’t?

B: What if the the moon was a pimple on a witches teat? We could what if all night.

A: What if I am your soul mate?

B: What if my anus turns into a microwave?

A: You can’t know for sure.

B: If we did where would the mysteries of life lie? Here’s the thing. I’ve spent too much of my life assuming. I’m trying to live my life day by day and just seeing where it takes me. If I meet someone and fall in love them then I will let it take its course to see if that one is my soul mate. I don’t believe you can know a soul mate from a chance encounter. You have to experience each other first. In all spectrums.

A: Mentally.

B: Sexually. The usual roundabouts.

A: I do believe the saying that if you stop looking for something that is when you will find it.

B: I’m going to stop you here because it seems like you are trying to sell me on the fact that we could be soul mates.

A: I’m doing no such thing. I’m just asking questions to further inquire about your beliefs. Just using us as an example because we are sitting right here. Would you prefer it if I made up…hold up, didn’t you just tell me you are trying to stop assuming things and here you go assuming that I want to pressure you into the asinine belief that we could be soul mates. That’s only punishing yourself. Because you are wrong. Now you feel shitty.

B: Not really.

A: What time is it?

B: Half past something I assume.

A: Really?

B: I don’t know.

A: Well, I have to go pick up my mother from the salon. What do you want to do here?

B: Let’s do this. You want to test our soul mate compatibility. Let’s do nothing. We’ll leave it to the whomever in the cosmos makes these decisions. We see each other again. It could very well be that there’s something here.

A: That sounds good.

B: I guess this is goodbye, maybe.

A: I guess so.

Bored to Tears

A: Productivity was ceased for the day.

B: Copious amounts of electricity were administered to the corpse.

A: There seemed to be a resurrection of life. It was a misconstrued perception.

B: Two of the men were put at ease once the removal process had sally forthed.

A: I assume that the man’s children will miss him come Christmas time.

B: No presents under the tree this year.

A: An irregularity for such a wanton family.

B: His wife being a harlot.

A: Loose lips…

B: Raised many a sailors eyebrow.

A: When she passes her genitalia will receive a twenty one gun salute.

B: Boosted the boys spirits. Participated in winning a war or two.

A: I’ll be working for the ghost until I’m dead.

B: It’s a statistical fact that brotherhood only amounts to five percent of male on male friendships.

A: I don’t see myself acquiring the happiness that we are promised through the glorification of outright blasphametic portrayals of men and women that smile too much.

B: I’ve seen too many cavities to fully respect sugar.

A: You never fully love a mythical creature until it becomes a foreshadowing of unbeknownst promiscuity.

B: How many times have I looked at photographs of blades of grass?

A: I once rode an effeminate donkey towards the beginning of its life.

B: I never portrayed myself as one who accepted the carnal notion of a man’s comb.

A: It appears as though lunch time has ceased.

B: Until tomorrow.