Life on a black Monday extended as
To kill all the light in the house. Shaking
Out the man’s hands and god’s to hold loose their
Gaze, I find myself balanced on this blind
Woman’s grip of existence. The black and
White echoes of where things might be. Confound
These frozen nights frosted with angry dogs
Barking at the flattened shadow of things
Hidden only in the deep dark rising
Fast from the drunken steam of your own breath.
If there is no god
But God,
Is God an Atheist
Or does he worship himself?
And if God is an Atheist,
Are you prescribed by God
To kill God?
And if you are prescribed to kill God,
Does that make you the adversary?
The detonation of the word
Classified as placeholders,
The empty signifier.
Words are wind, mist, fumes, space,
Emptiness, vacuum, nothingness.
The empty god-creator of language.
Worshiped at the altar of literature.
It Doesn’t Mean What You Think it Means
That word?
The one you said right now?
Yeah, I said it…
I was a child once.
Of course I said it
And more.
Every word that could offend.
And ones I made up.
I visited the depths
And came back.
I know you think I’m thinking it now.
But I’m not.
I came back stronger
With a valuable knowledge.
You see it in my eyes
And you envy it.
That ability for darkness
That makes me a man.
Animation with bloody knuckles
Disfiguring and refiguring
Frame by frame in my mind
His clay face, mud and putty
With heavy hands, I go to work
A story is when you ask someone how was their day. They say that they went to the store and the line was long and some ass decided to pay with a check.
That was a story. There was no buildup. There was no climax. There was no conclusion. They told you their story. It was true. You liked or you didn’t, but you were entertained.
But if you really need it to fit the format of a story. The buildup is that there is a person in front of you. The climax is that they are in front of you. And the conclusion is that there is still a person in front of you. You wanted to hear a story. You were told a story. It was a story.
Fiction stories work the same way. You want to hear a story. You are told a story. Whether or not it fits your expectations of a story. It was a story.
You wanted a story. You got a story. Because it existed, it is true. You liked it or you didn’t. You were entertained. It was a story. Freytag’s triangle can lick my balls. It was a god damned story. Fuck you!
A white daughter, frightened.
Frightened by a seizure.
She killed.
Car accidents.
Acid grown.
Center of bowel bubbling.
Steaming froth rose from her head.
Adult woman,
Whom these things devil away her breath.
Her devil, phantom scented.
A grown woman mustered
On her pitchfork. A heart.
The tool of her finest of false façade.
The woman’s bloody fangs.
The devourer of souls.
Steve walked into the market. The shelves were crammed so close together that Steve had to wait for other customers to leave the aisle before he entered because there was not enough room to pass without knocking the items off the shelves that were crammed full with various items. He walked down one aisle than another before the man behind the counter, Mr. Juang, walked up behind him.
Mr. Juang said, “Can I help you find?”
Just then, two guys in ski masks bust through the door. “Oh shit, where’s the cashier?” He motions with his gun. “Get back there see if you can open the register.”
The other robber goes around the counter and tries a few buttons and things begin to ring up on the register tape. “I don’t know these old style registers.”
Steve put a finger up to his mouth miming a shush, and he grabbed Mr. Jaung by the shoulder and walked to the back of the aisle where they couldn’t be seen. He checked around his waist then took a silent breath. He had forgotten to take his gun with him when he left the office. He said, “I guess I am stuck with you.”
An elderly man came from the refrigerated section in the back. He walked quietly to the door trying not to get the attention of the robbers. But the bells on the door jingled as he tried to open it. The first robber turns and points his gun. “Get the fuck on the ground.” The old man swung open the door and ran, but the robber fired two shots.
The robber behind the counter said, “Why did you shoot?”
“Ain’t nobody getting out of here until we get out money. Check in the back. Check in the cooler. Find the attendant and shoot his ass if he doesn’t give us the money.”
Steve said, “Mr. Juang, do you have a gun in this store.”
Mr. Juang nodded his head. “Under the register.”
Steve said, “I need you to get them out of the front of the store so I can get the gun. Tell them that you have a safe in the office. Lead them into the back. Back to the storage room, whatever. But take your time fumble with the keys, whatever. I need to get to that gun.”
Mr. Juang put his hands up and started walking to the front of the store, and Steve snuck around to another aisle where he wouldn’t be seen. Mr. Juang said, “You don’t shoot.” He nearly froze in place having given up his hiding spot.
The robber by the door stepped back a step and pointed his gun down one aisle then the next. He saw Mr. Juang. “I’ll blow your brains all over this store.” The other robber came out from around the counter with his gun at the ready.
Mr. Juang said, “This my store. You don’t shoot. I give you money. You leave.”
The second robber said, “How do you open this register?”
The first robber said, “No, no, no. The safe.” He motioned Mr. Juang to him with a sweep of his gun. “You are coming out here. You are opening the safe.”
Mr. Juang came walking slowly down the aisle to meet the men. When he came into the front of the store the first robber shoved the gun in his face. “You gonna be the next person to die? I’m itching to kill some more.”
Straining to face the man who was holding the gun under his chin, Mr. Juang said, “You don’t shoot. You follow. You get money. You leave.”
The robber lowered the gun and let Mr. Juang lead them toward the hallway to the bathroom. The robber said, “You get us that money. Then we will decide when we want to leave.”
Steve walked backward slowly watching their reflections blur off the refrigerated case, and he bumped into the last bag of pork skins clipped to a plastic strip hanging from the top shelf of the aisle.
The first robber said, “Who was that? Is there someone else in here?” He hit Mr. Juang with his gun and knocked him to the floor. He turned to the second robber. “Check the aisles. Get that motherfucker. If he don’t come with you, shoot his ass.”
The second robber checked down one aisle then the next. Steve made it down to the front of the aisle and peeked hid head out to look down the next aisle. He saw the robber’s shoe come into view and Steve broke into a sprint knocking cans of tuna off the shelf. The robber launched
himself into the aisle and squeezed off a shot. The robber smashed against the shelf knocking the shelves off the rack and their contents onto the floor.
Steve stumbled and smashed against the display case beside the register shattering the glass all over the reels of lottery scratchers. He propped his hands against the counter and used both his arms and legs to get back to his feet, but he tumbled back to the floor from the pain in his right thigh. He had felt the impact in his leg but the pain didn’t come until he fully understood that he had been shot. There was blood on his leg and pooling below him on the floor. He felt woozy and could see the gray on the outsides of his vision. He scrambled along the ground, grabbed the corner of the counter and pulled, pushed along the ground with his left leg and dragged a streak of blood along with his throbbing right leg. He looked down the aisle in time to see the robber in the back of the store.
Mr. Juang was trying to get to his feet. The robber put the gun to his head and fired a shot spattering blood and bits of bone on the dingy white of the wall. Steve grabbed the far side of Mr. Juangs counter and pulled. The other robber ran out of the aisle where Steve had been shot. He fired a shot through the popcorn maker atop the counter and popcorn spilled out over steve as he pulled himself around the counter. The robber’s foot slipped in the blood on the floor. He stumbled a couple of steps and tripped over the body of the old man that had tried to run out the door. He fired another shot as he fell and smashed his head on the newspaper rack by the door.
Steve pulled himself halfway to his knees and jammed his hand into the slot under the counter. He felt around until he pulled out an old .38 revolver. He popped open the cylinder praying that Mr. Juang had actually thought to load it. Another shot rang out and wood splinters broke out of the counter under the register. Steve dropped to the floor and the bullets bounced out of the cylinder and scattered onto the floor. He could see the room darkening again. He hoped that if he had been shot again he could still function well enough to save his life.
The robber had gotten up. A big gash showed through the eyehole of his mask blood was pouring into his eye and wicking into the cotton knit of the mask. He staggered two steps forward and reached out his hand to stabilize himself against the counter. His hand slipped and his arm draped over the counter just above Steve’s head.
He scooped two of the bullets off the ground and got one into the cylinder. He could see the man’s eyes through the cracked glass of the display case. The blood smearing off the mask and the steam of breath on the glass from the black cotton knit rise over his nose. The man was dazed but still moved his other arm over the counter doing his best to aim it at Steve.
Steve slammed the cylinder shut before he could load the next bulled. He heard the spinning of the chamber. His hand must have slipped. He aimed up through the glass case, thumbed back the hammer, and pulled the trigger. The hammer slammed down on an empty chamber. He thumbed the hammer back again. The cylinder advanced one chamber. He didn’t know how many times he could pull the trigger before the robber was able to finish him off.
Two more shots rang out from the back of the store. The robber looked toward the shots. Steve pulled the trigger again on another empty chamber. He thumbed the hammer back again. The room continued to darken.
Marv walked Susan to the makeshift rooms in the back of the factory. The workers removing the sewing machines had tried their best to remove the metal studs that had held the machines to the concrete, but the floor was pockmarked by holes where the studs had been beaten out of the floor. Susan tripped over one of the studs that had simply been hammered close to the ground because it wouldn’t break loose. Marv held her well enough that she did not fall onto her face, but she did restart the blood flowing in one of the bad scrapes on her knees.
The sound of sex got louder the closer they made it to the shanty town. There was already a line of men coming in from a door in the back. From the way they were dressed they were probably being shuttled in from the docks. Big Nose was not wasting any time or money on his new project. Marv pulled the sheets to one side and laid Susan down on the small palette next to another woman who was trying to cover her eyes from the lights so she could get a little sleep between johns.
After a few hours the line of johns had been shuttled off. Word spread of the bloody woman who had been dumped in the bed next to Chinana while she was trying to get some rest, and some of the women came out of their tents to investigate the new arrival. One woman peaked her head in and saw the mess that had been made of Susan. She said, “Dear lord child. We need to get Rita down here. She used to be a nurse or something. She’ll get you fixed right up.”
A few minutes later, Rita came her tent with a couple rags and some warm water. She said, “Turn, face me. Does it hurt too much?” Susan croaked out a sound her lips were still too swollen to make proper words. “One of the guards had two Aspirin. You’re not allergic, are you?” Susan shook her head lightly. She had to wince against the pain.
Steve was refreshing the day’s coffee. He reached up into the cabinet and grabbed the tin of grounds. It lifted too easily and the grounds made a soft hiss as the remnants slid across the bottom of the tin. He didn’t even bother to open it up. Some ass-hat had used the last without writing it on the dry erase board. Normally, he brought the coffee in from home where he could buy in bulk, but he remembered that he had seen some at Juang’s market two blocks over.
They pulled up to the front door an old sweatshop. Kingston and Marv lifted Susan out of the van, and the driver took it around to park in the back.
This building was a remnant from older days before worker’s rights and fire codes. The old factory was long and thin with pillars here and there holding up the weight or the rest of the building above the tall ceilings. A crew of men were swinging sledgehammers to tear out the old sewing machines where they had been bolted to the floor, and the front of the factory floor nest to the rolling doors of the loading dock was where they were piling the old sewing machines.
The back of the factory had already been cleared out and there was a growing shanty town of mix and match sheets and blankets hung from cables to separate one shanty from another. There was a feted smell on the air, a mix of sex, unwashed bodies, and strong perfume. Several portable toilets set up along one wall and one man had a can of air freshener that he was spraying over his head.
Marv had asked the guys at the front door if they had anything to clean Susan up with, and one of the men came back with a roll of paper towels. He ripped off a long section and handed it to Marv. He wadded it up and wiped what blood he could from Susan’s face. With the swelling and the dried blood she almost didn’t look human.
Susan was walking again on her own legs but she was being kept steady by Marv. He had an arm around her waist and she had her head rested on his shoulder with her arm hooked over his neck. They almost looked like a couple of lovers going for a stroll.
Kingston went over to the water cooler and filled a paper cone with water and poured it over the bite on his arm. He just let the red water fall to the concrete floor. He cussed as he rubbed the wound with his nails trying to wash out any germs he could.
Big Nose Tony sped over with his index finger in the air. He was short and thin and shivered even when it was warm. He tilted up his bifocals to focus on Susan. He said, “What the hell did you do to her?” He looked back and forth between Kingston and Marv. “She’s not gonna be able to work for days. And then they won’t pay full price.”
Kingston dropped the paper cup and took a step forward. He said, “You got a problem with the work we did for you?”
“Yes, I do. Mr. Contadina is going to hear about this.”
Kingston took two more steps forward and slapped him across the face. “Is he gonna hear about this too?” Big Nose took a step back eyes wide with surprise. Kingston stepped forward and slapped the other side of his face with the back of his hand. “You better tell him about this too.” Big Nose raised his hands to cover up his face. Kingston grabbed Big Nose’s arm and yanked it down and slapped him again. Big Nose was pulled forward with his arm and Kingston ended up hitting him in the back of the head. “You’re not gonna tell anyone anything, Tony. You’re not a man.”
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