Its her shark leather wings,
Her barbed hook and rings.
Its her piercing pupils of red.
Shes a valentine stingray, and the opium kings say:
Her spines been slammed firm in my head.
Wrote that a long time ago. Never went anywhere with it. She was the drummer of an all girl rock and roll band. I dont seem to remember the emotion. I remember the names of the emotions involved, I can read the decades old morning pages, I can understand the sexual /emotional angst of the poor kid that was sitting there writing it, but it doesnt really grip me.
That part inside of me that is open to reacting to deeper levels of emotion is inaccessible. Not much could really happen right now to get through it.
As much as I like to psycho-analyze myself, this one has me stumped. I dont know if that part inside me is simply gone? A sick atrophy? Has it slowly dwindled away to nothing? Or has it simply been entombed (in coral?). In a safe? No idea. Its just not there though. Im untouchable now.
Ive been flipping through some of my older books, and just found a story I had completely forgotten about. It's 15 years ago.
The background to the story, which isn't in the story, is the fact that I was waking after 2 days in this place, I'd just spent my rent money on that escape -- nothing but booze, weed and restaurants with her. I just ran out of money.:
Thursday, May 31st, 1990 5:45 pm
Its raining solid, the clouds in the sky are one. Theres no definition between the grey masses. Just a solid concrete sky.
My suit is spotted dark green from where the rain hit.
Im sitting or more or less hiding, in Olivers at the corner of Granville and Davie.
I dont know what to say or how to say it.
What a beautiful day for death.
Ive just left a seedy hotel room on Granvilles XXX strip.
One hour ago, I was laying stripped on an unmade bed tied into a sweaty knot of sheets. The curtains were open, but the windows were all fogged over from the damp heat inside the room. Traffic, peoples voices and echoing wet footsteps were all I could hear over the sound of the water running in the bathroom. Staring up and at nothing, the cherry of my cigarette was getting dangerously close to my fingers. I could feel the heat, but I only looked over at my hand and watched the white grey stream of smoke trail up and ribbon out into the claustrophobic stifle of the air.
What a beautiful day for death.
I could hear a radio playing somewhere. Maybe in the room below, maybe in the room next to the one I was in. it wasnt quite loud enough to understand, it sounded more like the vibrato buzz of flies on a carcass.
What a beautiful day for death.
She called out to me from the bathroom.
Hey, do ya wanna join me in the shower?
I watched a drop of water pull itself down the window pane leaving a thin line of visibility painted grey into the condensation.
I opted not to hear her, and the long ash of my cigarette fell off and landed on the exposed mattress. I was trying to remember what floor this room was on.
Hellooo? Do you wanna join me in the shower?
She was calling out again, and again I didnt respond. I rolled over and dropped what was left of my cigarette into an empty beer can. It hissed briefly, then nothing.
I remained laying in this position with my arm hanging over the side of the bed, legs still entwined in the damp twist of sheets. I thought it would make a good Polaroid in some cops homicide folder.
I could hear the water splashing down into hot puddles on the floor tiles in the shower, and turning my eyes up towards the bathroom, I watched the steam ghosts rolling out around the partially open door. My skin began to feel like greased clay in the now even muggier heat of the room.
What a beautiful day for death.
I began thinking again about where I was going to go after this meeting came to an end. I rolled onto my back, and the sheets rolled with me. A quiet sigh came from somewhere inside me.
Shhhhh said the traffic outside.
The water from the shower stopped splashing and the room seemed to die. The flies buzzing grew louder.
Looking toward the window again, six or seven tears of condensation were flowing freely down the glass. The drops of rain on the other side tapped incessantly against the pane. I sat up on the bed and wiped a sticky hand across the dew. The glass was refreshingly cold. I pressed my forehead against it and watched the morbid faces of the people walking by in the street 2 floors below.
What a beautiful day for death.
I heard rustling behind me, and Carmen knelt down on the bed behind me. The mattress pulsed as she walked closer to me on her knees. She pressed the hot skin of her breasts against my back, and wrapped her arms around me.
I didnt respond.
You OK?
Her lips were brushing my ear, and even though I didnt want to respond, I didnt want to be rude.
yeah, Im fine. Just tired.
Who knows if she believes me, I didnt even really care. But she tightened her arms around me and kissed my ear lightly. Surprisingly, it made me feel better; safe.
I closed my eyes, shutting off the view of the procession below. In the black of my view, I ran my hands along her arms, and held them tighter against me. I squeezed my eyelids tight, and somebody turned off the radio.
What a beautiful day for death.
The words seemed to come from somewhere other than my mouth. They were whispered in a barely audible cotton monotone. I dont know if she understood what I meant, but everything seemed to freeze. We stayed in the same position, not moving, not talking, me half sitting up on the bed with my eyes pressed shut, her clean body pressed hot against my back, her arms wrapped around me, and my arms on hers.
We remained together like this for dead time.
I dont think she knew how to respond to what Id just said, but after our silence, I think she somehow picked up on my hidden thoughts.
its ok
I opened my eyes again and the porthole I had smeared on the window had been covered with new condensation. Grey again, framed by the outline of my fingers.
She leaned her body back, and I could feel her skin peel away from mine like the backing of a bandage. She pulled on me with her body weight and I let my body fall backwards and settle on top of hers. Staring up at the ceiling, my sight began to blur. My eyes began to fill, but I didnt know why.
I know I said.
Again, the words didnt seem to be mine, I blinked once, and forced the tears out the corners of my eyes. They slowly drew wet down my temples, and stopped at the line of my sideburns. Whoever owned the radio turned it on again, and the flies licked at the salt by my ears.
She rolled her body out from under mine, and with a flashing smile she swung her legs over my body and came down hard, straddling my hips. She threw her head forward and the water in her long blonde hair strapped my face. She didnt notice the tears.
I didnt really know how I ended up there, or how I was able to meet her. She was the most beautiful dancer on stage the night before, but now she was just another woman, now shes gone.
My vice has been craved for another week, but Ive got nowhere to put it.
I crave death, and its such a beautiful day.
Her barbed hook and rings.
Its her piercing pupils of red.
Shes a valentine stingray, and the opium kings say:
Her spines been slammed firm in my head.
Wrote that a long time ago. Never went anywhere with it. She was the drummer of an all girl rock and roll band. I dont seem to remember the emotion. I remember the names of the emotions involved, I can read the decades old morning pages, I can understand the sexual /emotional angst of the poor kid that was sitting there writing it, but it doesnt really grip me.
That part inside of me that is open to reacting to deeper levels of emotion is inaccessible. Not much could really happen right now to get through it.
As much as I like to psycho-analyze myself, this one has me stumped. I dont know if that part inside me is simply gone? A sick atrophy? Has it slowly dwindled away to nothing? Or has it simply been entombed (in coral?). In a safe? No idea. Its just not there though. Im untouchable now.
Ive been flipping through some of my older books, and just found a story I had completely forgotten about. It's 15 years ago.
The background to the story, which isn't in the story, is the fact that I was waking after 2 days in this place, I'd just spent my rent money on that escape -- nothing but booze, weed and restaurants with her. I just ran out of money.:
Thursday, May 31st, 1990 5:45 pm
Its raining solid, the clouds in the sky are one. Theres no definition between the grey masses. Just a solid concrete sky.
My suit is spotted dark green from where the rain hit.
Im sitting or more or less hiding, in Olivers at the corner of Granville and Davie.
I dont know what to say or how to say it.
What a beautiful day for death.
Ive just left a seedy hotel room on Granvilles XXX strip.
One hour ago, I was laying stripped on an unmade bed tied into a sweaty knot of sheets. The curtains were open, but the windows were all fogged over from the damp heat inside the room. Traffic, peoples voices and echoing wet footsteps were all I could hear over the sound of the water running in the bathroom. Staring up and at nothing, the cherry of my cigarette was getting dangerously close to my fingers. I could feel the heat, but I only looked over at my hand and watched the white grey stream of smoke trail up and ribbon out into the claustrophobic stifle of the air.
What a beautiful day for death.
I could hear a radio playing somewhere. Maybe in the room below, maybe in the room next to the one I was in. it wasnt quite loud enough to understand, it sounded more like the vibrato buzz of flies on a carcass.
What a beautiful day for death.
She called out to me from the bathroom.
Hey, do ya wanna join me in the shower?
I watched a drop of water pull itself down the window pane leaving a thin line of visibility painted grey into the condensation.
I opted not to hear her, and the long ash of my cigarette fell off and landed on the exposed mattress. I was trying to remember what floor this room was on.
Hellooo? Do you wanna join me in the shower?
She was calling out again, and again I didnt respond. I rolled over and dropped what was left of my cigarette into an empty beer can. It hissed briefly, then nothing.
I remained laying in this position with my arm hanging over the side of the bed, legs still entwined in the damp twist of sheets. I thought it would make a good Polaroid in some cops homicide folder.
I could hear the water splashing down into hot puddles on the floor tiles in the shower, and turning my eyes up towards the bathroom, I watched the steam ghosts rolling out around the partially open door. My skin began to feel like greased clay in the now even muggier heat of the room.
What a beautiful day for death.
I began thinking again about where I was going to go after this meeting came to an end. I rolled onto my back, and the sheets rolled with me. A quiet sigh came from somewhere inside me.
Shhhhh said the traffic outside.
The water from the shower stopped splashing and the room seemed to die. The flies buzzing grew louder.
Looking toward the window again, six or seven tears of condensation were flowing freely down the glass. The drops of rain on the other side tapped incessantly against the pane. I sat up on the bed and wiped a sticky hand across the dew. The glass was refreshingly cold. I pressed my forehead against it and watched the morbid faces of the people walking by in the street 2 floors below.
What a beautiful day for death.
I heard rustling behind me, and Carmen knelt down on the bed behind me. The mattress pulsed as she walked closer to me on her knees. She pressed the hot skin of her breasts against my back, and wrapped her arms around me.
I didnt respond.
You OK?
Her lips were brushing my ear, and even though I didnt want to respond, I didnt want to be rude.
yeah, Im fine. Just tired.
Who knows if she believes me, I didnt even really care. But she tightened her arms around me and kissed my ear lightly. Surprisingly, it made me feel better; safe.
I closed my eyes, shutting off the view of the procession below. In the black of my view, I ran my hands along her arms, and held them tighter against me. I squeezed my eyelids tight, and somebody turned off the radio.
What a beautiful day for death.
The words seemed to come from somewhere other than my mouth. They were whispered in a barely audible cotton monotone. I dont know if she understood what I meant, but everything seemed to freeze. We stayed in the same position, not moving, not talking, me half sitting up on the bed with my eyes pressed shut, her clean body pressed hot against my back, her arms wrapped around me, and my arms on hers.
We remained together like this for dead time.
I dont think she knew how to respond to what Id just said, but after our silence, I think she somehow picked up on my hidden thoughts.
its ok
I opened my eyes again and the porthole I had smeared on the window had been covered with new condensation. Grey again, framed by the outline of my fingers.
She leaned her body back, and I could feel her skin peel away from mine like the backing of a bandage. She pulled on me with her body weight and I let my body fall backwards and settle on top of hers. Staring up at the ceiling, my sight began to blur. My eyes began to fill, but I didnt know why.
I know I said.
Again, the words didnt seem to be mine, I blinked once, and forced the tears out the corners of my eyes. They slowly drew wet down my temples, and stopped at the line of my sideburns. Whoever owned the radio turned it on again, and the flies licked at the salt by my ears.
She rolled her body out from under mine, and with a flashing smile she swung her legs over my body and came down hard, straddling my hips. She threw her head forward and the water in her long blonde hair strapped my face. She didnt notice the tears.
I didnt really know how I ended up there, or how I was able to meet her. She was the most beautiful dancer on stage the night before, but now she was just another woman, now shes gone.
My vice has been craved for another week, but Ive got nowhere to put it.
I crave death, and its such a beautiful day.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
eddie:
"I WAAANT IT!" is exactly what I was thinking.
malloreigh:
Yup, Aces is hairless. I do know that rats are illegal in Alberta; I am, after all, from there. It means I can't bring my rats with me when I go to visit my mama and papa.