...some sort of pole vault, Doc, a scrambling kinda madly, then a birthing out of sorts into a whiteness without limit. "Go on, go on. don't stop now." A clean end breaking white into white of cinematic nothingness, credits rolled and all, ha ha. Then a second flick comes on, a house, unknown of course, but somehow Dad's and he's inside there with a pair of twins, two boys are jailin' him in there. "Jailing him in there?" Yeah, dunno why, but he's afraid, and I'm their brother now and welcomed from a long and empowering absence. (... jot, jot, scribble-scrabble). Creepy buggers, too, eleven or twelve -- Eddie Munster look-a-likes on crack, death-pale over bowties, hidin' something under nervous joy. (Harrumph, squeal of leather, teensy fart) Lots of touchin', lots of touchin' me and then they gave me a gift, and a room for it, all paints and canvases... (Eyebrow arch) Yeah, made me a real master they, brilliant, no style I could've recognized. A work in progress on the floor, shapes and shit and colors all round and achin' full. I picked up a tube of Titanium White, to sunny up the highlights a bit. I was amazing! Then the palpy fingers on me touchin', cold anemone fingers. "And that's when things turned?" Yep, I realized that my talent was gone as soon as I walked out the door. But what the heck, I am just visitin', and tired now from all the self-awe. So they persuaded me to let 'em into bed with me, and that was a big mistake. "Oh?" Soon as sheets closed round us, like an orchid down for the night, little fuckers swarm on me like snakes -- black mass writhin', pullin' downward into flower's center dark. (Tap, tap, furious new pencil) And I know there's no comin' outta that one, so I leap up and things speed up -- a nightmare now, full-blown. And Dad's been cryin' in his corner, feeble whimpers the whole time. Why you livin' here like this Old Man? Then the danger makes a power in me. I dream-flex some new dream-muscle, turn them twins into three raw pork chops on the floor. Slice 'em real quick into fleshy ribbons, squirmin' alive, reconstitutin', but I still got some time -- to grab the Old Man by a wrist, down a dizzy staircase wide. Stunned, c'mon let's get outta here. A black milkman, all smiles and yessir, I got this form for you to fill out sir -- twin's conjury, for sure, gatherin' strength. I push us out into the street, too late, light's changed and the traffic's speedin' before us in a river of vehicular light, blockin' the way, and real good too, makes me think then as now: Am I ever, ever gonna write again, Doc? (suppressed belch, swallow, wide-eyed silence).
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11-17-2006, 01:26 AM
Linear Mode
