To Raybeez You could get a bit of creeping moonbeam from the balcony. I headed for it. I got a good wiff of the smell of water. I usually get exhaust. The living room was sterole, affluent, filled with stiff german stuff and a couple of spooky African prints. Lots of photos of ruffies and some unreal types. None of them would know this shithead from Joe and I figured right 'bout this turd and the Chubby's got a stereo, no records/just CD's -- and phukin huge plants. It was with the colours that all the light was absorbed into the walls and furniture. The stucco starts grating on my eyes. When Chubby turned on the light the room played with my persistence of vision/patterns remained glaring over the edges of the tables and chairs Dark to light Persistence in reverse Glare Like television. I followed him in/right behind him//looking at the place/ around the interiors. He had cash, like he said. -- What kind of music do you like. You hungry. Grab a seat -- He points to the couch. So I go over to it. -- I'll put some music on, ah, maybe not -- He grabs a seat facing me. It was in this stiff longback chair//not too comfortable. -- So what do you think of the place. We're here -- I just looked around and nodded, then I looked at Chubby. Nobody said nothing/for awhile//then he goes. -- You like pussy -- -- What, what do you mean -- -- You bent -- -- It's not important. I never really thought about it -- -- I don't think so. It looks like you got good spirit -- -- My friend Arno said he was once -- -- Not anymore -- -- No, it's not that, it's just that he said/then he started hanging around it/then he was gone... -- I don't say anything after that. I start thinking about whatz happening with Arno/and then I lean forward cupping my hands. -- ...peddled his ass, shooting up leaving his needles around. He got real sloppy. Last time; he's wearing lipstick and 2 earringz acting strung out; he was strung out. Next thing I see him looking like a cleaner version of what I saw before. He even dyed his hair blonde to match this old ofay he's seeing. I see him sitting with him at Doll and Penny's. He's really moved up in the world -- It was there that there was this blackout/cause all he says is... -- So you're not a battyboi, right -- -- He used to be thrash -- I lift my shirt and rub my belly. -- Phuk, I'm starving you got any food -- Chubby just says; -- Do you dance. Would you dance for me -- -- I had a boyfriend, once -- -- So you are a punk -- -- Girls have girlfriends, nothing special even when you kiss. I've kissed a boy, nothing special. What do want me to do -- -- You drive -- -- Yeah -- -- You want to give me a blow job -- -- I could do that -- -- What do you like to do -- ...like I'm some skanker Like I got some sort of pricelist Like I'm Arno, now. -- I said I could do that -- -- Kill me first -- -- What, you dying of AIDS. And no, I'm not a punk -- -- I like your boots -- -- I want to hear some music -- I walk over to the CD rack. I'm flipping through them and he's still barking on about... -- Kill me/comeon -- [silence] -- You got something to eat -- [groan] So Chubby gets behind me and takes the CD out of my hand. He starts acting anal trying to find the exact place where I took it from. -- I think those boots...oh...yes, I think, Oh they look good on you. I like that -- -- I'm tired -- -- You want a bath/shower -- I just turn and stare at him and say; -- This whole towns beautiful. I was just walking around the other day. It's phuking amazing, man. Best junkies in the world in this town -- -- Do you want to hear some music -- -- Eventually -- I walk past Chubby and fall down on the couch. -- How would you do it. Would you bash me over the head with a blunt object or asphyxiate me -- -- Why are homosexuals always so obsessed by everything -- Chubby walks toward me. I thought he was going to try and stomp on me. But then battybois never do anything without a group involved and they don't like to get their hands dirty. That's why they have those Skin wanna be/SA types = Q-patrol/marching up and down the street. Well/ seattle/youknow/wahyaspekt. -- I wouldn't call it obsession; but I learned to drive so I could get here without a cab. I have no neighbours. Don't you think this a dream -- By this point I had come to a decision. -- You got spare keys -- -- No, just the 1's on me//...//comeon -- -- No -- -- It'll be a gas -- Chubby walks back over to the sound system and starts looking at the music. So I point to CD's. -- Those are nice. Not that I get to hear anything, though. G-d you suck -- --You want to hear some music -- -- Yeah -- -- You dance for me -- -- Sure -- Chubby hits a button on the remote and this beautiful noisy bashment music plays at a groovy intolerable level. He actually did have some pretty good shit. So I struggle to lift myself off the couch and I'm about to mek like I'm going to move for him. I touch him and Chubby turns the music off. -- You'll do this for me -- -- I don't know -- -- You get the food/car/money. You can't park your self on a cement beach forever jonesing change = that makes you feel better. Kill me/you deserve more. You hungry, want some music -- -- I'm leaving -- ...but I don't move. -- Where are you going to go to. I live too far. We're too far out, Philly. If you kill me you could keep the keys, take the car: pocket money --     I went to a doctor once. When I was in school, there was a guy that everyone thought was coolio/hooch/snorky. He'd kiss his buddy Morbid at parties when they played anything by BlackFlag. They'd dance around together and the girlies thought it was groovey and the guys got kinderhard over the idea of fake battyboi sex, then they'd target their pricks at the girlies. He Phukt me when he graduated. It was on his couch at his parents place. They were gone that day, right. His dad wasn't there ever, because they got divorced. He came in my eye. Then starts telling me about all the clubs he goes to. My eye was still glued shut. He seemed concerned when he was talking about his life. He told me to go and wash off. [I had a tight ass]=he said that was good. A guy had told him that/he told me...when he was walking home from school. The guy picked him up and stuff happened. He didn't get a drive back home because the guy got a little scared. He didn't think twice how scared anyone else could be. My eye can open now. I read in a Watch Tower booklet that you can die. I figured I was dying, now. So I go to the school nurse. She's nice about it/really nice. Not condescending or Phukt like a gym teacher would be. I think gym teachers phukup more boyz lives than anyone and now they expect you to do more of that shit if you want to get off the beach. Gym teachers in charge of Phukt over kids. I never found the meaning of life in a puck or a ball. Sister sends me to a doctor/who was a gym teacher, basically. He could of been. He just sat behind a desk with sliteyes/and got his helper to look at me. -- Are you bent -- How was I suppose to know. -- You better check him out -- The helper shoves his finger... and the they take this swab and put it real deep in my penis...it hurt...it couldn't of been needed to to do it like that. It was real rough and fast... I was supposed to p-ss after that but I couldn't...it hurt. -- Just leave it on my desk -- This nurse just gives him this look like she wanted to kill him and the helper was considering a career change.Doctor just sliteyed sat behind his desk. I saw a doctor once. My fren sees them more/but they put things in his head.     I shove Chubby against the sound system. He pulls himself back up... -- No neighbours, right. No coming or going. No you. You don't exist/never did -- -- Never did -- -- Right, Philly -- -- Never did. Can I take a shower. You want me to blow you first -- -- Just get it done, man -- -- //...//arno//...// -- -- Comeon -- Chubby opens his arms to me// -- Philly, you're my mate -- -- Phuk you -- I'm nodding and smiling, and almost under my breath, I say... -- I'm your boy -- I slap him... -- What you like that -- ...I keep slapping him. Then/I finally start to shove him. I start getting aggro. Chubby starts to protest and yells, 'Alright'/'OK'/over and over. This only fuels me, so, raging, I shove Chubby to the ground. Then/I grab one of pillow things off the couch and do this thing until he stops breathing=no blunt object/though/maybe my boot...I start shitkicking the Chubby body and screaming...     I can unnerstand why people off each other so easy these days. If you don't have the key to the universe, you can use gun instead//either way/you've chnged the channel. When I press and shift my feet in Chubby's car/I can feel the chipped paint on the porch. My cheek stings. I can feel this sticky wet stuff on my fingers. The fingers become my site and I can look just uptop them and see the cement walk and field and field//then I look down and see Elie standing behind a little girl. She pulls her tiny fist out from behind her back. Her hand opens [slowly] and inside are pills -- blue/yellow/blk=yellow 1's and small and a large green 1. Chubby said... -- People only come here to die... --   -- Give//...//me//...//the//...//g-ddamn//...//keys -- Then I just bend down and grab them and some pocket dunza off the corpse. I'm heading for the door, but I remember that decision I made earlier, so I stop, find the kitchen, mek myself a sandwich and then leave. What am I going to do with a phuking car.     You always hate the minorities that are in your face the most. My daddy could never get anything perfect/not us//maybe our hair//but he tried/real hard on the lawn. Me and my bredda Pete, we'd work on it for him/every other weekend/after winter. It just was never good enough. He'd order sand and dirt/soil for the yard and we'd rake it clean. Then you'd get this chopper seeding thing and run it over the dirt. It dropped sesame straight down the line/forming a line in grooves. Me/I had trouble cutting the grass/once it grew. I had big bad allergies and I'd sneeze alot/so much/that I'd forget to see and run over the wire and everything would stop. But our hair was clean//perfect cutz--phukin near 1. He'd do it himself, like they taught him to have it in the army/war. Lasted about a wk of training then he got sent off. He was 17 and lied to get in=This Is Your Gun. //never run by the couch when he's sleeping. (this is not a drill...) //the enemy was attacking that war done him in good He never stopped swinging ...but sometimes it just hurt/with all the scraping. You'd get a major rash. My momz would take over as he supervised. He made sure that the side burns were all gone/just above the hair. My momz/she moved onto my bredda once and saw all these crawl type things running around. I have nightmares about them still. I keep my body perfect clean/because I see the other kids//ah/bums/really/who hang out on the beach/think it's cool/it's cool to be crusty/big punk smellytypes/hollering at people for change and smokes. They got family and cash. They split every holiday/yud or not/to head back home to get new jackets and studs. I get my own phukin gear. I hate that shit that crawls all over you. They get under your skin and their babies are ten thousand strong. My momz destroyed everyone. Me and my bredda figured that it didn't matter what you did with the lawn/it was just crab grass we were planting/nothing pretty like our daddy wanted. I figure now/that they didn't sell the goodstuff/like you see on television shows/to niggers who marry bakra bitches. //it wasn't his fault=it was the war that done it the war He went to bed swinging his fist and cocking his gun.     I just had to stomp that asshole...had to get out, get away...ya know?     As I drive through the dirt road/barbed wired by trees/flicker fluttering maple trees//the drive seemed longer and I could see the sparkles from the bunch of water just past them/on the otherside/like the road I was driving on/only I couldn't take a walk or drive through it. I wanted to see those things you see on postcards. It would be wondrous sparkles of the city. I pulled up to trees and I pull out a tape that was in Chubby's deck and I crank it. Rita Macneil was just ranking full stop. So I take a romp through natures pussy and met much oozy barriers of red where my boots hit the mudjuice. Stream is louder than Rita, full force, through bushes -- cause it hits your ear -- scratches you and rips your face... and as I get closer I hear rumble/rumble/gulps and lopping of things and bits of notes from Rita. It's more scary than the city. But I can the see the city/south/there/and the scrapers big and good. It stretches from the ground big/high. I'll place my kit there..not peddling my ass/nahno/no beggy/gimmegimme. I'll shine boots/plenty. They like them that way. 'Slow and Sure' Horatio/for Paul Hoffman//street merchant young/you and me.     -- Home -- About The Authors -- E-mail Blithe

© 1997-1998 Blithe House Quarterly -- All Rights Reserved