Blog Archives

Femme Fatale

3/23/2011

Yesterday is the perfect time
for knowing
what could have,
should have,
"I would have
Done if I’d had..."
But
Hindsight at present
isn’t clear.

She stands in the door with a glint in her eyes,
And the hint it implies
Stands as a lie
After
Inches grown and drained
Stir the bed
A mess enjoyed
Till
Her husband smells
What’s been going on.

Bullets torn from husband’s cage
Tell of the way
She inked the page,
And who read,
followed along
Played like a tune
Singing her song.
You stutter to remember
Words fail and scare
When what comes
Makes it clear:
Femme fatale.

She owns his mansion,
Queen of the mourning;
Her parties gather
To celebrate
She’s moving past.
But the guest list
Only suggests
Who’ll be there.
Hid under
basement stairs
Waiting...
the gun never lost.
Alone at last
Three a.m.
Though
Some remain,
passed out on floors,
couches, and stairs
But mindless
In blackout glad.
Some see
And think it dreams:
The man with a gun.
The woman, well dressed,
Her black dress red,
and the sound of thunder
Never really waking.

0 Comments

Proof of Evil

3/23/2011

0 Comments

Jaden hushed. He could hear his father in the other room. One of the benefits of a small apartment, he always knew when his father was home. Submerging beneath the covers, Jaden began imagining the rooftop. He started to see an image of the place and himself there; his body felt like it was melting…

            The door exploded open.

            “In here brethren. I give you the devil child,” his father slurred. The man only drank on Sundays, but the sloppy speech remained Jaden’s constant impression of him.

            Caught up in the revelry of his preaching, the father grabbed the boy by an ankle and dragged him out of bed. The solid slam of head to floor snapped Jaden from any sense of the rooftop. Tears of regret mingled with those of pain.

            Towed into the living room, he felt himself hauled roughly into a chair. His father slapped his face to be sure the boy had some consciousness. Smiling crookedly, the man gathered a candle from the pantry and secured it to the coffee table before the chair.

            Sleep took its time leaving the boy’s eyes. He focused in on six forms circling him. Most tried to stay in the shadows. Jaden knew the melodrama of his father. The older man kept most of the lights off to enhance the gloom, the aura of lurking evils. He used the same affect in the chapel.

            An iron vice, many mistook for a determined hand, clamped on the boy’s head, “Now show them.”

            He resisted.

            The vice tightened. The boy felt his skull cracking.

            “Show them yourself.”

            Jaden narrowed his eyes to only witness the wick. Slowly, hindered by the vice, his mind grabbed hold of the thread. Faint sparks ignited, twittered, and a flame burst into life, waxing and waning atop the candle.

            “You see. Do you see children?” His father exclaimed. The hand relaxed atop the boy’s head. The preacher’s voice returned, “Can you deny what I have delivered unto your eyes? The proof. And give thanks.”

            An awed, “Amen,” filled the room. Jaden expanded his view. He saw figures on their knees. Eyes fixed on the candle’s crown, they prayed.

            He wondered how he could never tune his thoughts to the hand crushing his skull.

            What might have been a thankful pat given to a pet, slapped the boy’s head.

            “Give thanks. And thanks you should. For proof of the devil is proof of the divine. There is no Satan without Jehova,” his father sluiced the words passed practiced lips. “I came to you from the wilderness, and not to offer the recitation of written words. I came to show you the truth. Not mine own. The Word.”

            “Hallelujah!” the crowd answered.

            Jaden sealed himself onto the chair. He knew better than to attempt to leave. The wobble in his knee proved a constant, thankful, reminder of such disastrous desires. Instead, he steeled himself for the coming flood of curses. The well meant hexes of the faithful hurled at the daemonic, seemingly in their presence. His father, his owner, cast all known aspersions on the boy’s mother, offering the child up as a freak show attraction. He told of finding the creature in the midst of a burning home and saving it thinking he did the right thing. The father’s reward proved to be the validity which he could offer to those who, like Thomas, needed to feel the nail holes.

            “I don’t feel ashamed of you for doubting. Lucifer has poisoned you too well. But I thank Christ I can wash your eyes clean.”

            The vice returned to insist on further demonstrations. Jaden obliged. The candle flame gushed into a column. Even when the wax melted into a boiling pool, the fire persisted, the second part of the act.

            “That’s enough,” father ordered.

            The boy ignored, knowing his part.

            “I tell you devil. Desist. In the name of the Christ and God the all mighty Father.”

            The flame twitched at the child’s request. ‘Wait for it,’ he thought, ‘It’ll all be over soon.’

            The kneeling congregation began hurtling their own commands, attached to the names of saints and angels. Soon the room was awash in the cries of the faithful attempting to subdue a force of the most vile. The boy did his best to look perturbed by their protestations.

            The hand on his head pumped three times. He knew the cue. The flame plumed into a small mushroom, dying as it flourished. Jaden collapsed forward.

            Hushed silence fell over the room.

            “Is he…” one of the kneeling started but trailed off.

            “No, just peaceful for the time being. This boy is not wholly gone from us. He just needs our love and prayers,” his father spoke with the usual charismatic fervor. Jaden did not smile. He knew how to deny his face expression.

            “Whatever you need,” a voice uttered and others agreed.

            The boy felt himself being lifted.

            “Then let me tuck this one away, and perhaps we can discuss some means of doing our parts.”

            Easing the child back into his bed the father whispered, “You did well son.”

            “I did my best,” Jaden answered, eyes closed anxious for dreams.

            “Yes, you did. I hope I wasn’t too harsh,” the kindness in the voice sounded alien compared to earlier.

            “Never more than is necessary.”

            Smoothing the boy’s hair, the father remarked, “You’ve got your mother’s understanding.”

            “Just don’t ask,” Jaden said, trying to avoid memories of his incinerated mother, an unforeseen complication at his birth.

            “Ask what?” Father said blinking back tears.

            Jaden smiled, “I love you Dad.”

            “I love you too. I only hate myself.”

            “Don’t.”

            “I’ve let them hurt you.” He rubbed the boy’s knee.

            Jaden rolled over, “Not on purpose,” though sometimes he wasn’t sure. Father left without a word, just the click of the door lock.

0 Comments

And You Are Thinking...

3/10/2011

0 Comments

After decreeing an end to state workers collective bargaining rights, Wisconsin politicians have taken the move one step further declaring the new state slogan, “You don’t have to agree just obey.” What seems like a brazen move by power drunk Republican law makers may soon prove itself to be the first step in a larger campaign. Ever since Fox News began reporting on its suspicions -- later verified by objective college drop out Glenn Beck -- that President Obama planned some type of fascist take over of the United States, Republican Strategists have been speculating on why their party hasn‘t made a bold power grab themselves.

While many are quick to point out President Nixon, Bush the Second, and most notably the Patriot Act (which Democrats continue to renew, extend, and never truly stand against), historian/pundit/author/over-all-know-it-all J. G. Alameda suggests, “The party’s {Republican} error under previous presidents involved the idea that a cause was needed prior to asserting greater and greater governmental control. Such as the Reichstag fire, or Kim Il Sung’s proof of divinity, or in this instance, 9-11 & terrorism. However, as recent studies in fascism have proven, good old Stalinistic paranoia is often enough justification. Once in a position to flex a little muscle, it seems that all a leader really has to do is be willing to crush opposition by any means necessary.”

So the real question is: how long till Republican’s begin their Obama inspired flagrant campaign of social enslavement for our own over all well being? The ball may already be rolling.

Recently James O’Keefe -- You may recall Mr. O’Keefe and his organization, Operation Veritas, from his altruistic undercover efforts to expose ACORN by posing as a pimp seeking a loan to open a brothel -- led another group of intrepid tea partiers when they took it upon themselves to set up N.P.R. in a sting of their own clever design. Grass roots secret police like Operation Veritas are already well on the way to making everyone afraid to speak their mind openly, which is the first step towards thought crime (the ability to convict people for thinking outside of prescribed lines). And as J. G. Alameda concurred, “thought crime is the best form of control… makes people afraid to think.” The first step towards such a reality involves enlisting the citizenry to spy on one another and elicit ‘confessions’ by any means necessary.

In this instance, a group of young men posed as the fictional Muslim Action Education Center. After offering five million dollars to N.P.R – N.P.R declined the offer repeatedly but like all good seekers of truth, the Veritas men would not take no for an answer. – O’Keefe’s operatives went on to make comments about their concerns regarding tea parties as well as Zionist interests in the media. Apparently, in order to pose as Muslims, O’Keefe’s bagmen felt the need to make remarks such as, “Jews do kind of control the media or, I mean, certainly the Zionists and people who have the interests in swaying media coverage toward a favorable direction of Israel.” Schiller then foolishly expressed his own opinions, “Muslim voices in our schools and on our air. I mean it’s the same thing we faced when we as a nation didn’t have female voice,” or the more obviously controversial, “The current Republican Party, especially the Tea Party, is fanatically involved in people’s personal lives and very fundamental Christian. I wouldn’t even call it Christian. It’s this weird evangelical movement.”

This ‘confession’ allowed for pressure to be exerted resulting in the resignation of not only Ron Schiller but his boss, Vivian Schiller, an unrelated individual who happened to have his last name and no apparent control over his voice; and somehow seemed to prove that N.P.R. deserved the budget cuts Republicans have been having difficulty pushing through Congress. Thank Christ this video arrived in time to prove the Party’s point.

It remains to be seen what the future may hold. However, in the effort to prevent the Obama take over that has been looming the past three years, Republicans may finally be willing to do whatever it takes to keep America safe for democracy.

0 Comments

ALX

3/1/2011

1 Comment

            Razor blade poontang. The blood clots are forming nicely, but this old hooker won’t be walking home. No sir. She needs a fresh coat of paint and a new plastic pussy. Better to let her stay here in the closet. She can sleep standing up, seen her do it before, and I’ll see her do it again. Bought her in Black March before the Sweeps; one less mouth to feed, according to her owners inspired by me. Spent seventy-eighty on her, felt like I made back twice as much the first hour I owned her. Robots: the only time someone can fuck a nine year old.

            She belonged to a family in Maslow, Tennessee. Never heard of it? Don’t worry. Neither has Tennessee. Maslow is the kind of town that can forget itself, and sometimes it seems to want to, but I’m no judge. I just saw two couples arguing, overheard it was about money, and made the offer to spare them some expenses by alleviating the thinness of their wallets. Seems they needed gas and wanted to get moving as soon as possible. I didn’t blame them, not planning on staying long myself. But it did present an opportunity. Between the two temporarily rocky couples was an ALX-113 (Amalin and Lermin X series - model 113), a standard house unit, perfect for cooking and cleaning, but damnably attractive, if I do say so myself. So it seemed that if the issue was money, and machines eat up more than their fair share… the couples all agreed, after some choice phrases from myself, that it would be for the best to hand the unit over to me and be on their way. I stuffed it in the back of my car and set off down the road, after filling my own tank and purchasing some provisions for the road ahead.

            Back then people still thought major cities might be salvageable. Yet, thanks to my grandfather, I’ve always been able to see storms coming. Metaphorical ones especially. I steered away from Chicago and headed to central Illinois instead. And history being the grand bestower of hindsight dubbed me a genius in the aftermath.

            When the Plague came east it stuck to the main roads. Most of the Midwest got eat up after that, in some form or another. Either the disease took its share or scavengers came like locusts. The Sweeps: great swaths of people pouring to wherever it seemed the Plague hadn’t hit, devouring as they crisscrossed the country. People took everything. I once saw a mob gut a grocery store and not just of food. They took the shelves, every scrap of wire they could rip out, window panes, and light bulbs. Light bulbs? What the fuck was anyone going to do with light bulbs? Power was one of the first things to go after the chaos of… but that’s all a different matter entirely. As most folks know, order got restored and we’ll all catch Hell for the time it took, not to mention the facts that occurred in-between. I’ve no regrets. I did what I had to. That’s what most people can and should say. We survived.

            And when things did get moving again, some of us found there were easier ways to earn a living. Sure, sure, it made sense that most folks got to building things back up again; I built my fair share of houses; and let it never be said I don’t support the law when it’s needed. However, we all wanted to make more than a mouthful at the end of the day. The New America was on the rise, and the only chances a person could miss were the ones he’s afraid to take. A hundred million dead and what’s left normal, even what’s just barely passing, is overjoyed just to be sucking air. Yet, there are still delights some wish satisfied that don’t occur without a hand or two guiding. I had taken intimate advantage of my ALX-113 during the Chaos. It made sense, just plain common sense to sell her out on occasion. In the Chaos it just passed as simple bartering:

            “I need my purifiers fixed.”

            “I’ll do it for an hour.”

            “Fine. But you clean up afterward.”

            “What the hell?”

            “You think I like cleaning spunk?”

            But I’m getting off topic. The world got itself back to order, some liking to think for the best. And opportunities abounded! She never complained. Of course, I rewired the thing the first or second night I turned it on; she kept freaking out about being away from home, I had to calm it down the only way I know how. My Dad used to build the things. Well, not build so much as oversee, that shit’s all mechanized, but you know what I mean. I still remember the first fellow and services I exchanged her for. Todd Fink built me a fence. She walked off, just a flick of the eye my way. Probably checking to make sure he had my okay. I had to go fetch her out of the basement. She just sat there on the bed, naked with his juice dripping off her. He looked plenty pleased when he left. She just stared at me while I cleaned her up. That’s the thing about those ALXs, they got a way of looking at you, full of emotion but still blank. I don’t know. Anyhow, word gets around and I start making exchanges left and right. It’s only a matter of time before I’ve got the second best -- maybe third if you consider O’Halloran’s, which he built himself, skillful fucker. -- house in town. Sometimes we needed goods from travelers, and one of the best things about an ALX is that they look human. Even got a heater inside so the skin feels the right temperature. It was a risk back then, and still is now, but we could scam antibiotics from some folks making them think they were getting time with a real girl. She never looked a day past nineteen. I always figured those Maslow couples had her look that way because it was their age. ALX started to tell me one time there was a story behind it. She didn’t get into much detail before the doorbell rang, Charlie Milk wanting to collect on a grocery bill. I got that weird glance from her and sent him downstairs to fire a load. For some reason she never finished the story.

            I got set up by accident. Army guys came into town, as we were told to expect. And this wasn’t the army people are used to now, no sir. This was every pissed off guy who survived the Chaos and got a license to kill from the Government. Seemed the best way to put people back in line. Some of those warlords who took over the Northwest -- we needed psychos storming Seattle is all I’m saying. Anyhow, these troops are not bad, so long as they can get to “unload” from time to time, and when you have a reputation as a pimp people expect you to be a pimp. Smelling opportunity, because my Pops didn’t raise a fucking ‘tard, I get the town to finance the import of a few new units, some flesh and others obviously mechanical. Hell, you never know a person’s preference. So to keep the soldiers from getting rowdy, I got backed by the town to set up a brothel, no expense of my own save time.

            Started with ALX till there were enough to give her time off. She passed for human too well. You don’t often get a switch hitting whore. And scarcity tended to raise her price. If a fellow thinks he can’t always get his dick in her, he’s willing to pay more to get at her “right fucking now.” But you have to establish routine: “she has working hours, you just have to be here then.” There’s nothing like seeing other guys lusting after a girl you want to make you stop thinking about what’s reasonable. Yes, that fires a few nights every now and again, which is also great for business. “You heard? They got gash at the Emerald people die for. Honestly fucking die for.”

            No matter what though, ALX always makes me a meal at some point. She comes into my office or my bedroom carrying a tray and plants the dishes right near me. When she has the time to put together such epicurean delights is beyond me. But I’m glad to get at them. Sometimes I think it’s a better idea to let her cook for the place than just rent her snatch out. Hell, who am I kidding? I wish I could do both. I told her that once, as a compliment. She just blinked, “Whatever you think is best.” I’m always surprised no one else notices how dead her emotions come across. I guess some people don’t pay as much attention to her as I do. I know she has admirers, regulars, but they fix their sights on one or two parts or intentions and just can’t see. Blinders on as it were. That’s probably a good thing, business being the consideration. She used to smile too much when I bought her anyhow. Even when turning off, she’d wink and say, “Goodnight Harlon.” “Goodnight ALX.” Plug her in and bed down. Fuck all, that generator cost the most back in the day. Keeping a bot juiced during the Chaos always got your neighbors pissed. Everyone has their own priorities. I just wanted to live alone. But the problem with a good hiding spot is that it’s a good hiding spot. Other folks are always looking for it too, and some have the unfortunate sense to find it. The town grew up around us.

            We used to go to bed together, especially in the Winter. It just made sense. Her heater can crank up, keep me warm. But when I opened the Emerald she stayed with me less.

            I caught her kissing a client about a year ago. Scrawny kid named Will Porrin. She said he reminded her of me. So I cut his face up to see how long that lasted. Didn’t last long. Your whore falls in love she’s bound to take off sooner or later. Or else that boyfriend comes in all too often looking for trouble. White knight syndrome: the delusion you are the hero come to save a distressed damsel. So Will Porrin disappeared down a mine shaft. Plenty of coal tunnels in this part of the world. Soak anyone in enough liquor and folks’ll form their own conclusions. ALX got spiteful after that, claimed I went too far. I asked her to smile for me and she flashed this graveyard grin that still makes my spine cold. She stopped sleeping in my bed and took to standing in the closest, close but apart. Fair enough.

            I knew the first time she let me barter with her: people can’t be counted on to do the right thing alone.

            For all my flaws and the bad habits, it was Will Porrin with all his puppy love for ALX that turned her mean. She started using her teeth while sucking pricks like she planned to shave the cock clean off. Her heater got burning especially hot in the crotch, after fucking had started. Clients stopped coming in for her. She wandered the Emerald, a vengeful banshee always ready to intrude. I should have done something then. Hindsight. It can make a man a king or a failure because things aren’t facts till they’re past.

            One of my girls, a human going by Minx, warned me ALX had gotten to making her own modifications. I was planning, sincerely, to look into it, especially since Minx had no idea what kind, only that ALX had been sneaking off at night to get parts from Tom Shanner, the local tech-mechanic. He probably helped, being dumb enough to think it was a good idea for some-whatever reason. A razor blade snatch. Helluva booby trap. The client -- some drifter hawking rusted junk and obsolete circuits -- smashed the fuck out of her face and body with a nearby lamp. He got his cock out, much the worse for wear, and boot heeled the weapon of his destruction. But it can all be fixed.

            I took her back to my room and laid her on the bed.

            “I want to go to Maslow.”

            “You can’t. Not right now.”

            “I’ll walk if I have to.”

            “No, you won’t. Just lie still.”

            “I want to leave.”

            “Lets just have a night to think about it.”

            “No. I want to go home.”

            “Those kids aren’t there anymore. Fuck, they ain’t even kids now.”

            “I don’t care.”

            “Some sense of home then, I suppose. The last place that felt as such. Well, if you honestly feel that way tomorrow, I’ll send you off myself.”

            “Honestly?”

            “Broken face and all. Not a single piece I’ll pay to have fixed. Maybe someone‘ll take pity enough to give you a lift, get you off the road scaring children.”

            “But I could leave.”

            “…”

            “Well?”

            “We all do what we want.”

            “Then I’ll be in the closet.”

            Let her sleep in the closet. Busted whore.

1 Comment

Femme Fatale

Proof of Evil

And You Are Thinking...

ALX

Author

Archives

Categories