Work in Progress

I been tossin' around this idea for a piece 'bout my Aunt's funeral service an' how it didn't measure up. Someone described it to me recently as bein' the equivalent of pluggin' a few individual facts into a eulogy generator and clickin' a button. Maybe that ol' preacher didn't have the luxury of time. So here's where I'm at so far after one round of writin' and one round of shreddin':


Now that's a good lookin' page even if it's full of stupid ideas.

I'll Teach You a Lesson

When a whiskey sun comes up it's gonna be a longer day than most.
I'm lookin' right into him.
My breath, eaten by a bleedin' hole in the sky.
Spittin' jet fuel on a bonfire.
Like that sassy gal told me, "You look long enough and you're gonna start to like what you see."
She never was in the lesson business.

Sick On It

They all been apparitions
Every one of 'em.
An' I loved 'em all.
It ain't really much a surprise neither.
Might be the only way somethin' don' really exist sneaks up on a man an' don' surprise him.
Never really snuck on me though, have'ta say.
They was apparitions cause I made 'em that way.
Graftin' onto 'em an image.
An' they all made up jes enough of it that I kep' settin' juice into the projector.

Like the lass I wrote storybooks on when I was a young'un.
Sometimes thinkin' will could 'liminate the world borne out by evidence.
Like Daza an' Arita without a yellow flag to fly.

An' that one with the twisted hair an' bony hips.
Where the ticks jes weren't far enough along...
No phantom could match her mimic, but I stared straight through both.

An' my creation on the brink of reality.
At the stage of an oil paintin' when all that exists is a beautiful an' terrible mystery.
An' an artist too terrified to look directly at the model.

An' you too.

An' you too.

Theo-rising

Been awhile.

Friend a'mine got me to thinkin' of this theory I use'ta tell people 'bout when it suited my purpose to have 'em think I was a little off. Didn' never work too well though because my general appearance was prolly resposible for the passersby assumin' I were'nt all there.

I s'pose you can't rightly call it a theory after all; perhaps it's better termed a musing. Ain't no way to test the hypothesis y'see. An' I'm fairly sure it weren't never accurate to boot. Come to think of it, I never did believe it to be true 'tal.

Slammed Doors
Slammed doors was a mighty prollem for a big sum'bitch who gets a lil scary time to time. I been known to holler out like a high pitch'd creak in the floor when that old sound sneaks up on me. But a man's gotta convince his peers that he's a reason for jumpin out his seat and drawin' breaths like he was on death's door ever'time a door would shut hard. So I started to thinkin' it would be somethin' wicked if God'd made us so that whenever a door got to slammin' a man'd die jes a lil cause he lost some of them limited number'a heartbeats we was set out to have. An' boy I felt like I was dyin'. Gave me one powerful excuse when somebody'd hear me belt out a rusty hinge squeal ever' time the door would shut. An' jes thinkin' about that little "theory" made the prollem worse. I'd get to scarin' whenever I heard any sort of thud. Ev'ry noise was a gunshot. My ol' heart was gettin' used up somethin' quick. An' I weren't no three-footer when I conjur'd this one up neither. A full-grown man givin' time back on a fancy excuse.

But I Got History
I gotta history of this sorta thing. Started fearin' the end before I'd even got ta startin'. Early on as my dayschool times I come up with the idea that I weren't who I thought I was. These colorless devils were livin' under the bed in my parent's house, y'see. Comin' up through the floor soon as I'd pass into that dream state. They switched out my body with a robot ever'night. Sum'bitch looked like me. Acted like me. Sounded like me. Et cet'ra. An' them little bastards were clever too. 'Cause they programmed that robot to wonder if he was really a robot or not. Tricked that sum'bitch into not knowin' if he was me or him. An' where'n hell was I? I could'a been anywhere. Hell, they turn't me into a robot that looked like me an' acted like me but were'nt sure it was a robot or somethin' else.

An' then I did some research into them early years of when I come back. (A ghost has to grow up again when he comes back y'see.) I figured out where the robot scare comes from. It's all 'cause I watched this story called The Last Starfighter on the movin' picture box. Poor sum'bitch got hisself pick't up by some outerspace demons an' dragged out into the stars by a flyin' motor vehicle. Well, them outerspace demons replaced that sum'bitch Alex Rogan with a robot so his family were'nt to know he'd gone missin'.

I Got Me a Plan
If them colorless devils come back again though, this ole sum'bitch has a plan. I'm gonna slam doors on them bastards 'til they leave or I die.

How'ta Take a Fall

"I fell outta my bed"
"Sounds like a tough way to wake up, Ghost."
"Well I s'pose you could say that if'n I'd actually 'woke"
"How's that?"
"Well, the last time I took a 6-foot drop like that they kicked a stool from 'neath my feet and stretched my neck. So I guess, historically speakin', I'm accustomed to takin' a spill an' sort of sleepin' through the aftermath. It's a strange thing "wakin' up" with the ceilin' further 'way than you're use'ta seein' it, an' spectin' that the headache you got is connected to the fact you went pirate style roun' a bottle of rum with your 'quaintances."
"So you didn't get that cut above your eye or that bruise on your ass from a knife fight or being hit by a car?"
"Naw. This was a bona fide retribution for accusin' the lord of payin' no attention when I suggest that he place his han' on somebody what's misbehaved."
"Serves you right."

Caught a Damn Mouse

'Bout Three Weeks Ago
So I'm whilin away round about the witchin hour with a mason jar of that corn liquor from down around Sandy's, an watchin the movin picture box we call a 13 inch trinitron, when a little somethin worth mentionin up and suprise me like I'm two weeks from the teat. This mouse come out from under the stove. Sum' bitch jes tip-toes like he's gon' fin' a coffee bean and drag it back his famly fur supp. His ole lady mouse gon meet him when he sets hiself down, not exactly "impressed" but she's got kids to feed an' one of them little bastuds has n'monia. Well ole' Tip-Toes is gon' lean across the table right about then and plant a kiss real soft on the lady's cheekcheek. But first he's gotta get his hands on that coffee bean I dropped while cookin up a mean ole pot 'a gumbo or all that cathartic kissin an sharin quality time is jes a vision. So natural he's a little nervous what with bein pretty small an' probably none too familiar with how to open up a door or make a phone call in a mergency. And he goes and catches sight of this fella sittin down not ten feet away from his egress point.

Now, I ain't a small man but I damn sure ain't the biggest neither. But I'll be damned if ole Tip-Toes didn't scare we wurse than when I use ta get a little lost on my first bike ridin around a neighborhood and rode by a house rumored to be inhabited by such folks as tortured a cat or kidnapped the young-uns from the nearby elementry school. Course ole Tip-Toes jes sees a big ole sum'bitch like me makin time with a jar of the Sandy's but jumpin aroun an he's gotta be thinkin, "Now what in the sam hell has ole Tip-Toes gotten hiself into." So he pir-a-wets, turns hiself into a corkscrew and shoots right back under that stove. Now wouldn' that be somethin? If you could jes stop on a dime when you see trouble a' comin' from a distance an' fin' a place nobody'd ever spect you to be? Big ole sum'bitch like me can't get turnt aroun' to save his own life so he's gotta fin' danger like its his best friend or run it down, a tumbleweed in a straight-line wind. Well that's me, scarin a mouse but scared hiself an too dumb and big to turn aroun' when he could jes' find a new place to hide.

Well Ain't Nobody Seen That Mouse For Three Weeks
Well ole Tip-Toes never got his bean that night far as I know, but I'll betcha that sum'bitch been makin out alright cause ain't nobody heard from him sense. Last night he shows up again though. He must'a been in sore need of somethin' for his supp cause he's been hidin out, or he's been a followin my patterns pretty close an makin his sortie ever I'm off'n about. Usually I'm off findin a way to make that danger my friend. I say that cause I can see them neon lights like ole Tip-Toes seen me that night in front of the trinitron, but I'm too big an dumb to turn aroun'. Soon enough I'm shoutin about turnin' over a billiards table an' makin' like a fool to chase away the devil of the secon' han'. Anyway, I seen him last night. His back cracked in that little trap set out right at the openin of his egress. I'll tell ya what. I seen him lyin there an my firs thought was "That's Goddamn right you lil filthy sum'bitch." You put the plow in the earth an wait for the corn to grow an soon enough you gonna have a little mason jar of ole' Sandy's to put behin your teeth.

I got to lookin at im though. Ole Tip-Toes on his side crunched up under that spring-loaded plastic jaw. That lil sum'bitch. I could hear them jaws. I could smell em too. Sum'bitch. I can smell them neon lights.