as the grrl promised  Jenna  she promised

the French Roast wasnt her favorite so if he wanted to return the cup after he tried it shed be happy to replace it with another brew

--   Though  admittedly  itd be a less dark roast

--   No thank you Jenna  I need a belt in the mouth right about now  Something unappealing 

is the order of the day  As long as it doesnt taste like a mouthful of dogshit 

you and I will be fine

he loved then  the enfeebled expression she hung on her goodnatured freckled face

a shingle advertising 

What am I supposed to say to that

Ah  he took pity on her

her manager stood over her right shoulder by the tall cisterns of brewed coffee

--   I dont think corporate has instructed an appropriate reply for that one kiddo  I am 

confident it wont taste like dogshit  It cant  You have pound bags of it stacked all around 

the shop

he smiled

she burst out laughing  and covering her mouth with her hand

she shouldnt have  her laughing face complimented her bright countenance perfectly

it wasnt his favorite either

but he was trying to rid himself of Beloved  which nearly lingered inside his mouth and 

scorched the length of his optic nerves

a gawdawful teethrotting sweetness he never acquired a taste for

earlier   he randomly grabbed three collections of poetry off a used bookstores shelves   

and more randomly he opened the hardbound books deep into their texts

the lines he read

reading what his eyes fell on

each contained  and relished  Beloved

he  simply  could not tolerate Beloved

he could not tolerate its affectation or realistically squeeze himself to assume the psychological psychic aptitude necessary of how a mouth or mind might harbor it

Beloved

long ago he let that dribble dry to a saccharine white stain spoiling in the dirt  uncovered 

untrammeled like a dog and less a cat

it registered in his eyes

and forewarned his tongue neatly and effortlessly vaulted over it

a blank to be packed by whomever wished to cobble its parcels together

let someone else struggle with it in their mouth

let their tongue dig it out like odd deposits of poor peanut butter

and him  humoured

by the visual gymnastics of it worked behind their alert pensive faces

Yes  Not pleasant

Funny the things in our lives that generate particular kneejerk reactions

the Awws

retches

faintings

he had a workout partner

a really big beefy guy

who went ass-over-teakettle

fell

and broke his nose on a stack of dumbbells

a stitch in his hand he thought had sufficiently healed broke and bled after his lift

he casually wiped it on his tshirt

and at the sight of blood the big ape dropped

Whodathought

certainly not him

his nose didnt heal well

he didnt get it fixed

he fashioned a beautifully creative lie around it

and since they were the only two who really knew the truth of the matter

the lie became the truth

                                                      and hed take that bloody truth to his grave

What the hell

when our lives are manipulated by stories we have to inhabit   
who are we not to allow ourselves the generosity of an occasional welldeveloped muscular fiction

Beloved  .  .  .  fiction

1410,  Friday,  29  8. 14

Bottom Dogs Intro:

                                 “When we think of America, and of her huge success,

we never realize how many failures have gone, and still go to build up that success.

It is not till you live in America, and go a little under the surface, that you begin to see 

how terrible and brutal it is; the mass of failure that nourishes the roots of the gigantic 

tree of dollars. . . ”

                                                              Edward Dahlbergs 1930 novel

he didnt think much of America

why should he

it wasnt thinking much of itself these days

the House had thrown its hands up against the black President

and rather than work as they were elected  ostensibly  to do

they devolved into Maddows “worthless, nonfunctioning, pathetic excuse for a branch of Government”

he hadnt devolved

like many others he lost his job

and though he hadnt worked in years

when you havent 

when you have stood apart  separate  away from it

you begin to observe things you hadnt when you were in it      upclose and personal  

youre better able to hear its belly percolate  a bad stomach   its murmurings

castigations queries and sly malefeasances

you witness its haste and lull  efficiency and lack

you see its exertion exhaustion frustration elation   its blue fulfillment and yellow balks

                                                                                                                     

Now  you recognize its Society  and Dirge

you distinctively hear the nattering and numbing rote 
                                                                                                                                                                      --   The rote!  The rote!

“The horror! The horror!” from Joseph Conrads Heart of Darkness  that he cried over the 

callcenter floor when it seemed there wasnt one among them who would dare go outside 

the box

and join him

he never knew if any of his confident and educated coworkers knew that line                               

a beautiful sublime matter

                                               and if they knew it they either didnt let on or seem to care

they genuflected to what Upstairs deemed was or wasnt extraneous  --  superficial  --   

and because his dink didnt provide traction or a foot up in their course or track of

business  --  non-tangential  --  it wasnt anything the Entity might use in its very 

very serious Game

The rote!  The rote!  seemed profound to him  elegant

he chose it  particularly  to abrade the confine the cloister of their workspace

for Securitys Sake

sealed windows

locked doors

air-conditioning

heating

recirculated air

filthy overhead vents and ill-maintained filters

for the Sake of Security

the doors which held the outside out

were not to be breached  or opened

they wore chained placards like gang jewelry declaring  NO EXIT

though directly above them

electrical lightboxes 
lit orange

that silently and modestly tried to redeem the heavy and glass paned doors  EXIT

Corporate policy doesnt get it both ways and as long as he was there he fought them

  

in the End

   

it was easier for the Company to sellout than fire him

and these many years later looking In and Back from Outside

his confident honest tact comforted him 
 

his utter tactlessness made him smile

2312,  Thursday,  28  8. 14