itd been awhile since he sported a shiner

What   did you do get in a fight

Yah

suddenly theres this vague unease 

a skittishness

and after very little time it becomes a blatant discomfort

he wasnt going to say anything more the ensuing silence the discomfort didnt belong to him 

it wasnt his question he simply answered it

                                                                                   they excused themselves and left

and that was alright with him  

hed be damned if he was going anywhere 

as if he should be ashamed or apologize for having gotten into a fight  nary askd the reason

for the fight

violence has a remarkable way of making other people uncomfortable

coloring the one bearing the bruises as either stubborn  or irrational

Really  what rational person gets into a fistfight

You dont think theres a rationale that precedes a fight  And whoever said it was a fistfight

Theres no need for violence               

he could smell the condescension

None huh  Youve lead a sheltered life  Always at the front of the line to shake hands after a team competition  huh

Theres nothing untoward about that  Its a healthy display of sportsmanship

Excuse me my mistake first in line to shake hands  Youve never been in a fight

I have not

You know I would have preferred you had simply said no then I could have held out that you had though such an admission now wouldnt truss your point

No  I have not

I believe you  You make me worry for young men growing up  You promote passivity  a lack of passion

I think youre wrong to associate violence with passion

I do  Ive had sex that was damn near violent  I think the vernacular is  rough  You havent have you

I dont talk about my sex life

Im not talking about my sex life Im talking about violence and passion  Put simply is there anything you feel passionately about that you would fight for

Id have to think about it

Dont bother  Passion isnt about thinking  Its reaction lust emotion and sometimes if youre lucky you get away with only black eye for your trouble

So you find violence worthwhile  Your violence doesnt impress me

Youre ignorant  My black eye isnt to impress a fuckin soul  I fought to offset odds 

four on two improves on four on one  I take it youd call someone in authority on your cellphone to manage the four on one  And I dare say youd be the first to call it in too

We choose our fights

Please stop youve never chosen   Ever

maybe a conversation would have gone that way

but they excused themselves and left

                                                                                            he wasnt going anywhere

between 1430 and 1500,  Twosday,  27  11. 12

I keep telling me you need a new anvil

You need a new anvil 

--   A new anvil  What the hell I dont even own a ball and peen hammer  What use would 

I have for an anvil

                                          Let alone a new one

I say  Think

Think it over

Think before your bad habit jumps you  --  you open your mouth wag your tongue and havent entertained the thought a single moment  --  and spites you 

Think

A new anvil

--   Ah

A New Anvil

Algrens Anvil

You can  Think

--   Dont be sarcastic  I aint thick 

I dont think you ought to get carried away with yourself just because  on occasion  you get something right

After youve  Thought  about it

first

--   You aint easy to please

Im not here to be pleased

Although I like it when you please yourself

because you rarely do or are happy with yourself

Miserably high standards

for yourself

--   You dont like being me  do ya

Sometimes  I dont like being you

--   Were kinda fuckd arent we

I  Think  were okay

We get along

--   A New Anvil

I  Think 

if not that then something else  something else for you to pound on and get the words out 

however they can be gotten out  because despite what you think  theyre coming and coming 

hot and heavy  and rather than spew erratic or errant 

direct them 

direct them at something effectively 

something

deserving your disgust or angst

--   Shape them with the help of a new anvil

Yes  I keep telling you

0125,  Sunday,  13  1. 13

She was very kind

kind enough to roll over onto her ailing shoulder and pick up her cellphone for him

from the narrow bedstand

and send him a text message . . . she tapped out what he dictated from the words he 

overheard

the words that hung in his ears from that between place of consciousness and 

unconsciousness:

                                                                                                      “Every man

every man was spoken for  except the dead man” . . . words that came into his ears in 

the voice of a unseen crone

he almost stuck around to hear her cackle

                                                                      but the  slick  stained  poured-concrete walls   

the row of yellow cones of light peeping  --  not wanting to see what they lit  --  down from the innards of flyspecked tin shades                                                                                             

                                                                       the row disappeared into a deep darkness 

like phosphorescent spots on the spine of a snake where its ribs conjoined

its smell wretched

                               frightened him to flee

                                                                        Convinced   if he heard it   hed see her

and she  like Medusa or the Erinyes  would fix him in that place  turn him to stone  or 

remedy him

with a horrible violence of which he had no concept 

                                                                                        torture   forced to contemplate

the deliberate pain one wouldnt force another to undergo or bear

but the torture had nothing to do with enduring the wicked blades or dull blunt mauls

the pinchers or coals or roasting fires

                                                                   not the viscous fetid water drowned in 

or seamy oils 

or needles spikes and spines  or crosscut saws

horrified    he started 

certain when his eyes popped open                                                                                                     in the very next moment hed hear the crone  and would not have escaped 

                                                                                                                      and witnessed         

her shadow slither up a sickly wall

but he eluded his unconsciousness                                                                                                     

or it released him

and the scrap it allowed him to bring back were the words written with his tongue

that she was kind enough to record

to remind him

                                                                                                                                   

fear will seek you where you let it

1616,  Saturday,  28  6. 14