Electra-Girl

Electra-girl gyrates desperately.
Daddy is away on business.
The house practically empty,
Desolate winds rattle windows,
Stomach twists with craving.

Electra-girl squeals,
“Kill Mommy! Get her out of the picture.”
Little Miss teacup wants everything just right,
When daddy gets home.
Electra-girl vomits hairball,

shaves thighs belly armpits,
Plucks neck chin nostrils,
Applies lipstick moderately,
Puckers (finger pushes hemorrhoid in).
She denies everything.

Imagines he is showering,
She enters nude giggling big grin,
Gaze scampering between his face and genitals,
Her approaching young body edging nearer.
He hesitates standing under waterspout,

Waiting to see what she will do,
Fearing his own desire,
Knowing it is wrong so wrong.
After what seems a long time,
Mom steps in,

Eyes firing rage and sanction.
She asks her daughter, “You think you’ll win?”
Electra-girl answers without hesitation,
“Why wouldn’t I.”
No question.

Your shit stains on carpet,
Your pee stains on everything,
Your breath smells,
Odor of rotting flowers.
Smile for the camera.

Electra-girl raises arms and taunts,
“I win! I win!
Who’s going to be my next daddy?”
A deep heavy silence follows.
She holds herself in mirrors of her past.

The Quiet Life of Paul Rudolph, Pages 6-10

It may be hard to understand pages 6-10 out of context with 1-5. The first 5 pages are up here in two separate entries. Leave a comment, even if it’s a critique. My skin is thick. No, literally, it’s like a rhino’s.

Paul closed his eyes for much of the last few songs. The white circle with the secant line. Words mostly absent from his thoughts. Synesthesia: beats turned into shapes. The final chords of the final song were played, and Skip and Paul coordinated the big ending.

Two hours passed like a thought. Sweat. Blister on right index.

If I could stick a knife in my heart—suicide right on stage. Would it be enough for your teenaged lust? Would it help to ease the pain? Ease the pain..

Paul loaded his green Mercury. Tahyler came out carrying a vintage, wooden guitar case. Yellow and blue jogging pants with a red sweatshirt—
“That was pretty rocking,” Tahyler said to him. Maloccluded grin. Long, dark brown hair dangling around the stubble on his face and chin.

”I know it’s only rock n roll, but I like it,” P.R. said.

Tahyler tittered.

“You ready to rock next Friday?”

“Yeah, man. Nice playing today,” Paul said.

“Thanks. You, too.”

“We sounded better than we did on Thursday night.”

“Yeah. ‘Reckless Masturbation’ really sounded good today.”

 

“True. We played it a little faster; I think it needs it.”

 

“I hit a wrong note in ‘Torture the Robot’.”

 

“Oh yea? I didn’t notice.” And P.R. didn’t notice; he was a drummer.

 

“Yea, in the bridge. I’ll listen to it this week, though. It’ll be good. See you Friday, Paulie. Gonna kill those motherfuckers!”

 

Anathemising the audience? Tahyler toddled to his brand new Civic. What a gait! A takahe with a central nervous system injury.

“See ya, man,” Paul called out after him.

Tahyler drove off. Paul lit a cigarette. Musical chairs. Third guitar player in as many months. Consistently inconsistent. Bands as brittle as rods of pure iridium…or is osmium the most brittle? Most dense, I think. Ten years. Playing in groups of all sorts. A few years ago—The Conniving Hermit Crabs. Still the longest lasting band. Toured almost the whole country. Bus. Colleges. Living with Cynthia back then. Expected to stay faithful on the road? Knew my fidelity would be determined by the appeal of my opportunities.

Twenty-Seven years and nothing but failures and promises that I couldn’t keep, Oh Lord.

The studio door opened and slammed.

”Paul!” It was Skip.

“Yo.”

“Can I bum a smoke?”

Paul handed one over and stared at him squarely: inquisitively.

“We’ll use him Friday and then probably find someone else. Don’t you think?” Skip said.

 

Kevin and Keith came out. Skip had something to say to Keith.

 

“What’d you get into last night?” Kevin asked Paul.

 

“Inflamed my liver. We went to NorthBeach and then R-Bar.”

 

“You need a new one?”

 

“New liver? Yea, I probably do. My cytokine levels are increasing. What about you?”

 

Kevin laughed and said, “No, you know, I haven’t been drinking all that much lately.”

 

P.R. grinned, “I mean what did you do last night?”

 

“Ah. Just hung with the old lady. I don’t like going out to bars anymore unless I’m playing.”

 

“I know what you mean, but I still do it.”

 

Skip and Keith approached and the parting niceties took place. Less fumbled were the fist bumps. The musicians entered their cars. They crept toward the exit.

Another release. Paul called Rose. She didn’t answer. Leave a message? No. He dialed for Olivia while driving again on Mansell Street. Think she said something about today. Before whatever I did. Was flirting with Tonya in front of her? Glad Rose did not come? Or is it genuine apathy? The debaucher dialed.
“Hello?” Olivia said, as if she hadn’t looked to see who was calling.

“Hello?” he mocked her questioning voice.

“Hi.” A small giggle escaped.

“What are you doing?”

 

“Oh, just watching TV. I just took a run.”

 

“Oh yea? So, did you have fun last night?” he asked, fishing.

 

“Not as much fun as you had.”

“What do you mean? I thought it was kind of boring.”

“You were a mess last night.”

“Nah, I was fine.”

“You were so drunk.”

“Just blowing off some steam.” Echoing cliché for excessive englutting.

Right. So what are you doing?” She asked.

“Trafficking rocks to the community.”

“What?”

“Plating tanzanite with rhodium.”

“Uh huh.”

“Just finished rehearsal. I’m going for a quesadilla from El Faralito. Are you hungry?”

“No. I ate a huge breakfast with Tonya. She stayed here last night, just left.”

“Well at least somebody took care of you last night. Why didn’t you take me home with you?”

“You were too busy with that blonde.”

Blonde? Blonde Russian? Another visage in his mind: Svetlana? Got her number?

“Whatever,” he said glibly. “Well, do you want to come over and watch me eat? I’ll swing by. I have the Maltese Falcon at my place. Have you seen it?”

Olivia giggled again. “No. What time?”

 

“Be there in fifteen minutes.”

 

Tonya was there all night? Tittle-tattle of little lasses. Menu. Contacts. S, Svetlana. There it is. She was cute, I think. Check the camera. Call Randall.

Paul stopped by the taqueria and proceeded to Olivia’s. He double-parked in front of her three-story building while trying to gluttonize his overstuffed quesadilla. He texted, I’m here, with Linus’ Blanket, for the second time that day. He wiped sour cream from his chin.

 

The busy intersection of 23rd and Valencia served as a place to watch passersby. Tall dark man with white sweatshirt and blue jeans: rare raiment: pink stitching around the pockets. Asian woman. Loving lovers. Hands lovingly clasped. Little, short, white dress. Mild weather for such apparel. Decent figure. Skinny ankles. Laughing. Their eyes met his simultaneously. They passed his parked car.

 

Plant in the window. Shrub? Short with blue flowers. Shrubby sage? Cadger, don’t come over here. Won’t give you fifty–five cents or whatever random amount you want. Always asking for some small specific sum. Given enough to the impecunious.


And I worked hard for every little bit I got, the things I got are gonna stay.

 

 

He looked down at his phone to avoid the panhandler’s eyes. He dialed Randall. Randall reassured him. They spoke briefly about the upcoming evening, Paul explaining he needed a quiet night at home.

Olivia: fell for her fast and thought it would last. Thought I could thwart off temptations. I can resist anything but temptation. Thought it wouldn’t even matter in ten or twenty years, when the wrinkles came, when the sagging began. The sparkle in her eyes doesn’t mean that much anymore. The kisses have lost their tingle. Already after a couple months…already pining for others and lying to her and worrying and feeling guilty. Not as if I killed Alyona Ivanovna.

Where did it go? Was there ever it? Many infatuations, many romances. Never empty love? Never consummate love? Can fly, do the loopty loop, but can’t land.

Olivia came to the car and climbed inside, tossing a small bag in the backseat. Little five foot five frame coming toward me, sitting by me, smiling at me. Light brown hair swathed round to make her face appear heart-shaped, like her posterior. Paul shifted the automatic transmission into drive and pulled onto Valencia. The car approached Cesar Chavez. He looked at Olivia’s pale blue eyes. The Triangular Theory of Love.

 

“Who’s the greater Renaissance man: Leonardo da Vinci or Benjamin Franklin?”

“Franklin wasn’t in the Renaissance,” Olivia said.

“Right, but who achieved more great things in more fields?”

“Da Vinci, definitely.”

“But what about the lightning rod? The…”

“Well, da Vinci was a great artist,” she said. “You know he’s my favorite.”

“Yes, that’s why I said him. But Franklin was a diplomat, inventor, philosopher, scientist and…”

“da Vinci was an inventor. And, I mean, the Mona Lisa! Come on!” Olivia interrupted, “And the Last Supper; he drew the Virtri…, ah, Vit…”

“The Vitruvian Man.” Paul completed.

“Yea, VitruvianMan. And those flying machines he came up with, those were way ahead of his time.”

“Franklin was sort of famous as an inventor. He invented bifocals and the Franklin Stove: both still used today.” Count Rumford. Massachusetts. Franklin and Thompson. Fireplace innovators. Different sides. Two Benjamins.

“So you want to argue about Ben Franklin today?”

Her little nose wrinkled, and her large eyes squinted.

Devil’s defender. Dialectics, darling. Octavian and Mark dueling over power after the break in the Triumvirate.

“No, but we can arm wrestle at my place.”

 

“I’d kick your ass,” she said, smiling widely and caressing his right leg.

 

Rudolph grinned insincerely.

The car made a slight right and went down Mission St.

My Leper Lover

My Leper Lover

Irrationality always wins
Chicago is aspirated beast
Braggart forced laugh
I had a vision but I have no vision
Dreamed I was making out with a woman

Who had long stretchy pink octopus tentacles
Sedulously legato ephemera
Growing from external rim of vagina
Sobriquet inimical desiccation
One tentacle wrapped around and tickled

Diurnal nugatory verisimilitude
While other squeezed testicles
What was I talking about, oh yes
Everything got out of hand
Expect unthinkable gusting winds

To huff puff blow house down
Filthy rotten scoundrel but
Started out so sweet
Inchoate caliphate apocryphal
Wish I had her gift

Sore Winner or Sorbet de Sade

It’s what I can’t imagine

That keeps my eyes peeled

Glued to seat

Everyone in denial

And maybe that’s the worst part

 

Pretending.

We bury the dead

Celebrate creation

Is there somewhere else

Beyond these concerns?

 

Trust is a funny concept

We trust we will wake up tomorrow

And the sun rise

We trust in god

How ridiculous

 

She hates me because

She loves me

Her extraordinary brilliance

We might have found genius together

Separated, we’re simply hopeful remnants

 

Ok, here’s a joke

Adam: “What are you eating?”

Eve: “Snake gave it to me”

Adam: “The snake?”

Eve: (palms open reaching out) “We didn’t fuck, I swear”

 

Acceptance beyond understanding

Beyond morality

Because there is no other choice

It’s what I can’t imagine

That arrests me

 

 

can_we_possibly_be_friends_again_or_conflicted_codependent

Being male, I wander

Mom dares not wonder

What kind of monsters she birthed

She brought her own equipment

I was aggressive but shy

 

Her womb is the most magnificent

Temple I’ve ever visited

There is nowhere else I want to be

Sister insisted

I stiffened then gave in

 

Children tease, squeal, scamper

Adults know unspeakable reality

Dizziness of first love

Mayhem, murder

Solemn whisper of infinity

 

After an uncertain age,

No one wants you anymore

Old women bond

Confer their anger

Old men tread alone

 

She knew from moment he laid eyes on her, she had him. She wore no make-up, anemic complexion, chin and jawline slightly broken out with red spots, cobalt blue irises, aquiline nose, hair dyed dark, fuzz-balled scarf, light blue fluffy sweater, big buttons, canvas shoulder bag, skinny jeans, leather boots, little boney black dog with ashen appointments. Instantly he fell in love. He confessed, “Your Chinese Crested pup stole my heart.”

 

In doggie-style position, neither lover sees other’s face. The top sees backside. The bottom sees what? He didn’t know.

 

She unlocks the door. He enters room. She tells him what to do, making demands. He follows her orders. She questions, “Why do we dance to these tunes?” He answers, “I want to smell your smells, suck, drink your darkest juices.” She articulates, “Stay,” then kisses him goodbye. She wakes wearing his ring, around her neck. They are each other’s slaves. Ceiling leaks, floor creaks, light beams through window as they waltz arm in arm.

 

She demands, “I want roast rack of lamb, or thinly sliced Serrano ham on buttered toast for dinner. And then I want to go home alone. I need some down time, away from you. I don’t belong to you, god-damn-it!” Deep in financial debt, he hands the waiter his debit card.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Day that wasn’t so Fine

 

A Day that wasn’t so Fine

 

On a summer Friday evening, Sanjeev , a smart  6’3 tall with straight hair was coming back from Pune to his home town which was 7 hour journey , he used to go  home on weekends every 15th days. He was wearing a costly rollex watch and dress in formal as he is coming directly from office.

Sanjeev as a child thought of studding with Fine arts then as it always happen mostly to all, he start his career as copy-writer in a small company, then shifter to advertising and then finally into Marketing Then he thought of turning marketing into a Fine Arts, he become the Marketing Zonal Manager for enter Maharashtra Region. He has made a good name and fame for himself in a short span, his manager’s always praise him for his achievement in such a small age of 28.

Last month he bought a Maruti Swift Vxi, and for the first time he is taking his car to his home town to show it to his parent. In home he has his Father, age 69 but always remain sick, mother 68, He has his younger brother studding BBA  in Delhi, Sanjeev, is still a bachelor, his parent has always tried for wedlock but he always refused and keep the discussion incomplete.

It’s around 11.30 PM , he is felling little drowsy ,  as he is driving for nearly 5 hours moreover had a lot of work in office today and since he has taken leave for two days till Tuesday so he need to complete some extra work also, further he don’t have a habit of driving such long distance constantly.

As he drives, he remember regarding  a short cut path, which was rarely used by other public vehicles as they don’t get much passengers in this way, and this roads meet the high way near the toll gate, moreover this road is bare and he can drive fast, this road will make his journey short by almost 1 hour.

So in the next turn he turned towards the short cut way, after  going for  half an hour or so, his car suddenly make some weird noise, that was very unusual for a new car only one and half month old.

Sanjeev, stop his car is was dark outside as purnima had just pass and nights are dark with no moon beam to support. He open  bonnet of his car and keep the head light on, as he has no knowledge of car repair, he kept look into  the engine try to get some hint .

But all effort in vain can’t able to identify the problem.

 

With fret in his eyes, as he know it’s hard to find  help in this road and the time is around 12 pass 10 by now ,he thought of walking ahead, if he can find any help or any Garage nearby he started to walk. He lighted his cigarette with new lighter , he don’t smoke much, but as he known’s it will be a long journey so he bought a pack of Gold Flake.

After walking few yards, he found a house with low bulb glowing outside, this brings a smile to his face because he hardly fine a fist of people In this entire short cut road he crossed.

As he walks towards the house, he saw someone is sleeping outside as always happen in India during summer.

He reach near the person , he is short guy hardly 5’4, with dark  complexion wearing a grubby cloth with lot of black stain, he is sleeping in a Charpai , a small bed made up of Ropes.

He is having a sound sleep look like a good sleep after long day work;  Sanjeev, awake him , “Bhaisahab” means Brother.

The man woke up hastily, give an annoying look at Sanjeev, and asked “Who are you?”

Sanjeev, told him about the glitch with his car and asked him if there is any Garage nearby, the man told him that he is a car mechanic, and this an only garage in this road.

Sanjeev took a deep breath as he can reach home by today,  Sanjeev smiled and asked his name. He told “Hari, Sahab”.

Sanjeev told, “Hari, you have to fixed the problem immediately as I have some 150 km more to go, I will pay you some more on top.

Hari asked about the car, Sanjeev showed him the car which was standing  few yards away, Hari, took all this equipments and start walking towards the car.

Sanjeev is now relaxed, took out one more cigarette from his pant pocket and search for his Lighter but, he can’t find it, he might have kept it in the car.

So, he asked, Hari whether he has got any light, Hari took out a match box and give it to Sanjeev. Sanjeev, light up his cigarette and gave one cigarette to Hari as well.

The head light was still ON , Hari, quickly examine the car and said “Sir, there is problem with the radiator it will take around 30 min, and asked Sanjeev to sit inside the car, or can have a cup of tea in a nearby tea stall that not far from the road  .

Sanjeev saw a small house, with a muddy banner hanging outside, he can’t read as it was dark. He wonders how he missed this house when he first stops his car here.

Anyway, Sanjeev thought of having a cup of tea will worth in such a situation, so he told Hari to call him once the work is done.

As Sanjeev start walking towards the House , he saw one villager walking towards him, as the person came nearby, Sanjeev, saw a man in his 50s with Lanthan , a kind of night lamb, in his hand.

The man asked  “Where are you going, sahab” , on reply Sanjeev told, to have a cup of tea in that tea stall, as his car is being repaired and will take some time.

The Man told, “Gayatri’s House“ now ,are you crazy ‘Babu’ Go back. Don’t go there. And, the man left.

 

Sanjeev got stunt and can’t understand the reason why the man told not to go, But he quickly get rid just what happened, and walked towards the house.

He knocks the door,’ a voice of aged women came” Who is it?”

I am stranger said Sanjeev, want a cup a tea, “can you please open the Door”.

Women said “Sorry we are closed come in the morning. We don’t open door for Stranger’s at night.

Sanjeev said ” My car had a problem, and it is being repaired, I need a cup of tea, sorry for bothering you. Thank you anyway I am leaving.”

Wait! Sahab, a voice of a young lady came, Sanjeev heard voice of two ladies whispering “Mother, that gentleman seems well-mannered; he really might need some tea”.

Then again, came the aged ladies voice,” Sunita, you know your Brother and your Father, they don’t like any strangers coming to our house at night, you still ….”

Sunita” No mother they are not here and also it will take just few minutes, I am opening the door you make tea for him”

Sanjeev heard sound of the opening Door, he saw a Girl in her 20s, long hair well tied, slim figure, beautiful eyes, wearing a salwar quite old threads started to come out of her dress but still sparkling, came out.

The girl, asked sanjeev to come in, with a smile in her eyes. Sanjeev, thanked her for her kindness and goes in.

The house has two room cleanness welled maintained, but by the first look anyone can say, they are deprived.

The Girl greets Sanjeeb and close the door and offer him a chair, Sanjeev, got charmed by her first appearance, He asked “Your name is Sunita” she nodded her head, says “yes”.

After a while the Sunita’s Mother came with a cup of tea, and give it to Sanjeev, she told “My husband and my son don’t like visitor’s at night, and often create trouble”.

As the discussion was going on suddenly sanjeev heard, “Open the door now, we want the stranger we will kill him how dare he “. Sanjeev , heard cacophony of voices a outside the door, among them two voices are prominent.

Again the door bang continues, “Let him out”, otherwise we will break the door”.

Sunita’s mother whispered “ I knew it will happen, God help us, please not again “. Sunita’s Mother asked sunita to take sanjeev to the next Room. She told “I will take care of them”.

By saying this, she shouted “ He is a good man , he had a problem in car , so I called him to have some tea, please you all leave, not again anymore”

A husk tone came from outside,” You Fool , His sort of High society people, always make fool of us, they come , and with some sweet talk, make relation with our Daughter’s and then Disappear forever, he bamboozle you ,Don’t you remember “Megha”, she had to commit suicide.

Sanjeev could not understand anything, what’s going on, So he asked Sunita.

Again, the sound came , “Let him out” voice of young man . Sunita told Sanjeev, that the persons outside, is her Father and Brother along with some other Villagers, they often comes at night and if they find any strangers in their home, they kill them.

Sanjeev asked “ what about the police , these people are murderess and should be punished, why don’t police take any criminal proceedings ”

Sunita,” Police sahib, Punishment, but they have already being punished, my father and my brother was hanged six years back”.

Sanjeev , stood up “What! they are  dead?”.

Sunita once again nod her head, By the time Sunita’s Mother came in, and said “ Sahab, you please stand inside the Circle, she showed Sanjeev a circle inside the room, again she added, you will be safe here, they can’t attack you , This is the place where their bodies were kept before the rituals.

The Banging of door continues, hard and hard, Sunita mother said” I think they are going to break the door today, God help us”.

Sunita’s Mother asked sunita to take sahib, from back door to Banwari’s uncle House, she will try to stop them here, Fast bete, and she added “Before anything wrong happens”.

Sunita hold Sanjeev hand in her hand and ran towards the back door, It was small 3’’ feet door, Sanjeev had to crawl down to get out.

It was dark outside, Sanjeev could hear the bang in front of the house, and they both ran towards Banwari Uncle’s house.

On reaching there, Sunita knock the door hard, a sound came from inside “Kon hai” a sound a elderly man came . Sunita replied “ Sunita, uncle please open the door.”

Banwari Uncle, “Wait, I am coming” He opened the door.

He said “what happens to you, is your mother ok “Who is he? He asked by look at Sanjeev .

Sunita replied,” he is a stranger passing by, stop to have a tea in your house, but my father and brother came, you know the rest; please help him allow us to stay here for sometime”

“No, you can’t stay , I don’t want to plunge  into it ” Sanjeev saw a lady may be Banwari’s Wife came out, and shouted at Banwari “ You Know all , but still, I can’t allow this happen”.

Sunita requested Chachi, means aunty, please help us.

And then suddenly, the horde sound came outside Banwari’s house, a voice “ Banwari, you was my friend , please don’t allow us to hurt you, let the stranger out.”

Sunita said,” Father is here, what do I do”?

Banwari said, “Bete, I can’t stop them, I better you take Sahab to the Kali temple, the pandit kaka will be there , asked him to give Maa Kali’s tilak to both of you, Once this is done that sprit can’t do anything, God is still greater than the Ghost.”May God be with you”. Now don’t think hurry up.

Sanjeev , don’t understand what to do he was Scared , he has never in such a situation ever, He prayed to God to save him, He also started to be fond of sunita, and her efforts to save him.

Banwari open the back door and said “ Sunita , take care, now hurry”and give an axa

Sunita again hold Sanjeev’s hand they ran, sanjeev followed sunita, he don’t have habit of running, his breath fastened. He still ran fast as he could.

They reached the temple; it was closed as the clock says 12.45 AM by now.

Sunita knock the temple door, “ Pujari ji, she shouted “Open the door please”

After few loud shout by Sunita “ Pujari Ji, replied “Wait I am coming”.

Pujari ji open the door and says “ Sunita, you now what’s wrong” then Sunita showed Sanjeev and narrated him the whole story, and asked pujari ji to give Maa Kali’s Tilak to both of them.

Pujari ji rush inside the temple and brought some Sindur, a kind of red powder considered as holy in the Hindus.

He put the Sindur in their forehead , and spell a Mantra, a prayed to god. And then says “ Sunita , Babu, your both are safe now, no evil spirits can’t do any harm to you, God is with you now “

A small relax smile came in both their faces, a feeling of relax, Sanjeev hold Sunita’s hand and thanked her for saving his life, and also told her there he will never ever forget her. Sunita replied him with a smile.

As they turn back to return , Sunita shouted “Baba!”, Sanjeev saw a group of people with Axe and Stick waiting outside the temple, and laughing at them, One of them shouted Sunita, “Move away from him”.

Sunita told Sanjeev that this person is her brother and asked Sanjeev to hold her hand tight, she said” Sunil Bhaiya, You can’t do anything to us now, we are in the temple with Maa’s Tilak on our forehead, and you don’t have power to fight with God.”

After Hearing Sunita, they all started to laugh loudly saying “ Temple, A place of God”.

Sanjeev could not understand why they are laughing neither do Sunita, Sanjeev looked at Pujari ji , and find him laughing too, in a strangely manner.

Then Sunita father replied “ Look Darling where are you standing”,  to a utter surprise they suddenly found them near a bamboo bush, surrounded by Ghost villagers, the pujari ji turned into a Pale villagers with no eyes.

Sunita shouted “Sanjeev, Run, this way”,

They ran , and the ghosts followed them,  they ran into the bushes , suddenly a men came in front of Sanjeev with Stick in his hand, Sanjeev couldn’t understand what to do, he took his axe give by Banwari kaka, and hit that men on his head, Spring of blood came out, the man fall down.

Sunita Shouted Sanjeev “What have you done, he was not among them, he was a living villager came to help me, and your killed him”

Sanjeev stood still, saying “ I Killed a person, I am a murderer, I should confess this to police”

Sunita said, “No time to think now, just run save yourself”

And Ran again, suddenly sunita called Sanjeev “ Sanjeev , look there is a bicycle you take it, and ride as fast as you can get out of this village”

Sanjeev denied saying “No , Sunita, I cant live you all alone here like this, you have to come along with me”.

Sunita “ No, that is not possible, I can’t come with you, beside I don’t have any threat they wanted to kill you not me, I am safe here, you run and save yourself, I will be fine,” she added “ there is police station half a kilometer from here, you can asked them for help, now please go”.

Sanjeev hold sunita’s hand a told her I will come to take you wait for me. By saying this Sanjeev ride the bicycle fast as he could.

After riding for a while he saw a signboard “Police Station, Kunda”

He parked the bi-cycle, and when inside the Police station, the police station was old with lot of black patches in the wall, sanjeev saw two constable and sub-inspector seating, and talking among themselves.

Sanjeev rush inside said “ Help me Sir, I have committed a murder”

Inspector stood up by hearing the word “Murder”

Inspector, said” Murder what, what happen, tell me in details”, the inspector asked his constable to give a glass of water to Sanjeev.

After having a glass of water, Sanjeev stared tell him the whole story.

Inspected   shouted at Sanjeev suddenly“ Are you dunked, are you out off your mind, what you saying”

Sanjeev replied “ Sir, what you are talking  about, it’s all true, I have killed one villager accidently”, and the girl Sunita life is in danger they might kill her, you have to help me”.

 

Inspector said,” Cool down, Sanjeev there is no village nearby, I am posted here for last eight years”

Sanjeev Uttered “ what” , then what was that, sanjeev can’t believe what he is hearing , he said to the inspector , Sir Sunita save my life, it is because of her I am alive she gave me the bi-cycle to run.”

Inspector told “Where is the bi-cycle can I see it?”

Sanjeev  “ yes, I have parked it near the gate, I will show you ” they walked towards the police station gate where he have kept the bi-cycle”.

Inspector asked Sanjeev ” Is this the bi-cycle”, Sanjeev saw a old bi-cycle with no tier and no sit, not possible to ride at all.

Sanjeev asked inspector, to believe him, he just now came this bi-cycle it was good condition.

The Inspector laugh and asked Sanjeev to have a sit, then the inspector tells him  the history of this place.

There was once a village there 10 years back, the villages always loves to do theater in their village all villagers participate in it, once while performing a play the village caught fire it was huge fire and almost all villages died in that incident.

But, now also they didn’t led the acting talent fail, they often design a plot and if any strangers come or pass by the play begins.

The Inspector added “They are not harmful, they will never harm you, take my word ,check your car it will be working fine by now”.

Sanjeev can’t believe the inspector at all , with contradicting to what he has seen, so asked  inspector to please come along with him to the spot.

The Inspector agreed, they all went to the village in police van, Sanjeev got surprise , there was nothing no village , only few burn broken house, his hair stood up,” how it could happen” he think in his mind, he can still fell the smell of Sunita.

Sanjeev stood still for a while , then back to his senses , by now he understand the whole drama, he laugh at himself of being one of the lead character in their drama, He went towards his car and try to start it , Good God, it got started in one self only.

Sanjeev came out of his car, and turn to the inspector to say “Thank you” But strange there was no one, the inspector, two constable and also the police van all disappear.

Sanjeev understood that the play has not been ended; He drove his car fast ………. Until he reach home

Paradise Brutal

It took a very long time for A to find B,

and possibly even longer for A with B to get to C,

then D shadowed, and along came easy E,

F hurried, G stumbled, and before you know it,

H pushed, I shoved, J fell, K and L bullied,

 

doormen and bouncers hired,

and hooked red velvet guest rope installed.

M and N showed legs and other stuff,

O accommodated, P arrived peeing and puking,

Q wandered in by mistake,

 

R flashed cash, S slid unscathed,

T grinned teeth, U did what?

V spread, W wowed,

and the rest, X, Y, Z,

is history.

 

If death is nothing, why fear it?

Is it the indifference of nothingness that disturbs the living?

All the energy and effort spent?

Unfinished business? Dead silence?

Or is it the tickle on skin of summer breeze?

 

Astonishing possibilities?

Privilege of existence?

There are moments when I

almost do it,

a very fragile brink, I want to

 

call, see, be with her so bad.

No matter what, I miss,

adore her intelligence, sense of humor, moods, body, beauty.

Why?

If death is nothing, why fear it?

 

Eyes perceive

group of young men approaching

momentary assumptions of danger

passes as inner fear and distrust

process high-spirited partying.

 

Z: “This is confusing. Put your thoughts in order.”

Y: “But there is no true order.”

Z: “Before you speak another word,

what you got to bring to the table?

Money? Property? Prestige?”

Y: “I offer poetry, ash drawings, new architecture.”

Z: “Lay it on the line, you faggot, or be punished!”

Y: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Z:  “Burn this dickwad on a stake,

then eat remains.”

 

Fuckhole runs in pleading for dickwad’s life,

but it’s too late.

Fuckhole sits chewing charred flesh at table.

Biscuits get passed around vigorously.

No talk about death.

 

A: “Who’s the one?”

B: “You are, Daddy.”

A: “But I’m just a tiny force of nature.”

B: “Let’s go see about C.”

A: “Am I not enough for you?”

 

C: “What and where is love?

Is it an illusion

I strive for an impossible chance?

When will we find each other?

Will I feel belonging?”

 

 

You’ll Never Have This Opportunity Again

A voice inside keeps repeating,

You’ll never have this opportunity again.

Title or first line sets precedent.

Pride is my sin, even with low self-esteem.

 

I remember severe pain

sitting at table

with head collapsed

on folded arms.

 

God sat across table from me,

asking, “Who do you think you are?”

I froze, forgot how to talk.

When I looked up, the thought was gone.

 

I recognize pattern within myself,

where I fall prey

to someone who may or may not

take advantage of me.

 

I grow anxious, fearful, needing to be released.

In childhood, my younger sister ran to my side,

but years of therapy freed her of that job.

I still return to pattern, frantic, self-destructive,

 

worthless feeling, with no one to rescue, nurture me.

You may wonder about my allure to my ex

and other damaged women I’ve loved.

Now you know, I’m fucked-up.

 

Unseasoned, I scribbled, “If the peanut butter

isn’t streaked with jelly smears,

than you’re living too anal-retentive and proper a life.”

I realize my younger self wouldn’t like older self.

 

Enough about me, let’s talk about you.

What’s it like being a Siamese twin?

Are two heads really better than one?

When one of you finds a lover, what does the other do?

 

Do you look away? Close your eyes? Stare?

Who’s in charge of money?

Ok, I didn’t mean to get off on the wrong foot.

So you’re not actually a Siamese twin?

 

Seeing double is my problem, oh god.

Tonight my sister wrote,

“I begin to understand the mystery of life,

the moment unfolding, to harshness

 

and softness of just one moment,

so dear, to haunt you for desiring more.”

The moon tonight, thin sharp slice set on spine

in western sky. A miracle, that’s what I think.

 

You’ll never have this opportunity again.

 

Can’t Live Without You: Book 1

Crying into a pillow all day seems like my plan.

Yesterday It was my sister’s death. She was kidnapped then killed. And I was going to find out who.

My sister, Lassie, was known as the “Beauitful Queen” because she always acted like a nice queen to us.

She died at age 6, and I was the one the found her body.

Her arm was sticking out of a ditch in Little Rock, Arkansas, the place where I was born.

Her first half of her body was there, the rest all chopped up.

When I was there, a man about 5’7, brown hair, and nerdy glasses was driving away really fast, but I was fast enough to catch his face.

Tan skin, scars around his lip, evil eyes.

I knew he killed my sister.

I quickly got up and ignored what I was going to wear.

The smell of raspberry cornflake ceral filled up my nostrills.

Today I was going to find out the guy’s name

Bishop to Queen 4

Everything is such fun in the beginning,

when it’s new and undiscovered.

i’ll try almost anything.

 

What is meant by almost?

All these stupid sick shit roles we play,

all this pretending, why?

 

i want to believe there’s something

behind the curtain

besides a windowless stone wall

 

Something inexplicable

his/her majesty of everything/

living/dead/never existed.

 

William Blake said, “Either be a poet or a painter.

Being both muddies audiences, and discredits one or the other.”

Actually, Blake didn’t say that. i am lost.

 

is it possible to love after what has happened?

the rage, hurt, disappointment of betrayal.

my ex still stalks

 

as recently as two mornings ago,

all her exaggerations, over-reactions, fury.

Why so desperate to return to crime scene?

 

An admission of her own guilt?

Excessive compulsive wound licking (psychogenic alopecia)?

Another excuse for getting drunk?

 

When we waited for the elevator going down

You said, “Let’s just get this over with.”

i understood completely.

 

i, who worships my own death.

i, who pisses on my own grave.

i, who gets bored faster than speed of light.

 

i, who suspects killing around every corner.

i, who sleeps restless.

i, who worries.

 

i, who loves women.

i, who does not understand women.

i, who is a woman.

 

i, who bangs the dude in L.A. to advance my career.

i, who is a nobody.

i, a man with no place to stand.

 

i, who belongs to a family of

blustering flirts, flatterers,

kidders, thieves.

 

We sit at the table,

monkey-wrenching hand over fist lives.

Forget about the eyes.

 

Watch the fingers.

Don’t listen to the speeches.

Words are intentional distractions.

 

Where’s your wallet?

Gypsies? No, we’re not gypsies,

more upper-crusty, yes, very well-connected secrets.

 

Do the names Dante, or Cervantes, or Nabokov mean anything to you?

No, none of them are our kin,

but we know people who know people,

 

infidelities in very high places.

All i’m saying is,

once you reach a certain level,

 

we’re all family.

i will make success happen,

with or without you.

The Quiet Life of Paul Rudolph, Chapter 1, Pages 3-5

The next installment: taking up where we left off. In the first two pages, Paul has walked from his bedroom to his garage, back to his bedroom and into the bathroom. See what he might do next…a journey into innerspace, a trip through cortexes and lobes and chambers. Action and dialogue give way to the gears and cranks of thought. Can lists and language outdo shoot-outs and back-alley fights in a battle for attention?

 

 

The Quiet Life of Paul Rudolph (pages 3-5)

The hangover peaked. Reality was disarranged with flashbacks. Faces from the night before materialized and vanished. His head pounded. Maybe a smoke? Cure with a disease. Delay the pain. Pay Peter to rape Paul. Blackouts surely stealing some fond or humorous memories. Better bad than none. Those who don’t forget are doomed to remember. Remember when you could drink? Could be completely drunk but still there. A code hero? Impertinent intemperance. Pain, anxiety, nausea, guilt. P.A.N.G. of the alcoholic.

 

All I wanna do is get down, is get down, is get down, in the evening, in the evening and not wanna die tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

 

What can honestly be extrapolated from these cloudy apparitions of last night? Call Randall. Chipping away at the archives of the hippocampus with each time traveling voyage? The short term must be weakening. What about Miller’s Magic Number? Shereshevskii’s eidetic memory. Kim Peek: Hoffman’s best role.

He went to the living room with a cup of strong coffee and blazed the coals of his marijuana bowl. His concerns turned to smoke and filled the air. He added some water to the bong from a bottle on the coffee table.  Fuzzy feelings from a few tokes blanket cold crapulence. Was not born on the wrong side of the blanket but conceived there. On a chair, sofa, or table? Perhaps! Conceived out of bed-lock, out of wed-lock.

Time passed quickly as he read some from Meditations on First Philosophy, by Descartes, and smoked. He drank coffee. He walked back to his bedroom and into the other room with so many names.

Paul dressed. Brush the lengthening teeth. Wash the wrinkling face. Slick the cowlicks and duck-tails. Trim the soul patch. Squeeze blackheads and whiteheads; the sebum exits like snakes from their lairs. Pluck hair from the concha and vicinity, some as low as the lobe.

He looked hard into the mirror. Limpid gray eyes stolen from Athena. Pallas Athena. Andrea Palladio’s Palazzo Chiericati. Palladium…Any relation between an owl and William Hyde Wollaston? Red vessels of the sclera. The iris and pupil. The gray iris: a cold chromosphere housing coronal loops and spicules. The dilator muscle.  The convection zone. Maybe palladium…Put some money into…Inflation. The conundrum of corundum.

 

Where does the answer lie? Living from day to day. If it’s something we can’t buy. There must be another way.

 

Paul Rudolph was ready for rehearsal. His memory jogged. Flirted conspicuously in front of Olivia. Ah. Ambulation of abode. Not forgetting…After several laps of the apartment, he went to the garage for the second time that day. Aftermath of aqua vitae.

The garage door opened. Laggard growl—making a kind of whistling sound—rising and folding to its highest resting place—ready for its inhabitant’s exit, slightly trembling, like a woman’s legs after orgasm.

P.R. conceived a vision of his childhood:

Next to the window. Ten years old? The neighbors in their yard. Parents downstairs. Fred and Sarah with some of their progeny. Whistled at them, and they all turned to face the back of their house. Recommenced their confabulation and disport. Whistled again. Still they turned and looked at the back of their house. Whistled again, after which they stood and leaned to look alongside the house.

He laughed while pulling out of his driveway and tapping eighth notes on the steering wheel. Funny they didn’t look up. Most people hardly ever look up—look up to think that we’re revolving around a yellow star, twenty-five thousand light years from the center of the galaxy, one hundred six thousand two hundred seventeen kilometers per hour, metrically speaking.

Rudolph tapped with terminal members the beat from the radio and admonished himself some for his drunkenness. Forget it. Malleate the membranes of cylindrical bodies. Sweat.

On this particular trip, he drove through his Excelsior neighborhood to the Bay View Area. Avoiding highways, he used Mansell Street and Third Street. Children played here and there on sidewalks and among shady individuals, with some of whom he may have dealt under other, previous circumstances. He heard some whistling and yelling and laughing. That’s the chair, Titi; that’s god. The radio blasted. Trite, meandering lyrics accompanied by an uninventive guitar riff. He passed Egbert Street while driving on Third. P. R. Egbert: the ophthalmologist. Studied the Onchocerca Volvulus at Stanford. An argument against god. Blindness. His report that maternal LSD ingestion may cause some ocular malformations for the offspring. Who’d take LSD while pregnant?

He thought of Chris from the night before, telling him they should go camping on Angel Island and take LSD. The modality of the visible not ineluctable. The world as an impressionistic painting. Colors and sparks and the breathing of inanimate objects. Synesthesia. Alan Watts’ assiduously fostered descriptions. Seeing things almost on a molecular level. Maybe should experiment scientifically, not recreationally. Hofmann’s bike ride.

Thoughts whirled; he arrived at the business park housing the studio and waited at the gate. He texted, I’m here. Cell phone: Linus’ blanket, as Eco says, though I don’t think he coined it. Lysergic acid diethylamide. Wonder how I managed it so well. Knew nothing of how to prepare. Now I know. Use as entheogen. Did it open something? Knew some dolts who did it. They didn’t change. Some were scared. I was…

THUD!

Paul jumped in his seat and looked in the rearview to see Skip laughing through the windshield of his Civic. He’d bumped the rear of Paul’s car softly, jarred and startled him. From the opposite direction, Kevin’s Chrysler was decelerating.

”Paulie!” Skip yelled out the window. He opened the gate with the remote.

The three cars pulled in and parked. The men exited their vehicles. Typical niceties ensued: fumbled fist bumps, half shakes and half slaps. They talked briefly of whether or not the guitar player, arriving shortly, would be permanent. They walked inside carrying their burdens of amps, bags, cables, cases, speakers, and stands.

A music studio: an anodyne for Paul, an analgesic with no negative side effects. He entered one as one might enter a church, mosque, or synagogue: not as a priest, imam, or rabbi might enter those respective edifices, but as one might. At the trap set he dropped his equipment, closed his eyes, and stretched. Staring at the blackness through the conjunctiva, a white circle with a secant line formed in his vision. He fell into a modified form of meditation. Tahyler and Keith arrived. Skip tuned his guitar and Kevin his bass guitar in discord.

”Yo, Rudolph. Hey, Paulie! PAUL!”

Rudolph opened his eyes and the circle and line disappeared. He looked at Keith cradling his saxophone while sliding the reed into the mouthpiece. Chick with that birth-control device that felt like the mouthpiece of a brass horn.

”Keith,” Paul said in long monotone.

They shook hands. After one show at the Red Devil Lounge, Paul and Keith had drank and conversed with the female lead singer of another band for far too long after last call. They resisted and were rude when asked to leave. This had angered the bar staff and infuriated Skip; he fell out of favor with the bar for some time, but had regained it after a few stellar shows.

Paul went back to stretching. The circle with the secant line was not there. Keith was now talking to Kevin. Tuning continued. Paul sat at the drum throne twirling his sticks, warming his wrists. He greeted Tahyler with a nod.

Practice began in earnest. The songs played ranged from andante to presto. Time signatures of four/four were most common. Odd times, mainly threes, were used sparingly. Bars of supreme cohesion provoked twinkles of rapture. Paul occasionally felt the tempo push and pull, each musician imposing his perspective of space. P.R. despised any waver in time, and he educed all his vanity in these moments. No, Accelerando Ritardando. No!

Tahyler’s eyes…Skip…syllabic singing. Kevin. Listen. Fingers. Thumb and index. Keith’s solo. Sixteenth note triplets. Snare drum, bass drum, paradiddle fill. Tempo Giusto.

The Quiet Life of Paul Rudolph, Chapter One, Page One and Two

I hope to deliver this as literary greats such as Charles Dickens and Thomas Hardy once delivered their novels: periodically. This is a bit of the first chapter. The novel is a combination of a linear narrative and stream of consciousness from the main characters’ POV. It will also, I hope, be a guided tour through one of America’s greatest cities. Lyrics of some popular songs are used to emphasize emotions of the character(s). The novel is set in 2007. I hope to publish this and become the next big thing, but for now I only want to let my friends at MyMorningStory take a peak and possibly share some thoughts. Here are the first two pages, unedited.

 

The Quiet Life of Paul Randolph

 

Paul Rudolph awoke from forgotten dreams to find himself, surprisingly, in his own bed. He had a headache and an inkling that he was transforming into a monstrous pedant; he knew he was a drunk. He hurried to his garage. It was there. He knew he had been out the previous night but could not remember much else. He’d driven home in the depths of a terrible blackout. His car was safe again, though. Lucky lush. Foggy scenes from the night before began to take shape.

 

Someone angry? Maybe I was embarrassed. In front of…who was there? Olivia? Tonya? Chris? Justin? Not Rose. Randall. Said something off-putting to Olivia? Tonya? Said what I was thinking earlier—before intoxicated. Something I knew not to reveal. Someone’s upset.

Woke up in the morning and all my friends hate me……… What Happened?

 

 

Started in NorthBeach: The International and La Rocca’s. Then where?

He came from the garage to the landing, walked up the steps, and entered his apartment. Laborious chores for this languorous state. He took the hall to his bedroom, stepped inside and looked in the mirror. Shirtless man-child wearing rhinoceros-cartooned boxer shorts. Short, brown hair inert on ellipsoidal head. Itching—left arm. Scar still tactile. More ink? Why? Two koi fish scarred in red and yellow swimming in the foliage of a Japanese Rush across my right calf. What about this medieval etching on my back? What’s the use? What does it mean? Wanting some identity? What identity? A person is the Ship of Theseus.  Rummaging the Internet for some symbol or emblem or image or sign or crest or mandala which represents my beliefs or interests or ideas or fancies or principles or essence or nature or something. Clear your mind.

He recalled the drinks from the previous night: beer at home and a shot of cognac before driving to NorthBeach. More beer at The International and a shot of something blue and free from the L.A. 7 behind the bar. Then La Rocca’s for Fernet shots with gingerbacks. After that? Downtown? Yes.

 

Paul Rudolph remembered, vaguely, standing outside of Vertigo. Least favorite bar in that section, six blocks from Nob Hill. Only end up there in a blackout. Time traveling. Not in my body. Completely unaware but still functioning. Talking…Thought I was there. They didn’t know I had anterograde amnesia. That I had a two-minute-memory. How many people have conversed with me in that state? How many dialogues have been forgotten while fluttering in the deep dark space of lost time? Should at least finish Swann’s Way. Not able to find everything in my memory. Must memorize more mnemonic methods. Myriads of them. Mnemonics will do no good. Time travelling, it’s like.

Had shots at Vertigo. Shots of what? Fernet? Tequila? Whiskey? Yes. Suddenly, his mind sculpted the interior of the R-Bar. The cherry wood and long, narrow frame. The mid 20′s to mid 30′s crowd trying hard not to care. The barmen feigning attentiveness to each evenly but attending to females of particular beauty, face and figure, ever so cordially.

He wobbled to the bedroom doorway wondering if the phantasm was from the night before. Corroborate gray matter. Yes, R-Bar. Last night. He took the corridor to the kitchen. That was where Randall and I ran into the others. Last night. The Fernet bottles on the wall. Glasses of beer on the bar. Two girls sitting close by. Randall taking a photo of the girls and me. Only Randall had not taken a photo. The camera was set to video mode or something. Said something droll. Made them laugh. They were interested. I didn’t care. Overwrought laughter indicated lubricious inclinations. What did I say? Why so bewitching when obliterated by booze? Could charm Nefertiti after a shot and a beer. Could dethrone her romantic, monotheistic diplomat with some combination of sword, hand, and a seated man doing something with his mouth. Everyone is like that. No one is like that.

Earlier last night: Randall, Rose and her girlfriend (Jessica?), at my place for drinks and a smoke of the nuthastuff. I forced philosophy into the conversation somehow: an obscure reference like Avicenna. Dropped his name casually like he’s a modern-day celebrity. Trying to impress. Brought up his thoughts on motion? Medicorum Principes. Large, powerful, enduring canon. Dietitian. Sad we don’t study him or Al-Farabi much in the west. Translated Aristotle far before Europe’s Renaissance. Discredited alchemy and astrology a thousand years ago. Was perturbing. Impressing? Drunken wit. Then later: a stupor similar to senility. The stages of drunkenness are like the stages of life. Peak somewhere in the middle. Never discussed Averroes and monopsychism or the ‘ud tuning of the peripatetic, musical Arab: Al-Kindi.

Went to the R-Bar after Vertigo. Rose was supposed to come but didn’t. Then homeways? Yes. Maybe. How did I drive? Can’t remember the…Glad to be not in jail, safe, alive.

I broke every single traffic rule………

 

 

What happened? He put on the coffee. It was Saturday, July eighteenth, the year two thousand seven. What to do? Ah, yes, practice. Less than two hours off. Why think practice but say rehearsal? Only when talking to someone. It sounds more professional. Commode sounds better than toilet, but nobody says commode. Nobody says toilet either. Everyone says bathroom or restroom. I need to go to the bathroom or restroom.  I have to use the bathhouse, the outhouse, the lavatory, the john, the head, the pot, the potty, the privy, the latrine, the loo, the sandbox, the throne, the washroom, the water closet… need to void excrement. Need to take a leak, drain the lizard, piss, pee, wiz, urinate, defecate, shit, crap, shit or get off the pot, drop the kids off at the pool, conduct a fetid experiment in the scientific lavatory.

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