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

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

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 blinded

                      Keen
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

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 it
it 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

Trinity at 16 milliseconds, 1945

Thank gawd  a legit yard sale

not one of those stinking estate sales by families

who hire knowledgeable leeches

who evaluate a decedents household

then squeeze its contents for every damn cents they can shake loose

chronically incentivized by their share of the take(smells like robbers)

Keep your grimy hands off it unless you intend to buy it  Cant you read eidget  Fragile

 

or they prefer you place a bid 
then if you anteed up enough cash you could haul your ass back to the house and claim it
 

to be honest

he didnt really know who croaked

but in this exact order  the Bereaved  the Facilitator  the Experts

                                                                                                          they could line up and suck his cock   

the legit yard sale

spawned by downsizing  children leaving  Spring clean-up  or I cant believe we bought all this shit

                                                                             

they hand print in block letters with black permanent ink on colored paper posters
then they rode out from their homes to an established perimeter and stapled them to wooden electrical line posts
or taped to metal street lamps                                                                                                          

and on the inspired rare occasions 

                                                          which snatched his eye right out of his head

they taped them to weathered durable plastic sandwich boards or horses they lifted from highway construction sites from other Counties 

                                                                                                                                                    

their picnic tables bump hips with their neighbors borrowed picnic tables                                                

they have tubular metal folding card tables  painted particleboard bookshelves

old blankets and frayed beach towels scattered on patchy grass or on the dirt at the edge of the drive just beyond the sprawl of blooming jasmine

tiddlywinks tops yoyos pick-up sticks marbles Chinese checkers ball and jacks jigsaw puzzles paddleballs

coaster wagons scooters rusty tricycles

ones junk anothers treasure

garments ponchos coats jackets and sweaters

National Geographics Playboys Boys Life Life magazines books encyclopedias

motel Gideons Bibles dictionaries reference and school books

amassed  and amazing

                                                                                                                  

and then the inevitable --  he couldnt look away if he tried  --  the beat up cardboard box

2 for a five cents

15 for a twenty-five cents

                                           old photographs 

 

some sepia  chipped and crumbling  since prior to the advent of Brownie black and whites

other black and whites  Instamatic coloreds  Polaroids  portraitures  most inhabited by people that nobody at the yard sale knew

not family they insisted(what kind of a family would turn a profit off of unwanted items)

or even how they had the pictures 

he was ever intrigued by them

they were like the used books  bookmarkers inside them  slips of paper written on  lists  drugstore receipts   

they were poems  and poetry  visually telling  suggestive  and tantalizing  confounding

it was curious how the so very mundane evoked wonder  and mystery

 

he didnt own a camera

he didnt like pictures taken of himself  

                                                              Go on  Get in there  Hell no  Give it to me Ill take the shot

it was akin to him not liking the sound of his own voice when it was recorded

That aint me I know its me but I dont sound like that in here to me

and if he had a camera  likely hed find that he would take pictures of inanimate objects    buildings  landmarks  landscapes forests separate trees flowers cacti  lakes and river valleys    

human beings didnt attract him

when he recognised the haphazard box of pictures  off to one side  they always seemed to be out of the way  furtive

away from the quick milling feet hands and arms labored with bags and purses

he held them for last

giving the rest of the Sale a decent chance 

a patience once over

then                                

         when nearly ready to burst

he sought them

he carried an obscure notion he couldnt shake  particularly in light of all the Sales hed been to  in so many states

and easily doubling up in years the states hed visited 

the notion he couldnt shake  disprove  because science wouldnt know either

was an involuntary twitch in his eye

so many  many of the images he found  seemed to be of periods or historical eras that preceded the technologys availability  too copious to have recorded and be so replete  evidencing affairs of people dressed in costumes that were so exquisitely authentic

masterly eyes turned to detail and fabrication  intricate lace  silken hose  elaborate bird feathers  doeskin worked and beaded tunics and pants  bonehandle hatches  horsehaired reins moccasins blankets

greaves  metalworked Omphalos shields  short swords 

 

their atmospheres not foetid

fetes  balls  Inaugurations  Church ceremonies  Celebrations

simple backwood gatherings

his unbelievable notion rattled physics  not that physics couldnt be rattled or shaken like a childs toy

it was yet that new

its toys were yet being fashioned  and fantastically calibrated

it occurred to him that landbound Atomic and Nuclear blasts shattered atoms

their debris  fallout  waft across the planet tainting foodstuffs and infecting basic raw materials for all sorts of use 

perhaps those smashed atoms went places we have no imagination for   Preposterous

and what if the currents were just so that when they were flung out  and into the past  that they didnt see  record

people and places and then return with their shadows that then shaped and sharpened themselves on raw celluloid 

supposedly spoiling spools and rolls

that business interests sold anyways

and when they were developed people didnt take their films because obviously the images werent what they shot    

Who are those people  Do they look like any of my family

I attended a Renaissance fete  Really

Who gathers at maypoles and dances around them

A disemboweled Roman gladiator  A Centurion

A painted Indian in deadly pursuit of a buffalo  trammeled over a cliff  stone knives cutting away flesh

Notions  may be terrible things  if a person isnt dissuaded 

                      

but what if they wanted to be dissuaded but there was no reasonable evidence in place to dissuade them

then what

then   

        they may find themselves stalking a legit yard Sale  looking to poke a hole in their balloon

0910,  Twosday,  28  4. 15

1907,  Wednesday,  29  4. 15

http://www.imaging-resource.com/news/2013/02/26/not-so-secret-atomic-bomb-tests-why-the-photographic-film-industry-knew