6.4.19


                           joining 4thquarter on a free ride through the valley and wildflowersthrough the solitaire desert anup into the red rocks  my soul advised Time to traipse 

              traipsing
                                              yak when Im back!


1434 aka 234,  Thursday,  4  4. 19

5.4.19


he crossed his fingers that the rain would holdup until he got home

it wasnt long now ten longfifteen minutes 
                                        suddenlywest through rainspattered windows he glimpsed lightning cry disconnected lines jagged broken panestheir quicklight either absorbed or subduedstrangled by towering black dense thunderheads a wall of thunderheads 
                                     awCHRIST he hoped he beat those home
                                                                            the intermittent rain was foreplay  
butthen something  east  drew his eyesdistracted him  marbled yellowamber blushes   occasionally it seemed to him the light they threw was electrical light asif off exploding electrical transformers
                                                                                    one occurred ahead before the black of a ridge several miles away and what he sawhe couldnt have seen  an orangelightedpainted wrist a forearm up to the break inside the elbow thengone  the light snuffed  
Man
     Eyes on the road

eyes on the hills

Eyes on the road

eyes on the hills

  eyes

       tick tock
tick tock

              tick tock
it was making him dizzy

                     then another explosioncloser another painted forearm bicep pec  flashed   gone 
tick tock

tick tock  
           tick tock tick tock ti suddenyellowlighted torso figure  moving westnorthwest scarcelyetched breaking a hilltop  a silhouette    a giant 
                                        giant if he were to believe his eyes  Atlas   Titan   freed of the sky

off the highway a shower of redsparks blacker smoke rising up into the black skyrivulets black ink   the giant  giant  in one step he crossed the four lanesthe median between them  the thunderheads he strove towards were taller  making haste  seemed he was excited by them

the staticky music on the radio was interrupted again civil danger warning if it wasnt an emergency stay inside stay off the roads existing tornado conditions

he hadnt passed a car a car hadnt passed him except for twothree on the other side over ten minutes
almost home

almost home

almost home

no Atlas

                 no more explosions


dancing thunderheads


2220,  Friday,  29  3. 19
1035,  Day-between-Two-Ts,  3  4. 19

4.4.19


huntings no fun when your prey dont run  

                                              wha Run The Jewels rapped in their Legend Has It was “hunting’s no fun when the prey don’t move” their use of “move” was to rhyme with the prior line

he heard it on Ari Melbers political show The Beat it was in reference to a trophy hunter from Illinois who went on safari to kill an African lion and shot it three timeskilling it 
                                                       while the lion slept
not fun


he wanted FUN!  
                 an what would be fun already done on film would be to take the hunter back to Africa on his dime strip him naked then have him run ahead of a clutch of warriors his kind mebbe white wealthy entitled have offended 

in the 60s film the story circa 1880 allowing him to run for his life was called The Lion’s Chance
                                                                                                                          ironichuh


given the Illannoyins karma 
                             it was unlikely to end in his favor 

although terribly entertaining he wouldnt watch the video hed read about it 
                                                                               hed rather watch people fuck than murder


Friday evening,  29  3. 19
1219,  Monday,  1  4. 19

3.4.19




it was a Sunday

on top of another Sunday

on top of another Sunday

on top of anotheran another Sunday an another Sunday an a Sunday SundaySunday yaget the pictureshe got the picture


she took Sundays off from work fortythree weeks agonearing a year so they could have timethey could have time together  time for themselves 

what was  them


this Sunday open again 
                          and what she got  three texts the words werent significantdidnt truly matter  the three texts were comprised of twentyfour words
                                     taggers have done more with less

                                                                        mebbe they had more to say

: : sorry for my silence

: : just been enjoying my silence

1837 hours
          shed been up since 0831 the cats were getting restlessgetting hungry  they employed their not-so-subtle ways

thank god they werent dogs

dogs arent subtle

dogs would die if they didnt have their humanstheir Masters


but cats  theyd find a way
                            theyd kill somethingshe was sure if she died unexpectedly at home her cats would eat her

Jesus her friends said that’s a horrible thing to say!

she laughedcovering her mouth they werent sufficiently intimate Survival isn’t pretty. We’ve gotten too far away from really surviving to recognise that. 



Whadyado to survive?   

2332,  Sunday,  31  3. 19

2.4.19


OhChrist low hangin fru . .oranges  
                                      he couldnt help himself he wasnt proud  it was just too ripe to resist
2146,  Twosday,  two  4. 19


ninepointfive rocked his world ninepointfive rocked his worldninepointfiverocked his  whorl  he was fuckedupblitzed 

he was also upsetoffset putoff 
                                his wife appeared in a dreamshe rarely appeared as herself  an he couldnt saycouldnt see if she was completely herself  her face was her tanned California face that he met in Miami as a teenager although her face was circled with a thick line of white mime makeup 

he didnt remember her hairhe couldnt take his eyes off her face he hadnt seen her looking like that in more than forty years  they couldnt afford a camera  teenage pictures were in her parents albums that her siblings took when her mother died   
             they never got around to sharing the picturesthe albums with her 

her bodynaked was unlike any body she ever had unlike her modesty  naked on a beach beside a stranger a dark man who obviously was enjoying his discomfort an who knew he was safe from him because his wife was appalled by his proclivity to violence she would step in to protect someoneeven someone who verbaly abused her the stranger was a real cunt he smiled You’ll leave him alone, Joe, you hear me; leave him alone and the while the stranger goaded him with his eyesfacial expressions 



so he took a Detour
                     an then another an another a double IPA ninepointfive alcohol 

he was trying to celebrate a benchmark he achieved but she interrupted reminded him  How dare you take that girl into our bed. she glared at him his dreamed wife wouldnt know that their bed was burned in an apartment fire a fire he fought from inside protecting their cats who he threw into a halfbath and closed the door

their bedroom was a loss but he stemmed the redlick there

How dare you take that girl into our bed.

he wasnt going to fight herwasnt going to fight her and her cunt companion


he had been kneeling beside her
                                   as he began to stand she tried to grab him by the arm but her hand slipped from him a fine white sand Miami threw her grip 
                                              he recognised then that she wasnt naked that shed been buried in sand and over her body the cunt had formed an obese naked womans body  the mime makeup sand  
                                                                                                      that sandfashioning made him feel comfortable  comfortable so he could walk awaywalk away from her screaming behind him Our bed! OUR BED!

he was upset her dreamed self came to him angrily he had enough of her anger when she was alive   


in order to leave beach and her accusation he had to pass through a carnival wild animals past an Admission booth

a fat redhead heavily garishly madeup woman sitting behind its bars told him he couldnt enter without paying admission

Im passing through 

It’ll cost you ten dollars to enter.

My ass the violence he left behindunexercised with cunt pantedwas brimming 

Then I’ll have to set someone on you.

Set


halfway through the menageriethe huckstersthe freaks a huge buffalo lumbered towards himtaking an angle that forced him towards a woodplank fence  

behind him a fat man shoved him he needed to use a bathroom  Is this the way to the Men’s room? fatty asked

Beats me

nearly obstructed by the fence the buffalo suddenly wheeledturning his hindquarters on himfatty shoved him from behindthe buffalo kicked he had the strength to negate fattys pushwent up on his toes inertia denied its hoof shot before his thighssmashed the fence recoilingdrawing back its leg inertia caught up with him and shoved himstaggering him past the beasts huge muscular hind end
it rolled an defiant red eye after him
                                     but he made the alley ahead  it narrowed significantlynarrowed to a steel post exit gate  an orangemunchin orangutan squatted there making sure no one reversed field  a placard hung around his neck  When you exit you’re out. the scrawl looked as if the monkey might have made it  menace explicit 

Buhbye big boy

dreamin early Friday morning – no fuckin idea what time,  29  3. 19

1.4.19




he was curious


he was reading the Guardian on-line

he began at Duchamp the pissoir  the article alleged the creation belong to R Mutter alias of Baroness Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven hed never be attracted to a baroness or a woman whose name included every letter in the alphabet he preferred brevity  what did that say about him if he was asked hed say he was simple things that werent simple made peoples heads ache he preferred his head didnt ache and if provokedcornered he wasnt going to talk his way out of it congenially he was going to hurt someonewhoever  he held people accountable for their provocations

he began at Duchamp fled to Artemisia Gentileschi trippedagain over Djuna Barnes Nightwoodreminded him of college  not having his way with his professors junkie daughter was worth an A the professor was going to fail him because he didnt attend classdidnt listen to his lectures – Sorry doc your first lecture bored me to death – yet unimpeachably his papers and test results either garnered As or were among those graded superior in the class stupidly the professor revealed his grades to him personally relishing that his gradeshis achievements wouldnt matter that what mattered was the grade the professor inscribed  

he did earn his A

it was a good thing the professor gave it to him
                                                 because rather it would have been a blatant example of someone provoking him and he would have hurt the professor badly  on par atleast with the torment the professor treated his daughter  She’s a slut, a piece of shit, left to me by her ungrateful cunt of a mother.
                                                                                        Keep it up doc You realise thats too long for an epitaph


doublingback off Djunas he loved that nameits spelling Nightwood to Artemisia he played quietly with Caravaggio ran away with Ruskin and read a review of Siri Hustvedts Memories of the Future  memories of the future  small polished stones someone dropped but were too lazy to pickup who dropped themrefused to pick them up was someone who hadnt bought them who exhibited they had no skin in the game 
                                                                     he resented people who had no skin in the game
Right-to-(very possibly a miserabledestitute life) Lifers  clowns he didnt counterdemonstrate against because his hands would be too close to their throatshis fists too close to their faceshis knee too close to their balls and cunts a woman would tell you that  hurts   too

the concept  Memories of the Future  fascinated him

he tried to get the book through his library

it was only available on-line fuck eBooks    




he poured himself another tumbler of whisky to sip from beside his black coffee he closed his eyes and was awash in future memories past lies contemporary chatteringcodestwistingwords  Yamight wanna stand backgimme a little room Do  not   provoke    me

he liked to poke around in the dark blindly  let his curiosity find what it may he acquired skinned hands and knees  scrapes   wounds  but every scar he wore was worth it 
                                                              they evoked their own memories  and stories


1111,  Sunday,  31 3. 19 – whered quarter of the year go?



Itll be a drag the day I wont be able to look back into your face 


he was talking to himselfhis face in the bathroom mirror

he was washing his hands after using the pot and drying themrehanging the handtowel on the hook beside the doorjamb and in his peripheral vision he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror 

he turned and faced it Wha Can I help you Yagot something to say to meyagot my attention  my attention   Wha  he usually didnt pay attention to his reflectiononly using the mirror while he shaved so he didnt cut his throat with the straight razor his father left him


his Wha hung in the air 
                         no response not unexpected

he flipped the lightswitch off the mirror reflected his dark form  
                                                                  watching it he said Now for the fun Lets see if you turn when I turn on rare occasions it didntit dug its heels in an let him walk off without it Punk

evidently they were dancing tonight  when he turned his reflection turned they went into the hallway together  he could have stopped outside the doorpeeked around the jambsee if his darkened self peeked back  he didnt



Its gonnabe a fucking dragman Ill tell ya  

Yawont be there  

I wont be here  

Maybe yall mutter Adioshuh  Say at least one fuckin word for yourself in your voicenot in mine

  

his brother-in-laws aorta started to unravel 

a team of doctors saved his lifefuckin amazing

for a few weeks prior they had been discussingrather his brother-in-law was holding court  insisting  they were in the fourth quarterhis brother-in-law couldnt resist sports analogies
                                                                 JEEZ he told him Remember one youre three years older two you speak for yourself Youre in the fourth quarter Im at halftime in the tunnel sipping water from a paper cup beside a water cooler watching the cheerleaders flaunt their teamcoloured panties high kicks shake their pompoms booties an tits 

Awright 

Youre fourth quarter an Im choking on my water  one of the cheerleaders forgot her panties



Yup




Itll be a drag





hed grown fond of himself


0050,  Saturday,  30  3. 19
1148,  Saturday,  30  3. 19

31.3.19



Osip Mandelstam 
                    Only in Russia is poetry respected, it gets people killed.

the Warsaw Pole died in a Russian gulag of cold and hunger in 1938  realising the prophesy he scratched on paper

he wrote Stone: 24
                     Leaves scarcely breathing /in the black breeze; /the flickering swallow/draws circles in the dusk.

In my loving/dying heart/a twilight is coming,/a last ray, gently reproaching./

And over the evening forest/the bronze moon climbs to it place./

Why has the music stopped?/

Why is there such silence?


silence



happiness depravity  can be found in the warm folds of silence


where was his drunken Irish college professor to elucidatenot that he was necessary he was a lark informative  he was his favoured client while he sold hashishbedding his skinny blonde hookup (and her dark voluptuous sister who loved givin an gettin it  a slave to her cunt)

skinny said You smell funny . . though it smells familiar.

he tried to remember to wash his face after bedding her sistertho he was reticent he liked to lick his moustacheenjoy her taste again and again  he knew all things in lifeanyones life were transitory
                                                                            an that was pronouncedexaggerated
given the pushher she dealt with

they met once

he thought he was a cunt

he wasnt gonna say No to the price per gram she gave himno fuckin way she didnt see the business end her emotions all caughtup between her legs

he hopedmebbe the cunt might suffer an unfortunate accident

shotgunned in the faceleft floating off Key Biscayne near Nixons place didnt make him unhappy Fuck It was only hash
People died over hash?

good lesson to learn

Fuck greed


Fuck capitalists


1414,  Sunday,  31  3. 19





he was drinking his way through a bad tooth a filling blew up if he went to see a dentist hed have to lay hundreds down


he held a bottle of Jameson
                             his tooth barkedNO he needed something more than Irishsomething closer to home Tennessee  Kentucky  something rawer
                                           he wished his cousin Carolyns husband Gene was still alive he distilled an awesome white lightning  unfortunately Gene slipped and fell backwards into a huge mill saw he was split like a chicken top of his head to his anus  fuckin horrible 

Gene was the familys first cremation crazy Catholics however there was no question that Gene couldnt have an open coffin
         itd looked like a butchers shop



the tooth hurt wailed

he took a lesson from his girlfriend
                                     If you can hang nerves die 

it wasnt like she challenged him 

her Indian background was more animalistic  naturalistic

he was a buffalo his totem  his tooth was a long way from his heart
                                                                          besides
he had issues with human beings big fucking brains always thinking they knew better
                                                                                            besides
cheaper routes to anesthetise existed

cheaper chemicals

less refined chemicals that wouldnt rave in his system 

chemicals he could kickdeny addiction a-dick-tion
                                                    because physicians were inveterate  they piled on the chemical pleasures they were incentivised  First Class Air tickets  out-of-state conferences 5-Star hotels  dinners  liquor  money  money he did say money Better Living Through Chemistry a variant on DuPonts punt  Better Things for Better Living . . Through Chemistry maybe thats where cunt got his capitals it wasnt their lives  they werent painted Day-Glo colours that wasnt true lotsa of collegial malpractise lotsa of homey dosing there wasnt a big difference between street-corner dealers and physicians except docs had coverhad legal pharmaceuticals no gun fights to hold turf
  
                                                                                                     thatd be something
an Old West shoot-out in a glassy Hi-Rise not that docs would shoot-it-out  theyd have gunnersthey werent stupid or gun-savvy

no matter ones colour theres always niggas wanting to handle 12-gauge shoties



maybe he had drank too much
                                   tooth?       he couldnt feel his face

1358,  Reggae Friday,  29  3. 19
Lloyd Banks  Til the End (feat. Nate Dogg)  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7TQKsZo2cGM 
Lloyd Banks  South Side Story  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MLXrGJg-LBQ

30.3.19



the little boy riding a tricycle smiled at him

they were in an enclosed back porch off a doorway that led to a laundry a double deepsink wringer ringer washing machine and a lonely commode

he stood just inside the laundry doorway quickly changing into shorts to use the hot tub situated just outside the back porch 

the boys eyes were uncomfortablehaunted him they were etherealcrystalblue it seemed the child could look into his soul not a shabby advantage

the boy had his mothers eyes hers were translucent greenagate not as direct staring as her sons

for all he knew the boy popped out of her head an Athenian birth 

there was no trace on the boy that wasnt drawn on his mother

his affection for her was undiluted unshared

he didnt know their story

she didnt talk about her and the boy earlier didnt allow conversation to spin in that direction and stymied it if it seemed inevitable she kept things at a long arms length way away from any venture

to ask would be rude he wasnt rude

he moved in next door they neighbours only two months

he was private selfsufficient
                              but he didnt have a hot tub his bathroom overlooked the red cedar tub it provoked him then one dayseeing fresh laundry hanging on lines between a rusting tee post and two apple trees he walked next door and rapped on the front screen

looking through the sunlight on the whispered screen into the livingroom she seemed to materialiseappear smiling  Yes

Hi

Hi.

Im youre next door neighbour

You are. You're very quiet. I trust my boy isnt disturbing you.

Children cant possibly disturb me Im no more than a boy myself Im also the oldest of seven Patience is my middle name Joe Patience 

she laughed her hands remained at her side  she pushed the screen door open with her knee 

she wore a frumpish floral house dressits colours working well with her complexion a longsleeved loose green cardigan over it two buttons buttoned just below where her cleavage was getting interesting her ravenblueblack hair was toppled up into a loose out-of-her-face ponytail 

she was utterly arresting young  Mamma her boy called wheeling into the livingroom on his tricycle it wasnt a tricycle as much as it was a companion a trusty steed a good dog like the straight razor his father gave him that he carried in his backpocket habit comfort  Who’s that man, mamma?

This is Joe Patience, sweetheart.

Joe  Patience?  That's a strange name isn’t it, momma?

Ezekeil. Ezzy. Is that a strange name?
No.

Joe Patience isn’t a strange name. It’s Joe’s name, fortunately for you.

Huh?
Nothing Ezzy. Excuse me, Joe, my name’s Sarai; Joe Patience she extended her hand he took it  they shook he admired her firm grip  he enjoyed its roughness her chaffed working hands

I like your grip, Joe.

I was thinking the same of yours

Thank you.


What can I do for you, Joe? 

reams unpeeled in his skullblinding him  he went with why he visited  Hot tub almost a bark Ive noticed since moving in you have a hot tub

Yes.

Yes  However I havent seen you using it that wasnt gooddidnt come out right

smiling furtively Have you been  watching?  

No  nonah  Can I plead the Fifth No  I got a bum wing while soakin in my tub is awright frankly its boring unimaginative  But a cedar tub out of doors  So ridiculously attractiveso inviting

Its been begging me if you really must know Its implored me to take a chance an rap on your door Ask he smiled Momma may I

Momma may I? she smiled Or ask?

Oh yesyes Ask  Ask if you might be inclinedconsider sharing your tub with me

she smiled widely Share it with you . .
. . No nahnah  no  Not share  with me   not that that isnt an attractive idea I think  No If I could use it That said  Im happy to share

Well, thank you  she smiled
                             her smile erupted into laughter her hands gathered at her breasts they didnt go to her mouth It was here when we came.  I don’t know the first thing about it.

Oh I do Id offset any expense I incurredany difference you realise in your utilities 


Hmm a man about the house. Novel.

Ezzy. What do you think, honey?

Ezzy eyed him saw through him  Joe Patience.  Momma, I think he’s OK.

Done she said she smiled again Day or night. Give me a head’s up, fifteen minutes, it’s yours. If it’s inclimate you’re welcome to change in the house, the back porch, we have a laundry area, just a leap from the tub.

Oh goodness thank you Thank you very much  Youll keep me apprised of any expense I incur

I will.

he extended his hand again  Shake on it

Happy to shake your hand, Joe.  she took his hand



up on the little hill they shared a cul-de-sac she named Prop’r Felix Bee from a film she saw called Cul-de-Sac he used the hot tub the Spring the Summer Fall Winter  winters in California were cool compared to Chicago Montana Alaska Minnesota Spring
                   one summer evening he telephoned to ask Sarai if he could use the tub We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in order.

that was a douse of cold water Disconnected

he set the phone down in the cradle and walked into his bathroom and looked at Sarai and Ezzys house 

it seemed to age overnight

the tub the slats appeared greyed  weakened

he went out the front door and walked down to their house 

the screen was torn the front door behind it closed

he usually came into the house through back porch door

he opened the screen door it cried like a cold tendon

he rapped on the front door  its paint was fadedminute bubbles needed attention but rapping on the door his rap wasnt absorbed by anything opposite the door  the quietude of furnishings upholstery  the quietude of possession

his rap echoed the house sounded empty

Impossible only word to escape him

he went around to the windows and peered inside

vacant

aged

spiderwebs

unkept

You always entered through the back porch

he went around behind the house the tub was illkept Impossible he used it two weeks before he rapped on its door

he didnt hear Ezzy and his trusted steed wheeling towards it JOE!  JOE PATIENCE! Ezzyd cry

his rap echoed
               echoed echoed
Whadafuck
             they would have something to him that they were leavingthey respected one anothers spacetheir privacy
Sarai
       she would have said

he went home




he tried to work for three days but remained distracted

their house seemed to grow oldervisibly every day


he walked down the hill and followed the dirt road into town a rucksack slung over his shoulder for provisions  

entering the post office to check his box he suffered an AHHAmoment the postmaster a forwarding address he didnt know Sarais last name though he had her address

the lobby was empty

he strode up to the empty window and tapped the bell an inelegant service bell motel bell there was a grate before the window obscuring his viewreminding him of the whispering screen he saw Sarai through when they meet 


eventually an elderly manhalfbent hobbled up to the window Can I help yayungman?

Yes please

I live on Boone Road  top of the hill  the cul-de-sac  Prop’r Felix Bee he thought  

Know it. Don’t deliver up there.

No you dont

How can I help?

My neighbours Sarai  her son Ezzy have moved out I was wondering if they left a forwarding address so I could reach them

You’d think she would have told you.

Fuckin correct curmudgeon he thought Yes But they moved suddenlyId seen them two weeks earlier

You live next door? Two weeks earlier?

Yes

Boone?

Yes

You’re the only address on Boone with a PO Box.

I know the houses; I’ve lived here my whole life.

Thought strange you took that place up there. Alone.

Alone

Yes. Those houses belonged to the Fraziers, family property, generations. They killed one another years back. You’re the first tenant in years. Townspeople won't live there. Terribly grim.  No.

Only a stranger would have moved up there.

You’ve been the only one up there for years.


I'm sorry, young man, I don't know what you're talking about.  I can't help you.



Oh sir but you have  Thank you

leaving he tapped the service bell one more time the old man paid no attention it reminded him of the bell on Ezzys tricycle


between 0800 & 0900,  Thursday,  28  3. 19
1220,  Reggae Friday,  29  3. 19

Mya  Real Compared to What (feat. Common) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wqbCfyu45Eo