Keen
it said
the creepy little silverblue spectre
out of the corner of his eye
hed look
itd
be gone
until the next
Keen
its sole word syllable pronunciation on moments in his life
Keen
its sole word syllable pronunciation on moments in his life
Keen
Whasso fuckin keen hed
say trying not to turn his eyes to its
pulsating pale blue glitter at his peripheral
and hed wait
it still there
he thought he could make out its steely sneer
as they played their game of cat and mouse
each knowing as soon as he turn to look
it full on itd flash brightly disintegrate
before he could fix his eyes
then
like a flashbulb gone off a black amoeba went around in his vision
blinding him
and the whole while hearing its
taunt its breathy whisper
Keen
he woke one morning from a
restless night not much sleep had catnapped
he didnt bang his head the day or
evening prior
he made a French Press of
Honduran beans and thought to up his ante on the
day
which he rarely did
have breakfast
which he rarely did
have breakfast
dry toast and three fried eggs
the eggs were double-yolked
Keen
The fuck Wha
a gleaming let in through the
kitchen window
and turning to look his vision was engulfed by a brilliant throb of blue light
and turning to look his vision was engulfed by a brilliant throb of blue light
and blinded
Keen
was again in his ears
was again in his ears
since that weekend morning he had
been inextricably knotted to this thing
and inside a week he blatantly referred
to it aloud as his Monkey
in short order
the few he associated with also learned of the Monkey
the few he associated with also learned of the Monkey
they could afford him little comfort not that he was looking for comfort it was more so because he was making them uncomfortable
he had them looking for it
when he heard the bastard chime Keen
directing them
precisely to where it was
they never saw a thing
not ever
over time they became concerned
he was becoming psychotic dissociative
depersonalising
which made him laugh hardily
Christ you yahoos Think
Hasnt that been my bedrock my
queer shadow at the walls no matter where the light is coming from
But youre audibilising it as an entity
And again
dont inanimate objects usually garner my attention
Ill
deliberately pay attention to them They
continuously steal my attention from you
Yes but you havent called any of them by name
Monkey Aint much of a name
HA Like you give great names Fatty
for your dog Skinny the tree in your yard
Hey This fucking Monkey is around me more than
you are
Keen
Maybe if it were more
communicative
Less
single syllabic
Its maddening
Its shimmering over in a corner at the edge of his vision didnt bother him
he
saw plenty at the edges those margins borders
of his vision of his consciousness
that didnt sweat him
what sweated him was its vigilance
a Fuckin
Peeping Tom
remarkably he was able to hold
his tongue when thinking that
he
didnt show that hand
one morning several months later he caught an angle
a
line on his deliberative Monkey
shaving
its reflection off his shaving
mirror a small circular freestanding
mirror that took more teasing than he did
accused
of as a stupid possession
how
could he possibly make that little thing work
I aint got a big face or jowls
friends chided him he couldnt dress
in it
I got to see myself why
Thats
why I got eyes in my head
I thought
Always gotta somehow make it
tough on yourself or make yourself stand
apart from the rest of us
Hell Im just thinking when things gets tough thats gonna be a helluva lot easier on me
than you
Just thinking ahead a tad bit furthur down the road
Things
havent been getting easier have they
the Monkey crouched in the
bathroom window sill sparkling its blue presence
at the side of his face
coloured
as if off slow moving water
the bait a lure
but he didnt have to take it
the mystery sifted evaporated
It didnt catch him watching It
angled in that cheap worthless mirror
as he was told
worth evidently like beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Monkey MonkeyMonkey
It watched him waiting to
pronounce its Keen
Itd Keened his straight razor
shaving too many times before before he
quit jumping at its word and nicking himself
he hadnt used his styptic pencil
in a long while
blood humored it evidently
but he because its voice never waived never altered its inflection
he expected itit became orthodox
You little fuckin Monkey
apparently they werent going to exchange words this
morning
his Monkey had put him up a syllable
and going up a syllable on the
supernatural was a small victory
he thought supernatural at least might look better than it did
if
that fixture was its face and if its mouth was in its face
its
twist and constriction likely left it to its bleat of Keen
if he were compassionate or sympathetic he might have
felt bad for it
otherwise
he
supposed
he wasnt the only thing not bathing
or dressing before a huge mirror
evening, Day
between two Ts, 29 4. 15
1841, Thursday, 30 4. 15 Ryans boithday
from
a Keen dream
