father had a big room all to himself he called it the study No other fathers she knew of had this privilege but hers was an artist, a writer, a poet And the last time she entered his study he turned from his massive desk to face her and spat in her face and slapped her hard and cursed her plenty You do not disturb an artist when he is in the state of flow, was the lesson there Well, it was learned so well that twenty years have passed and it was not forgotten Its greatest benefit standing in preventing her from marrying a writer It led to happiness Today she was a happy housewife who prepared pear puree for her three-year-old girl who would one day have to learn the most important lesson of her life Don't you dare become an artist's wife! But there'd be time enough for education. Today she'd have to deliver the monthly payment to the nursing home for taking care of some mad old fool who wrote poems with his own shit on the bathroom walls They were all about some daughter who won't visit him and wouldn't acknowledge his existence or something like that
pray yourself to sleep
you can’t unlock the door when there’s a key inside the lock from the other side right, all you can do now is to plead with your kid to let you in it’s 12:47 AM and kid’s got school in the morning He’s not asleep because there was no one to tell him to go to sleep There was no one home all day and this late into the night and he’s pissed and very hungry, tired and full of rage Where have you been all this time, mom? Indeed, where have you been? Better leave the answer for tomorrow when the spirits will sizzle a bit less Until then take off your high heels and the glitter from your face and the semen from your hair and lie down on the doormat and maybe pray yourself to sleep It’ll get better. One day you know it will
adventure girl
It is known You can never hold on to an adventurer and she was one And she was gone and he stood by the window and smelled the guitar she left behind, not knowing how to play it A girl like her travels around the world like a sailor and loves many boys and men and they never forget her The one mistake they all share is trying to lock her in their world It’s like trying to capture the sun’s light in a bag and take it into your dark house Women like her are responsible for men who call themselves romantics and write love poems and dream He struck the cords of the guitar once. Looked out the window. Warm, sunny day. Streets busy with children running fast, passing by adults who walked slow
high commandment
from the violet cloud above God stretched a hand and passed down to him the dagger with a blade made of frozen shit “Take this,” said God, “and pose yourself at the gates of the school. Offer to clean the students under the fingernails and toenails with it. Now go.” He woke up when the mongrel dog whose tail he grabbed and squeezed and pulled started to cry and bark and turn to bite at his hand He screamed and backed away from the poor thing and watched it run away He looked at himself Naked and smeared with soot and mud and whatnot He looked around him The landfill just outside town He fell to his knees Damn, those were some good mushrooms He stood and walked back towards the town
another one of her antics
it was a charming night She really liked a man who could drive her from the restaurant after having quite some glasses to drink and he was that man He drove her to his house and helped her out of the car like a gentleman and even held her hand all the way to the door Her heart was pounding and her brain too. A voice kept saying 'He's the one. He's the one!' It was silenced when she saw two small animal heads on his doorstep. A cat's and a bunny's. The doormat was soaked with their blood She froze and the gentleman said, “Oh crap, not this shit again.” And he walked up to them and kicked them to the side like mini soccer balls “My ex-wife,” he said with a shrug. “Just another one of her antics. You get used after a while.” He opened the door and motioned her in She hesitated
writing for the rest of his life
he declared himself insane before the world and the world did worse than not to believe or ridicule him The world ignored him He was an old writer with a body rotting from the inside A cancer in his lungs, right around the heart Effort made him faint Oftentimes the effort of sitting on the toilet and pushing But when he wasn't on the toilet he was at his desk writing And smoking. There was a candle on the corner of his desk always burning The rule was that for every seven minutes spent not writing he'd hold his hand above the flame for seven seconds His hands looked like decomposing carcasses of mole-rats but they could still hold the pen He would go on writing for the rest of his life all seven hours of it
an all-or-nothing gamble
She followed him home from the casino because he swore he was a gambling addict A true gambler he lived only to gamble Never missed a chance to declare it "I like gamblers," she said. "Love 'em to death." He was all smiles and then she continued, "Say, what about a little gamble of our own? You down for that?" "Baby," he said, "long as it's a gamble I'm down to hells and below, haha." Once in the room she climbed on the bed and removed her clothes and shuffled through her purse and pulled out about a dozen hypodermic needles "What you doin' with those?" he asked She grinned at him and spread her legs and pointed between them "I'll stick some of 'em here in these lips. Your part of the gamble is to turn off the lights and slide your way between 'em. Let's go, gambler. Oh, and no fingers. It's an all-or-nothing gamble."
[POEM] “tarot reading” – featured in Horror Sleaze Trash
tarot reading
She was sucking
on a red lollipop
quite loudly
and would constantly
take it out of her mouth
to stir her whiskey with it
She wore round sunglasses
a crimson bandanna
her hair in thin dreads
and all her shirts
were sleeveless
She took the lollipop out
one more time and
pointed it at him
across the table
“You want some?”
she asked
“Um, no thanks. I, uh,
stay away from sweets.”
She dipped the lollipop
back into the glass
and stirred a bit
then put it back
in her mouth
“Good for you.
I’m not too fond
of these either.
Just use ’em to help me
break the smoking habit.
It’s been working lately.”
She picked up the glass and took a sip
of the lollipop-flavored whiskey
“Anyway, like I said,
I brought you to my place
to read your tarot cards.”
She pulled the deck out
from under the table
and began shuffling
it intently
“If all’s good,
there’ll be a second date
and perhaps even…
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human anatomy
she had long dark metallic looking nails and black lips on a very pale face the clothes too were designed to make her look cold and dead but she was quite lovely to her new boyfriend, the mortician She was an artist, she'd told him And she'd also told him that she'd like to learn more about human anatomy for her drawings "That one!" she said on their sixth date in the morgue "I want that one! Cut his head open from forehead to nape. I need to see how the brain's kept in there." He sighed and prepared the electric saw. There wasn't much for him to complain. He'd done pretty well at 47, hooking up with this 22-year-old
sweet dreams, brother
The last time they visited him in the hospital, mother made the big announcement She was once more pregnant at 44 Hoping for a second son of course Because the first son aged 21 was such a failure, of course He will never become anything worthwhile Not from this hospital bed with a broken hip and spine It wouldn’t have happened if his dream wasn’t to make it big in the gang But his dream was to make it big in the local street gang Serving the cocaine goddess and hustling his way to the top Well it was all fine until that one deal that went horribly wrong People die when they stop dreaming Now he dreamed to just die already Surely his brother will choose a better dream. He had to