Please tell me the apocalypse is coming. First it was the books, then it was the mosque, and now the library burned down.
I, on the other hand, fall asleep covered in high proof alcohol with a lit cigarette and what do I get when I wake up? Nothing but a hangover. The world is burning down around me yet I'm somehow in some sorta ring of safety. And the sad part is, nothings gonna change around here. Not too many people around here believe in Allah (or any god for that matter, why would they?) and I'm pretty sure most of the people in this town can't even fucking read. I just wish that librarian lady knew how jealous I am of her...
People have their stories to tell for now about the book burning and the lightning strike and the librarian's death, but it'll all fade. The customers have even stopped bringing it up, or maybe due to my obvious spiral into the the depths of alcoholism they've just stopped talking. Either way, life isn't changing for me one bit. The winters gonna pass soon and I'll be drunk, then it's gonna come back around and I'll either be dead (knock on wood) or, you guessed it, drunk.
I did take a walk down there though, down to the library. In a way it was beautiful. It was one big present to this town with a "CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS" bow. It's the only part of this town that's clean, sterilized by the heat and flames. And with all the words printed in those books, floating around in scraps and pieces now. All of the individual letters that compose them that are now covered in ash. I know that those letters compose all of the answers to all of my questions. Somewhere in the burned down remains of the library is the meaning of life, the directions to the woman I'd be madly in love with, and the time and date of my death. So I stare at the rubble in all of it's glory, and then I think of the librarian. Now's she in there, with all the knowledge of the universe. She's surrounded, without room to breathe, by the infinite possibilities of the 26 letters of our alphabet, and she's dead.
It took a bottle of whiskey to swallow that moment. I bought the cheapest bottle I could find and walked it home across the street. I crawled upstairs and into bed and as I was lighting my cigarette, one tear rolled down my nose and put it out. I set the cigarette down and went to bed.
It's hard for me to function anymore as a butcher. Using sharp knives with the shakes is a bad idea, using them drunk might be even worse. This has led to a decline in business which has led to be being behind on bills. As a result I'm gonna lose my internet, and I won't exactly be able to go to the library to use it after this. So this is my farewell. I'll either turn my life around and get back on one day, or I'll continue down the pathetic path of my life until the day that I graciously accept the chilling arms of death. Either way, you'll never truly hear from me again, if anyone is even reading this in the first place.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
I Want To Watch It All Go Down
Ecstasy. Absolute ecstasy. The town was set ablaze today, literally, metaphorically.
It started in the wee hours of the morning. I was wandering through town in a drunken stupor, searching for more booze when I stumbled upon a sobering sight. Those crazy-ass christian right activists broke into the library and stole some books to burn. As though ANYBODY has EVER read those books. They're just felling a tree in a forest with no one to hear. The scene became more surreal as I walked closer though. There were people dancing around the fire, like witches around a cauldron, they were the town prostitutes, and they were throwing bottles of liquor on the fire, just more fuel.
At this point, I have completely sobered up.
The enchanting dance of the whores was putting me in a trance, and it seemed as though they were conjuring the forces of nature as the wind began whipping around and blowing up their skirts. In the heat of the flames, and realizing the surreality of the scene, they cast their clothes aside, and before long, the whores were dancing nearly naked around a book burning fire as the christian right stood watching, wondering where things went so horribly wrong (or right).
Being in the trance that we were, and being as sober as we were, a local homeless, Schitzy McDowell, and I decided to break into the DnD liquor store and get more fuel for the fire.
Where did this all go so right?
Before long there was glass everywhere, the towns homeless population had bum-rushed (no pun intended) the liquor store and absconded with only the most potent of the alcohols. Better to fuel our hearts and fuel the fire. We chugged as we ran back to the fire, stumbling, vomiting along the way, losing all sense of self control. When we were once again at the fireside, the whores ran up, snatching our bottles and throwing them into the fire, making bursts of flame stories high, like souls escaping the heavens as we sacrificed them to the gods. The flames were growing at an exponential rate, the crowd was getting bigger and louder until it seemed like the whole fucking world was about to blow into its individual atoms and we would all be particle dust and then
One loud crack and the heavens opened, the gods frowned upon us, and in the rain we could barely see two feet in front of us. The fire was doused, the whores ran, and the homeless stumbled off to find their boxes. There was only one source of light, a light that once again drew everyone back together. The main tower of the mosque, it's eccentric spire, was torched, hit by lightning, and the whole place was burning down.
I don't want to sound racist, but it would have been pretty fucking cool if they had explosives in there. Anyways, it seems like the christian right got their satisfaction.I stumbled back into the DnD, took a few more bottles and wandered home. I sat at my window watching the mosque burn down until the sun rose to see our soggy town, covered in wet plastered ash.
We're all just cigarette butts in this ashtray of a town, and we've been smoked to the filter. It's time to get a fresh pack. I lit one last cigarette and fell asleep, half hoping that I'd end up burning my own house down. I could die happy after a night like this.
It started in the wee hours of the morning. I was wandering through town in a drunken stupor, searching for more booze when I stumbled upon a sobering sight. Those crazy-ass christian right activists broke into the library and stole some books to burn. As though ANYBODY has EVER read those books. They're just felling a tree in a forest with no one to hear. The scene became more surreal as I walked closer though. There were people dancing around the fire, like witches around a cauldron, they were the town prostitutes, and they were throwing bottles of liquor on the fire, just more fuel.
At this point, I have completely sobered up.
The enchanting dance of the whores was putting me in a trance, and it seemed as though they were conjuring the forces of nature as the wind began whipping around and blowing up their skirts. In the heat of the flames, and realizing the surreality of the scene, they cast their clothes aside, and before long, the whores were dancing nearly naked around a book burning fire as the christian right stood watching, wondering where things went so horribly wrong (or right).
Being in the trance that we were, and being as sober as we were, a local homeless, Schitzy McDowell, and I decided to break into the DnD liquor store and get more fuel for the fire.
Where did this all go so right?
Before long there was glass everywhere, the towns homeless population had bum-rushed (no pun intended) the liquor store and absconded with only the most potent of the alcohols. Better to fuel our hearts and fuel the fire. We chugged as we ran back to the fire, stumbling, vomiting along the way, losing all sense of self control. When we were once again at the fireside, the whores ran up, snatching our bottles and throwing them into the fire, making bursts of flame stories high, like souls escaping the heavens as we sacrificed them to the gods. The flames were growing at an exponential rate, the crowd was getting bigger and louder until it seemed like the whole fucking world was about to blow into its individual atoms and we would all be particle dust and then
One loud crack and the heavens opened, the gods frowned upon us, and in the rain we could barely see two feet in front of us. The fire was doused, the whores ran, and the homeless stumbled off to find their boxes. There was only one source of light, a light that once again drew everyone back together. The main tower of the mosque, it's eccentric spire, was torched, hit by lightning, and the whole place was burning down.
I don't want to sound racist, but it would have been pretty fucking cool if they had explosives in there. Anyways, it seems like the christian right got their satisfaction.I stumbled back into the DnD, took a few more bottles and wandered home. I sat at my window watching the mosque burn down until the sun rose to see our soggy town, covered in wet plastered ash.
We're all just cigarette butts in this ashtray of a town, and we've been smoked to the filter. It's time to get a fresh pack. I lit one last cigarette and fell asleep, half hoping that I'd end up burning my own house down. I could die happy after a night like this.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
The Sun Comes Around
I woke up today in the strangest of ways.
I was woken by light. A band of light was cutting across my room. A sliver from between the mini-blinds. Like the opposite of a censor bar, just a beam of light making a stripe over my eyes. I heard birds call and people talking. It's January.
I'm also not hungover. I don't remember falling asleep, so I must have been drunk, but I feel fine. It's warm, it's beautiful outside, I'm feeling healthy and clean, and I fucking hate it.
You see, I don't want to be happy, because happiness doesn't last forever. A beautiful day in January is going to be preceded by a shitty day and followed by another, now comparably shittier day. I don't want hope, I don't want joy, I want misery that I can depend on. I've lived my whole life accepting that I wouldn't be happy, and that I'd survive on the vices of alcohol and tobacco, so I don't want this temptation. Today I could go outside and meet people and laugh. I could take a walk and be friendly and sober. And at sundown I could kill myself and end life on a high note. If I didn't have some belief in an even more miserable hell after this life because of the things I've done, that might be a tempting plan. Instead I think I'll hole up in the meat freezer, get bloody and drunk, and not come out until the sun is gone.
I'm just gonna walk down to the meat freezer and hope that there aren't any customers at the door.
God damnit.
Some Cain Taygen guy who offered me a drink at the carnival the other day (it's a wonder I remember), walks up to the door right as I walk by and he wants in. I unlock the door and a blast of warm air hits me. It's 70 degrees outside, and I'm tempted, but I tell myself no with tomorrow in mind. I tell the guy I'll throw in a free steak if he runs across the street to grab me some booze and he obliges. In the mean time I take a smoke break.
He comes back with a bottle of something cheap and tells me that there's a Wells Fargo truck broken down in the middle of the street. Fully loaded. Cash. I politely usher him out the door with a "Thank you, come again," and then I lock the door and retreat to the freezer.
Hah. Millions of dollars. What good would that do you in this town? You could buy a lotta crack, or a lotta booze, or a lotta women, or a lotta all three. The fun only lasts so long though before you're back to where you started, and it all seems so much worse in comparison. That's why I don't have dreams or aspirations, so I don't have any way to fail. If I stick to what I've got, things can't get any worse.
The winters here are bitter cold, it makes people hole up, get antsy, and hate each other. The summer's even worse. It gets way too hot and the whole place stinks to high heaven (if there is one). This might be the one nice day of the year, I'm in my meat freezer, I'm drunk, and I'm fine staying this way.
I was woken by light. A band of light was cutting across my room. A sliver from between the mini-blinds. Like the opposite of a censor bar, just a beam of light making a stripe over my eyes. I heard birds call and people talking. It's January.
I'm also not hungover. I don't remember falling asleep, so I must have been drunk, but I feel fine. It's warm, it's beautiful outside, I'm feeling healthy and clean, and I fucking hate it.
You see, I don't want to be happy, because happiness doesn't last forever. A beautiful day in January is going to be preceded by a shitty day and followed by another, now comparably shittier day. I don't want hope, I don't want joy, I want misery that I can depend on. I've lived my whole life accepting that I wouldn't be happy, and that I'd survive on the vices of alcohol and tobacco, so I don't want this temptation. Today I could go outside and meet people and laugh. I could take a walk and be friendly and sober. And at sundown I could kill myself and end life on a high note. If I didn't have some belief in an even more miserable hell after this life because of the things I've done, that might be a tempting plan. Instead I think I'll hole up in the meat freezer, get bloody and drunk, and not come out until the sun is gone.
I'm just gonna walk down to the meat freezer and hope that there aren't any customers at the door.
God damnit.
Some Cain Taygen guy who offered me a drink at the carnival the other day (it's a wonder I remember), walks up to the door right as I walk by and he wants in. I unlock the door and a blast of warm air hits me. It's 70 degrees outside, and I'm tempted, but I tell myself no with tomorrow in mind. I tell the guy I'll throw in a free steak if he runs across the street to grab me some booze and he obliges. In the mean time I take a smoke break.
He comes back with a bottle of something cheap and tells me that there's a Wells Fargo truck broken down in the middle of the street. Fully loaded. Cash. I politely usher him out the door with a "Thank you, come again," and then I lock the door and retreat to the freezer.
Hah. Millions of dollars. What good would that do you in this town? You could buy a lotta crack, or a lotta booze, or a lotta women, or a lotta all three. The fun only lasts so long though before you're back to where you started, and it all seems so much worse in comparison. That's why I don't have dreams or aspirations, so I don't have any way to fail. If I stick to what I've got, things can't get any worse.
The winters here are bitter cold, it makes people hole up, get antsy, and hate each other. The summer's even worse. It gets way too hot and the whole place stinks to high heaven (if there is one). This might be the one nice day of the year, I'm in my meat freezer, I'm drunk, and I'm fine staying this way.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Wakeup Call
The jail cell was cold, at least the floor was, and that's where I slept. That asshole Statone was just standing there, waiting for me to wake up, watching me sleep like a fucking creep. I would have reached through the bars and taken that smug grin off of his face if I could have, but some mix of the alcohol remaining in my system, the hangover I was already feeling, and what I imagine was some significant blood loss prevented me from standing up.
And I'm out again. Everything turns black, and truly, I'm relieved. I've been arrested too many times to want to deal with that shit anymore.
I come back to in the hospital. I've got more lines hooked up to me than a fucking Japanese fishing boat. My wounds are covered, I've got blood coursing through my veins again (as opposed to pure booze), and the hydration IV is a miracle cure for a hangover. I speak from experience. Seeing as nobody's watching and I've been through worse, I disconnect the hoses and walk out. Sometimes I wonder if I truly am a dead man in the land of the living, nobody even notices I'm here. Maybe it's the other way around though.
When I get back to the shop there's someone banging on the back door. "Hold your fucking horses man!"
"Actually, It's chickens."
Oh yeah, it's the third Wednesday of the month, chicken delivery day. What a smart ass. I open the door and he's standing there with his clip board.
"I got 3 dozen chickens for Dave Gor-lome-e."
"It's Gorlomi, and I only ordered 10."
"Well I've got three dozen here for you, you can take it or leave, but it's not my job to barter."
All of a sudden there's an uproar from the chickens and by the time we turn to look, the guys already down the alleyway with a dozen chickens in suit.
"How about you just give me 10 fucking chickens."
I got 10 chickens.
I wonder what happened to my car. I guess I'll check the garage for it. Stop by the DnD, too; I am WAY too sober for this shit.
It didn't take long to find my car, there were skid marks going around some chick with a trumpet on the floor leading me right to it. I ask her if she saw how it got there.
"Where is here?"
Fucking drug addicts, I may drink, but I haven't gone bat-shit crazy yet.
The car is unscathed, at least not more than it used to be. It's my baby. A 1969 Lincoln Continental with suicide doors and a sort of green-rust coloration. I had my first kiss in this car. It was a long time ago, but I think it actually happened, but you never know about the past in a place like this.
And I'm out again. Everything turns black, and truly, I'm relieved. I've been arrested too many times to want to deal with that shit anymore.
I come back to in the hospital. I've got more lines hooked up to me than a fucking Japanese fishing boat. My wounds are covered, I've got blood coursing through my veins again (as opposed to pure booze), and the hydration IV is a miracle cure for a hangover. I speak from experience. Seeing as nobody's watching and I've been through worse, I disconnect the hoses and walk out. Sometimes I wonder if I truly am a dead man in the land of the living, nobody even notices I'm here. Maybe it's the other way around though.
When I get back to the shop there's someone banging on the back door. "Hold your fucking horses man!"
"Actually, It's chickens."
Oh yeah, it's the third Wednesday of the month, chicken delivery day. What a smart ass. I open the door and he's standing there with his clip board.
"I got 3 dozen chickens for Dave Gor-lome-e."
"It's Gorlomi, and I only ordered 10."
"Well I've got three dozen here for you, you can take it or leave, but it's not my job to barter."
All of a sudden there's an uproar from the chickens and by the time we turn to look, the guys already down the alleyway with a dozen chickens in suit.
"How about you just give me 10 fucking chickens."
I got 10 chickens.
I wonder what happened to my car. I guess I'll check the garage for it. Stop by the DnD, too; I am WAY too sober for this shit.
It didn't take long to find my car, there were skid marks going around some chick with a trumpet on the floor leading me right to it. I ask her if she saw how it got there.
"Where is here?"
Fucking drug addicts, I may drink, but I haven't gone bat-shit crazy yet.
The car is unscathed, at least not more than it used to be. It's my baby. A 1969 Lincoln Continental with suicide doors and a sort of green-rust coloration. I had my first kiss in this car. It was a long time ago, but I think it actually happened, but you never know about the past in a place like this.
Monday, March 15, 2010
End of the World
I don't remember last night but I can smell her cheap perfume, I know she was here.
Abbie works at the "antique" store next door, and she's the closest thing to love I've ever felt. I'm a regular customer, and every once in a while she throws in a freebie. I don't know if she likes me, feels bad for me, or if I was just too drunk to pay. I know I paid last night though, because she's already gone. When it's free she usually spends the night, and I get to wake up next to her, hold her for a bit before I stumble off to find some booze and a cigarette.
So I'm laying here, alone. I've got a headache, it's from the hangover and the thick perfume in the air. It's some time in the middle of the day and I can hear music coming from down the street. Carnival music. It sounds hollow though, there is no joy in this town, even if Disney World came to visit.
What kind of carnival would come here? There are no kids in this town, and that carnival has got to be sitting alone, waiting, crying and screaming for attention from the loudspeaker on the ferris wheel. If a carnival is set up, and nobody is there to enjoy it, does it really exist? Or does it's music just drift off into the cosmos, another question unanswered, floating along in a void of futility?
There are no kids in this town. Don't get me wrong, children are born, but they've already got gunshot wounds in their DNA. If a kid's born with a silver spoon, he'll use it to shoot up soon enough. I was born with a 5 o' clock shadow and a hangover, my first words were "You got a light?"
The carnival is a sad site. There's a ferris wheel that's about to break off and roll away; run away. The bumper cars have been through DUI's and hit and runs. The haunted house is just a house of mirrors, so we can see the ghosts and monsters that we are. The only person I see doesn't look familiar, hasn't been in this town too long. Some woman riding one of those swinging boat rides, saying, "Aye-aye, captain!" Her life would be a lot easier if the ride just crashed and burned.
There is one attraction in particular that peaks my attention. It has started to drizzle and there is a little hut with a gypsy woman, a supposed fortune teller. That's ironic, futures don't exist in this town, just the present and what you wish had never happened. I'm willing to pay a dollar to see this.
She grabs my palms with surprising force. They're sweaty and bloody, but she doesn't seem perturbed. A silence falls over the hut and the trickle of rain becomes rythmic and hypnotic. She gazes deeper and holds tighter until she gouges my hand with her long, dirty thumb nails. "What the fuck is your problem woman?" I'm about to storm out when I see that she is crying.
"It's going to be really, fucking, brutal. I know you, Dave, and you've brought forth enough blood. IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO SHED SOME!"
I really fucking hate when people say stupid shit, that you really shouldn't believe or care about, but it gets to you. That gypsy bitch has got me in the liquor store buying a handle of whiskey and 3 packs of cigarettes. I walk into the parking garage next door and demand my keys from Pokey Swain, the woman who works there. She sees the handle and denies me my keys. With a nice "Go fuck yourself" I realize that I have a spare.
I've never left this town, but things are about to change. I've got half a tank of gas and I'm going as far as it will take me. I hit a highway and take a leisurely pace. I'm already through half the handle and I'm almost out of cigarettes. My vision's blurred but there's nothing to see. I drive for what seems like eternity before things go black.
I wake up in a jail cell. My head is killing me, but it's not just the hangover, it's bleeding. I'm covered in scrapes and bruises.
"Good morning, sunshine." Great, Lieutenant Rocco Statone, just the man I wanted to see.
Abbie works at the "antique" store next door, and she's the closest thing to love I've ever felt. I'm a regular customer, and every once in a while she throws in a freebie. I don't know if she likes me, feels bad for me, or if I was just too drunk to pay. I know I paid last night though, because she's already gone. When it's free she usually spends the night, and I get to wake up next to her, hold her for a bit before I stumble off to find some booze and a cigarette.
So I'm laying here, alone. I've got a headache, it's from the hangover and the thick perfume in the air. It's some time in the middle of the day and I can hear music coming from down the street. Carnival music. It sounds hollow though, there is no joy in this town, even if Disney World came to visit.
What kind of carnival would come here? There are no kids in this town, and that carnival has got to be sitting alone, waiting, crying and screaming for attention from the loudspeaker on the ferris wheel. If a carnival is set up, and nobody is there to enjoy it, does it really exist? Or does it's music just drift off into the cosmos, another question unanswered, floating along in a void of futility?
There are no kids in this town. Don't get me wrong, children are born, but they've already got gunshot wounds in their DNA. If a kid's born with a silver spoon, he'll use it to shoot up soon enough. I was born with a 5 o' clock shadow and a hangover, my first words were "You got a light?"
The carnival is a sad site. There's a ferris wheel that's about to break off and roll away; run away. The bumper cars have been through DUI's and hit and runs. The haunted house is just a house of mirrors, so we can see the ghosts and monsters that we are. The only person I see doesn't look familiar, hasn't been in this town too long. Some woman riding one of those swinging boat rides, saying, "Aye-aye, captain!" Her life would be a lot easier if the ride just crashed and burned.
There is one attraction in particular that peaks my attention. It has started to drizzle and there is a little hut with a gypsy woman, a supposed fortune teller. That's ironic, futures don't exist in this town, just the present and what you wish had never happened. I'm willing to pay a dollar to see this.
She grabs my palms with surprising force. They're sweaty and bloody, but she doesn't seem perturbed. A silence falls over the hut and the trickle of rain becomes rythmic and hypnotic. She gazes deeper and holds tighter until she gouges my hand with her long, dirty thumb nails. "What the fuck is your problem woman?" I'm about to storm out when I see that she is crying.
"It's going to be really, fucking, brutal. I know you, Dave, and you've brought forth enough blood. IT'S TIME FOR YOU TO SHED SOME!"
I really fucking hate when people say stupid shit, that you really shouldn't believe or care about, but it gets to you. That gypsy bitch has got me in the liquor store buying a handle of whiskey and 3 packs of cigarettes. I walk into the parking garage next door and demand my keys from Pokey Swain, the woman who works there. She sees the handle and denies me my keys. With a nice "Go fuck yourself" I realize that I have a spare.
I've never left this town, but things are about to change. I've got half a tank of gas and I'm going as far as it will take me. I hit a highway and take a leisurely pace. I'm already through half the handle and I'm almost out of cigarettes. My vision's blurred but there's nothing to see. I drive for what seems like eternity before things go black.
I wake up in a jail cell. My head is killing me, but it's not just the hangover, it's bleeding. I'm covered in scrapes and bruises.
"Good morning, sunshine." Great, Lieutenant Rocco Statone, just the man I wanted to see.
Monday, February 1, 2010
I am alone
Today is another one of those days when I think I might be dead. I'm pretty sure time isn't moving, or maybe it's just fluctuating back and forth. All I know is I need some cigarettes and I need some vodka. I think the meat industry can wait.
I break the seal on my plastic flask of vodka before I'm even out of the store. I should be a poster child for broken dreams or some shit like that. There is a little kid selling lemonade on the side of the road. Wait, there's a little kid selling lemonade on the side of the road. Why the fuck is a little kid in this part of town selling fucking lemonade on the side of the road? Well I've got vodka, he's got lemonade, let's get this party started. The kid says it's fifty cents but my hands are too cold and my motor functions too degraded to actually grab anything out of my pocket. The kid realizes the futility of his business and tells me to just take the lemonade, I oblige.
I sit around all day, just like every day. My buzz is wearing off and I'm getting a mid-day hangover, just like every day. I know what I'll do to break the monotony, maybe today will be the day I finally die.
Something wakes me up, it's dark, my head is on fucking fire and the compressor to the meat freezer has shut off. The power's out. What's even worse, I'm laying in an ice cold bath tub, I'm surrounded by floating empty beer cans, like all the countless messages sent off in bottles never to be found, never to be heard, to drift alone eternally or sink to an icy grave. I can taste gun metal in my mouth, my gums and teeth hurt from clenching around the barrel of a .45, and I'm perfectly fine, alive and breathing. God damnit.
Well I've stumbled out of the tub, into some dirty clothes and all the way to the fridge. It's completely empty, not a drop of alcohol in this fucking house, just the fumes on my breath. Without thinking I find my way outside.
I think it's pretty late at this point. It's below freezing, there's sleet, and I'm in wet pajamas. Look at me. The power's still out and every store in town is closed. But Jesus Christ, there is silence. My ears and eyes are open and neither can detect a thing. This is beautiful. This is the first time I've found any kind of joy in this town, maybe even in my life for that matter. But all of a sudden I am thrown to the ground. Sharp pain shoots through my body as my moment of clarity shatters into hundreds of pieces. I feel like I was looking into some mirror and it cracked, the crack spread and sprouted like a tree, until the every piece fell to the ground, leaving me god only knows how many years of bad luck. Some dark hooded figure stands over me trembling. He says some shit about the government being after him and disappears into the darkness. I am stone sober; I'm on the cold, wet ground and I am unable to find where I just was. I am pathetic. Out of nowhere I'm in the spotlight. There is some car in front of me shining headlights straight in my face. I now realize that I am in the middle of the road. I step out of the way and a gray minivan slowly pulls past, like the looming side of a freighter while I'm stranded in a life boat. Some thug inside points a gun at me, I close my eyes and pray for my final bang. But when I open my eyes again I am alone. I am left once again to my silent, blind serenity.
I am alone.
I break the seal on my plastic flask of vodka before I'm even out of the store. I should be a poster child for broken dreams or some shit like that. There is a little kid selling lemonade on the side of the road. Wait, there's a little kid selling lemonade on the side of the road. Why the fuck is a little kid in this part of town selling fucking lemonade on the side of the road? Well I've got vodka, he's got lemonade, let's get this party started. The kid says it's fifty cents but my hands are too cold and my motor functions too degraded to actually grab anything out of my pocket. The kid realizes the futility of his business and tells me to just take the lemonade, I oblige.
I sit around all day, just like every day. My buzz is wearing off and I'm getting a mid-day hangover, just like every day. I know what I'll do to break the monotony, maybe today will be the day I finally die.
Something wakes me up, it's dark, my head is on fucking fire and the compressor to the meat freezer has shut off. The power's out. What's even worse, I'm laying in an ice cold bath tub, I'm surrounded by floating empty beer cans, like all the countless messages sent off in bottles never to be found, never to be heard, to drift alone eternally or sink to an icy grave. I can taste gun metal in my mouth, my gums and teeth hurt from clenching around the barrel of a .45, and I'm perfectly fine, alive and breathing. God damnit.
Well I've stumbled out of the tub, into some dirty clothes and all the way to the fridge. It's completely empty, not a drop of alcohol in this fucking house, just the fumes on my breath. Without thinking I find my way outside.
I think it's pretty late at this point. It's below freezing, there's sleet, and I'm in wet pajamas. Look at me. The power's still out and every store in town is closed. But Jesus Christ, there is silence. My ears and eyes are open and neither can detect a thing. This is beautiful. This is the first time I've found any kind of joy in this town, maybe even in my life for that matter. But all of a sudden I am thrown to the ground. Sharp pain shoots through my body as my moment of clarity shatters into hundreds of pieces. I feel like I was looking into some mirror and it cracked, the crack spread and sprouted like a tree, until the every piece fell to the ground, leaving me god only knows how many years of bad luck. Some dark hooded figure stands over me trembling. He says some shit about the government being after him and disappears into the darkness. I am stone sober; I'm on the cold, wet ground and I am unable to find where I just was. I am pathetic. Out of nowhere I'm in the spotlight. There is some car in front of me shining headlights straight in my face. I now realize that I am in the middle of the road. I step out of the way and a gray minivan slowly pulls past, like the looming side of a freighter while I'm stranded in a life boat. Some thug inside points a gun at me, I close my eyes and pray for my final bang. But when I open my eyes again I am alone. I am left once again to my silent, blind serenity.
I am alone.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Welcome
Blood. Blood on my hands, blood under my nails, blood in my hair. I haven't had a drink all day and I'm starting to get the shakes. My name is Dave Gorlomi, I own Styx Meats and I'm an alcoholic.
I've owned this little corner shop for years now, since way back when this neighborhood was, well, still a total shithole. I think this part of town exists outside of time; it's always been a shithole and it always will be. Anyways, I'm the butcher around here. People need cheap meat and that's what I'm able to give them. I buy a lot of low grade meat or cuts that sat around too long at the supermarket. Don't worry though, nobody dies from food poisoning around here, you usually get shot.
The place next door to me is an "antique store," haha. That place has been a whorehouse front for so long that it used to just be a furniture store. Next door to that there's a bar; they serve crappy, greasy food, there are some crappy, greasy women, and the beer is warm. That's all that this town really is, dead meat, live meat, and alcohol.
Across the way there's a little Jewish deli that doubles as a synagogue on weekends, and as though this town wasn't already about to blow, there's a mosque right across the street. Anyways, at the corner of Katz and Mercy is where everything usually goes down, at the apartment building. You can find anything you need there; girls, drugs, guns, it all depends on how lonely you really are.
There's some more to this town, but all I really know is the liquor store and the blur that happens after it. People come and people go but it's all the same; they all have the same stories and they all sound the same crying. There isn't a sky over this town, just an airtight dome that somebody decorated with a box of crayons, and every time someone takes a breath, the pressure inside increases; it's all ready to blow. The rain in this town wouldn't pass a piss test; the chimneys here would blow over the legal limit. This is the edge of the world and I am Dave the butcher.
I've owned this little corner shop for years now, since way back when this neighborhood was, well, still a total shithole. I think this part of town exists outside of time; it's always been a shithole and it always will be. Anyways, I'm the butcher around here. People need cheap meat and that's what I'm able to give them. I buy a lot of low grade meat or cuts that sat around too long at the supermarket. Don't worry though, nobody dies from food poisoning around here, you usually get shot.
The place next door to me is an "antique store," haha. That place has been a whorehouse front for so long that it used to just be a furniture store. Next door to that there's a bar; they serve crappy, greasy food, there are some crappy, greasy women, and the beer is warm. That's all that this town really is, dead meat, live meat, and alcohol.
Across the way there's a little Jewish deli that doubles as a synagogue on weekends, and as though this town wasn't already about to blow, there's a mosque right across the street. Anyways, at the corner of Katz and Mercy is where everything usually goes down, at the apartment building. You can find anything you need there; girls, drugs, guns, it all depends on how lonely you really are.
There's some more to this town, but all I really know is the liquor store and the blur that happens after it. People come and people go but it's all the same; they all have the same stories and they all sound the same crying. There isn't a sky over this town, just an airtight dome that somebody decorated with a box of crayons, and every time someone takes a breath, the pressure inside increases; it's all ready to blow. The rain in this town wouldn't pass a piss test; the chimneys here would blow over the legal limit. This is the edge of the world and I am Dave the butcher.
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