08 July 2010

cool movies we should watch together











'Commodities' - new fiction

 X

                See we were cool, right?

                So we figured, if there were folks who’d pay to fuck us, there would be people who’d pay to hang out with us.

                Just chill.

                And we knew people wanted to fuck us. Our friends, theirs, even our teachers. They cooed at our excuses, got hard when we clapped them on the back. We were everything to them, and whenever we saw them, and said ‘hi’ at the mall, they’d shift their bags behind them and pretend they weren’t spending their weekends alone.

               So the same way we knew some stores in the mall paid attractive guys to hand around, we knew we’d get cash for our company.

         
Cool enough to chill with u$?
Group of high school juniors and seniors willing to shoot the shit, party, smoke or whatever at your house or space. Cash.


            Someone put the ad up, and we chilled with this sad skinny guy. He had a mustache and seemed to enjoy watching us watch ‘Jackass’ on a couch in his basement. When we offered him a bong hit, he shook his head and put his hands in his lap. We didn’t even laugh at his jokes- but that night we split 500 dollars between us.

Sometimes we’d get paid less, sometimes more. Sometimes the guy would expect something sexual, or open the door in an open bathrobe, or put on porn or something.

We had some people cry. Some said we looked like their son- or his friends. This one guy yelled at us. We hurried down his porch, him whining after us, ropes of snot and tears all down his cheeks.

Last week, Andy took a Greyhound bus upstate to spend the weekend with this guy at his cabin. None of us really wanted to travel out that far, but Andy needed the money and had been talking about taking a trip for a while. The guy’s cabin was in the Adirondacks, and he was supposed to be generous with the weed crop he grew- so that was enough for Andy.

After we didn’t hear from Andy for a couple days, we ditched school and drove upstate to where this dude’s cabin was supposed to be. We knew we had the address right, because the guy gave it to a couple of us as well. We drove past outlet malls, rest stops, townie ice-cream stores. Leaves were like rancid sunset, and they were starting to put up the haunted houses. We smoked a joint in a hutch on the side of the road, and it felt like October, so that was nice, but when we got to where the cabin was supposed to be, we only found the scrapings of a campsite. A clearing of soggy leaves, tent poles, Jolly Rancher wrappers scattered. There was melted red wax everywhere on the floor, and even when we searched the forest around it, it seemed like no one had been there for a very long time. On the way back, we saw they had set up Jack-O-Lanterns over some mailboxes. I didn’t feel well. It was quiet so I turned on the radio, and listened until we were back.

'Rapport' - new fiction

        The thing is, he says, is I’m kind of happy that I’ve finally done all this. He looks into his glass, the closet. I mean, I thought, if it becomes the biggest fight, at least it would be the last one. You know? He looks at her back. She’s wearing red lace- the same dress she put on that morning. He watched her put on that dress in the morning. Her, at a reception in that dress, him in spats. Well, not happy he says. The air outside shimmers. Central Park West. Air, cool and flat. She sits up from the sofa. Walks up past the closet, the nightstand. Into the bathroom. All right, I understand, you need some time alone. Bath or something. He says all this sitting on the bed. This could be so many places he thinks. She could be putting on perfume and pearls, this could be our honeymoon and I’m waiting on the bed for a fuck. She could be killing herself in there- that would be my fault. She’s probably crying.

        The door opens quicker than he expected. She’s pale, all closed up in fur. Stares at him from the oblong bathroom light. The opposite of come hither. So you’re leaving he says? I mean, if you need to, I mean, want to, I’d understand. To the front door. Is that all you’re bringing? She’s bringing nothing. Confused, he doesn’t need to keep all of her stuff. He won’t remind her of that now though. I mean, he payed for it.
She’s at the elevator now, in the hallway, her back to him. She could be watching the changing light, but she looks like she’s praying. When the doors open, she’s already gone. Stares into him as the doors close.

        From central park, an Atlantian scene.  Divorce! The building, pointed, golden, split down the middle with a glass shaft. She’s descending down the middle, a sinking witch sliding down a fish’s backbone. The elevator, red and scented, her fur, delicate on the smoky oak. He’s watching from the window, but he can’t see all this. He doesn’t see her ignore the doorman, but he sees her as the exits the building. She doesn’t hail a cab. She’s crossing the street, drifting he thinks, and her hair is mercury in the streetlight. City sounds like an ocean. 

        And she’s across the avenue, parkside, and now he can tell that she’s looking right at him. Over the doorman, the elevator, at him through his window. She’s staring and sees him looking, and as her fur puddles around her ankles, he can see she’s naked. Her skin creams like soap, and he can see orange light shine off her earrings. Eyes still on him she brings her hand down her body, pressing into her milk stomach, the matted hair in her crotch. She lets herself fall to the cobblestones, and there’s a bench behind her, and newspapers, a can. And now she’s bucking her hips as a taxi passes, and he watches from the windowsill, and he’s closer to her than he’s ever been. And she cums once, twice, pressing her face with the hand she was leaning on, and when it comes off he can see it’s dirty, her face is dirty, and she raises up, staring at him, the jungle behind her, and him above it all.

'the tree, descending' - collaboration with wolfe margolies (whose beats can be reached @ http://www.mediafire.com/?ftamyqzh4jmtncv#1

04 July 2010

this is the last time it'll be the last time- independence day, or 'plz find me'

the skys all red
your raptures in my head
its the end of the world and where are you

asphalt fume casts my wandering
and suddenly there's sirens in the street
and suddenly heat cheering sonic boom

baseball mitt picnicbreath phantoms
hand in hand down the avenue - the misers of love
people seem richer when you can't find your own

rosebloom over hudson
first belch of blood over this city
july's the month for zombies, runaways, polishing love
we could still escape, hey,
i dreamed so much for us- todays not
when it stops

this heart waits forever