Writing & Writers

“Waking up after a bad dream”

"I know the dark delight of being strange..." Claude McKay

I know I’m not too much of a bargain
And you know that’s not what you bargained for
–“The Good Old Days” Eels

This is as close to normalcy that I can achieve.  I find it hard to accept so much as a cup of pity from those who love me. It’s a wonder, really. All these people who call themselves weak-minded have the strength to love me. There has to be strong will to love me. Strong will and strong minded, not ready to crumble.

Yesterday afternoon, Anderson stood in the open foyer, smoking ziggies he rolled up himself. Earlier, when the dawn light filled the room with phantom orbs of dust, he undressed in front of the mirror and studied such a luscious body – chiseled and well toned. He preferred the white, pale flesh to the carrot tan that was all the rage these days. Cooper blonde hair that fell over his face in wisps. That sexy jangly walk of his. There was always somewhere to go, ain’t there, Mackie, he’d say or something to that fact. Five dollars a head and six for extra furnishing, was his motto. Never knew exactly what the fuck it meant, but maybe it was just his way of saying that nothing in life was ever really free. That things always came with some sort of price.

“Are you all right there, Mackie?” he said, entering the room in which I sat slumped over the writing desk, pen in hand and papers scattered across the floor.

“Fine, yeah,” I said.

He grabbed loose leaf sheets and scanned them with his baby blues. He still refused to wear a shirt in this house we called home for the month. No one was coming to visit us, he’d say. And if there was someone, he’d add, he’d take off his pants as well. I might as well enjoy such liberating freedoms. Don’t be so uptight, Mackie. It’s only life.

Writing & Writers

When God Was One of Us

It’s like Tourette’s for the soul. Three cigarettes down and kilo of blow, the party was only getting started. Henry, we called him Henry then, stood plastered against the wall. Typical wallflower, Henry was. Always smoking his long, skinny joints. Sparked up and ready for some thrill or another, while the girls eye-fucked him from across the dance floor. Girls stapled themselves to his sack since we was kids, Henry and I. Flaming fucker never gave them time of day, if you know what I mean. Never even as much of a lick. Flick that little nub. Girls liked shit like that, you dig me? But not Henry. Henry was too busy taking care of his needs first. Fucking, nah man. Not for him. Henry liked drugs. Drugs and more drugs. If you had drugs, he might give you a little attention. When they was gone, though, you better sure as fuck be interesting. Henry didn’t dig boring.

“Hey, Mackie,” he shouted from across the way. “You looking for some of the little red pills? My brother’s got a prescription, man.”

“You want me back off the floor?” I called back. “These ladies are pretty lonely. You wanna help me keep them company?”

“Nah, man. Fuck ’em skags. Let’s blow this joint.”

“That’s pretty much the idea, man.”

“You take your chances, then, Mackie. I’m out this bitch like a cancer patient.”

Kelly and Cassandra, the names of the girls. Blonde and red, like a fucking wet dream. I left them standing afterward. Had to follow Henry. Henry and his goddamn junkie habits. La Rue was three streets down from the actual club district. Sorta secret cavern for the kids who weren’t into the shit spun in the hip hop houses. No dance or drum and bass shit. Pure fucking music  is what we called it. Music to fuck to. Music to get fucked to. Music to wake up the next morning and not caring the skag next to you, just as long as your pole was taken care of. Am I right?

Henry was already chatting some heifer up. Good shit, too. Dime bag in hand, we head toward our next destination where Flick and Sheila were reading. Flick popped some pills or some shit. He was rock hard and ready for a go, but Sheila wasn’t having none of it. Better things to do, yeah? No surprise, really, when she hopped into Henry’s arms.

“Ready to fuck, are we?”

“Bet your sweet ass, I am,” she said.

“I got me some pills.”

“When?”

“Come off it, Mackie, I don’t tell you everything.”

“I’ve enough,” Flick said, wagging his damn bone hips. Chuckled something horrible. “It’s pure anarchy in my pants.”

“Better find you a skag, then.”

“I had two back at La Rue. You should meet them.”

“Fucking skags ain’t touching this bone meat.”

“Are we really having this conversation?” Sheila, the lovable pill popping, booze bitch. “Or are we gonna have us some good time, roll about?”

“Four’s a crowd,” I said.

“Nah, Mackie. Four’s an orgy.”