It was about then that the sky turned black, even blacker through the tinted office windows. Black like ink clung to the skyscrapers downtown. The occasional pop of light added to the noirish aspect of the afternoon. All systems come to a halt. I want my mother. Wish to be at home. Not that home, but home. Michael and I riding out through the trails to the lake. can’t even have a cigarette. It’s too dark. Couldn’t find the match to the tip. I fear that the atmosphere may turn me black too. That just walking in it. To get to my car to get to the airport where the flight will not be on time, jets all covered in black, ink. Will we drink black drinks. It so scary its boring. Then a lady in a pink sweatshirt struts by. How does she stay pink. Seems like petroleum products could be the answer. The phones are off the hook. People are calling from the north to tell of devastation. Calling from places like Cleveland and Blue Ridge. They tell us the whole place is black. Like an oil tank leak. Not fish this time. Not furry seafarers. This time it has come for us. Are we what we eat? Have we too become polluted? Is that the reason the sky is black? The jets can’t take off? Let’s call of all Earth Day activity… due to the weather. Let’s send the last dog from the pen to the executioner’s chamber. I’ll give him up too. Was playing: Heroin...
Cock as big as a block. Today’s modern parenting. I drive by those neighborhoods. Who’d’ve thought there are so many strollers. So many different kinds. So many ways of getting a baby from here to there. Oh, and Maria. I guess my little dick couldn’t plant a seed far enough in there. BABY CRAZY! Oh, I guess with a pipe like that a man could do a lot of damage. Plant a seed good. Change all of the plumbing in the house in one visit. Oh, I hate that letter. I hate that it still sits there on the window in the kitchen. I wasn’t baby crazy. Maybe that’s the problem. Told her that when dad left I became the man of the house. Had been a man of the house since I was 12. Being a man of the house is for the fucking birds. How did I get like this. Tommy was supposed to be here. It was supposed to be our night out. How did I get like this. I just wanted to have some fun, like fishing, see what turns up. They are always more comfortable when there are two and the second is you. Fine with not being the man of the house. Hell, it’s a rental anyway. What’s a rental for raising a kid. Besides my sperm wouldn’t take anyway. those drunk little fuckers are so confused. Looked at them once when I was 14 under a microscope, jacked off on a glass slide. Christmas present. Wow! Hard to imagine how they could do damage. Just makes you feel nasty. Fuck that job....
My parents have just left, heading back to North Carolina by way of any roadside arts/crafts stores. The faucet in the kitchen doesn’t splatter all over the toaster anymore. You can shower with reasonable assurance that the water pressure will be strong enough to cut the lather off of your body. I can indicate left turns without the fear of inattentive crashing into me from behind, and my car doesn’t groan anymore during the left turn. There are cosmos planted in a small window box out front. The grill is silver and clean. The futon is stripped and back in place. There are TV dining trays in the living room with classic country LP covers decoupaged on them. If you don’t look too closely, it’s almost as if they weren’t here at all, though. The house is cleaner than it was the week before they arrived. Musical instruments have moved from one side of the room to the other. Tonight will be quiet. G and I will most likely go get dinner. We will come home to a TV playing and we will also most likely watch a full 30 segment without any interruptive conversation. It will be nice. I will remember something I wanted to ask dad to take a look at. Mom and Dad will call to say they are back, that they dropped by my brother’s to say hello to the grandkids. At home Mom will dress in a house coat and watch home repair television. Dad will go online to get more info about the Zoo where he is taking Stone tomorrow. Mom will go...
‘Goldilocks’Okay, so I am sitting at work today, stuck writing code, and all of the world seems to be worried about the fact that local news anchor Brenda Wood has “gone blonde.” I mean really? Is this news? We are to publish a story about her change in hair color. I am to wait with baited breath to get that story up on the web site as soon as it breaks. We are running several before and after photos for comparison of the “going blonde” process, and we are running a poll to ask the general public what they think of Brenda “going blonde.” I mean, come on! The pope just died, as did Saul Bellow, and we are at war in Iraq, and Jimmy carter got snubbed by the president, and… I am supposed to be on the edge of my seat waiting for a story, actually a critique, of a local anchor’s new hair color. “It’s shimmery but not as shimmery as it could be, adds a better complement to her complexion than the old squirrels nest she used to wear on her head… but all in all, it could be better. Next time, Bren, try one of the salons outside of the mall, and remember to tip your colorist!” Why don’t we just save a tree… and stop wasting my time. Was playing: Finally We Are No One...
“Hey Curtis! What do you think this chick will look like? He says she’s an auditor. Came into the store to take a look at the books… end of the beginning of the year kind of thing.” “I bet she’s a big-titted thing. You know Tommy. At least when he is drunk his sight seems to only scan from shoulder to waist. Like his neck’s got a hitch or something. He’s an ugly motherfucker. I bet her tits look like a million dollars and her face like a bag of dogshit.” I order another boilermaker and things are starting to get a bit swirly. I can’t believe he is doing this shit to me. The college girls are starting to arrive and all of the pool tables are filled up. There’s one with red hair that I swear keeps looking my way. She’s okay… a little like Sissy Spacek but with a better figure. I go lay 50 cents down on the table just to be near her. See what she will do. I know this game. Shit! I know it better than anyone. Since Marla left me a year ago, I play it all the time. College girls, late at night at the bar, me dressed like a desk job. They think of the future. Plan on babies. Imagine fathers, houses, station wagons and swimming pools. What she doesn’t know is I still live in the student section of town. Probably no further than three blocks from her. In an upstairs apartment I have rented since senior year. I keep fucking up. Eight years and I haven’t figured...
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