What follows is something written long ago, it's actually the same story posted on my website with hefty changes for the purposes of reading aloud. I hadn't looked at it since I read it and I hadn't thought about it. But it was a fairly evocative piece that with a bit more spit could be worth something to my name.
Lastly, and the most important matter to discuss. Every time I see a Suicide Girl prancing around naked in the snow, I am overcome with the desire to add the tag: clitsicle.
But I don't. This is just a shining reminder of how I live my life trapped by my own fears.
* * *
My TV is broken.
I can't sleep.
The fact that my hand is red, my wrists soar from smacking the set, doesn't help.
I haven't slept in two days. Haven't showered in about three.
When I do lay down to sleep the clock's ticks methodically snap into my ear. So I pace.
I'm pacing for the third time tonight. From the mattress to the bathroom. From the bathroom to the mattress.
I sometimes stare into the mirror and notice the gaunt circles under my eyes, a pallid complexion, yellowing teeth.
I brush my teeth. I have brushed them six times tonight. My gums already red and raw.
I scrub my face. The water and soap sting.
When I'm done I see the same. This worries me. So I start to pace.
From the mattress to the bathroom. From the bathroom to the mattress.
I remember having a peaceful night's sleep a week ago. Then I realize that I made that up. I haven't sleep since she left me.
At first I thought she would call. I would find myself constantly staring at the phone. Then picking it up, listening for the dial tone, and then checking for messages. My showers, if taken, are spent in agony for fear the phone will begin its ring. Curtain peeled back, fearful of keeping my head under the water for too long.
I turned the ringer way up and would try calling myself from the hall. It wasn't loud enough so I purchased myself a new phone. The salesman said it would wake the dead. He laughed. I didn't laugh. I don't laugh. Not anymore.
I pace. From the mattress to the bathroom.
I am the shadow of a man. My entire skin stretched over bones and wires. Except my calves. My calves remain strong, veins laying like cords over the muscles.
She did finally call awhile back. She found someone else. She told me she was happy and hoped I was happy. She wanted to meet for coffee. She wanted to see how I was doing. She She She
We met for coffee. We small talked. Then she told me about him. Told me what he did and how he was nice and how he was everything that I'm not.
I told her I felt sick. She told me I didn't look so good. I told her she didn't look so good. She left.
I called later to apologize. Told her - that I wanted to know about him. She said good. She told me about their late night baths together, their early Sunday jogs, and their brunches in bed.
I threw the phone.
She didn't call again.
I started to followed her. I grew fond of it at first. I would track her. Search her out in the most extreme locales. All of this brought me joy. Like I was on a safari.
He saw me. Smarter than her. She called the police. I backed off. That's when it became harder to sleep.
That's when I started to pace. From the mattress to the bathroom. From the bathroom to the mattress.
I met a man that followed people for money. Videotaping them. I asked him what it would take. He told me a number. I said yes.
Each day I would stand at the mailbox. I would wait. Wait for the postman. He started to hate me. I didn't care.
Each tape brought more agony. Each tape reinforced her happiness. Each tape brought me further in debt.
My family suddenly stepped in. They were concerned about my well being. They were worried about my health. We tried to call they said. They saw me that afternoon and then sent me to a doctor.
The doctor saw me and sent me on my merry way. I could play my family's game.
My finances were no longer in my control. But that didn't matter. I sold my things.
The car. My watch. My class ring. My furniture. Everything.
Except the TV, VCR, mattress, and broken phone.
The tapes did not come as often. It was once a week. I would watch them all again while I paced. From the mattress to the bathroom. From the bathroom to the mattress.
I could see they weren't happy. I saw all of their flaws.
Tape 10/14 [1:13:52-1:33:23] He's alone in the house looking at porn.
Tape 10/17 [12:23-15:34] We find him cruelly scolding the dog.
Tape 10/23 [2:34:12-2:54:56] We see them fight before bed; It was that fight. That tempest of hatred between them that brought color back to my cheeks. A color that lasted until the last tape was delivered.
Tape 10/24 [45:23-2:24:58] The lover's quarrel is over and the two are caught in a magnitude of happiness not previously seen on videotape. The putrid moments end with a climax caught on film. The lights on. The shades not drawn.
I kicked my television.
The VCR sold with what little else that I had to purchase my salvation.
It rested faithfully against my stomach, digging into my right hip. It's cold metal energized my skin. As I paced from the mattress to the bathroom. From the bathroom to the mattress.
Tonight I would do it. Tonight was our anniversary. I thought it romantic. Happy anniversary - fuck you!
I stopped pacing. I lowered my body to my knees. I raise the gun to my mouth.
My still, articulate hand made me smile for a moment. Smile around the barrel. I would be w/hole again.
Earlier I made my peace. Earlier I found myself in a chapel. The rays from the sun struck my face through the stain glass. I lit a candle.
I gagged. I had dozed off. Saliva steamed down the barrel.
I drew the hammer back. Took a weak breath. My finger placed pressure on the trigger.
And I had imagined a mess for someone to find days later. An immaculate crime scene for detectives and police officers to stand over. For this story to be recounted by other means, but alas in the gravest of errors I forgot to purchase the transport for my salvation. Its bullets.
The taste of metal and the echo of the hammer fall was all that remained.
Lastly, and the most important matter to discuss. Every time I see a Suicide Girl prancing around naked in the snow, I am overcome with the desire to add the tag: clitsicle.
But I don't. This is just a shining reminder of how I live my life trapped by my own fears.
* * *
My TV is broken.
I can't sleep.
The fact that my hand is red, my wrists soar from smacking the set, doesn't help.
I haven't slept in two days. Haven't showered in about three.
When I do lay down to sleep the clock's ticks methodically snap into my ear. So I pace.
I'm pacing for the third time tonight. From the mattress to the bathroom. From the bathroom to the mattress.
I sometimes stare into the mirror and notice the gaunt circles under my eyes, a pallid complexion, yellowing teeth.
I brush my teeth. I have brushed them six times tonight. My gums already red and raw.
I scrub my face. The water and soap sting.
When I'm done I see the same. This worries me. So I start to pace.
From the mattress to the bathroom. From the bathroom to the mattress.
I remember having a peaceful night's sleep a week ago. Then I realize that I made that up. I haven't sleep since she left me.
At first I thought she would call. I would find myself constantly staring at the phone. Then picking it up, listening for the dial tone, and then checking for messages. My showers, if taken, are spent in agony for fear the phone will begin its ring. Curtain peeled back, fearful of keeping my head under the water for too long.
I turned the ringer way up and would try calling myself from the hall. It wasn't loud enough so I purchased myself a new phone. The salesman said it would wake the dead. He laughed. I didn't laugh. I don't laugh. Not anymore.
I pace. From the mattress to the bathroom.
I am the shadow of a man. My entire skin stretched over bones and wires. Except my calves. My calves remain strong, veins laying like cords over the muscles.
She did finally call awhile back. She found someone else. She told me she was happy and hoped I was happy. She wanted to meet for coffee. She wanted to see how I was doing. She She She
We met for coffee. We small talked. Then she told me about him. Told me what he did and how he was nice and how he was everything that I'm not.
I told her I felt sick. She told me I didn't look so good. I told her she didn't look so good. She left.
I called later to apologize. Told her - that I wanted to know about him. She said good. She told me about their late night baths together, their early Sunday jogs, and their brunches in bed.
I threw the phone.
She didn't call again.
I started to followed her. I grew fond of it at first. I would track her. Search her out in the most extreme locales. All of this brought me joy. Like I was on a safari.
He saw me. Smarter than her. She called the police. I backed off. That's when it became harder to sleep.
That's when I started to pace. From the mattress to the bathroom. From the bathroom to the mattress.
I met a man that followed people for money. Videotaping them. I asked him what it would take. He told me a number. I said yes.
Each day I would stand at the mailbox. I would wait. Wait for the postman. He started to hate me. I didn't care.
Each tape brought more agony. Each tape reinforced her happiness. Each tape brought me further in debt.
My family suddenly stepped in. They were concerned about my well being. They were worried about my health. We tried to call they said. They saw me that afternoon and then sent me to a doctor.
The doctor saw me and sent me on my merry way. I could play my family's game.
My finances were no longer in my control. But that didn't matter. I sold my things.
The car. My watch. My class ring. My furniture. Everything.
Except the TV, VCR, mattress, and broken phone.
The tapes did not come as often. It was once a week. I would watch them all again while I paced. From the mattress to the bathroom. From the bathroom to the mattress.
I could see they weren't happy. I saw all of their flaws.
Tape 10/14 [1:13:52-1:33:23] He's alone in the house looking at porn.
Tape 10/17 [12:23-15:34] We find him cruelly scolding the dog.
Tape 10/23 [2:34:12-2:54:56] We see them fight before bed; It was that fight. That tempest of hatred between them that brought color back to my cheeks. A color that lasted until the last tape was delivered.
Tape 10/24 [45:23-2:24:58] The lover's quarrel is over and the two are caught in a magnitude of happiness not previously seen on videotape. The putrid moments end with a climax caught on film. The lights on. The shades not drawn.
I kicked my television.
The VCR sold with what little else that I had to purchase my salvation.
It rested faithfully against my stomach, digging into my right hip. It's cold metal energized my skin. As I paced from the mattress to the bathroom. From the bathroom to the mattress.
Tonight I would do it. Tonight was our anniversary. I thought it romantic. Happy anniversary - fuck you!
I stopped pacing. I lowered my body to my knees. I raise the gun to my mouth.
My still, articulate hand made me smile for a moment. Smile around the barrel. I would be w/hole again.
Earlier I made my peace. Earlier I found myself in a chapel. The rays from the sun struck my face through the stain glass. I lit a candle.
I gagged. I had dozed off. Saliva steamed down the barrel.
I drew the hammer back. Took a weak breath. My finger placed pressure on the trigger.
And I had imagined a mess for someone to find days later. An immaculate crime scene for detectives and police officers to stand over. For this story to be recounted by other means, but alas in the gravest of errors I forgot to purchase the transport for my salvation. Its bullets.
The taste of metal and the echo of the hammer fall was all that remained.
Come back Spring, we want you to stay for a while!