Look, all I’m saying is we’re going to walk into these here woods, maybe drunk, maybe high, wander in a ways, get our shoes and cuffs wet, down to the socks, the toes, get smacked around by branches and their prissy leaves, then the pines will give us the business, red cheeks getting redder, stumble around like we’re 17 again, say it’s darkness, cold to the bone and soul, look for a place not thick with brambles and trees, find a sort of clearing, not a real one, a place with no moon nor stars, no place to sit but some trees to lean against, laugh because we’re stupid, like this, hopping glad, get real close when we realize we’re lost, laugh again, pray in our heads to something holy, get turned on by the hopelessness of everything, and fuck, probably not for very long, mood being what it is, but just long enough to remember that we can and so we do, right there and then.
Author: admin
Predator mentality
Predator mentality need not be suppressed, but merely channeled, and utilized when necessary or least expected.
some days
Some days are a persistent urge to roll, watch the galaxy, watch everyone flail around, sweaty masses and little clothing, big fucking grins, serious fucking frowns, fucking fucking fucking, and crash.
Girl with Death Mask – Frida Kahlo, 1938
When Marlene was a living little girl she began to notice that she looked different from the other children. Her skin was more brown, like the leather belts papa wore, and her long black hair was thick and straight, while nearly everyone else had curly light hair. She thought her hair looked like spiny straw. When she began to notice she also began to worry that there was something wrong with her, because even mama and papa did not look like her. They were tall and lean, but Marlene was short and soft. Marlene decided that everyone looked beautiful except for her, and she became sad and angry with God for making her an ugly brown girl with stupid hair. She sat alone in the overgrown grass field across from her house one day, trying to decide in which direction she would run away. She could live by the river to the north, where small turtles, frogs, and little chirp birds made beautiful noises. She thought that she could make beautiful noises with them. There was also the highway to the east. Many noisy large trucks passed through there and when mama and papa drove to the gas station she saw that the drivers looked more like her, dark and thick-haired and ugly. Maybe she was supposed to be one of them. Then, there was the large empty desert to the west of town. A boy in her class called it Mo Javee. She had never been to Mo Javee but knew it was a big, empty place with lots of sand and no water fountains or trees for shade. But she liked that it was empty because then there would be no one around to look at her ugly face. Marlene decided to go to Mo Javee, and the next morning, when mama and papa were still asleep, she woke up and put on her church dress. She looked from her window on the top floor of the apartment building and saw the Mo Javee mountains, and thought a map would be a good idea. She drew one on thick construction paper using the markers, then walked out and down to the street and walked to where her map told her to go. It pointed to a series of brown mountains at the end of her street. Marlene walked for a long time, and she thought it was taking too long to get to Mo Javee. She walked by people and looked up at them sometimes, but everyone was busy, too busy for an ugly girl, and she did not want to bother them. She walked and walked, and continued following her map to the mountains in Mo Javee until her brain became too tired to think about skin or hair or beauty.
squirrels outside
There’s this squirrel outside. The little bastard’s running hot, branch to branch, like it’s on the hunt. It runs across branches like it’s the performing in Vegas. The seven foot leap from one bare spring tree to the next is like taking a step into a doorway. It’s scrambling around and around, up the branches, and what the hell’s it after? There’s no stopping to sniff or munch or lick its paws. I follow its path and then I see another squirrel. This one’s a little chubbier, wider in the haunches, with this long, gorgeous puffy tail that just makes me want to sleep in it. Compared to the running squirrel, this one’s got class. So I deduce that the hunter’s a he and the beauty’s a she. She’s sitting on a fallen tree trunk that’s lying horizontally between the crotch of two other tree trunks, sunning herself, waiting for the hunter perhaps, but probably just getting a little early morning sun before it goes and gets swallowed by the clouds. I mean, who waits for a hunter to catch them?
But this hunter, he keeps making his way to her until he’s on that same fallen tree, looking at her. He’s a sad sight, really, kind of scrawny and with a wispy tail that won’t be making anyone want to reach out and touch it. He gets closer, twitch to twitch the way squirrels do, and she’s just staring at him intently, like she’s waiting to run but can’t be bothered. He gets up to her and sniffs and she backs away a bit. I figure it’s that moment, that point when he’s thinking he’s got her and she’s trying to decide. She makes up her mind quick when he pounces and she bolts. They run around the trees like they’re dancing, the smoothest chase I’ve ever seen. She runs faster than him, though, and gets up onto a high, thin branch where he can’t go because the weight of the two of them would be too much. So he gets close and stops, then retreats to that fallen tree to wait for her. He sniffs around, like he’s trying to get anything that he can get, and waits a while, looking around but never up, although squirrel eyes are placed kind of funny so who can tell. She just waits up there and keeps on going with that sun of hers. Eventually, the hunter moves down to the ground where the twisted ivy and leaves make a nice place for him to keep busy, sniffing and pawing at things. Eventually, she also moves down, and returns to her place on the fallen tree.
There are no other squirrels around. That’s an odd bit of something. I used to see lots of them around in the trees back where I’m from, but this place is kind of barren, except for those chirpy things that make noise just out of the corner of your eye so you can never see them. This distraction gets me thinking that there’s nothing more to see, but then the beauty goes and hides in the shadow of one of the nearby trees, looking scared and keeping still down flat to the trunk of the fallen tree. I look around and I just manage to catch a sight of a large gray tomcat on the prowl in the empty lot nearby, skulking around, not letting himself be seen and being a generally sneaky son of a bitch. I never see him again, and she stays hidden in the shadow. The hunter, he’s on the ground still, sniffing around in the leaves for God knows what, making himself look busy. I watch him for a bit and when I look back up to get an update on the beauty, she’s gone. I look up, look down, and nothing. The hunter scrounges around in the leaves for a little longer, then runs up the tree again, to where she used to be. He sniffs and instead of going off in whatever direction she must have gone in, he turns around and follows his same path back across the branches until he also disappears. Tough luck, hunter. Tough life.
Girl With Death Mask – Frida Kahlo, 1938
When Marlene was a living little girl she began to notice that she looked different from the other children. Her skin was more brown, like the leather belts papa wore, and her long black hair was thick and straight, while nearly everyone else had curly light hair. She thought her hair looked like spiny straw. When she began to notice she also began to worry that there was something wrong with her, because even mama and papa did not look like her. They were tall and lean, but Marlene was short and soft. Marlene decided that everyone looked beautiful except for her, and she became sad and angry with God for making her an ugly brown girl with stupid hair. She sat alone in the overgrown grass field across from her house one day, trying to decide in which direction she would run away. She could live by the river to the north, where small turtles, frogs, and little chirp birds made beautiful noises. She thought that she could make beautiful noises with them. There was also the highway to the east. Many noisy large trucks passed through there and when mama and papa drove to the gas station she saw that the drivers looked more like her, dark and thick-haired and ugly. Maybe she was supposed to be one of them. Then, there was the large empty desert to the west of town. A boy in her class called it Mo Javee. She had never been to Mo Javee but knew it was a big, empty place with lots of sand and no water fountains or trees for shade. But she liked that it was empty because then there would be no one around to look at her ugly face. Marlene decided to go to Mo Javee, and the next morning, when mama and papa were still asleep, she woke up and put on her church dress. She looked from her window on the top floor of the apartment building and saw the Mo Javee mountains, and thought a map would be a good idea. She drew one on thick construction paper using the markers, then walked out and down to the street and walked to where her map told her to go. It pointed to a series of brown mountains at the end of her street. Marlene walked for a long time, and she thought it was taking too long to get to Mo Javee. She walked by people and looked up at them sometimes, but everyone was busy, too busy for an ugly girl, and she did not want to bother them. She walked and walked, and continued following her map to the mountains in Mo Javee until her brain became too tired to think about skin or hair or beauty.
little men
Snow White thought it was strange that the little men in the cabin were so eager to help her and give her a home, and that all they asked in return was for her to tidy the place up, wash their floppy hats, clean the grog mugs. She sat on the front steps and smoked American Spirits after they left in the mornings to dig up their stones in the mine, waiting for all the forest creatures, who also loved her, to show up. When they were gathered around she told them to go inside and clean everything up, and they did so dutifully. The hummingbirds fluttered about, dusting things with the furious beating of their wings. The raccoons too care of the dishes. The bear made the beds and the foxes ate the food off the floor and licked up the beer, which they greatly enjoyed. All in all, it was a sweet deal while she waited for that asshole prince to come back for her. When she was done with her morning smoke Snow White liked to wander off to the pond hidden in the reeds, where she felt she would not be intruded upon. The water was sometimes murky, but she found it relaxing to be alone for a while. Sometimes, though, she thought she heard noises. Breathing, rustling in the tall grass, and one time she swears she heard someone whisper “scoops of vanilla and two hard cherries”, which could have only been the wind playing tricks on her mind.
There’ll Be Time Enough for Sex and Drugs and Heaven
Little Red Riding Hood went out into the woods, met up with the wolf, and the hunter was too drunk to get his ass off the john. But as it turns out the wolf had a MA in creative writing and spoke several accents of German with precise fluidity, so she got to liking him and changed her name to Mirna. They spent their days eating deer, berries, and mushrooms, and making pups of course, and the world just kind of kept going because it’s everyday that a Little Red Riding Hood winds up in the woods with a wolf but no one knows just what goes on out there and, frankly, they don’t want to know.
Little Men
Snow White thought it was strange that the little men in the cabin were so eager to help her and give her a home, and that all they asked in return was for her to tidy the place up, wash their floppy hats, clean the grog mugs. She sat on the front steps and smoked American Spirits after they left in the mornings to dig up their stones in the mine, waiting for all the forest creatures, who also loved her, to show up. When they were gathered around she told them to go inside and clean everything up, and they did so dutifully. The hummingbirds fluttered about, dusting things with the furious beating of their wings. The raccoons too care of the dishes. The bear made the beds and the foxes ate the food off the floor and licked up the beer, which they greatly enjoyed. All in all, it was a sweet deal while she waited for that asshole prince to come back for her. When she was done with her morning smoke Snow White liked to wander off to the pond hidden in the reeds, where she felt she would not be intruded upon. The water was sometimes murky, but she found it relaxing to be alone for a while. Sometimes, though, she thought she heard noises. Breathing, rustling in the tall grass, and one time she swears she heard someone whisper “scoops of vanilla and two hard cherries”, which could have only been the wind playing tricks on her mind.
an agent of sorts
This time, I was an agent of sorts, possibly with the DEA. We were one of those rogue units that doesn’t play by the rules, gets results, and skims some off the top because the money gets burned anyway. I even wore the aviator glasses so that fuckers could see themselves in my eyes when I shot them dead.
We were driving up the highway to a cantina on top of a deserted hill in a town in Texas. It was dry, like the hairy skin on my sun baked arm was dry, like my lips were dry, like the bones of a long dead man are dry. When we arrived it was silent, but we could see the back of a lifted pick-up truck poking out from behind a stucco facade.
“Arms up,” I told them. I may have been the leader of these bad ass motherfuckers.
We strolled to the entrance and called out, “Afuera, cabrones!” When we looked inside, it was empty.
But we didn’t see that they had set up on the roof and were pinned against the walls by a hail of gunfire. As hardened and solitary sons of bitches, we didn’t give a fuck. We strutted out, nines in each hand, perhaps a shotty up front, and took them all out. A shower of blood, bits of skin, the occasional spilling of intestines.
When we were done, we walked away.
As I opened the door to the Bronco I noticed that one man in a federale uniform with a single briefcase and an uzi ran out and sprinted for the truck. I brought out my nine and unloaded in his direction, but oddly, he didn’t fall dead. He in fact managed to raise his weapon and aim, and more surprisingly, he got off a few shots, and against all odds hit me square in the chest, twice. Two holes, two sharp hits, right around the heart. I stumbled back and said nothing. I could no longer speak. I wanted to tell them, after they killed that bastard, to tell someone something. I wanted to tell them to relay a message, but they could not hear me and I could not hear them. Eventually, they disappeared.
I could not speak. Darkness was coming in from all sides, like the edges of a worn film reel. I was coming to a close.
I dipped my left index and middle fingers in the pool of blood forming beneath my waist. As I began to fade I wrote this in the dusty concrete:
L O V E
Y O J
And then I died.