RICHIE - CHAPTER THIRTEEN (Twitter Novel / Keitai Shosetsu)

everybody gets sent home
over christmas if they have
homes to go to and it feels
really great and exciting at
first

all of us riding together in the
fairview van even though
richie got put on a train out of
town so im with frejean and
justin

and some of the other guys
but everyones being cool cuz
theyre all basically happy to
go home so its pretty rowdy
and fun

and its snowing lightly and
its making me feel
christmassy inside even
though thats totally pussy but
i actually end up being the
first

to be dropped off and we pull
up and i can see a tree with
lights through the front
window and with snow
everywhere my house seems

totally weird to me like a
place i lived once in a dream
or something and my mom
comes out to the van and
signs the clipboard

and gives me a huge hug and
i walk with her to the front
door then the van drives off
and she asks how things are

and i tell her that things are
going good and she says
–good- and then we walk
inside and its really warm
like too warm

and my mom calls out to my
dad that im home and hes in
the other room watching tv
and he calls out –good-

and my mom takes me to the
kitchen and we sit at the
breakfast bar and eat my
favorite pizza from molinas
and she drinks a glass

of wine and i have pepsi and
she doesnt talk much but she
smiles at me a lot and i smile
back and when im done

she takes me up to my old
bedroom and she opens the
door and all the lights are on
and its cleaner than its ever
been

and theres other stuff thats
different too but my mom
looks at me funny and asks
–good- and i nod and she tells
me goodnight

and dont stay up too late
and i go in and look at my dvds
and all the horror movies are
gone and basketball diaries
and

ichi the killer and some other
stuff thats not even violent
she left full metal jacket
which is weird but whatever
and then

i look at my cds and theres a
lot gone there too all the rap
stuff marilyn manson spider
babies even kill taker

which i guess she took
because of the name cuz
theyre like totally positive
and straight edge but whats
weird is that i didnt notice

right away that my laptops
gone and i kind of freak out
quietly for awhile but then i
figure out theyre probably
just gonna

monitor me on their pc
downstairs so i go down to
see if i can get on and i guess
my mom went to bed

and i look in the living room
and my dads asleep in front
of espn and i walk up to him
and look down at his face

his eyes are closed and his
mouth is open and i think
about turning off the tv but
hes got a death grip on the
remote

anyway im afraid hed wake
up if i turn it off so i look at
the tv and back at him for a
little while

then i go back up to my old
bedroom and read this
choose-your-own-adventure
that i liked when i was 8 until
i fall asleep

RICHIE - CHAPTER TWELVE (Twitter Novel / Keitai Shosetsu)

the next morning it snows for
the first time this year and its
weird cuz

everyones obviously kind of
excited but acting like they
dont care about something as
gay as the first snowfall

but it definitely brings up all
those little kid feelings of like
snowmen and days off and
christmas morning

and everyones rushing to get
outside much more than
usual and i run into richie
and im like -hey its
snowing-

and hes all blasé-blasé like
-hm oh really- and then i go
-i was looking for you last
night where were you-

and he gives me this weird
face -i was in my room what
do you mean- and i tell him
-i came down cuz

-i wanted to talk to you about
something- and he laughs in
a strange way -well idk what
to tell you dee dee

-i was in my room all night-
and i go -well when i came
down- and he blows up
-jesus what am i yr boyfriend

-maybe i was taking a shit
what the hell- and i go
-whatever man dont have a
fucking conniption- and he
scoffs

-dont worry about me dee
dee- i stare at the floor -i
wont- then he sighs -so what
was this

-huge important thing you
just had to tell me about last
night- and im like -nothing
dont worry about it-

richie changes tacks on me
-aw cmon dee dee dont be
that way tell me all about it-
and frejean passes us in the
hall

-whats the matter faggots
outta lube- and laughs to
himself richie waves him off
without even looking -fly
away shitbird-

frejean makes cocksucking
sounds and richie just gives
him the finger -cmon dee dee
im listening- and im like
-forget it

-lets just go to school- and
richie shrugs and we leave
the dorm and start walking
over and a bunch of guys

are already out there having a
snowball fight and theyre
whooping and shouting and
running

and honestly it looks super
fun and i stop and look for a
minute and then richies all
-dee dee are you coming-

and for a second i almost say
-no im gonna get in on this-
but i look over at him and hes
all impatient

i look back again and i shrug
and just follow him over to
the school and we pass the
wall by the cafeteria where
the graffiti was

and nulles and cuddy are out
there watching the physical
plant guys finish the
sandblasting before the snow
gets too bad

and we walk by and richie
gives them a jaunty wave and
nulles just stares at us with
his weird mouth all tight but

cuddys got that same little
smile and strange excited
look about the eyes that he
got with richie when the
graffiti first went up

and they just stand there and
watch us until we go in the
school again just like last
time the lines of our

lives running back and forth
over each other crossing and
recrossing again and again
and again and again

RICHIE - CHAPTER ELEVEN (Twitter Novel / Keitai Shosetsu)

so of course i have to look up
krol anyway and theres
nothing in the fairview
library of course but i

go online and i figure if i
look hard enough i can find
something real on krol
because if i look hard enough

i can find women fucking
barnyard animals for
chrissakes but the weird thing
is that its pretty much just
like what richie said

every entry on him in the
webstapedia and other sites
starts off with –discredited
social scientist stanislav krol-
or –disgraced

-social scientist stanislav
krol- like they all kind of
copied off each other or
something and they talk some
about his studies of cult
behavior

but mostly its about his work
with patients taking
psilocybin mushrooms in
controlled conditions and
they make him sound like

some sort of crazy hippie
burnout or something but
they dont talk at all about soft
controls or what it means so
then something

interesting happens cuz i go
looking up soft controls and
its all like really positive
and talking about marketing
and advertising and

social media business
applications and a lot of other
terms that mean like
absolutely nothing to me but
they dont mention krol at all

or fairview or any of the
schools like it so i wonder
about the connection that
richies making like if theres
no one else making it

is it real but then i look up
nlp finally after my earlier
aborted stoned attempt and
again its all this positive stuff
about

social media marketing
strategies and i thought nlp
was kind of sinister the way
that richie described and the
way that crisis staff

use it to like totally
manipulate you in this really
weird way so you dont know
that theyre doing it and then
suddenly it was like

there was the story that the
words on the screen were
telling but then there was
like this other story that was
being told

between the words if that
makes any sense like the
parts that theyre leaving out
and the things that i saw and
felt were combining in this
weird way

that i never really
experienced before and i
started having this experience
like i was high but i wasnt
high like i could totally

still control where my mind
went even though i felt really
like elated and stuff and im
rising up out of my body
almost

and im looking down at me at
the computer in my room and
then i rise higher

and im above the dorm but i
can still see me inside and
then these like lines start
appearing where i go

to the school then back to the
dorm then back to the school
and its like the same closed
path

every single day and the lines
just go back and forth over
each other again and again
and again

so that it seems like my
whole life is just one thick
line between two or three
points really

but then i rise higher and then
theres like this big spike out
where richie and me stole the
truck

we drove to white rock
and drove around and came
back and i realize that

that line out is the only real
deviation from this ridiculous
back and forth straight line
life

that i lead that we lead at
fairview just school to dorm
to school to dorm and then
when we get there its all
screens

like my computer screen and
the 52 inch flatscreen and my
ipod screen and the smart
boards they use at school

and then it gets a little scary
for awhile because that seems
really unreal to me and kind
of fucked up so then im back
in my body

at the computer screen and i
get up and turn it off cuz
honestly im a little grossed
out and i go down the hall

to talk to richie about it but
hes not there the room is
empty and im pissed cuz im
having

what i think is an epiphany
like isaacs is always on about
with those jack london short
stories

he makes us read but anyway
hes not there and i go down
the hall to the common room
and

theyre playing pimptastic 2
and smoking bud but i am so
not into that at this minute
and justins in there

and i consider talking to him
about it cuz he can be cool
sometimes but hes totally
slack jawed from the weed
and just

staring at that huge 52 inch
screen and that kinda freaks
me out too so i just end up
finding my way

up to the roof through that
one door that richie showed
me and i end up out there
alone

staring up at the stars and the
satellites for awhile and just
kind of thinking it all through
but

the funny part is when i
eventually get too cold to
deal anymore and i go to
come back in the door is
locked

behind me and i am
completely screwed cuz if i
bang to get someone to let me
in and one of the guys comes
up

theyre gonna know about it
then and wanna come up here
all the time and thatll suck
wildly

and if its crisis staff thatll
suck even worse cuz then
theyll lock the door from the
inside and either way

richie will be super-pissed at
me so i just calm myself and i
get an idea and take my
laminated fairview id

and try and slip it between
the door and the frame and
jimmy the lock and it takes
about half an hour

but i finally do it and i almost
shout when it clicks open and
im super-psyched and i feel
like macgyver

but by the time i get back
down to my room the
adrenaline starts wearing off
and its really warm

so i basically just lay down to
crash and i crash hard

RICHIE - CHAPTER TEN (Twitter Novel / Keitai Shosetsu)

on the way back to fairview i
dont talk much mostly cuz
im pissed that he was being
such a dick again

and idk if hes got something
on his mind or what but
richie doesnt talk at all and
the only time either of us says
anything

is when i make the point that
regret isnt like msg at all
because msg doesnt magnify
flavors by contrast but by a
chemical reaction

and he replies -dee dee yr
just smart enough to be
hopelessly annoying and no
smarter- and im just
–whatever man

-you know im right- and
silence again and it doesnt lift
until we get back to fairview
and we coordinate how to get
the truck back

to the physical plant without
attracting any attention and
then after we drop it off we
just walk back to the dorm
and

go in separately to avoid
suspicion theres not a lot
after that and the week goes
by pretty uneventfully again
except for isaacs class

where were reading this book
called –lord of the flies- and
theres this part where the kid
simon dies because they think
hes the beast

and isaacs is talking about
how the light and the
movement of the body by the
water is indicative of the
reincarnation theme

and i can see richie getting
increasingly bunged up as
isaacs keeps talking about
reincarnation and eventually
richie goes into this thing

about how the word
reincarnation shouldnt be
used because it doesnt
indicate theres any choice in
the process

and isaacs immediately
stiffens and says –okay
richie maybe resurrection
might be a better term to use
due to the christ imagery-

but richie keeps going -but in
the elsa barker book- and
isaacs cuts him off -we are
not talking about elsa barker
in this class-

and he raises his eyebrows
like a signal almost but richie
starts again and isaacs beats
him to the punch -we are not
talking about

-elsa barker in this class we
are talking about william
golding- and richie stops
sighs and slumps back in his
chair

and doesnt say anything for
like the whole rest of class i
write down -elsa barker- in
my notebook so i can look
her up later

but basically forget to so
anyway i keep my eyes open
for when crisis staff intervene
and im getting better at
figuring out

what theyre doing while
theyre doing it and its weird
but it does seem like theres
patterns there if you listen
hard enough

and this thing starts
happening for awhile where i
start listening to everything
almost like it was what crisis
staff were saying

like movies and tv shows and
commercials especially and it
starts weirding me out like on
this one night when i got a
couple of

bong hits off those other guys
in the common room
watching tv and it brought
me to the point where i was
almost freaking out

so i left and went to talk to
richie but after a couple
minutes he asked me if i was
high and i said yeah and he
said

-im not gonna talk to you
when yr high because im
gonna have to repeat myself
every two minutes cuz yr not
gonna be able

-to keep up- and im like
–whatever- and i go to look
up stuff on nlp on the internet
but pretty soon i forget what i
was doing

and just start trolling for porn
instead but the next day i
think about it a little bit and
notice that ive never seen
richie

drink or smoke weed or
anything and i think its funny
that i didnt notice before cuz
he seems like the coolest guy
i know

but it seems pretty geeklike
to me that he doesnt party at
all but he could be straight
edge although those dudes
can get on yr nerves

pretty fucking quick i had
this friend back home for
awhile who was straight and
he was pretty intense
especially

if we were at a party or
something so anyway i talk
to richie the next day at lunch
and hes all like -i dont give a
shit

-if you drink or smoke weed
or whatever but it gets really
boring for me really quick
because i dont and its hard
enough for me

-to keep you on my
wavelength when yr straight-
and i notice yet again that
even when hes being friendly
to me hes still kind of dickish

-anyway adolescence -is-
drugs sunshine its the
biggest bestest high that there
is dont forget that- and he
gives me this silly grin

but anyway we get into it
about the soft controls and
richies all like -okay lets
start from the beginning why
did they create

-fairview- and im like - idk
cuz theres all these fucked up
kids and they need a place to
put them- and hes like

-yeah sure but why wouldnt
they just put them in
lockdown with like tons of
rules and shock training and
shit like that-

i go -idk too expensive-
and richie says -naw fairviews
way more expensive to keep
going those places are all
like bare walls

-and barracks and shit- and i
dont wanna keep guessing so
i go - idk richie why dont
you tell me- and he shifts
into

monologue mode -fairview
was created cuz the old
lockdown system didnt take
into account the
unquenchable appetite for
teenage rebellion-

he raises a finger -hence
salinas- i flash back to the
walls of his dorm room -if
you press on kids long
enough and hard enough

-theyre gonna flip out and get
some guns or whatever and
rip shit up- and i ask him
-so wait the salinas shooting
was why they started
fairview-

richie nods -basically im not
sure that fairview was the
first to use the krol
methodology but its
definitely the most

-successful- and im all
-whoa okay who the fuck is
krol now- and richie smiles
-stanislaw krol was this guy
from back in the 60s/early
70s

-who did all this theorizing
about cults and manson and
shit and he coined the phrase
soft controls and basically
explained the framework

-by which you can control
whole groups of people to do
what you want them to by
making them think theyre as
free

-or freer than everybody else-
hes starting to get really
pumped up like on fire how
he was in the cafeteria or in
isaacs room that one day

-he basically identified how
rebellion could be built into
the package- richie grins
shakes his head in admiration
-the guy was a genius really-
pauses

-but the fairview model was
pretty much created by krol-
and im confused cuz richie
seems so into this guy -so
krol wanted a bunch of
fairviews

-to spring up- and hes like
-no no not at all krol would
be horrified if he knew what
they were doing with his
work-

and now im reeling even
worse than before -i dont get
it then why doesnt he stop
them from using his work-
and richie giggles

-krol died penniless and
disgraced in 1982 he could
only stop them if he came
back from the dead- and he
gets this weird

faraway look for a second
-but anyway krol was
defining what he thought was
the disease not the cure- and
then the weird buzz

comes out of the mounted
speakers that signals the end
of lunch and doesnt let up
until everybody leaves so
richie gets up and goes

-dont bother looking krol up
on the interwebs dee dee if
you can even find his
writings they edited the living
shit out of them- but

im like -so where can i find
the original texts- and he
stops in his tracks and turns
back to me -why dee dee i
think i might be

-falling in love with you- and
i get super creeped-out for a
second and it shows and he
just laughs and laughs and
turns away

-you wont be able to find the
original texts dee dee they
took what they wanted from
krol then erased him from the
world-

MARVELLOUS KEENE, MORALITY AND "GUN CRAZY"

I just got an anonymous comment letting me know that Marvellous Keene is due to be executed by the state of Ohio on July 21, 2009. This made me feel very, very strange in a number of ways. In "Gun Crazy - Part Seventeen" I used Marvellous Keene as a vehicle to examine the reasons why some murderers are semi-deified (the examples I used were Charles Starkweather and Bonnie and Clyde) and some are just quickly forgotten or demonized. I found Marvellous Keene's name and specifics from some shit in an old notebook from the mid-90s and decided to use it for the poem, not having any idea if he had been paroled or was still in prison or, as we now know, on death row.

This brings up a few dodgy issues. First off, using an actual murderer (with, you know, actual victims) in a poem. There's a lot of stuff in "Gun Crazy" that is morally questionable, and in every other case, that's cool with me - I designed it to be provacative, and to have an amoral stance that reflects the number of conflicting feelings I have about guns, America, violence, religion, etc. But again, whatever his crimes, Marvellous Keene is a real person (as were his victims) and I am literally using him and his image and crimes as a figurative element in a long-form poem, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Secondly, Marvellous Keene is going to be killed by the state. Again, using "Gun Crazy"'s anti-logic, this is a fitting end for the story: eye for an eye, cycle of violence, American tradition, etc. But it makes me feel terrible. I am not rabid about it, but I have never been a supporter of the death penalty. The very idea that this guy is going to be killed now for what he did at 19 or 20 years old, 15 years ago, is madness to me. I've never known someone who was on death row. This, in its wussy way, is probably the closest I'm ever gonna get.

Thirdly, I wondered how Marvellous himself would feel reading the piece. Or the parent or friend of one of his victims. I assume that Mr. Keene would most probably see the truth quickly: intellectual pansy with no firsthand knowledge of true violence uses a figure from an ancient newspaper clipping to add heft to his writing. Mr. Keene would most probably not see any of himself in the piece at all, despite the repeated use of his (admittedly very colorful) name. And I would think that a victim's friend or family would just be enraged.

I got some stuff to think about. Kinda fucked up, right?


http://fictionalmixtape.blogspot.com/2009/04/gun-crazy-part-seventeen.html

RICHIE - CHAPTER NINE (Twitter Novel / Keitai Shosetsu)

so richie comes into my room
on saturday and honestly im
totally happy about it cuz
even if he can be a dick
sometimes

hes more interesting than
pretty much everybody else
at fairview but of course im
not gonna let him know that
so hes all

-dee dee whats going on-
and im at my computer
working on a paper for isaacs
and im like -you know not
much- and he comes over

big boots thudding across the
floor and stands on the other
side of the flatscreen monitor
hes got his leather jacket on
and he goes

-so are you ready to go- and
im like -what do you mean
go where- and he says -out
you smackhead where else-

and i just laugh -what are we
gonna do walk in the woods-
and he tilts his head -noooo
were gonna go for a ride-

im all -in what- and hes like
-in one of the physical plant
trucks- and i just turn back to
the monitor -count-me-out-

he scoffs -aw come on dont
be a pussy lets go out- and i
scowl -what so im a pussy
because i dont wanna steal a
truck-

he gets very matter-of-fact
-its only stealing if you keep
it were gonna give the truck
right back- and i go -whats
out there

-that you wanna see so bad
its just miles and miles of
cowshit and then theres white
rock not exactly a teeming
metropolis-

he narrows his eyes -yeah
but theres the possibility of
mystery romance- thinks for
a second -regret- and i laugh

-why would i wanna have
any regrets- and he goes -do
you have any regrets- and im
like -im fucking 15 i havent
done anything yet-

he raises a finger -and you
wont ever if yr this scared of
regret- and hes twisting my
words so i go -im not afraid
of regret

-im just not gonna like
actively seek it out its a bad
thing right- and richie gets
all philosophical on me
-regret is the msg of life

-it makes the sweets sweeter
the joys bigger somehow
you gotta get you some
regrets there son- and i laugh
again

-what book did you steal that
one from richie- and he
grimaces looks down for
something at his feet finds it
and jams his boot down hard

on the power strip my
computer immediately shuts
down and the flatscreens
display winks out and im
speechless for a second then i
scream

-you worthless fucking
asshole i didnt save that- and
hes suddenly solemn -i know
and i fully and completely
regret what i did-

then he grins at me -now
come on- and i just sigh
-sure sure why not theres
no way youre gonna get into
any of those trucks-

and 20 minutes later were on
route 420 towards white rock
away from fairview in this
rickety old red truck and i can
barely believe it

not just that he did it but how
quickly he did it he just had
me watch out for staff and
then suddenly it roars to life

and im in the passenger seat
and were rolling off campus
and its still not kicking in that
he just stole a truck we stole
really

thats how itll be if we get
busted but i try not to think
about that i just turn and ask
him as nonchalantly as i can

-so where are we going- and
hes like -i dont know ive got
one place in mind but im not
sure i can find it without a
map-

and im like -okay but what
is it that yr trying to find-
and hes all -just relax dee
dee everythings cool- and
i just say

-i am relaxed im just feeling
a little exposed you know-
and were pulling up to a red
light when richie goes
-whoa nelly-

cuz theres a cop car already
there and were gonna pull up
right next to it i start going
-shit shit shit shit shit- and
richie just

reaches down and pulls up a
dirty john deere baseball cap
from the floor says -stop
talking- and pops it on his
head

and as we pull up i watch his
jaw slacken and his eyes
glaze over and we come to a
stop right next to the cops

and he stares straight ahead
for a minute then turns his
head slightly and catches the
eye of the cop in the
passenger seat

and richies face never
changes but he nods briefly
to the cop then turns his gaze
back to the road ahead

and then the light changes
and the cops drive off and
richie puts the truck in gear
and we roll through the
intersection

and he exhales with a whistle
and i go -holy shit what did
you just do- and he says very
slowly

-acknowledge them but dont
be memorable in any way-
and im like -where do you
get this stuff- and he shrugs

-soft controls- and i ask
-what are soft controls- and
hes all -soft controls are like
behavior modification

-without you realizing youre
being manipulated- and i just
shake my head and laugh -it
looked like magic-

he smiles and says -have you
ever heard of nlp neuro
linguistic programming- and
im like -uh no- and he goes
on

-have you noticed how crisis
staff talk when somebodys
flipping out their voices
lower and kind of fall into a
rhythm-

and i go -yeah thats so weird
i was gonna ask you about
that- and he smiles again and
goes -theres a hypnotic
effect at work

-how they start talking over
each other overlapping for a
second but they say the same
words and then the other guy
continues-

i nod -uh huh- he goes on
-youve gotta listen to the
word choices too they use
words or combinations of
words that you

-never normally would in a
situation like that- and again
im all -how do you know
this stuff- he grins at me

and switches gears -you
wont find this on the
interwebs dee dee you gotta
read real books original texts
are the only way to go-

and then he sees something
that pulls him back -oh yeah
now i know where we are i
just take a left here- and he
guides the truck over

down this almost dirt road
but its pretty secluded so i
feel a little less anxious and
im coming down off the
adrenaline

from the stoplight situation so
im actually pretty relaxed by
the time we get to the
cemetery and richie puts the
truck in park

-here we are- and im like
-here- and he goes -yup-
and gets out of the truck
slams the door starts moving

through scattered tombstones
like hes on some mission

and i open the passenger door
stick my head out and shout
-hey where the hell are you
going-

and he shouts back -i got a
couple of people i need to
see- and i go -what do you
mean- but hes out of earshot

by the time i catch up to him
hes darting back and forth
jumping up in the thin cold
air to try and see farther

-goddamn cemeteries they
should be arranged
alphabetically- and he goes
off in another direction and

i just trail along behind and
he stops suddenly and goes
–dee dee- and i say -what-
and he says -listen to that-
and i say -what-

and he shushes me and we
just stand there listening for a
minute and he asks me -do
you hear that- and i say
–what- for like

the hundredth time -i dont
hear anything- and he smiles
at me -yeah its awesome-
and i almost shout -what-
one last time and he

goes -its nothing the sound
of nothing- i shake my head
and richie goes -dont dismiss
it dee dee one of the best
things about the dead

-is they know when to shut
the fuck up- and he turns
back and starts moving again
further into the cemetery

he gestures at this bunch of
evergreens -now i think i
remember these two trees
from before

-i think its somewhere
between them and that flag-
and he points to a big marble
monument with benches and
all

-yeah somewhere over here-
big boots thudding on the
cold hard ground i sigh and
follow along and

he shouts –all right- crouches
down in front of two stones
side by side clears off some
dirt and leaves where they
accumulated

the names are RAYMOND
GANNETT and JANE
TULLE-GANNETT and the
birthdates are different

but the death dates are the
same june 18 1991 and i
peer in over richies shoulder
and ask -who are they-

richie keeps tidying the
stones -just a couple of dead
people- not taking it
seriously and i ask

-are these yr parents- and he
stops turns and looks at me
like im a dumbass -i was
born in 1994 what do you
think-

i look at the death dates again
and feel like a dumbass -oh
how did they die-

-car crash killed em both-
and i say –oh- and wait
awhile until richie clears a lot
more junk off the graves

-did they know yr parents-
and richie sighs -no my
parents dont have a lot of
like human interaction

-thats why i picked them-
and i go -what do you mean
thats why you picked them-
and he sighs through his teeth

goes -i was just kidding its a
joke- and i go -oh i dont get
it- and he just shrugs and
turns back to the tombstones

so i go -so were they like
people that - and richie
stands up and almost
shouting -do you have to be

-like fucking talking every
other second can you not
feel the need to constantly fill
the space- and i feel stupid

and go –no i was just- and
he keeps shouting -just enjoy
the silence for like one
goddamn minute okay- and
im just real quiet like

-okay- and i guess i kind of
sulk over to the side richie
squats down again and doesnt
say anything for awhile

then whispers to the graves
-this is bad magic i probably
shouldnt have come- and
kisses his fingers and touches

them to jane tulle-gannets
gravestone -i love you- and
gets up dusts his pants off
and thuds back to the truck

and i wait for a minute for
whatever i dont know but i
just kind of walk after him
and when i get to the truck

i wait to see if hes gonna just
drive off and leave me there
and he goes -are you coming
or what- so i just shrug and
get in

DESPERATE NEED (not my words)

Posting "big difference" made me sad, mostly because i was very sad when i wrote it. But then i read this piece from Kim Cooper's excellent book about neutral milk hotel's amazing album "in the aeroplane over the sea" (and if you dont own this album go get it now, really, sincerely) and it made me feel a lot better. This is a quote from Julian Koster, a multi-instrumentalist in the band:

"...there's something pure and infinite in you, that wants to come out of you, and can come out of no other person on the planet. That's what you've got to share, and that's as real and important as the fact that you're alive...nothing is going to give you that message, necessarily. In fact, most things are going to lead you away from it, sadly, because humanity is really confused at the moment. But you wouldn't exist if the universe didn't need you. And any time I encounter something beautiful that came out of a human somewhere, that's them, that's their own soul. That's just pure...it fills up your own soul, it makes you want to cry, it makes you glad you're alive, it lets you come out of you. And that's what we need: we desperately need you."

i mean, that's awesome. we're in rilke or krishnamurti territory here, and this guy is a fucking rock musician. says a lot for that band.

BIG DIFFERENCE

there's a difference
between wanting to kill yourself
and wishing you were dead

a big difference

those who just wish they were dead
- aside from their passivity -
are also cursed with hope

and gaze longingly
from the other side of the yellow police tape
as if it were a red velvet rope
refusing admittance

RICHIE - CHAPTER EIGHT (Twitter Novel / Keitai Shosetsu)

the next weeks pretty
boring basically i dont
see richie all that much
only in isaacs class and

the most interesting thing
there happens after class
when i come back to grab
this book i left behind

and hes talking with
isaacs really animatedly
like when he was in the
cafeteria that one day and
hes holding this book that

i ended up remembering
the title of because it
reminded me of a song by
the spider babies its called

-letters from a living dead
man- which sounds
really cool like a zombie
story but i dont know
why richie would be so

like passionate about a
zombie book but when i
come in the classroom
they both stop talking
immediately and richie

lowers the book to his
side and im like -left my
book- and neither one
speaks until i leave which
is weird but whatever

so otherwise i meet with
my social worker and hes
this old hippy with a pony
tail and a beer gut and hes
always trying to

get me to talk about the
day i took the gun to
school and i dont know
how many times i can
find different ways to say

i got tired of balls hits in
basketball and being
called faggot and spit on
and having my arm
twisted behind my back

until theyd pull down my
pants and point out skid
marks and my little dick
to whatever girls were
around

and he always nods and
says –go on- and im like
there is nothing else but
he asks me how it all felt
and im like how do you
think

it felt it sucked balls and
hes always –when you
say it sucked balls what
do you mean- and i just
sigh and eventually

he starts talking more
than i do and i just kind
of zone out and classes
are always pretty much
the same

i mean somebody will go
off pretty much every day
but they get hustled out
by crisis staff to one of
the chill-out rooms

with the cool lighting and
the ambient music and the
water table and the clay
and stuff and that usually
works pretty well

and if it doesnt the crisis
staff have this really
weird way of talking
where they get super
quiet

and their gestures become
like slow motion and
their voices fall into
rhythm almost

but its only happened to
me a couple of times so i
havent seen it enough to
really be able to figure
out exactly

what theyre doing but
anyway every night is
basically the same
drinking beers watching
movies playing g5
smoking weed

and occasionally ill knock
out some homework but
if we dont do it its not
like we get in real trouble
or anything

so i post on my blog and
beat off to internet porn
and listen to satellite
radio and catch bong hits
when i can

and sleep a lot and beat
off some more which
leads to more sleep and
then maybe watch a free
pay-per-view on the 52
inch

or if someones playing
madden or pimptastic 2 ill
watch for awhile a
couple times i hang out
with justin

drink 40s with him which
i think he gets from a
dorm staff and we
download a leaked copy
of kill takers new album

which i was super excited
about at first but got
pretty boring by the end
of the week and hanging
out with justin


is kind of like just
hanging out with myself
really so i end up beating
off again and afterwards i
just go to bed

RICHIE - CHAPTER SEVEN (Twitter Novel / Keitai Shosetsu)

-well what immediately
springs to mind is why are we
on the roof–

richie looks up at the sky
-receptions better besides its
cooler up here you think–
and i go

-its definitely colder- and he
makes a retardy face -har dee
fuckin har- bends over the
speaker

attaching wires in the back i
look up -its nice to be able to
check out all the stars-

richie stands up -yeah itd be
even clearer if we could get
rid of those- points to the arc
lights in the quad

then makes a gun with his
thumb and index finger and
shoots them out with a
-blaow-

i start shivering -okay so
again were up here because-
wait for him to fill in the
blank and he smiles

-were gonna look for the
mysteries that still exist
somewhere out there on the
airwaves- and taps the radio
receiver with his foot

-why bother doing all this we
already get satellite radio in
all the dorm rooms- and
richie goes -i dont

-mainly because it sucks and
its totally pre-programmed
and predictable and sterile
and theres no mystery about
it at all

-besides which- he makes a
disgusted face -i had to get
you away from that g5
bullshit- turns to me

-what was that anyway have
you had enough bitch- he
says it shaking his head -did
you think that was cool dee
dee-

i look at my sneakers -it was
just idk something i said-
and he goes on -do you think
theyre gonna like you now-

laughs -let you play their
reindeer games- and im just
-whatever richie- and i
gesture to the receiver
-where did you

-even find this thing- and he
rocks back on his heels -it
was in with a bunch of stuff
from science class storage-

i go -they keep that over
here- and hes -mm-hm you
just need to know where to
look- and hunkers down

starts fiddling with the dials
-so what did you do break
in- and hes all -of course-

-why you couldve gotten
busted for nothing- and he
looks over his shoulder at me
-didnt you ever see a locked
door and want to know

-what was inside what kind
of secrets it kept inside- and
im all -um no not at all-
and he turns back to the radio

-well thats where you and i
differ locked doors are like
a personal affront to me- a
loud squawk comes out the
speakers

richie leans in begins making
minute shifts to the dial -here
we go- and after a moment

a mans voice emerges from
the speaker deep and
resonant and authoritative

-one-zero-zero-three-seven-
and the slight echo on the
voice intensifies on –seven-
and then it goes on

-eight-two-four-four-zero-
and richie stands up and
smiles at me and im like

-what what is it- and he goes
like gleefully -i dont know
no idea spies aliens a
weather report couldnt tell
you

-you hear that echo thats like
deeper when he says –seven-
and i listen again and go
-yeah- and he goes -yeah

-no idea what that is none is
it a recording accident or to
stress the –seven- in the
series to whoevers listening
and probably writing it down

-i dont know this goes on for
hours almost every night its
a mystery all right- and i just
look at him like -wow

-if thats really all we came up
here for- and he looks down
at the radio disappointed
-well that really should be
enough dee dee

-but ill see what else i can
find to entertain you- and
hunkers down in front of the
dial and starts moving it back
and forth

and for the most part its like
creepy christian broadcasting
or sports talk but then he
finds something else melting
into big band jazz but it
eventually

resolves itself into a girl
singing and playing a fuzz-
tone guitar and i lean in -is
this like a real station-

and he shushes me listening
intently and she keeps
singing -here in surf city life
is hard no god or
government to bring me
down

-mister president yr bionics
dont work no more i can no
longer see through yr hollow
plastic eye- and the guitar
gets louder but then

it gets overridden by the big
band music which comes
blaring in super loud and im
like -get her back get her
back- and richie

immediately drops to his
knees and starts moving the
dial back and forth but after a
couple of minutes sits back in
defeat -yup we lost it

-too bad too that was a good
song- and im like -what was
it called- and he looks at me
like im an idiot -dee dee

-i have no idea i was hearing
it for the first time too- and i
just shrug -those lyrics were
crazy i wanted to look them
up

-see if she was saying what i
thought she was saying- and
richie just smiles at me
-youll never know- and i just
shrug again and he

drops back down in front of
the receiver -im gonna
switch to am sometimes i
have some luck at the far
ends of the dial-

and he starts playing with the
dial again and except for the
tinny high end buzz its
basically the same stuff

guys talking about sports or
jesus and old swing music
that my grandparents would
put on sometimes

but then richie finds this guy
speaking spanish in a really
smarmy voice and he turns
up the volume

and goes -the spanish
stations are pretty cool you
can hear some weird things
on here sometimes- and
settles back to listen

so i sit back too and theres
some pretty basic salsa stuff
that doesnt do anything for
me and a bunch of ads

all in spanish and the smarmy
guy comes back on and im
about to ask richie to keep
looking when theres this

crazy blast of mariachi horns
and it resolves into a big
stomping beat and some
distorted flamenco guitars
and richie goes –aha- and

turns it up and it becomes
like an old 80s rap song but
with the crazy guitars and
horns and the words are all

in spanish of course except
for the occasional rhyme in
english like –motorola- and
–pepsi cola-

and richie jumps up and starts
stomping around the roof all
stiff legged like a
frankenstein monster and i
laugh

and i get up to watch him and
the mix breaks down into the
flamenco guitar acoustic this
time and the spanish guys
are

rapping the same thing in
spanish over and over again
as it builds up and builds up
and then theres this crazy
blast of mariachi horns

and richie points at me and
screams –dee dee- just as the
beat comes slamming back
and i just spaz out into this
ridiculous rave dance

and richie is like
goosestepping all around me
in a circle and i start laughing
and he laughs too and then
suddenly it screeches to a halt

and richie goes –well that
was awesome- but i shush
him and run over to the
speaker to listen because the
smarmy guy is talking again

and im squatting waiting for
like the band name or the
song title but i cant sort
anything out and then the
salsa starts up again

and i sit back like -shit- and
richies all -what- and i go –i
wanted to find out the name
of that song so i could maybe

-find the mp3 somewhere and
uh you know- and richies
smiling like -what- and i go
–so i could post it on my
blog-

and richie laughs -youve got
a blog- and im all -yeah-
and he goes -sweet cant wait
to read it- and i just sigh and
he walks over and says

-dee dee if you found that
song youd just post it on yr
blog or stick it on yr ipod or
whatever and in a week

-youd be as bored with it as
you are with every other
goddamn song in the world-
and i look up at him and he
smiles

i shake my head and laugh
then he hugs himself and
shivers -jesus what are we
doing up here its fucking
freezing-

DAISY HAYES

for Rebecca


DAISY HAYES, I think about her, I think about her all the time, I think about that one spring when I knew her. Daisy Hayes and what she meant: everytime I think of her I think of the air, thick with pollen, thick with birds and bees and the sun, no hiding from it ever, shining down covering everything, breathing in the sun, the air thick and golden with it. And Daisy Hayes there, spinning with the wash in the backyard, me peering over the picketfence at her, her spinning, smiling, whiteflowered dress about her, whirling. Me thinking I was shouting, “Hey Daisy!” but never really but just standing in service, watching the whirl, Daisy dancing the bloomers like a partner, Daisy blooming all over the yard, me standing hoe in hand, breathing her sweet atmosphere.

*

DO YOU KNOW, do you know how it is when a bumblebee, so striped and fat with pollen coming off its little legs like dust, a trail behind it in the air, it can barely fly it’s so stuffed fat with substance? And so fat, so slow, you wonder how something that slow can stay airborne, how it can defy gravity with a belly so huge? And so absolutely universally obese and lethargic and pollen-drunk and bumble bumble bumble that it actually slows time, it makes everything around it just as slow, time crawls in the same intoxication? That was afternoons with Daisy Hayes, endless drooping dripping honey afternoons, on and on and on and on.

*

I REMEMBER, I, one afternoon, I stared at her bared shoulder for an entire hour. She was darning socks and her flowerdress had slipped down over her one shoulder and Daisy never noticed but continued as this miracle was revealed to me. I stared at it then, greedily I must admit, the secrets being unfolded before me I drank as deep as I could. The auburn curve of it, the contrast between her skin and the brightwhite flowerdress, as it curved up and into the crux and absolute heaven of her soft brown throat, so much more so for the shoulder, so much context to place heaven, to plot its definitive location. She looked up then, and before I looked away in shyness I saw that her expression was neither accusation nor invitation, but a question: “Is this it? Is this what we do?”

*

AND WHO WAS Anastasia, Anastasia O. Loveless, how was she to Daisy, what did she mean? Where Daisy was outside, Anastasia was forever in, never to enter into the sun’s backyard for fear of melanoma, an inside full of mothballs and dust, a thin air filled with damp and piercing like a cold, a shelf full of medicines, bones full of ache, a headfull of sawdust, a heartfull of blame was Anastasia O. Loveless. Daisy’s sickly aunt, sent for Daisy for household help, for cook, for cleaner, for page-turner floor-washer shelf-duster. For companion in the bitter small hours when thoughts of those who had left the sinking ship filled her tired mind, and she took it out on Daisy, so young where she was old, so free where she was chained, and of course Daisy took it because there wasn’t a corpuscle of resentment in her beautiful veins. And every time that ancient hag would screech “Daisy!”, making her name a curse where no curses should ever have been audible, Daisy would simply look at the ground, the honey pouring out of her, readying herself for the passage into the dank grayness that was the Loveless house; and I would stand sentient, stationary watching and wishing Anastasia hell for what she took from Daisy everytime she said her name.

*

BUT STILL, I feel I owe Anastasia something as she allowed me to bask in Daisy’s warmth for an entire springtime, she allowed me license to discover what youth really was, to find how “girl” is pronounced through adolescence to rest in the ear like a butterfly and move on through autumn sadness to winter want. When the seasons changed Daisy moved on, but not without first changing me forever, no without first striking me with a great flowered hammer that pressed into an undying deifined line of pretty that will not erase no matter how much adulthood I wash it with. I remember the smudge on her cheek planting tulip bulbs, I remember her hopping from shadow to shadow trying laughing not to step on the sunshine that was her anyway, I remember the flowering trees raining for her forever, I remember, I remember, I remember.

*

I REMEMBER a day it rained, harder than it ever has then or since and she was inside all day, it rained all the darker and harder for that and Daisy stared out the window out up into the sky the entire day. I watched her through my window, her watching the sky and almost crying, breathing that sickroom smell and missing the sun and I was jealous of it, her other lover, touched her more than I did, it did. Daisy sad and held fast by Anastasia all day long, held fast by thin medicine air and mothball dust, wishing for her savior beyond the clouds that would only return tomorrow, oh Daisy the only thing I liked at all about that day was I had you all to my greedy self, no bright and shining suitor to share you with then, you sad and lonely when we were finally alone, oh Daisy didn’t you know how long I’d waited, only to despair for what the sun was in you already I could never take away, to make you mine would only be to make you less, oh Daisy, you were taken from me long ago, long ago.

*

BUT NOW, this had gotten too down, too dour, far too much for Daisy Hayes or something in her memory as if that didn’t make her dust as it is. Daisy not dust but a river, not stopped by time but here and then over but replenished, falling over itself in a rush of daisies, in time that is thirteen, in love that is beginning, in morning sunshine gleam which is birth. Is there one dip to a customer? I don’t think so but wonder if the time spent there is ever the same, if returning is more pain than pleasure. It doesn’t matter, blooming on, the whiteflowered dress hanging in Salvation Army shop windows waiting, whispering on spring wind to hurry! hurry!

*

I REMEMBER the end or what became the end, just another beginning anyway, when I finally touched her and what that meant. I heard it from inside even, Anastasia screaming at her and Daisy politely apologizing for some imaginary misdeed and I came out the screendoor just in time to see Daisy bang out and run to the picketfence, crying. Anastasia didn’t follow; outside, you see, the enemy. Daisy crying at the fence, her tears almost falling in my yard, I didn’t know what to do had been waiting to speak for so long but when she was there all the gambits in the world melted into stupid. I ignored the sun and walked to her, crying, her forearms against the pickets pressing v’s into her soft flesh. I walked closer, close, I was going to say, “What’s wrong?” or “Why are you crying?” but Daisy too too smart for that and when I was close enough just grabbed my shirt and pulled into me tears all on my chest and I nothing but instinct put my hands softly to her hair and shoulder and held her, she crying softer now and I not even thinking about miracle but just holding her and then she slowly raising her face and tearstained and so beautiful and I didn’t know my lips were on hers, so soft, until Anastasia scraped the sky with “Daisy!” so loud we stopped and she looked once and ran to the house. When I think of it now it’s sad the last time I heard her name it was Anastasia’s curse, but sadder still the one time I held her it was over the picketfence, arms held too high to avoid the sharpness low enough for adults, all too soon to become for us as well.

*

WHEN SHE LEFT it was loaded into a stationwagon and then gone, no window-fingers pressed to pledge love, no long lasting looks back, Daisy stock still straightforward and I just watched from the front screendoor this time, minor change in locales. I began to wonder if it had been at all, maybe just some dream in sun-drunken back yard reverie, but the scowl on Anastasia to me was verification enough. I watched them pull away and let it slam shut and ran through to the back yard there with the sun, us both gazing over the fence, trying to prove her existence by feeling the void, watching the wind touching the places where she once was. Through the grass and saying she walked here, through the garden and saying she knelt here, through the clothes on the line and saying she danced here. The sun and me, holding hands and stranded, waiting for everything to begin breathing again.

GUN CRAZY (Part Twenty-Seven)

- blank -
jammed between channels
white static noise


NO MORE: words, war, bullets, blood, sister, captor, codes, codices, enemies, lines, fortress, radio, Rimbaud, angels, heroes, agents, decoders, demands, translators, transmitters, nations, generations, translations, transcending, transmission, mission


NO MORE: win
NO MORE: lose
NO MORE: gun
NO MORE: crazy

GUN CRAZY (Part Twenty-Six)

Trans/mission
Big T, small m
all agents - all in
listen to the Translator
"the mission Transported
the mission Transcended
you memorized your scales
just to Forget
your sister's been taken
your pride is awakened
your work has been stolen
'How can this be?'
Your true purpose unearthed
Your cover exposed

listen, listen
destroy all missions"

GUN CRAZY (Part Twenty-Five)

Or maybe this:


please forgive my sieve

the only things it filters out
are pop culture pap
and the dealings of saints and angels



Or maybe it said
something else

GUN CRAZY (Part Twenty-Four)

Or maybe this:


Set your heart on stun
Set my mind at ease

Stun Me

Stun me crazy

GUN CRAZY (Part Twenty-Three)

From the radio's soothing green glow

comes a Trans/mission

a dream from my sister
copied down in code*

untraceable
untranslatable

(get out your decoder rings)

maybe it said:

Flowing from a thousand wounds
In a thousand different languages
Can you decode the secret blood?
Has the DNA wrapped around your own?

an ancient code in a chemical hand

the work it does is silent
what we do is secret

GUN CRAZY (Part Twenty-Two)

Amnesty International
could you please send many
finger-printy
hand-written letters
full of pleas for freedom
and civil rights
to my sister's captors
so that my girlfriend and I
can rest easy
in the assurance
that all diplomatic avenues
were exhausted
before we
went to the fortress
where my sister was kept
and razed it the fuck to the ground.