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Anais Vionet Oct 2021
Alissa had mentioned that Leonardo invited the cheerleaders to a private after-party at club Erehwon (“Nowhere” backwards). Leigh had an idea. It might be crazy but why should her sister have all the fun? She looked in Alissa’s closet and found some clean cheerleader uniforms. She called an Uber, then slipped into one of the white uniforms.

The Uber dropped her off in front of club Erehwon and the bouncer-sized doorman, noting the uniform, let her in, saying, “Take the second stairs on the left.” At the stairs, another large man unhitched a velvet rope and said, “First turn on the right.” She climbed the stairs to booming music and a pounding heart.

The door was closed - disappointment stirred in her. She’d expected the door to be open - all she wanted was a peek. Her curiosity immobilized her - she’d never seen someone as famous as Leonardo in person. She noticed the little camera above the door then there was a metallic clack as the door was pulled open - she could only gape at Leonardo in the flesh.

What did he see? A young creature caught in the spill of light. Pale blue eyes, a fragile neck, an ill fitting white cheerleader uniform, bagging slightly where there wasn’t enough breast or hip to fill it, white sneakers like hooves below narrow ankles. A gleaming yellow crown of hair wrapped an upturned face. Slender wrists, long fingers. He saw her startle. He saw fear and then something in her gaze flared like bared teeth. Defiance. He didn’t recognize her as a child. He wouldn’t expect to see a child here. He’d been expecting Alissa and radiated a perceptible and impatient hunger.

What did Leigh see? A surprisingly tall man, in dark gray slacks, a black t-shirt and a matching dark gray jacket. A fine gold chain hung from his neck and there was a diamond earring in one ear - blonde hair barbered precisely and a slight stubble of beard framed that familiar face pin-pricked with freckles up close. His complexion was tan but fair and his eyes were deep pools of turquoise. He was flat-out beautiful but looked older than on screen and right now his eye lids seemed heavy and his posture made her think of an alert animal.

She saw him see her, sensing how the sight of her arrested him. “Who are you?” he said. Then Alissa was coming up the stairs, she had on a crimson cheerleader uniform which fit her like her own skin. Leigh slid away, along the wall, and Leonardo followed, getting slightly ahead.

There was laughter and music coming from the room “Where’s Leo?” someone shouted.

She’d been foolish to think she could just observe the party. A silly child, all dressed up.

“Who are you?” he asked again. Helplessly, she looked at Alissa, who appeared to be both angry and trying to squelch the giggles. She couldn’t admit her name - say who she was and why she was here, not when she was dressed up like this and he was looking at her that way. There was no answer.

“She’s just a kid,” Alissa said, taking Leonardo’s arm. “She’s not supposed to be here.” she said, as she glanced at Leigh and twisted her head to signal “GO.” He didn’t shake her off, but he didn’t respond to her touch, either. He was still looking at Leigh. Alissa was looking at her, too, he couldn’t see that Alissa was biting her lip, eyes full of mirth.

Their faces cornered her like hounds surrounding a fox. “Shall we?” Alissa said, after a moment, her voice was rising. He yielded, and started to follow. Leigh pressed back against the wall and turned her face away as he passed, she caught the smell of his cologne and some other fragrance, slightly bitter. She wasn’t used to strange men examining her and her skin seemed to prickle. As he moved away, his step slowed. She knew he was willing her to look up into his face, but she wouldn’t.

“She’s just a kid,” Alissa said again. “Leigh, go home.”
“Leigh,” he repeated.

Still she didn’t look up, not until Leonardo and Alissa had finally closed the door. Leigh darted down the stairs and out of the club. There was a crowd now and what looked like paparazzi - but no one took notice of her as she moved partway down the block and began to pace, and chew a fingernail, while waiting for her Uber.
now for something completely different.
Travis Frank Sep 2016
The wicked candle of cindered vacations
Invites in the aroma of specials shopping
For school stationery, short-sleeve shirts
And books with which to bury boyhood.

Once scattered now reassembled,
All were dressed like occupants of a warm, neat nest,
Not a plume lent to a rebellious rise.
Barbered and beautiful in balm,
All gleamed gorgeously, save for your humble, sprouting speaker.

Naturally averse to clipping claws
And vehemently opposed to malting manes,
I slipped through the scorching Serengeti to school,
Rugged and sharp in every stride,
Intent only on ******* on the porch of prissy pigeons.

Horrified, they weighed up my Transylvanian talons,
Convinced such manifestations hail from heretic or heathen heritage.
Looking at my lumped locks with gentrified gall,
They whispered low squawks, suspecting lice.

Two metallic hand-held instruments housed in pouches and boxes
Brought my feline rebellion to its guillotined end.
Khoisan Oct 2019
Stuck in the devil's turnstiles,
where the patron pays cash
for stilettos and stockings,
mocking fame,
with the right frame,
the yell!!! of the harlot,
queued and barbered
in the dead-end
of the pimps game.
They are conditioned to suffer
they are trapped, judged and jailed
still, they are human in the deep end of wrong choices and there are devils who keep them there
Travis Frank Sep 2018
The wicked candle of cindered vacations
Invites in the aroma of specials shopping
For school stationary, short-sleeve shirts
And books with which to bury boyhood.

Once scattered now reassembled,
All were dressed like occupants of a warm, neat nest,
Not a plume lent to a rebellious rise.
Barbered and beautiful in balm,
All gleamed gorgeously, save for your humble, sprouting speaker.

Naturally averse to clipping claws
And vehemently opposed to malting manes,
I slipped through the scorching Serengeti to school,
Rugged and sharp in every stride,
Intent only on ******* on the porch of prissy pigeons.

Horrified, they weighed up my Transylvanian talons,
Convinced such manifestations hail from heretic or heathen heritage.
Looking at my lumped locks with gentrified gall,
They whispered low squawks, suspecting lice.

Two metallic hand-held instruments housed in pouches and boxes
Brought my feline rebellion to its guillotined end.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2021
don't get me wrong: i like to drink... the moment when you're just about to finish a 70cl bottle of whiskey and you get the cold sweats.... i never like to drink for mere taste... to excess or nowhere... that's why i own two bicycles rather than a car... you can get away with running against a red light at a crossing... but... the love is not so rife as it might be Siberian youth who... might **** their mother for not buying them a bottle of detergent... or some cheap Romanian fakery of: perfumed animals matter... some alias i have: i don't like to keep company when drinking: i either get doubly drunk on conversation: if i'm allowed... or my mood entirely sours... and i'm sort of buying fake mortality with... imagining the contender for companionship dunking digestive biscuits into... hot milk...

i asked for a shot of Jameson and half
a pint of Guinness...
she asked me whether i wanted ol'
McFaferty: Mr Whiskers and Ms Amber
in a glass over some ice...
i said i'd much prefer it in a shot glass...
i needed to make my lips into a pucker...
****... i also ordered half a pint of
Guinness... obviously i was going to wait
at the bar for the Guinness storm to settle
and two clear layers emerge...
ha... i went to university to study chemistry...
but the best chemistry experiment
i did in high-school...
its simplicity: pinching the event horizon
of how: polyethylene is created...
or was it: polyester?
hmm... it didn't smell like an ester might

now i know there's a perfectly sound
scientific explanation...
but i still want to be in awe:
i want to be ignorant...
bluntly put... less Luddite and more:
the rustic bear...
concerning?
how... you have yourself a cold glass of:
paddy does the best whiskey...
sorry Macfarfarferry Pict...

       the Irish blend a more subtle whiskey...
the Scots: ****'s sake...
they went one step further:
smoking salmon was one thing...
inventing golf another...
but... i hate Marmite... i love liquorice...
Laphroaig...
same ****: different cover...
while the:
paddy paddy: you one-arm bandit:
care to lend me your... ******* paddle?!
create the most subtle accents of a whiskey...
sort of shy hues...
nothing... akin to what a handover ****
looks like: concentrated amber trickle...
the Irish don't like their whiskers smoked...
me too... although...
i'm a bargain when it comes to a waggling
tale of a tongue on the topic of hops...
then again: where's the mead?!
it's always funny walking into a supermarket
aisles entitled: spirits...
well... ha... plenty of... ghosts?
like me: from yesterday...
frost instead of stubble... where the Turkish
barber made sure... i'd have to scratch some stubble
off the otherwise pristine line of beard...
i'm veering off even touching *****
because: it reminds me of how the English treat it...
lukewarm... and mixed with orange juice...
sorry... what?!
so not chilled until it resembles a glucose syrup...
and drank straight... usually with a bite from
the Spanish kitchen?
ugh... unbelievable barbarians: these Ing-leashed
when drinking *****...
shouldn't you people settle for warmed up 40% ers
like warm whiskers and Brady: the Bard of:
a load of *******?
lukewarm *****... orange juice...
it's a headache...

so you pour yourself a glass of cold:
i forgot to pick up a glass...
a teacup with have to do...
and... magic... water starts to condescend...
i'm pretty sure i haven't used condescending
words... on the outside of the cup...
have you perhaps noticed...
this has a perfectly scientific explanation:
it can be explained:
but... i don't want this to be explained...
it's my own little cosmos where
i'm entertained...
why would i want to know:
how a magic trick works?
   isn't it... magic: once more?
once it has been explained and is by one:
about to be reinvented with someone
like me...
reinventing alchemy in the culinary
       department...
i don't want the sordid explanation
that might leave me: completely...
sober & diatribe... shouting at a chair:
move! van Gogh! move!
****... this telekinesis isn't working...
pet names for inanimate objects...
i call my bed...
             dreamless jezebel...
what would i call the chair i'm sitting in:
hunched like a crow a pecking
at: even i don't believe he's perusing for...
coal?! it too was thinking: a nugget of gold...
but...
it's not like gold will give you
what coal arrives at...
to prove a "point" of not being the next
to last Nietzsche "incel"...
i went to the brothel and felt happy...
one hour at a time...
just one hour at a time...
it would make sense to tempt the bisexual:
to spread one's ****...
it would make sense...
            i purposively cycle into Soho
to have the impossible happen...
gays want me...
not old queens...
my... contemporaries...
i leave the girls and... they are girls:
on the ferris-wheel...
all glitter no **** of a baby in
prospect...
why wouldn't i take up prospects
of "game" among the gay community?
it's nice to be seen to feel wanted...
even if one is the *******
plumber... sort of speak:
made: available...
but i'm not giving up my **** virginity...
so easily...
not as a moral compass trajectory...
simply...
out the the fact... if i take so much
pleasure emptying my bowels...
******* out a 12" ****...
from time to time: sometimes
**** miracles happen...
why would i want to invent in...
"ingesting" through the same wind-pipe
an agitating presence of a phallus....
or imitation?
water... gripping the outer layer of a
glass of water...
since... there's cold water & ice-cubes
on the inside...
it can be explained by science: FACT!
boring little bothersome reality...
no witch-burning...
everyone so primed and sensible and
almost English... having just invented
cricket... making the Pakistanis feel
they're the ******* Brazilians at some
sport beside fools'-feet: spaghetti twisted...
hey... here's an 11's imitation of
kicking Jupiter about...

while dogs outright bark at alcoholics...
cats... on the receiving end:
perhaps they just: expect them to: crop up...
each day i wake up and i'm reminded
of the banality of life with its lack
of responsibility: however less teased with
homosexual excuses...
but i'm happy to not have a female
counterpart that might... esteem me as nothing
but a hoarder of screws... bolts...
a shoe collection...
i'm happy to be... relieved of the responsibility
to: SPEND...
can you even begin to envision a life where:
trading one set of inanimate objects
for another set of inanimate objects
stops feeling like... this... telekinesis... ought to stop!

sorry... what the **** are we doing?
trickling down a joke
as to how... or why... a monkey deserves to be...
barbered?!
last time i heard: the Taliban was asking
all the right question...

i can see it... almost...
it would feel so great to explore... have a second coming:
first: choosing...
turning bisexual...
but i have so much pleasure from an imitation
tapeworm coming out....
that: i honestly don't feel like...
have to want: to be expected to want...
some erected: wriggly bit...
being... inserted in... for me to:
pretend not to cough...

the concept of the week... the year?
sort of... dissolved over my head
when i tried to incorporate it...
8am seems fanciful... don't you think?

i burn a candle: so as to sit on a windowsill:
in order to... see my fat head being...
found: casting a shadow on a wall...
the end...

       summer is almost over; ergo?
the moon was bound to return to the night sky
over England... well...
Essex: if the rest of England is so inclined to think
so little of Essex...
i think so subsequently less of what's
England: on offer...
petty ******* moralist junk-in-betweens...
one bemoans the placing of Essex:
once...
the rest of England?!
eh... ****** pseudos: sort of English...
sort of Bradford... Rotherham...
your *******: ******... proper... by ****-
prishtine... INGLEASH...
at some point... you might want me to care?

i want to drink and sleep: the gods granting:
i might dream!
so much for miss pretty white girl anti-racist
having one of her anti-racist ***** with
a black guy...
sorry... beside Calypso...
i don't want to **** black girls...
i don't want to be homosexual...
i much prefer the Turkish ol' raven haired...
Ottomans teasing the Caucasian womb...

you tend to "forget": something important...
living on these isles...
the anglo-saxons were a people:
were...
as an anglo-slav:
sorry... distinguish me from the Russian
BRUTE...
the serb & goat...
Islamic sorts can confuse me with
having a face of a German...
i'll allow it...
i like it...
               i lick my wounds:
there aren't any...
my ring finger my pinky are numb...
i can't clench my index to
make a proper fist...
i dream of the Faroe Isles...
           i dream of ice...
i dream of water...
i dream of fire...
no wonder...
i dream of such wants that...
i can't dream of them!
let me eat: fog.

— The End —