Abducted: Tangent During Interrogation

I couldn’t see anything.  No, I’m not saying that in retrospect I was young and couldn’t see how things really were.  I mean, that’s true, but I really couldn’t see anything.  Like my hand in front of my face was invisible.  Anyway.

I could hear the water.  I could hear it seeping from the cracks in the wall.  Each fissure was an exit, a light, not a light because of the unbelievable darkness, a release, a relieving, a reliving?  I remember closing my useless eyes and just, you know man, listened.  Have you ever tried that?  Just listening?  It’s nice, but only briefly.  Think about how different and dull and depressing life would be if we could only hear and feel.  No sight, nope.  I bet some of my hippie friends back in college would say, “no brother, you got it all wrong.  We just need to listen to Earth, just listen to Her and us and absorb and become assimilated.”  Back then I would have agreed with those people, but if things were really that way then how would love work?

“What?”

Love, man.  Yeah, write it down, listen up.

Now I only have experience as a male because that’s what I am and I can’t tell you how it is for all my sisters, but this is how it is for me.  When you first feel that ache, that swelling, that something in your stomach, your chest, your throat, your head, your self, when you feel that, man, that’s love.  Hey, and don’t get that confused with lust, man.  That’s more of a burning and a different conversation for a different life with a different guy that ain’t me.  But that feeling, whether it comes sooner or later when you look at that girl, it comes when you’re looking at her.  You can’t hear her and feel love, can’t touch her and feel love.  Make sense now?

“Yes, at least one thing has become clear, though unfortunately not your intended metaphor”

I don’t talk metaphors, man, I talk reality.

“We understand your ignorance and stupidity and understand now that it must be destroyed along with your confused ideas about time, but especially space and your existence in it.  Not to mention your misconceptions on what you call ‘reality.’”

What?

The dominus Part 1

The dominus lives a life.  Just a life.  Not a good life, or a cursed life or an okay life.  Actually, he used to live a good life until he did something really bad and unspeakable (who knows who might read this some day!).  The bad thing he did was so bad that two things resulted from it.  First, he lost the capital ‘D’ in his name.  No longer would be he dominus with a big ‘D.’  And to make sure he didn’t cheat and capitalize the ‘D’ as the first letter of a sentence, the word ‘The’ was placed before dominus.  So he became known as ‘The dominus.’  Second, his good life was demoted to just life.

This second consequence actually turned out to be of some utilitarian use.  It sort of physicalized the phrase, “well, that’s life.”  If something unfortunate–not really devastating though–happened to someone, they would just shrug their shoulders and say, “well, that’s life.”  But many of the people that lived in Cavern didn’t really understand what that meant.  “What do you mean, that’s life?  Where is it?  I don’t see anything.  I can’t point to something ostensibly and say that it is life, can I?”  Living in Cavern robbed most people of the valuable skill of thinking common sensically.  But if The dominus was around, someone could point at life.  Well, sort of, at least.  The dominus was the closest physical thing there was to ‘life’ with no adjective coming before it.  Besides, even if you say I’m wrong, at least the confused person would look at The dominus and say, “Oh, okay, I see now.”  Close enough for them is close enough for anyone.

Fir

A tiny little speck.  It moved up, following another speck just like it.  They and the others just like them were moving at a speed somewhat comprehensible, higher and higher.  But it wasn’t the kind of movement like walking or swimming to the surface of a swimming pool.

The sun, three feet above your head, beating beating down.  You can’t feel your hair but it burns burns and it drives you insane knowing how it’s aflame but really not knowing after all, then wondering if that really is the sun.

Shadows.  The cool blanket of darkness.  The heat visibly radiating from my knees, creating waves and circles under the sheet.

The trillions of specks are fatigued.  They recess into nothing, into reality like needles or a bug’s defense mechanism, and I recess into the unconscious space of my unconscious.

Restless here, resting there.  Every thing subsides.

Well That is That and This is This

Sven looked up because before that she was looking down.

In her periphery she could see the dark and shimmering and slimy and slick brick walls of the alley.

When she looked up she could see the moon on the narrow highway of sky that cut through the alley’s walls.

She took a step forward, heel-toe.  She took another step forward, heel-toe.  Heave-ho.

“Hello?”

She could feel her voice bouncing playfully against the walls, higher and higher into the sky to freedom and nonexistence.

She sneezed and wondered how that was possible.  She liked to think that golden dust from the stars and sun meandered from space to the earth and found their way inside of her, making her heart swell and her eyes itch.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.  The tendons inside her head swore at her.

She jumped up into the air and held herself there, hovering inches above the ground.  Water dripped from her fingertips and permeated through the brick when they fell.  She could hear the water spread under the ground, wandering aimlessly without purpose or intention.

She spoke but there was nothing around her that could hear, not even the water or dust or moon.  The walls and the bricks were too loud with their absolute certainty of where they stood in existence.

She blinked and as she did so all of her eyelashes disconnected and floated to the wet and dirty brick, like a dead tree losing its needles after being shook by someone.

The Resurrection (not really) of Rodney Dylan

As I was cleaning out my closet, packing and throwing away random shit, all the while preparing for my move, I stumbled upon two Rodney Dylan pieces I don’t remember ever writing.  The first one is the shortest and (I think) is supposed to take place directly after the conversation between Rodney and the Lauren Z. in the cafeteria
——-
Rodney walked, nose pointed towards the ceiling and hands in his pockets, out of the Student Union.  Lauren Z., not far behind him, had a nose in a book (called The Tao of Pooh).  She made it very clear, despite her best efforts, that she was walking with Rodney; for anyone who sees a person walk quickly with their face parallel with the sky and then immediately see someone quickly following with their nose in a book on which Winnie the Pooh is on the cover flying kite knows they are close acquaintances.
——-
Who knows where I was going with that.  This next (and last) one, well, shit I don’t even have a clue how the hell I ever thought this up.  Try to enjoy.
——-
“Port”
Often times the two girls would look at each other.  No expression of any sort would light their faces, except for a peculiar look of understanding.  No smile would part the lips with teeth behind them begging for attention.  No frown would shrivel the lips into an accordian.  Only understanding.  But what was it they were able to understand about each other with just a simple stare?  Life?  Death?  A simple sisterly bond?  Maybe it can be said it was just a mixture of all three.  Perhaps they understood that they existed and that that phenomenon was the only thing in a universe so vast that truly mattered.  Politics, science, war, love, literature, and everything else meant little to nothing when they realized they existed here and now.

Rodney put down the book and pondered to ponder a bit.  “Exist.  It is cosmically close to the word ‘exit.’  Except there is an ’s’ in the way.”  He wondered if his body was the ’s’ in the way of his soul to exit into the nothing of nothingness.  No, wait.  His soul was the ’s’ in the way of the body which wants to exit into the earth.  He looked at the book.  He noticed it was upside down.  He put it down again.  He squinted his eyes and remembered where he was.  “Oh my, oh my, I’ve misplaced my Lauren Z.”

“Airports!” cried Lauren Z.  The man in front of her in line looked over his shoulder with an interested glance.  Lauren Z. did not notice because her hands were over her eyes.  The man lost interest and focused on his Hustler magazine again.  He imagined he was a tiny man and could play the guitar inside of the woman’s vagina he was not staring at.  He never realized he had just then given birth to the most brilliant sub-genre of pornography.  Lauren Z.’s eyes became wide with wonder when she realized where she was.  “Airports!” she exclaimed again and shot her hands back up to her eyes.

“Going to Hawaii and the Lauren Z. has gone missing on me,” said a distant Rodney.

Ominous Skies: or, a Catastrophe! Evaded

DEAR JOURNAL,,,…!!!

THERE IS SOMETHING strange occurring, perhaps a change, perhaps NOT.  On this fair and humid morning, when Apollo’s magnificent chariot of rays and flame burst triumphantly through the panes of the window of my quarters, an UNPLEASANT sensation seized me.  Journal, my eyes were closed, so I was not able to perceive what exactly was SEIZING me, but know this, the sensation was coming from the area in and around my mouth.

MY EYES shot open and then immediately closed as tight as a sewer grate on a rich man’s avenue!  CURSE YOU, APOLLO.  Your powerful and terrific rays proved a worthy opponent to my weak and mortal eyes.  Therefore, journal, I was unable to understand or venture to accurately make an educated guess at what the sensation in and around my mouth WAS.

I resorted to a different route of perception: that of FEELING.  I admit, journal, this is an unsavory path to take (you know my worldview as it pertains to feelings and EMOTION).  Unsurprisingly, you may find, my old enemy and terrible rival and little devil makes its appearance in this ENTRY.

You see, journal, once I resorted to FEELING and TOUCHING my senses sensed warmth and thousands of hairs inside and around my eating ORIFICE.  HE was attempting to suffocate me, journal!

“HELP ME,” I pronounced with muffled vigor to the gods.  (They did not hear me this day, I escaped without their help, you will see, through fortitude and bravery).

“Oh?” asked the little orange beast with FLAMES, yes FLAMES, flashing in his eyes!

“PERISH foul monster, abhorred beast!  Take that!” I roared as I landed a tremendous swipe upon his cursed little head.

JOURNAL, he escaped my strike unscathed.  He chuckled maniacally, the horrible demon, and placed his feline body upon my face once again.  However, I rolled swiftly with great agility and made a hurried dash for the bathroom door.

He taunts and mocks me journal, even now, as I sit here quivering with fear and adrenaline.

Last Call for Rodney Dylan

The last Rodney Dylan story I posted was one of the first times I gave the poor guy life and a mind of his own. The very short story that follows this introduction is probably one of the last times I wrote about Rodney. It’s incomplete because I was so unimpressed with how Rodney’s once smug, knowing personality had turned into arrogant wit for the sake of wit. I feel that it’s probably better this way. I feel that if I try writing about Rodney at this point that he will be completely out of control and will probably have severed all ties with the Lauren Z.

The biggest problem with this piece is that it takes place when Rodney first meets Lauren; however, his mind has drastically changed since the encounter in the college cafeteria. So on the time line it’s meant to precede everything that’s happened between Rodney and Lauren, but Rodney’s mind is on the end of the time line. I ask that you ignore this continuity error, but I kind of like it even though it was never my intention for it to have turned out this way. Blame Rodney, not me.

This will probably be the last Rodney piece

————————-

Rodney Dylan Meets the Lauren Z.

The florescent lights shone indifferently down on Rodney Dylan. As he stared up at the ceiling, attempting to solve a great mystery, he noticed that it may be wise to count all of the ceiling panels in the room (excluding incomplete ones that sulk in the corners of the room). But before he could do so he had to decide how he would count them: by twos, by threes? Perhaps he could count by-

“Excuse me, sir, excuse me, sir. Sir. Sir. Sir!”

Rodney winked at the ceiling because he had made a bet with it about how many times they would hear the word ’sir.’

“Why, hello,” said Rodney.

“Sir. AHEM. Sir. You are, according to the other consumers and my personal opinion, too peculiar to be standing where you are.” This person smiled at such a witty comment.

Rodney frowned. And then he smiled. And then he threw a one dollar bill at the ceiling and said, “You win, I guess.”

“Sir?” asked the person.

Rodney replied, “sir. Stir. Stir the sir and stare at the mare. What might your name be?”

“Uh, Lauren.”

“Lauren what?” asked Rodney.

“Lauren Zeem-”

“Lauren Z.! A fascinating one if I ever heard one like it. Tell me Lauren Z., what on earth are we doing in a small fountain inside of a sushi restaurant?”

“I work here. And you are disturbing the staff and consumers.”

(End)

Character Fiction

NOTE: *sigh*  I don’t know what the problem is with the text not formatting correctly.  I apologize for the text walls.  It just seems to magically unformat.

When I was a Freshman in college I created this character and named him Rodney Dylan. Ironically, I am now pretty good friends with someone named Rodney who loves the musician Bob Dylan. The original purpose of Rodney was an outlet for me to help get accustomed to college; high school took a lot out of me, especially my last two years. I had also just met Rachel around the time I created Rodney, so some new changes were going on in me that influenced how he behaved and thought. As I became more involved with my studies and more comfortable away from home I slowly lost contact with Rodney; he was simply no longer needed. I also didn’t like where he had ended up. He eventually could no longer find any sort of grip on the remaining threads of sanity.

When he was first conceived I had intentionally made Rodney a little crazy, but my hope was for him to eventually accept the absurdity of life like I would. The parallel I wanted never stuck, and so I parted ways with Rodney.I still find scraps of looseleaf paper with weird situations Rodney had gotten himself into and it brings me back to better days. I wanted to share one of the first Rodney stories I had ever written. This particular instance is the only Rodney story that was ever posted on the internet before now. I won’t tell you where it was, in fear of embarrassment.

So Happy Birthday, Rodney Dylan. You’re only two years old; who knows if we will meet again. I hope you and the Lauren Z. are happy.It’s interesting to see how my fictional writing has changed. I have become more and more abstract and post-modern, which I consider a bad thing. Good thing I don’t want to make a career out of it.

Enjoy, I guess.

———

Rodney Dylan: Part 1

“Is that so? And what exactly do you mean when you say that vegans are full of shit?”

In the small cafeteria inside the Student Union of the University of Louisiana at Lafayette, Rodney Dylan sat back in his chair with the slightest hint of a grin on his face. It was only about, oh, say twenty four seconds after the moment he had told Lauren Z. vegans were full of-

“Shit, I’m not even sure I want to hear it,” said Lauren with a sharp sigh.The chairs in the cafeteria often made him wonder. They were comfortable; the average person fit perfectly into one. Ass, back, and all. It wasn’t how comfortable they were that made him wonder, it was the fact that he didn’t have the urge when sitting in one to lean back and rock on the two hind legs. The back of the chair bent just far enough under his weight to relieve the urge. Far enough to lower the odds of him losing his balance when on the two rear inch-and-a-half in diameter legs, falling back, splitting the back of his skull open, and having a concussion.”I’m sure you probably don’t want to hear it.” He leaned back comfortably, grin barely visible. Visible enough, as he knew, to make the girl across from him squirm uncomfortably in her chair. He wondered if she liked the chairs. Her ass was much smaller than his, he thought. Perhaps there was too much seat and too much back. Or maybe it was for her like sitting in an old couch that is so big and soft it seems to pull you into its hug of dusty pillows and cushions. The couches that you only sit on when marijuana is being passed between two lovers while Hendrix is giving you a quiet, private show in the background. He wished his ass was small.”Don’t tease me, dammit. You can’t just say something like that and then expect me to react indifferently.”"Indifferently.”"Do I need to reiterate?”"Reiterate.”"Excuse me?”He’d like to see that little ass.”Man, this ham isn’t cooked in the middle. I’m not even sure if I should give it back for another one.” He looked to his right where ham and green beans that were leftovers from last week were being served.”Why are you telling me?! I don’t eat that stuff cooked or uncooked! Now, will you get back on the subject and answer me?” She leaned forward and set her elbows and forearms firmly on the table, her hands made into tight little fists. No, they couldn’t have been tight because her fingernails were too long. Her ass was probably tight though; she jogged daily.”No, you don’t need to reiterate.” He leaned forward and set his elbows firmly on the table, his hands into tight little fists. He didn’t have long fingernails, but they still weren’t tight fists anyway.”That’s not what I meant. I meant the whole thing about vegans being full of shit.”"Well, they are,” cocking his head to the left.How did other guys do it? They talk to a girl they hardly know and then an hour later he’s on top of her in his dorm making her breathe heavily, moan, and maybe even scream if she’s a screamer. An hour after that the girl is walking back to her dorm, emotionally torn, confused, and remembering as the blood trickles down her thighs that she forgot to say, “I’m a virgin.”"We’re going around in circles now.” Look of disappointment.”THERE! Why the long face, my dear Lauren Z.? Don’t play it off as if it was an expression expressing ‘There is no fruit in this fruit salad!’”"Have I ever told you that you are probably the most fucked up person I have ever met?” Ear to ear smile.”Vegans are full of shit because…” He trailed off as he watched a tall blonde, a Canadian girl from the Volleyball team, walk behind Lauren Z. towards where ham and old green beans were being served. He looked at Lauren Z., frowned, switched back to the Canadian and retained the slight grin again. He sighed heavily, looked back at Lauren Z., found a smooth spot on her cheek, and fixed a blank stare on that smooth little spot. He imagined that if that smooth little spot of cheek was multiplied several times and then divided by two it would be a smooth little ass. It would be only a few hours later until he realized that he happened upon a brilliant mathematical equation just then.”Is there something on my face?”"Yes.”"Why are vegans full of shit?!” She was desperate now. She made it out as if she was begging to learn the meaning of life, the secrets of time and the universe, and why men stopped caring about birthdays somewhere inbetween eighteen and twenty five. All three bundled in a nice little 3-for-1 package next to the Harlequin rack in the check out lane in Wal-Mart. Not K-mart, no sir. Only at the Wal.”Calm down, you’ll make a scene!” He stood up suddenly and flung his arms up in the air and shook his hands violently. Lauren Z. looked at Rodney with wide eyes as he calmly sat back down in his chair as if nothing had happened.Rodney began, “did you know that this ham came from an animal? A pig, I bet. Do you bet? He was born, fed until he was fat, slaughtered, packaged, and then frozen. He didn’t even have a choice to decide his own fate. I’m sorry, I forgot I was talking to a female and a vegan; let me correct myself. She didn’t even have a choice to decide her own fate. What is interesting, however, is that are we sure that pigs even have choice? Oh, I’m sure it has been proven that pigs lack the proper brain cells or whatever they are called that gives an organism what we have defined as choice, but what about instinct? Isn’t instinct a form of choice? Or is that only something that is primal and, due to a change in the environment, intitiates something automatic in the brain and is carried out by the body? Perhaps instinct is a primal form of choice.”As he pondered this question of life he brought his hand to his chin and rubbed it inbetween his thumb and index finger, staring with half closed eyes at one of the many water sprinklers protruding from the cafeteria ceiling.”I feel like I’m talking to nothing. Does anything I say to you matter?” She looked at him with tight lips and eyebrows pointed towards his ham.He felt like nothing lately, to be frank. He broke his ponder pose and proposed to ponder later. He looked back at Lauren Z. and sighed with disinterest.”You know, you really shouldn’t scowl like that. I think you look just fine disappointed.”"Now you listen to me. I’ll put on whatever face I want to and you’ll appreciate me for who I am as a woman.”"Lauren, I have to go, this isn’t going anywhere.” He pushed his chair back and began to stand up.”What!”"Ah, not a cloud in the sky.” He smiled happily as he stared directly up at the ceiling. He sat back down and breathed in deeply, slowly, feeling the scent of pizza, ham, and hamburger hit his senses.”The world is dying, you know. The more advanced man becomes, the more the earth dies. I’ve always been one to support space exploration and development. Man will have to move before the earth dies or before a big rock from space murders the earth and human race.” Ponder position.”I know what your problem is, Rodney.”Rodney suddenly shoots all attention at Lauren and burns his eyes into hers. “Really?! You found out?! Please tell me, I’ve been trying to figure it out for so long!”"You can’t-”"I can do anything.”"Let me finish!” she said.”Pigs and chickens will be bred and slaughtered. Cows will be bred and slaughtered and skinned for their hide. As will trees be grown and cut down for paper over and over.”"What?”"Vegans are full of shit.”"Wait a minute.” Lauren suddenly sat very upright and gave her undivided attention to Rodney.”The majority outweighs the minority, don’t you know. No matter what anyone does, there will always be more people who don’t give a shit and act selfishly than people who do give a shit and act a little less selfish. What’s that bumper sticker say? ‘Think globally, act locally’? It’s a great cause, hell I fight for it, but it’s hopeless in the end. At least it makes us feel good.”"Is that why we’re full of shit, because we care? You’re a hypocrite for saying all of that and then say that you’re fighting the good fight!”"I’m a hypocrite, and a vegan.”"You’re eating ham!”"It’s frozen in the middle.”

Meteors and the Year of Crafts: or, Percy’s Wife Drowning

Elizabeth was sad and desponding; she no longer took delight in her ordinary occupations; all pleasure seemed to her sacrilege toward the dead; eternal woe and tears she then thought was the just tribute she should pay to innocence so blasted and destroyed. She was no longer that happy creature, who in earlier youth wandered with me on the banks of the lake, and talked with ecstasy of our future prospects. She had become grave, and often conversed of the inconstancy of fortune, and the instability of human life. –Shelley’s Frankenstein [Volume II]

Byridge sat with all smiles which would leave seeds that would later one day bear the fruit of frowns. It was the time of day when one who is not familiar with things such as time may suppose, mistakenly, that the time of day was around six in the evening, when actually it was five thirty in the morning. Twice a day this happens: the line, time notwithstanding, between dawn and dusk is blurred and all there is is grey and haze.

Jezebel wandered through dim tents of merchants who sold impossible things such as elixirs that forced cupid’s arrow into the one who drank from it. The lanterns, attracting exotic mosquitoes, cast gentle light that made the smooth skin of her olive cheek seem like a constant celestial light was illuminating from within; as if she had harnessed the light of another planet’s moon and kept it safely in her mouth, which was not far from the truth of things. She bent her knees, carefully lowering herself to the ground, and rubbed the beaten earth with the calloused tips of her fingers. She frowned as her purpose for speculation was only answered by deceit.

Byridge stood up, water poured from his ears, warm from the canals that spiral into his head. Seeds were buried without notice, and the currency of his place of birth jingled without remorse. Smiles illuminated his face.

TBC

Some Sort of Allegory: or, the Glassblower

It seemed to Commerce that venturing through the threshold of his front door and out into the flag-stoned courtyard would be a little bit like setting up a golf ball on a tee: extremely annoying if it happened to be a windy day. Before he made a grab for the door knob, whose screws threatened to fall out every time it was touched, he made sure that his checkbook was in the car outside. This was accomplished by first checking his pockets to confirm that they were empty, save for the cellophane wrapper leftover from the DingDong he had for breakfast . Then he wandered throughout the small apartment looking under paperweights (snow globes) and digging through the garbage bag filled with unread newspapers. Once Commerce was convinced that his checkbook could not possibly be anywhere but in his car he walked outside.

The winter-into-spring air slightly nauseated him due to a strange childhood experience he had had with his father and the milkman. It wasn’t anything disturbing or frightening or even anything someone would call very unusual at all. Whenever the milkman would stop at the house, he and Commerce’s father would chat about nothing in particular. Usually about the weather. One day during the three to four weeks of pleasant winter-into-spring weather the milkman stopped at Commerce’s house.

“Hello you, Commerce.”
“Hello, Mr. Utterce.”
“Your father around?” asked the milkman.

His father stepped out of the shadows of the bathroom and said, “Hello you, Utterce.”  The milkman and Commerce’s father stared appreciatively at one another for a few seconds until Commerce’s father told his son to go to his room while he pays the milkman.  It was just then that a breeze came through an open window and took Commerce and the spoiled ham sandwich he had had for lunch earlier that day by surprise.  He promptly vomited on the milkman’s shoes, which immediately saved his parents’ marriage and also brought to the house a new milkman following the incident.  Unfortunately, he would never know this and would always assume from then on that the strange experience was the reason why whenever he got a whiff of winter-into-spring air he would become nauseated.  And he was right for assuming so.   What a weird person.

Anyway, he turned the corner just in time to see a couple of vandals make off with his checkbook.