same thing
After a painful breakup
she would
have her sister over
for some ******* drinking
and nasty chatting

Usually
there would be a little over
ten shots of tequila
with salt and no lemon
that brought along their favorite
story

"When I told you to
lie down on the carpet," her sister
said, "and I brought the
dog over you and ******
him off in
your hair."

"Crazy *****."

"No, it was funny! It was funnier when
dad saw you with
that **** stuck in your hair and
your collar and he
beat up our babysitter's boyfriend who
visited that day. Hahahahaha!"

"Poor ******..."

"Yeah. Him dying in the
hospital put daddy
behind bars, you know?"

"I know."

"And then it was all heaven for us."

"It was?"

"Duh. We were free to
go out with guys then. Mom didn't mind. She
had her own."

"Yeah, I guess
life was
pretty nice to us..."

there's been a collection of
rather
dark thoughts lately

and he was
studying it from the comfort
of his bed

The other day he found a good pillow
in the dumpster
and used it to cover the spot
on the mattress where the
rusty springs emerged
Now the bed was fine again

good enough for
daydreaming

After you've tried out all herbs
and powders
all that's left are the dreams

the daydreams
and the nightdreams
and the nightmares
and the daymares

On another day spent dumpster diving
he'd found a plastic bag
with about six severed hands
They were still cold

some mafia **** was going on
in the city

He took them home
and tried to cook them
hoping to obtain at least some bits of meat

He had no pan and of course no oil
so he impaled them with iron
rods at the writs
and placed them upright in a barrel
he lit up

He sat back watching them
smelling them

Higher on hunger than on the herbs
he'd smoked

And then he'd realized
that they were women's hands
and fantasized about
them springing to life and crawling over
him and doing things to him

It gave him a *******
or perhaps the illusion of one

but regardless
that was a fun night

The closest he came to having females
over. Some who cooked and
fed him after the fun time

He'll remember that night
for the rest of
his life

you know you're depressed when
the window in your room
looks better with the
blinds on
than with a clear view of the outside

"But I'm all right," he said
to himself

Beyond the thin wall
he heard wheezing breath and grunts
and moans. His roommate
was living the college life, alright.

Kid kept saying it is game that gets
you girls and not money or looks. Sure, but
it's easy to say that
when your dad just
casually drops the keys to a brand new BMW
when he visits.

Meanwhile he's been bartending for
the last eight years, since he turned twenty. Maybe
dropping out of college wasn't
the greatest of ideas. Neither
was breaking up
with the only girl who cared for him. He
knew she cared for him because
she wouldn't stop nagging him
to go back to college. Because
she wanted a life
with him. Kids even, and all that.
Well, his answer was no

and three years ago
she said no to life. Perhaps for other reasons, he
wouldn't know now and it was
no longer important. Now it
was his turn to make a choice.
He stood
ambled to the window
opened the blinds
and the window
Watched the city below
Kept watching for the rest of the night
Unblinking
Major decisions were just
not his thing

I cannot recall the best advice
I got from my father
but the best
advice I got from
a man that's not
my father
is to
make friends with loneliness

If you and loneliness are enemies
you'll be lonely

but once you and loneliness are
friends you'll be solitary

The difference between loneliness
and solitude
is the difference
between
the naive kid who thinks one's
happiness depends upon others
and the wise sage who knows that
one's happiness depends
only on
one's self
and one's self alone.

other than
weirded
the **** out
she didn’t know how
to feel about it

so she read the
words again

SO GLAD TO SEE YOU
ALIVE AND FINE,
LOVE!
ALWAYS KNEW MY DAUGHTER
WILL MAKE IT BIG IN
THIS SMALL WORLD.
LOVE,
DADDY

The words were written
with a black marker
on a $100 bill
that someone threw at
her in the
club
while she was
stripping on the pole

Could’ve been a ******
prank
but $100 was a bit
too much to spend
for laughs

She tried to
remember the
faces of all the men
who gathered around
her and howled
as she did her number
but they were
simply too many
and too bland

Later that night
she asked the
management to remove
private lap dances
from her list of
services for a while
and
the request was denied

Well, when you make
it big
in a small world
you either carry the
weight of fame
on your shoulders or
get crushed

At least the
money bought a good
dinner for
her little daughter
and the two cats

there was a dog outside and it kept
barking for some reason
Ah yes, it was chained
and the chain was terribly short
and the poor animal was hungry

Mother wouldn’t bother feeding it
No, mother wanted it
to die
because it had been father’s dog,
inherited along with the
house after father died

Mother forbade feeding the
poor thing

Her child stood next to the window
and listened to the poor
thing barking outside

It was better than listening to
mother drinking and
talking ugly words with her
boyfriends

He opened the
window
and the dog saw him immediately and
barked at him

He wanted to cry
Tried talking to the creature
but it wouldn’t listen. It kept barking

“Mother would cut my hand off
if she caught me
stealing food for you.”

But he was
a smart kid

He leaned over the window
and ****** *******
down his throat and
vomited before the dog

It was just close enough for
the tortured soul
to reach with its tongue
and that’s what it did

and the barking stopped

as usually
not much going on at her place

“Why did you
insist
on coming here?” he
whined

And she watched him with
scrutiny. “What? You don’t like
it?”

He looked around. “To be honest,
your hobby scares me. You
design dolls and
plushy toys for a
living. They even watch us
as we ****. I can’t
stand this place, and don’t know how can you...”

She stood from
the bed
walked over to a pile of plushy toys
dug in for a brown hippo
and reached up its ***
and her hand
returned with a small bottle
of brandy

“****,” he said.

She tossed him the bottle.

He caught it.

“Right,” she said. “Now, why
don’t you
enjoy your treat and keep
some company to
Mr. Big Walrus there in the corner
while I get
back to work. I’ve some
commissions to honor.”

He opened the bottle
smelled it
Nodded at her and
went into the corner of the room
where Mr. Big Walrus
awaited
warm and fuzzy

When you see someone for long
enough you
get used to them
and then you start noticing
patterns in their behavior

he was their
teacher in
creative writing

weird guy in his late thirties
going bald
bespectacled
**** mustache
scrawny body
always wearing dark suits, a bit oversized

He sat at his desk and watched the
students
and the students
watched him

Why does he always do that?
they eventually asked.
Why does he always tap his foot when
talking to some girl
but never when he talks to boys?

He would appoint a female student to present her
homework or some
project
or something
and stand her up
and while she spoke he would stare at her
and tap his foot
and the tapping would begin light
and would grow in intensity

strange guy

tap-tap-tap
ta-rap-tap-tap
went his foot
as the girls talked

"I heard he's divorced," said one of the students.

"Yep," said another. "He is. Has a kid as well."

"****."

"I heard he's also got a brother in prison
for **** or some ****."

and a few weeks later
they were talking about books
related to prison life
and someone said, "You know how
prisoners ******* in full view of guards and
the female prison nurses without getting caught?"

nobody asked how but he went to
say it anyway and he said "They wrap a
string around their *****
and tie the other end to the big
toe of one foot.
All beneath the pants. Nothing shown.
And when the female is close
they stare
and move that foot and the string does
the job..."

tap-tap-tap
ta-rap-tap-tap

Well, I am audacious enough to
call myself
a writer
so I'll say it, I'll introduce him,
my greatest character so far
He doesn't appear in my writings
much, but he does appear often enough,
too often actually, in my thoughts
He appears every time I cross
the living room and glance at the TV
and see a commercial
This character of mine, he wears a black
mask like that of a hangman and
he sneaks behind happy people in
commercials and just before they're
about to open their mouths and
deliver their happy lines he passes
a cord over their heads and violently
strangles them and I see them
thrashing about and chocking and
panicking and the commercials become
bearable once more
Thanks hangman, you are
a beloved character

"He started writing," she
said, talking
about her
father.
"He's an old man now. Had
me when
he was in his
late forties. You'd think
late forties would
be enough to realize
that a man is crazy, but
well, not my mother
I guess. Or perhaps it was
the craziness that
attracted her to him. I'll never
know.
He says that writing is
something you can
do until you drop
dead, unlike
sports where you can only be
truly good when you're
young, in your prime.
Also, he's
one of those artists who
believe that
one must suffer for art. I tried
telling him that's just
plain stupid,
but despite all my efforts he
still sprinkles
razor blades on his bed
when he goes to sleep. He moves
at night
or course
and of course he gets plenty
of cuts. All over his body.
And every time he gets a cut
he stands up,
turns on the light,
and sprays rubbing alcohol on
the cut.
He says it works 100% of
the time.
Instantly he gets inspired,
grabs the muse by
the throat, as he puts it.
There's a laptop on his nightstand,
ever turned on,
and he immediately starts
writing as the
blood seeps out of
the wound. When the inspiration
wains he grabs the bottle
of rubbing alcohol and
sprays some more. There's no
writing without pain, he says. And
of course
all his stories are
about pain and suffering.
He's even got one in which
this old guy
who never did anything worthwhile
in his life
finds himself paralyzed in
his armchair
from the waist down.
How he can't do ****
and just cries
and begs death to take him
already. But he doesn't really
want to go. He knows that all
his life has been lived in vain.
He never made one
soul happy as long
as he lived.
So he gets this idea that if only he can
make one soul happy
before departing forever
he had not lived in vain.
In part two of
the story he
starts cutting pieces of his own
flesh, from the legs
in which he's got no
feeling, and throws them
out the window for
the mongrel dogs and
street cats to feast on. Then he
dies in peace,
knowing that he'd made at least
a few souls happy."

"Did he really write that,"
I asked

"Sure did," she said. "And many
more. He doesn't care
about publishing
though. He just knows that
the world will discover his
art after he'll be gone. I guess
he made his
peace with this."

"****," I said, "listen, could I
read that story myself?
Or any other
of his?"

"Like I said, he won't
share his
writings with an audience. Only
postmortem, he says."

Well, after that evening
every time I met her
I kept asking
about her father.

He was still
alive and
writing

He also got diabetes
from all the
glasses of coca-cola
mixed with
six or seven spoonfuls
of sugar he drank
to replenish his blood,
but that was
all right, apparently it only
made him write better
now that he had more
suffering in his life

he also refuses to see
or be seen
by any doctors
or psychiatrists

Well, I don't want much
from him, only
to know that
he's got a big fan
in this world

and the few survivors who couldn’t
fight
were lined up
along with the civilians
and shot
or killed in ways to entertain the soldiers
And dogs were trained to
tear them to shreds
and the ground became black with
their soaked blood
and over the next few days a carpet of
butterflies gathered on top of it

“It’s beautiful,” he said

She didn’t pay attention. Was too busy
removing golden teeth
from a severed head
she held in her lap. “******, whoever made these
implants did too good a job. I’ve
to take ‘em with gums, alright. Look, my
knife keeps slipping.”

“Stab his eyes please,” he said

“What? Why?”

“Because he’s looking at us. I can’t
stand it.”

“Jeez, you’re such a *****.” She quickly
stabbed the blade into
the head’s eyes one after the other. “Better?”

“Whatever,” he said. “Just hurry up
and pull those teeth.”

“I’m trying. If I had better tools though…”

He was silent for
a long time and then
he cleared his throat and said, “Hey, so… now that this
****** war is over… like, what are you
gonna do with your life?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Get myself a few
gold teeth as extra spoils and
go back home. My mom wants
me to marry this
fat guy from the neighboring village. I probably
will then I’ll **** him out a few
kids and… well, grow old and die, I guess.”

“What? Is that it? That’s all?”

She looked at him with
a grin. “Hey, don’t worry, you’re still
getting some. Just wait until
tonight, okay?”

“******, that’s not what the heck
I meant. I meant… you know, there’s gotta be
more to life than just… just
getting married, making kids, and dying.”

“Really? Well, what are you
gonna do then?”

“I’m… gonna write. About it all. The war
and… everything.”

“Write? Like, a book? A story?”

“Yeah. It’s been my dream
since before the war started. Now I’ve the
experience to write about.”

“******* experience,” she said. “Who in the ****
d’you think will wanna read that?
What’s the story gonna say? How you
killed the enemy? Poisoned their wells? *****
their women and enslaved their children?
Stuck twigs down the **** holes of
prisoners and broke them inside for fun?”

“Hey, I never did any of that.”

“But you were there when the
others did it. And did nothing to stop them.
It counts as--”

“****! Okay, you’re right. Writing a book
about this would be
a terrible idea. Thanks.”

“****, look, I got one. This is solid gold.
Two more to go.”

He sighed. “Listen…”

“Yeah?”

“About that marriage of yours…”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“Well, let’s just say… I mean, you know…”

“******’ spit it out already!”

“Don’t marry that fat guy from
the neighboring village! ****, I said it.”

“Oh? And marry you instead?”

“Well…”

“Y’know, the fat guy from the neighboring village
is the son of a fairly rich butcher. Family
business. And you… Your father’s the
drunk who hung himself to avoid paying
back his debts. You see the conflict here, I hope.”

“So all you care about is money?”

“Why wouldn’t I care about money? I want to
live good, thank you very much. This is
the real world, not some
romantic story. Wake up. I gotta make the
rational decision.”

“I thought we had… something.”

“Yeah, we ****** a few times cuz’ there
was nothing better to do. And we’ll
**** again tonight, sure. But
that don’t mean we’re lovers now. Look, you’re
a nice guy. I’m sure you’ll find
love back at home. You don’t need a *****
like me. I mean, if you think I’m not
gonna ***** other guys
behind my husband’s back, you’re seriously trippin, boy.
So think about it, that could’ve been you. Would
you want that?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Good. Well then, let’s get these teeth
and go have some ale. It’s on me.”

She stood and with her hand
soiled with blood
she reached out and pinched his cheek
and stretched it to force
a smile on his face. “C’mon, cheer up, **** you!
We still have a life ahead of us. Let’s
******’ live it.”

“Yeah… let’s.”

This morning too
it jumped on his bed and
cried and pounced on his
face and licked his forehead

Now he had a reason to wake up
To feed the cat

And he had a reason to
take showers
Because the cat didn't like to
lick a greasy face

He had a reason to go
out and look for work
Because cat food wasn’t free

And he had a reason to come
back home
Because the cat would miss him

He had a reason to live
And it was a tiny reason to live
but it still beat all
the reasons to die

He kept coming back
That was his only skill

Respect is not something you can possibly
be born with. The children of
kings and lords
should know this
but most don't

Though this kid who kept coming back
he was no one's son
A vagabond
His body bony in all places
no meat
under the skin

A skin that had all the colors
from pale to yellow to blue to
crimson to pitch black
*****
scarred
sore
and something that looked
like bone peeking out of tissue

He got beat up every time he came to the
fighting pit behind the tavern

Never won a fight against
those well-fed, bulky sons of farmers
and blacksmiths and butchers
with puffy arms and wide napes

They fought mostly for respect
and the money was a side prize
But the bony boy
came only for the money
and he never got any
But he never begged in the marketplace either

The bony boy had
a pride about him
a pride that never left until the day
he could no longer stand in the fighting pit
after that fatal blow
It wasn't even that much of a strong hit
but his neck was so weak
it snapped

And they gathered in a circle
around him
mute
and stared

stared until their backs felt brushed,
shoved to the side by a pair of
hands weaker even than the bony boy's
Softer

"That's his little sister,"
someone said as they all moved
aside and let her reach the
bony boy,
crying

"So it's her that he fought for
all this time."

"Yes."

"And he kept coming back
every time."

"Yes."

"Insane."

"Wah, respect for the little guy."

"You know what, boys,
I think we should do it.
Give the little girl the prize money."

"Yeah."

"Though this ain't no fantasy land
and no poem.
So, no poem, no poetic justice.
We'll give the girl the prize money alright,
but she'll have to earn it.
Hopefully doing a better job than
her brother."

"Yeah, girl, just like your brother,
come back every time you need money.
Unlike him
you'll get it.
You really will."

"Right, now off with those
rags and let your fight begin.
I'll go first."

there's nothing good on TV
when you're in
a crap mood

"****," he thought. "Nothing's gonna be
good on TV for
the next 18 years. At least."

he sighed
and shifted his position on
the couch

four days till New Year's Eve
and he already
got the greatest
gift one could wish for. A positive
pregnancy test from
his girlfriend

Oh, he was over the
moon
and everybody knew

"Meh, I don't need TV. I'm
the best actor
I've seen..."

Not too many horizons
when you live in a small home
with small windows
and thick blinders
and only face the smoky ceiling
as you sit sprawled on the bed,
bottle in hand, more empty than full,
cigarette between fingers, more ashes
than light.
Work starts only the day after tomorrow
so there is nothing to do now
just like there won't be much to do then

He's not alone in this,
this young man
He thinks now of past lovers
and it's like God delivers a gift all of a sudden

There's a knock on the door
he stands
dizzy
about to *****
and finds his way to the door
opens

Well.
Hell.
It's been... What, a year already?
The woman holds a child in her arms
and tells him it's his.
The same ***** who ran away with the little
money he had about a year ago,
just after they've done it and got wasted on the
same bed he rose from.

Thank you, God
It's, you know, just what the
hell I needed.

the old man stank
but he
stank more
of ***** and cheap
tobacco than
filth

his mouth missed
a lot of
teeth
and his eyes
would never
look
in the same
direction at once

but worst of
all were his hands
Now those were
really messed up

He claimed he had
paint tanks
under his nails
and he wasn’t lying

he was mad
but not a liar

He could paint
wherever he was
on any surface

And he did

pressing the stump
of his fingers
against walls and
furniture
triggered immediate
bleeding

and then he
would trace on and
draw something
Usually a ***** or
some hairy **** or
some silhouettes
******* or
something like that

Then he’d step back
admire his creation
and laugh
and **** at his
****** fingers

Ol’ ****** Brush
was a celebrity
around the
block
He never had
to buy a
drink for
himself
There was always
someone to treat him,
an admirer
a fan, a disciple

Yeah, at 66
Ol’ ****** Brush
was living the life
unlike other wannabe
artists who devoted
their existence to
the craft and got
nowhere

These guys,
they had the talent
and the drive

bout Ol’ ****** Brush,
he had the madness

and the world
was coming to learn
the difference

He was a boxer

Picked up the craft at six
and never put it
down

Unfortunately though
being a good boxer doesn’t
earn you a good job
in today’s society. Best he
could do was bouncer
at a local bar
His IQ wasn’t much help either

He beat up quite a number of
troublemakers
and earned a reputation

became a local celebrity

The women desired him
and got him
and life was good until the one
invincible opponent stepped
into the ring

Well, there are many invincible
opponents in a man’s life
but his was prostate cancer

All the women who wanted to
take pictures with him
and have his autograph on their
chests and wanted to take
him home meant nothing now

One of them was a rich
older lady who
gifted him a car after he served
her a few times in the bedroom

He used it to
drive at full speed into
a pole

And as it happens after someone
dies, the people had only
good words to say
about him

They thought he didn’t leave
much behind
but one of the girls he’d been
with knew better

She rubbed her swollen
belly as she
thought of him. It’ll be fine
as long as her husband wouldn’t
suspect anything

He just wasn’t a bright kid,
mother told the
doctors

“Got his finger stuck in
the bottle
and he panicked and smashed
the bottle against his head.”

Right

Well, it was true that
there were no
other toys for him
around the house. There were
only empty wine
bottles

ever since
daddy left

the last time he went out of
his mind he liked it
so much there
that he never came back

not even after the
alcohol left
his blood

he keeps writing to this day

addresses women with 'sweangel'
a combination of sweet
and angel, I guess

but never spends more
than a matter of weeks
with any of them

some take pity on him
and some morbid curiosity

but no one loves him
truly
only his insanity

what would be the reason
to have an open casket funeral?

Why should the living
see the dead?

He addressed the questions to no one
in particular
but his dead wife answered from the
picture on the wall
"Don't you wanna see me, darling?"

"Not like that, I don't," he said. "That's
why I have your portrait. So I don't
have to look at your
dead body in the casket. But your
mom wouldn't understand..."

"Darling, I think you're the one
who doesn't
understand. And I think it's
time we talk about your therapist."

"What about my therapist?"

"You tell me. You tell me why did she have
to tell you that she's single now
and looking to settle. I thought she
was supposed to
help you cope with the premature death
of your wife, not tell you her
problems."

"Dear, please..."

"And one more thing. I don't like
the medicine she
prescribed you. Have you even read the
label? That ****'s dangerous, you
know?"

He stormed out of
the room and
went straight to the morgue
and told the morticians to seal his
dead wife's lips with glue or
something

They looked at him like he
was crazy

"What is it?" he asked

"Well, sir, to glue the dead's lips
for the open casket ceremony is
just... standard procedure. Else the mouth
opens and it's not a pretty sight. Did
you work with the dead or something?"

He thought a bit
"Yeah," he said. "Something. Something
like that."

he was a doctor

*******, they were looking at
a doctor
He came into the casino in a suit,
the same suit every day and night
dark gray
shiny with grease around the
elbows and lower back
smelly
patched up in places

he kinda forgot what it was like to be
sober

and lately he kinda forgot what
it was like to win at the slot machines

he forgot how to perform surgery
how to diagnose a patient

forgot what the company of a woman felt like

forgot what love was

he was a machine that consumed cheap
but strong alcohol
Rubbing alcohol filtered through bread
That stuff was 70% alcohol
his liver knew it

"Ah, pleaseeee, for the love of God, don't
make me work with this
stuff again," he would scream while
playing at the slot machine

and the bouncer would walk up to him
and say, "Hey, hey, doc. Everything all right, man?"

"Oh, sorry. That was my liver shouting
through my mouth. He's a *****."

They say companies that deliver food
get very suspicious when their
regular customers,
the people who order every day,
stop ordering all of a sudden
They even check on them

Well, we don't deliver food
but we got really concerned when
our favorite doctor stopped
showing up
all of a sudden

Maybe our managers would've checked
up on him but
there was no phone to call
and no door to knock on

Still, one of our boys went to the nearby
park and asked the homeless men around
for our favorite doctor
and the man handed him a
newspaper

****,
it wasn't even on the front page
there was some political **** on the
front page
Nobody gave a **** about that article

The real thing was a few pages
after, not even colored
HOMELESS MAN DIES AFTER TRYING TO
PERFORM SURGERY ON HIMSELF
IN PUBLIC RESTROOM

That was a doctor with guts
Guts pouring out of him
straight into the sink
and another cluster found in the toilet

We framed the article and pasted
it on a board in the back room
of the casino

our very own patron saint

Sadly enough there are philosophers in this world
who have no questions to answer and
nothing to theorize about
All the thought provoking practices
have apparently been consumed, have
been done into extinction, devoured and
digested and shat
It is over
Humanity has no mysteries left
for the mysteries have no humanity
and are therefore heartless and soulless
and a waste of time

There is nothing left to discover
The world is a big play but all the
characters and all the scenes and all the
settings and the interactions have been
discovered as to ultimately rob us of the
sense of journey

Now it's like we just exist here
Perhaps to worship those who existed
before us and discovered all things for us
To stand in their shadow and bask
in the knowing that we will never create a
new poem or a new novel anymore than we
will design a never before seen color

Only that which I have never seen before
might qualify as new, and only to me, for
the concept of new can never be universal

And the more new things I see, the less
new things I see
and the less value they bear
Old people will agree to this
And the rest, they will grow old one day
Tomorrow
When the senses will wear out and the
ear will know that music is made
out by the same
vibration
and the eye will know that
all the colors are the same colors
mixed differently

Ultimately the mind will understand that
all ideas are the same idea told
differently
and heard differently
and passed along differently

And the idea says that happiness
starts with being and ends
with thinking

or perhaps this is only how I think of it
or how you hear it

there have been
too many fights lately

she was a
musician
and she put it as,
“Darling, we need to change
the tune.”

He was a
writer
and he shot her

and then himself

To work at the peak
of the desert heat

The adults told him he’d need
an injection for that
and the man dressed in white
grabbed his arm and lifted it
and stung him with the needle in the shoulder
and injected the serum

It took away all doubt
from his mind
and all weariness from his heart
and limbs

He was ready

“Good boy,” the adults said
and patted him on the back

They gave him an assault riffle,
one he’d held and used
before for practice,
and sent him out of camp
and towards the enemy soldiers

It’ll be fine

People like you die young, she said
You don't drink, don't
do drugs, eat healthy, rarely
go out, rarely meet new girls

But you keep on writing, boy, you
keep on writing
and that's enough to outweigh
all the above

You'll see

The boy sits in a dark room
and wants to write
but he only thinks
and the words still come up
but they are forgotten
and this pains the boy and he
then decides to sleep

but sleep too is
forgotten and he is
left with breathing and
staring into the darkness

The bed is uncomfortable
and the pillow is too high

he takes it from below his head
and holds it against his chest
in a tight embrace that seems
to grow
ever warmer and
more affectionate

his palm starts caressing
the bottom side of the pillow
and his lips start
making pecking motions
against the fabric

and soon enough he grows
hard and his hips
start moving on their
own and he thrusts
into the pillow and thrusts
and the bed starts shaking

"What the hell are you doing?" his
wife asks from besides him.

"I'm writing a poem. Go back
to sleep."

Pink
pink would be the right choice
because the doctor said it will be a girl
He would paint the room pink and await
her coming into the world
What a blessing
How fortunate he felt
His back and sides were tingling with
happiness

He came out of the store and a
homeless woman came his way
and he was quick to say
“Sorry, no spare change right now. I spent
all I had on paint.”

“That’s all right,” said the woman. “I don’t want
your money. Actually, I was hoping you
could give me some
of your paint.”

“My paint?”

“Yeah.” She held a tin can to him

“Um, all right,” he said and opened the
can of paint and poured some into the woman’s
can. “But what do you need paint for?”

She watched him
Put the tin can to her lips
and drank the paint
“Plan Z,” she said

He wanted to say something in protest
but couldn’t even gasp
when he noticed her swollen belly

He walked away and got into the car
and drove home
and just wasn’t as eager to paint that room
anymore

It wasn't looking good at all
the framed picture of Jesus
had cuts all over it
On the face
In the hair
On the hands joined in prayer
And the eyes were crossed out deep
and cut out

why would he
do that?
Why would a five year old do that
to the gift he got from
grandma?
Was the child possessed? Oh, God! Was
the child possessed by the devil?

They took him to church to
find out
and the priest
asked him why did he cut the Jesus
in the framed picture and
the kid said, "I wanted a bike, not a stupid
picture!"

"He is definitely possessed," said the priest
"You'll have to bring him
to church every Thursday and Sunday. And I
will give you further instructions."

Grandma fainted
mother broke down crying

Father got him a bike actually. But mother
and grandma made sure it
won't reach him. Because father left
mother and went
away to live a life of sin with another woman.
All ties had to be cut
with that sinner.
The bike was donated to a foster home where
the nuns pasted a picture of Jesus
on the basket to protect the
rider from accidents
But the first kid who rode it fell off while
climbing a ***** and
the bike slid across the asphalt
leaving deep scratches into the face of Jesus

four jobs in two months

and it wasn't even his
fault. He just
left because they didn't pay him

"Nobody works for
free," he said as he closed the
fridge, the
last can of beer in his hand,
not too cold

"Hey, leave some for me," his
girlfriend said

He threw himself on the couch,
careful to avoid
the spot where
springs poked their rusty
silver heads out

He opened the beer. "I keep
tellin' you I should
just open
my own business."

"Um-hm."

"No really, you know what this
town has in abundance?" He
took a sip

"Poverty?" she said, already stretching
her hand for the can

He handed her the can. "Yeah, poverty.
And poverty means homeless men.
Men nobody gives a **** about. Hell,
everyone wants them to
vanish. I was thinking,
maybe I can cash in on that. I could hunt
them down at night and
use their meat in a fast-food restaurant. It can
pass as pork. Everything passes in
this town.
What do you think?"

She took another sip. Handed
the can back to him. "Yeah. I know
where you can
begin, by the way. Tonight I'll show
you the alley my dad
and uncle sleep in."

He raised the can. "Cheers."

you can’t unlock the door
when there’s a key
inside the lock
from the other side

right,
all you can do now is
to plead with your kid to
let you in

it’s 12:47 AM
and kid’s got school in the morning
He’s not asleep
because there was no one to tell him
to go to sleep
There was no one home all day
and this late into the night
and he’s ******
and very hungry, tired and
full of rage

Where have you been all this
time, mom?

Indeed, where have you been?

Better leave the answer
for tomorrow
when the spirits will sizzle
a bit less

Until then
take off your high heels
and the glitter from your face
and the ***** from your hair
and lie down on the
doormat and
maybe pray yourself to sleep

It’ll get better. One day
you know it will

if I knew I was
going to die
tomorrow
would I spend today
writing more
or
saying goodbye to my loved ones?

hardest choice of my life

maybe I'll write my goodbye
in the form of another poem
to make the best of both worlds

always cold in the north

perhaps coming here
was a
mistake after all
It's not so much the weather as
it is the ever gray sky

It favors depression

Lack of sunlight
lack of vitamin D

He walked his dog around the
block
and counted zero smiles
out of sixty-three faces seen
and passed by

The block was no fun
so he followed the dog into the
back alleys. It
picked up on
some
smell

and the smell grew potent enough
that even he
was beginning to feel it

Not pleasant

He expected a dumpster

But found two dumpsters
and a homeless
old man huddled between
them
Ragged to threads
holding a dead raccoon on his lap
eating from its flesh

raw
and ******

Aw ****, he whispered.
Maybe this place
ain't so bad
after all

It’s been a rough rainy season
and rain always
put father in
the drinking mood

He drank more in this
rainy season than
ever before in his life

Mother’s missing teeth
and broken shoulder
were proof of that

Surprisingly
the old story about falling
down the stairs held up
with the doctors

Well, just like he messed
his wife up
the rainy season messed up
the roof of the house

He downed what was left of a bottle
of ***** and got the
ladder and a few tools
and went out

His son held the ladder for him

He always cursed
plenty when he worked on
something. He was cursing his
wife as he hammered at the
roof and said something
about his son not
being his

and the second best thing
about his fall
was that the son didn’t even have
to shake the ladder, as planned

Father just fell on his own
thanks to the ***** he
drank before climbing up there

The first best thing about
father’s fall was
that he landed on some
screwdriver in his pocket
and got stabbed in the kidney

The pain must’ve been
something to follow him
all the way to the afterlife
as he bled to death
and cried silently

The kid watched him,
watched his watering eyes,
and kicked dust in his face
and went back inside the house

They waited until it was too
late and then
called the emergency number

She told me that women like
men with grizzled,
*******
faces, men with scars
men with eyepatches
men with very unkempt beards
Mouths that snarl
when it’s time to smile
Eyes that are like eggs buried in
a nest of wrinkles
Noses that are never straight
And the jaw,
oh the jaw has to be big
square
like a drawer
A man’s face must have a chin
that can take sledgehammers

that’s why the luckiest woman
in the world
was Belle
from The Beauty and The Beast.
That was a real man, The Beast.
although the story is a tragic one
because in the
end he turns
into a charming prince
with smooth face and polished
features.

“What a *******,” she said. “If only
he stayed a beast…”

Meanwhile I think about
myself
the most grizzly feature about
my face is the mad
eyestrain I developed
because of my job, after staring
at monitors in a dark room for
all those years and then coming home
to stare at another monitor.
it is now impossible for me to get
outside and keep my eyes
open like a normal person. I die if I
don’t strain them as hard as I
can. Sunglasses don’t even help.
and there’s also the dark
circles below my eyes
they’re not even purple as I’ve seen
in other people

“They have the texture of the
skin around the *******,” she said,
laughing.

She was right.

She was also right when she pointed
out that if you can’t grow
a beard by the time you’re
twenty you’ll never grow a proper
beard.

“****,” I said. “Guess I’ll never
be a beast.”

“It’s never too late to get your
face ****** up
though,” she said. “You
just need
to hang around
the right people.”

“Such as your dad?” I said.

“Oh, *******,” she said,
dragging the blanket
over her *******.

Run wild
That was the motto

Of course it didn’t address
running wild
in the streets
and away from angry shopkeepers
and the police
and rival gangs
and betrayed friends

It all starts with a
run from responsibility,
evading reality

“Think you
can live like that?” father had said.
“Go ahead and try. C’mon, not
like you’re of any
use round here. Go!”

He went

and the years have passed and
he was never missed

But tonight he would return
with a couple of
friends
some rope
and a few sharp objects

A dim light was flickering in the kitchen
meaning the old man
would be at the table with a belly
heavy with drink
and a head light with fumes

So not much changed

"Well, let's go."

he opened another beer
and sat on
the couch
but turned off the TV

He watched the kid

The kid was on his knees
before the coffee table
busy with
an orange pencil and a
piece of paper

Tongue poked
to one side and held
firmly between
the lips,
he was writing letters to
the pet dog
he’ll never see
again

And he did that
all day long

Dad sipped at his beer. The
years of action
were far beyond him now
but by all the gods
he swore
tonight will be the
night
he sneaks into his ex-wife’s
home and kidnaps
the dog

He even rented
a van
for it

I was walking home from work
and it started to rain
big, fat drops

I had no umbrella

I ran for a couple of blocks and decided this
won't do
I found shelter
under the awning of some abandoned flower shop

There were bushes and greenery
and weeds all about it
and in the bushes there was a homeless guy
taking a crap

We made eye contact

He said hi

"Hello," I said

"Would you happen to have some
paper in there?" he asked
pointing at my backpack.
I always carry my food in my backpack

He probably thought I was returning from
school or something
and would have some books
or notebooks or something like that

I maintained eye contact
took off my backpack
looked inside
There was a Tupperware casserole in which I had
fried chicken
The only paper I had was an A4 copy of
the contract that stated
I got a raise to my salary

I took it out
and held it to him

he grabbed it
smiled
"My god, thank you so much. You're
a good lad, really. Say, wouldn't you be interested
in a job by some chance? Part-time."

"Where?" I said

"Why, at this here flower shop," he said. "I plan to
reopen in a month's time. Got a new supplier an' all
that. I'll make it worth it."

I thought about it for the time
it took him to wipe his ***
with my contract

"Nah," I said. "I've already got a job. Sorry."

"Oh well, should you ever change your mind,
come here and ask for Santa Flea, okay? That'll be
me by the way."

"All right," I said

When I got home I asked my girlfriend
if she was ready to go out

"To celebrate my raise," I said

"Oh ****," she said. "How much?"

"Just a ****** sum," I said

she ran to the desk
opened the drawer
shuffled around
got the scotch tape
and a ******

Ran towards him and
fell to her knees

She hurried to put
the ****** on,
laughing like a child
knowingly doing something
bad, yet exciting

Then she wrapped the whole thing
in scotch tape
giving it plenty of
sharp ridges and pointy
spots

When it was done she spat on
it a few times
and gave it a few
licks

It was the best way to get
****** while
dealing with a yeast infection

The scratching sensation
on the inside
is simply divine, she
said

you can only see through the keyhole
but you’re never meant to
go through the door

She wrote the words
on a napkin
as she watched
from her lone table
the couple holding hands
and kissing
a few tables away

Then she turned the napkin
on the other side
and wrote

Maybe I should just stop searching
and start writing poetry

followed by
a smiley face
that she copied with her own

Yeah, there were those times
when he talked with
grandma about God
and she told him what a horrible place
hell is

"You suffer every day but can't die."

"Every day?"

"Every day. And can't die. Only
suffer!"

Grandma had four years of
schooling to her life
She didn't consider
the possibility of getting used to
the suffering
If it happens daily and you
don't die... well.

Hell therefore is not pain

It is monotony

Today he had 18 years of schooling
and 10 of working
a dead-end office job
He was accredited to define hell

Hell was monotony

Doing the same thing over
and over
and over again for the rest of
eternity

That was hell

And maybe grandma would've
agreed

maybe not

But there was one thing he remembered
about hell. Something he'd
heard from his mother back in the day
she'd quit chemotherapy to save the
money for his college
"The way out is
one smile away!" she'd said

Yeah. The way out.

He stood

left his cubicle
went into the bathroom
took out the razor blade from his pocket

and slashed from the corners
of his lips
all the way to the ears

deep

And again

There it was. An avalanche of feeling. So
much feeling!

He dipped his fingers into
the blood and
drew a smiling face on the
mirror

One smile away!

He shook with laughter and
adrenaline. There
was so much to feel! He laughed for
a full seven minutes.

And then returned to
his cubicle
and resumed work

The others were too deep in
hell to notice him
or the trail he left behind

A sewage cleaner
that's what the happy man was
but it was not why he was happy

they said his fiance
announced she was pregnant
and she probably was his
fiance because she was pregnant

and she moved in with him
in his bachelor apartment
and were living quite crammed and
she didn't go out much so
they couldn't tell if she was
as happy as him

the reason he was the talk of the office
was the resignation letter he submitted
in the morning
No one even knew his name before that
and no one noticed he was happy
and no one will see him ever again
but they
will remember him
and his
happy face
and will gossip and make
up stories about him


It's there even a doubt? they'll say
That child's not his, man.
Just more proof that women can
get what they want without working
She got pregnant by someone who
didn't want her and found
this fool, moved in with him
and profits. That simple, yeah.

I heard he ***** her while
drunk

He used drugs as well,
I mean, that happy face... uh...

To tell you the truth, she's
mentally ill, the wife to be. That condition...
it makes you think with an eight year old's
mind even though you're an adult.

Retardation?

Yeah, an' you can guess how she got pregnant
with him.

Gods, what a despicable individual. And to think
that we worked in the same place with him.
All this time and had no idea.

Yeah, I heard that she's ******* but not only
Guess what, she's a blood relative of him,
some cousin. I don't know how the hell
but she got in his care and... Look what's
happened now. Crazy.

No, no, guys, seriously now. The devil's not
as dark as y'all point out now. She's not
******* or a blood relative
to him. Just the one
******* with whom the
****** happened
to break. These things happen,
it's nothing to laugh about. Now she pretty
much owns him, I guess.
For the next few months at least.

Surely you mean years
I think she actually scammed him

Yeah, it's a common thing with
'em ******. When they feel like going on
a vacation they get pregnant and sue some
fool for child support and go all semi queens
'n ****.
the ****** doesn't have to break
they just have to keep it afterwards
and put the stuff inside.
So take heed, gentlemen. Always be
flushing your used condoms down
the toilet if you want to avoid
the ultimate misery. Throwing
'em in the trash bin is not enough anymore

Oh, ****, that's hella good advice, man
Wonder why we don't see more of
them used condoms in the sewers we clean

****, that stands to prove that the
world is full of men who don't
raise their own children

How?

You shut up, new guy! Get back to work now.
Jesus, the nerve of this rookie...

the woman smiled at him
and showed her
legs from beneath a
white coat

She was close to his face

Stretched on the label of
the rubbing alcohol bottle

70% alcohol

He liked this woman because her
smile never faded
and she was always inviting

"Oh, if you insist," he said
and made an
effort to push himself away from the
moldy pillow and stand

He grabbed the bottle
added some water
stirred
held his breath
and drank

The words "I love you," came from his mouth
enveloped in thick steam

and there was a brutal
growl in his guts

but none of that
mattered. The woman was still
smiling at him, still
lovely

I am a sidewalk

one upon whom your
feet dragged heavy and
wet and tired

and I wonder where you
are going
and where you're coming
from

I look up constantly and
am tired of soles and legs and
******* and dropped coins
and litter

and indifference

Too many people, too few dogs
and cats and some rats at night

But you are
different. You wear no shoes and
your little feet are cold and
so delicate
and in your wake you are painting
me with a trail of blood

you are not in the mood to
receive compliments, I know. But
I'll say it anyway. You are beautiful

I hope he never catches you

I wish there was
something I could do
about it

In the afterlife the creatures that
gathered around him
asked, “Why did you do it? Why
did you jump in
front of that train?”

He shrugged. “Life wasn’t
worth living anymore. And I wanted
revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“Yes, revenge.”

“On whom?”

“On the man driving the train, obviously.
My wife was divorcing
me, a lawyer, to be with a
locomotive engineer. Can you believe that?
So I had to do
something about it. I jumped in
front of his train
and now he’s got PTSD, depression,
he’s about to lose his job,
my wife has second thoughts
about being with him. His life’s nasty, alright.”

“Woah... you’re a smart man.”

at least the clouds are
smiling back

they have faces and
souls
and they stare back from their
blue canvas,
down on his *****, snot-smeared face

It’s a warm
sunny day
but the
bottom of the shallow, dry well
is cold and full
of critters

Well, no problem. The sky is so
pretty with all its smiling
faces that he
won’t even cry. He’ll stay there
and look up. Still waiting
for mother to return and
pick him up

Still waiting

Smiling back at the clouds

Still waiting

they all gathered around to hear
the little girl sing
and she seemed so happy
about it
she had to cry first
But they wouldn't dare join her in her
cry and instead cheered and
urged her to carry on

Sing

And she opened her mouth
to sing
but her mouth was wrong
in as far as singing went
broken
askew
defective
And she kept on singing
and they smiled brightly and dared
not flinch as she sprayed their
faces with spit

but eventually her mother started crying
and father embraced mother and
guided her red face against his
chest and started crying as well
and buried his red face in her hair

Our daughter is so talented
Oh God, oh dear God, so talented

And they began to pray
silently
and the aunt prayed she won't have
to name the song the little girl was singing
Oh God...

And the little girl went
pffff pfff brrr wa pfff chhh pff
with her swollen tongue between the
deformed lips
and surveyed the crowd and wondered
why her cousin wasn't present

Well, it was his loss
somehow he always got grounded
before her concertos

What an idiot

Some people eat dreams

for
breakfast

and
lunch

and
dinner

and it's not even because
they can't afford food

I liked her dad
He was an interesting guy

preached all day
long
about smartphone
addiction
while his daughter was on her
smartphone, ignoring
him

“A human life,” he was saying.
“Controlled by a piece
of plastic
with lights. A destiny
completely determined by
a machine
designed by corporations to become
god, to claim souls. How
blind, how utterly and
impossibly blind a whole generation
of human beings can be. To
willingly subject
themselves to slavery like
that. Their thumbs
and fingers always tap-tap-tapping
that screen
as if trying to break
their soul free from beyond. But
it never happens. You cannot
break a door
by merely knocking on it...”

“Whatever, dude,” said his daughter
with the phone before
her face

He shook his head and
then looked at me. This time
I too was looking
at my phone.
“I see she has corrupted you too,”
he said. “Shame. I was hoping
it could be
the other way around
just for once.”

I let the phone
down. “Me? Oh no, I was just
checking my e-mail. I've
sent some poems to
a bunch of publishers and
was hoping to
see a reply or something.”

“Hm, and is there any
reply?” he asked

“No,” I said

He nodded. “How about
a beer?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

she hadn’t been his wife
because her religious family would never
allow their sweet treasure
to marry a lowlife like him

But she had been his girlfriend because
she needed to rebel
against her family somehow

But very little of that mattered now
She was no longer among
the living

and it was her own choice

Enforced by two fistfuls of pills
and half a bottle of 65% proof *****

Her family was beginning
to forget her
now
Suicide was something not even Jesus could
forgive

“I’m stronger than Jesus himself then!”
he shouted in the
hand mirror she left behind
at his place. “I forgive you! And I
still love you.”

He smashed the hand mirror against the wall
and knelt amongst the
shards

They watched him from below
with crimson eyes

Eyes that reminded him of hers when she was
crying in his arms,
talking endlessly about her stupid family who
won’t take mental issues like depression
and anxiety seriously. They said
it was but a phase
and she just needed to grow up
and pray some more. Also, her lowlife
boyfriend needed to go

If only that last
rule wouldn’t have been in place…
She would’ve been here now,
he knew

He reached for the
largest shard,
not breaking contact with the crimson eyes,
and stabbed it deep into
the wrist of his left hand

“Haha,” he said, still looking
at the eyes. “Just like when you took
bathroom breaks from the sermon to video-call me. I… still love you, babe…”

Some things can never
be put back together
after they’ve been
taken apart

No matter how much
willpower is involved

One of those things,
she now knew for sure,
was a marriage

Like the one
she was presently fleeing,
flying down the highway
like a fiend or a bat out of hell

Another such thing
could be her right hand
resting severed on the seat
there beside her

Though she wasn’t so
sure about the hand
Maybe if she made it
to the hospital in time?

Maybe