Pretentious Pornography

Curving over the edge of my bed, stricken with nausea. I remember the slope of the street. The city's sharp hills and barometric pressure creating congestion in my nose. It wasn't in the nicest area of town, why would I expect it to be anywhere else. Writhing from remembering, I reeled over onto the floor as he led me to a series of offices, abandoned by the failed dot coms. I sat in a puffy orange chair and tried to pretend I wasn't there. No confidence and certainly no self esteem, I always wanted to believe, but now I am asking and I receive, for a small price.

Naked and alone and the couch. This is a cold place in the city. You cannot wash this off of your hands, I can see this in his smile. The lack of his patience for me to become a fake and empty unit, a vessel to be filled with cliche lines and to pretend this is nothing more than smut would be a lie to the both of us. It will haunt me for the rest of my life, steering me towards the wrong direction. The actor, the humanitarian, and the scholar all fall into the paper shredder. Amateur Amateur Amateur, during my Amateur times of doing Amateur work. An expert of nothing, a lover of no one, a heart pumping with no blood but a forced ejaculation.

My mattress begins to curl around me, pressing against my ribs. I try to yell for help, but I lack the vocal chords. I reach for my medicine, but I remember that I quit so long ago. So many faces spin around as if the house is caught in a tornado of portraits. As they spin, the mariachi band begins to play. Several ingredients are called for in the end of this.

Running with stealth, trying to hold the contents of my stomach inside me, a yellow plastic container is right where I left it. Shivering and shaking, I purge on the container and all over the floor. I feel the steady cam looking nowhere near my face, one thousand instruments playing my favorite song. Stumbling up the stairs and trying to see what I do not want to see. The gaunt cheek bones, the pastry white skin, and the shivering mess that is someone when they no longer even trust themselves. Reaching out the last of the gumption in my being to fight the greatest enemy any of us has ever known.

I salute to the queen, and bless the sages of whom have been very helpful these past few months. They provide a illusory curtsey and join the wallpaper again. The empty bedroom of my family groans in the cobwebs and the wind that New England tends to have around the months. As spring ushers out the new plants, I grab a couple in my hands from outside the window, hoping tendrils will fly out of my wrist and joining the earth I will bear fruit and do at least one of the goals I had when I was here.

Dearly departed, we are gathered here to say goodbye, says the worn out stuffed Monkey. The polar bear without a nose lowers his face to let me know he will miss me. A vine wraps around my ankle from the window in my bedroom, and tries to pull me outside. Fool's games. Childish games for those younger than children. Simply a shoestring, tied by myself to my own ankle. Tired of being the living liar, lying back down on the bed.

Empyting the canister, feeling wet and dry of skin. I close my eyes and it begins to spin again. Oh the things we do for friendship, the things we do for money. Dearly departed, what was wrong with you? You give up on everything, what happened to the spark? Surely you need one now, and you are reluctant to look for it. I see my face, dark circles around my eyes and a tear to fall down. I roll onto my stomach.

The wood from the floor ruptures massive arms grab me and as I fly towards the concrete, I wonder, suppose that shoestring could have pulled me out of the window, then what?

Rock Candy

 The arms do not lengthen the same way as ours. Whispers do not evoke Paranoia in the average soul. Narcissus cannot find a pool in which to see his reflection. All this time and the ocean seems more devoid of fish. It has been twelve days since the first speck of paint chipped off the side of the hull.

Fan the fingers up as you inhale, oxygen hitting you in the back of the throat. A diaphragm playing balloon inside of the body. Think thick coats of Blue unprovoked by gravity. A perfect place for a seed to be planted and a root to connect with the ground. One would think? Perhaps? Perhaps not? What does ground those who are not the others? Overtime it is thick coats of sugar incorporated.

Back in 1492 or 1942 A small firm was established in an undisclosed location (Currently, The City of Quartz, California). The company had no good ideas for an innovatine project. Men and Women toiled over productivity and innovation. Something fantastic! Something Wonderful! Only describable as divine! The smartest and most wicked of them all beheld a rock. When he picked it up in the park, no one seemed to give him a second glance. This park did not own the rock, The people certainly didn't have a stake in the composition of merging minerals. He picked it up and rubbed the rough and smooth. They would not have to pay a cent for the actual product.

Late in the evening, The Smartest and the Wicked went back to the park, there he filled a burlap sack with the stones of various sizes. He would have to drag them back to the company. As he pulled, he noticed his girth being unhelpful with the movement of stones. Each time he pulled, he felt a small hardened poke underneath his skin. Stopping only once, because time still has yet to be controlled, he felt around and realized his body was providing him with muscles.

As he arrived just as everyone was getting to work, the beheld the most beautiful man they had ever seen. The women and the men fell in love with him. His every curve and lineation glistened to the hot yellow burn. Inside he took his seat at the front, a prediction of those that sat underneath and the to right of the water cooler.

Outstretching a paw, a rock bedazzled itself upon the audience. They smiled, laughed, and cried all wondering what the right response could be. A bowl of a hot sticky liquid pranced upon the table. Drip drop drip drop, the rock came dressed in a thick coat of sugar. Air kissed Sugar. Turns out that Sugar was frigid to air. They never spoke again. The rock now looked like a delicious candy, with a promise of a surprise every time!

He handed one to each and every one of his colleagues. They bit into the sugar, delighted. On the second bite, nerve endings split through the teeth as daffodils. Many screamed and quivered to the unrelenting pain. Palming one lady's head in the fingers of the muscle man, he pointed her eyes towards the box, opened on the top and currently occupying his other hand as he dropped more candy inside.

"A surprise every time? Perhaps this next one will be different!,"

Each time she popped another rock into her mouth, now gushing with the rouge juice that tastes like rust, a laugh developed in her demolished maw. She loved the product! It was a success. With each bite, the uncertainty was so compelling, even though the result proved the same.

Rich in no time and meaner and more enjoyable. Wine was drunk. Love was made. Tickets were handed out and never paid. Everyone walked around rubbing their jaw. Hoping that maybe one of these bites would reveal the answers to their pain. So bite and bite they did.

However, where we are at sea, never have our eyes laid upon sweet. Salt is the taste engrained in our hearts. Deep down at the bottom of the sea, large fallen rocks covered in black plants. Fish swim among them, the last of their kind. Hiding from greed and safe but not on land. The entire world has tasted demand and the gut of the issue. Whales swim around to dismiss the great beast. Muscle firm and parting the seas. The rock can only be helped if sugar is only remembered by name.