Saturday, February 20, 2010

"STRANDED..." TWITTER NOVEL: CROSSROADS BLUES


transmission from the satellite heart received 12:1:10


-radio on-


time factor nineteen twenty-nine


crossroads not true crossroads


graveyard just down the wayside


down the road from rosedale


night midnight exterior good country dark


before electric lights + stopsigns came to town


lil robert dusty walkin middle of the road


guitar slung back shoulders head down


low flyin dustcloud in the moonlight


shufflin along


shadow in the starlight perched on a headstone


black clad points a long silver sliver finger


at poor bob if you please


-hey boy-


like a shotgun thru the silence


lil robert dusty whips round almost down


-fuck you callin boy cracker-


white voice after midnight on a deep southern road


comin straight out the graveyard


lil robert dusty eight different kinds of scared


his voice shows no trace


the graveyard man he like that


hops off the tombstone raises his black hat brim


skin shinin like a brand new tailpipe


-fuck you callin cracker boy-


lil robert dusty face falls

breath freezes inside when he finds it again says

-what are you mister-

the chromed man laughs

a dry rustly chuckle like old leaves

-so its mister now then-

lil robert dont say nothin

-where you comin from boy-

bob shrugs tries to be blasé

-roadhouse-

the silver man nods at the guitar across his back

-did you play-

bob nods silver man grins

-+ how did it go-

lil robert juts his lower lip chin up

-went alright went alright-

the shining man peers out from under his black hat brim

-didnt go alright no pussy no whiskey for poor bob

you play like you got ham hocks for fingers-

lil robert dusty screwfaces the chromeskinned creature

-fuck you know about it-

the tall silver thing tilts his silver head

-i know that guitar of yrs is out of tune

give it here ill give you a new tunin you aint never heard before-

lil robert dusty is a country born hardhead

but he knows that silverskinned men lurkin in the graveyard

by the crossroads

at midnight

who ask to tune yr guitar

may not be the most trustworthy of folk

but he hands it over anyway + the shining man begins to tune

queer things happen steel strings ring out strange

moonlight glints funny off tuning pegs

shadows pass + fall

then he smiles says

-okay then ill show you what for on a tune-

lil robert shrugs again

the silver man begins to play

chrome fingers running up + down that fretboard

plays as easy as ringin a bell

rhythms drive shuffle + stop

bottleneck slide sleazy then lonely

moans in the moonlight like a howlin wolf

or a man on his knees on a killing floor

lil robert wide-eyed listens listens

writin notes in his head

+ when he finally gets that guitar back

it burns

voice even the graveyard man asks him

-you got what you need boy-

lil robert looks up to him eyes cloudy

confused scared + grateful

-aint we got a deal to do-


the shining man peers back at the black man


-kind of deal-


robert shrugs


-dont you want my soul-


the silver man chuckles a dry rustling sound


-you don't have to sell me your soul boy

im already in you-


dry rustle chuckles one last time


-you want to be adored-

then he sighs almost sad

-just do one thing for me bob

-stop callin yrself lil robert dusty

-no man alive gettin any pussy calls himself little

-start goin by yr fathers name-

bob say -i do go by my fathers name-

the silver man gets stern voiced

-yr real father boy

-find him ask yr mother

-dont take no for an answer-

bob nods pauses looks up

-whats yr name mister-

silver man smiles again

-dont have one son

-but if anyone asks you can call me ike

-ike zinneman-

bob says -thats a funny name for a guitar man-

but the silver man is gone

+ then a bone-white cadillac pulls out of the graveyard

out through the crossroads

on down the road

bob shakes off the chill + moves

in the opposite direction

in another dimension

he pulls the guitar around plays as he walks

+ the shit just drips off his fingers like honey

after a time he sings to himself

quietly first tentatively

-i dont have to sell my soul

-hes already in me

-i dont need to sell my soul

-hes already in me-

bob smiles big + deep

already knowin what he knows

so the next week when he goes back to that roadhouse

plays that guitar

the smokestack shakes with lightnin

the men all gaze in wonder

the air is heavy with female musk

sweat + whiskey + resentment

this time when he sings

he sings like he stuck his dick in the ground

+ turned the whole world around

so no one ever calls him

lil robert dusty

again



5 comments:

Jason Gusmann said...

okay, so, not terrible exactly, but you can literally hear the energy built up just seep away. i since moved on to "psychopomp" and "zombie vs. shark" which i'll be posting here alternately over the eternity.

theperceptionpoint said...

Glad you'll still be posting here, Gussman. I never got into twitter- i just find it damn annoying for some reason.

This was a very interesting piece, not terrible, it is god to experiment with different voices and moods, you've got some really nice language going on here.

cheers

theperceptionpoint said...

lol, yes, although god (if you believe in her) may experiment with different voices, i meant to say good.

tipota said...

surreal, southern, ironic 'lil', ghostly, magically turned phrases, totally enthralling, wow

(i saw him like the early bob dylan, skinny kid from the north taking guthrie's dusty roads to the folkhaunts)

Selma said...

The part about him not selling his soul but the devil being in him is sheer brilliance. I like all the different voices you've used as well as the blues/southern vernacular. Looking forward to more...