So once upon a day(yesterday, or the fifth of may) me and abe got swine flu. Yea turns out in abe and mine’s three or so month absence (I mean who can remember after the shit that happened during that freakish and hallucination filled time). But apparently we got into licking live pigs. Theres lots and lots of polaroids. And indeed some of them have photos of us licking live pigs. So we were really sick, i mean we vomited and shaked and were freezing cold but really really hot at the same time. My body was weak and abe was ozzing that green shit again. I hate that fucking turtle. Even when i am too weak to talk. I hate him with every ounce that i can. I hoped that he would die first, so i could watch him twitch and kick before he spat and shat out his insides, and i could laugh at him. I ate some soup and even slip a little to abe, because i was too afraid of his twisting and growing figure. I thought for sure we were near the end. We crawled into a huddled mass on the floor of the kitchen, under a massive pile of blankets. We layed in a sweaty mess waiting to die. But we woke up in the morning, felt much better (but less good about laying in the way we were) and went to work. So yea, me and abe are real sorry if you die from sf. It was not intentional. Merely the work of some fetish infested fantasy world created by deep, dark dillusions, only attainable at the edges, where sadly me and abe trekked for too many days and nights to recount.
Dear Katie,
I lie awake at night, sprawled across my sheets that no longer smell of you, wondering where the last year has taken us. I’m sure you’ve gone far from here, and that I am only some distant and annoying thought that creeps up on you on some Sundays. I remember how we loved Sundays. How you used to sweat in the summer time because I was too cheap for air conditioning. Im sorry for that. I want to wrap your perfect smile around my eyes so that I can sleep again. Because waking up next to you was undescribable. I want to trace my secrets across your spine again. Draw the constellations on your freckled skin. But now I wait for faint whisps of scents that smell vaguely like you to get me through the days I have left here. I know that it won’t be long until Im gone from this place. And at least now I won’t have to say goodbye to you.
In this, as in all else, yours sincerely,
Adam
I start to think sometimes of things that slither and dance to some beat other than the one i hear coming from my own feet. And it makes me think about summer, and watermelons, and how evil both could be. And as the beat beats more and more and i swore and swore i wouldn’t change my very steady sway, I began to see sometimes little blips and bleeps, all along my way. And long before long, I find that my out of rhythm feet, are back onto beat again, but its them that changed and not the thoughts in my unsure, undersized brain. So i refrain from diving deep, into anything because my fucking feet, can’t even reach the edge, and i wonder sometimes of the things i’d find just below the ledge, and i ponder sometimes, if id survive, over on the scary side.
Skater Island in middletown, RI is an indoor wooden skatepark, which is host to an 11,000 sq foot street course, a 52 foot wide and twelve foot tall vert ramp, a 110 foot snake run, and a pool with a nine foot deep end and a five and a half foot shallow end. The street course boasts an array of banks, ledges, quarters, and square rails. Although it seems to cater to skateboarders, it is still surprisingly fun for rollers with some creativity. The park lacks something, though. Because none or very few rollers usually inhabit skater island, it lacks the atmosphere found in rolling parks and street sessions. Unfortunately, this causes you to never experience that ” pussing force” vibe that makes you want to skate, and consequently it gets boring fast. I suggest that if you do travel to Rhode Island to skate this park, then you should bring some rolling buddies. Otherwise, you will probably be the only rollers there. Oh, and expect some stares.
Its skin was colored with such a light green spread sporadically across its surface that it looked like it was stretched so that it was stressed on the corners. It was such a light green that it seemed to walk on the edge of yellow, danced with it a bit. Reminded him of the yellow haired girl he danced with on a rainy thursday. He thought about the first time he met her. It was a monday, long before the thursday in which they danced, long like single soft and thin hairs that he pulled from his clothes long after she left him. It had been so long since he’d seen her. Since he’d buried his face into her golden locks, breathed in gasps of delicious scents that smelled like house fires in the city. He chewed on it like he chewed on the rhubarb that grew between his child hood home and his grandmothers. Wanted to taste how smooth it was because he didn’t believe his fingers. He thought about how the light shone off it with more angst and energy than when it was originally projected. How it turned even the dullest and dustiest light into magnificent waves of brightness, and how that bright created smiles in dark and lonely rooms. He thought about waking up, looking down at his chest to see it covered in the stuff, thought about how on mornings when he woke before her he’d stay awake waiting for her breaths to change so that he knew she was awake too. He thought about getting lost with her. about laughing with her for no reason other than to see her smile. He loved her smile. Loved the way it seemed to dangle from marionette strings attached to his unsure hands. He wanted to feel the perfect roof of her mouth again. It reminded him of night time, and how he traced the little dipper on it when they kissed. He’d make her black tea, and squeeze a whole lemon into it before he dropped a single teaspoon of sugar and stirred. He made this for her most mornings. And now all he wanted was to lose hours of sleep in the mornings again. Now he slept past 8 and 9, past 10, finally awoke because his upstairs neighbor wore high heeled shoes and left her hardwood apartment at 10:15 every morning. This clack was the only thing that roused him from his excessive and dismal slumber. He’d met this neighbor once or twice, in passing, walking from the front door to his third floor apartment. Her face looked tired, especially the lines around her mouth, and he guessed she was a receptionist of some kind. She wore black stockings both times he saw her, and this made him question if it was on the same day or if she just always wore black stockings.
Christmas is just around the bend, my tattered old tennis sock with two yellow stripes at the calf hangs thumbtacked to the wall above where my fireplace ought to be. Three candycanes poke their akward bodies from its mouth. I bet they’ll taste like sweat. Im baking sugar cookies that i cut into six sided stars, because jewish cookies taste sweeter for some reason. I even hung a sock for Abe, hoping that he’d see it from the fire escape when he inevitably checked in on me. And i filled it with bits of lettuce and tomato so that he’d remember what he was missing. Right now i am wrapping a gift for my new friend Giuseppe. Its deodorant. The good stuff, mitchum, the smelly mans deodorant. Geuseppi is definitely a smelly man. Giusieppe certainly needs some of this. I bought it in his line at the grocery store, smiled boyishly as i handed him the money for his christmas gift while he was nonethewiser. Oh Giuseppi, how I almost blurted out with excitement that this gift was meant for you.
I have to use shoestrings for belts because my waist shrunk a good 3 inches during my stay in the hospital. apparently the .9% normal saline drips keep you pretty lean. anywho, i don’t really have money to afford extra shoe laces and such for use as belts which i also can’t afford, so one of my shoes is left lace-less. so i was walking down the street carrying some laundry to the laundromat. so my arms were full of soiled undies and even my mouth was full of stinking shirts and socks and this lady asks me where the nearest grocer is. so i try to point with foot but forgot that i was shoelace-less and she got a boot to the side of the head when it flung from off my well intentioned foot. i walked away briskly but struggling to get my boot on as she laid unconcious on the street. garments were falling behind me like breadcrumbs, and i hoped Gretel was on her way home.
So the other day I woke up from a 143 day coma. Basically things are the same. Abe’s gone. Just gone. After all I did for him, he wouldn’t even stick by me when I was at my worst. I took care of him when he was oozing green stuff, that ungrateful bastard! Bread is more expensive. By up to 37 cents in some places. This is probably due to rising production costs and a general downward slope in the economy shifting the equilibrium price and quantity to the upward left. Gas is also more expensive. Or was. At least thats what everyone is a-tellin meh. Apparently there was a little bit of speculation involved in the oil market, forcing the price of a barrel of oil to higher prices for no real reason at all, some say that the oil market contained a bubble, that is to say that the price rose even though the fundamental factors don’t support it… that is to say that prices are high because people believe they will be high tomorrow. Or not. I reckon that I had a pretty good nap while all you other people were trying to figure out if the world was ending or not. I hope Abe comes back is all. I wrote this letter and left it on his bed.
Waking up in a house without you is terrible, its hot and I stumble to the couch and strain to fix my blurry vision. And i wonder when you are coming back. Thats probably what I wonder about the most… when will i hear your scratching keys on the worn knob to our rusty hinged door. Oh how i hope its soon… I thought I heard you the other night, taking creeking and tiny steps outside my bedroom. But you never woke me. You probably sat with your shell against the door, thinking about all the terrible things Ive done to you. And you probably walked away. I should have followed you. Im sorry. But you are gone and I am here waiting, and you are everywhere, on the faces of passersby that get hard stares of hope from me. You probably look different now, you are probably unrecognizable and I bet you walk past me everyday to see how desperate I’ve become. And green marks on the floor still remind me of moons.
