Posted by marko on 12/16/2006, 9:14 am we were watching a movie on pirated tv. it was too loud scene 2 a second man was seen in the area. he was observed if you’re so uncomfortable here, then why haven’t you any joy was emptied hours ago, & a nightingale is the only scene 5 i slip into my brown corduroy jacket & hear something
65.167.39.241
scene 1
for me, but i knew better than to ask. i can’t remember
the name of the film. i think it had a murder & carnival
rides. there may have been a long conversation that seemed
to go nowhere. she caught me off guard when the screen
suddenly went black, & she asked me what i was thinking.
this is usually a loaded question. i told her i was praying.
she asked me what i was praying for. i told her that prayers
were like wishes—if you tell, then they won’t come true.
i thought this would make her laugh. but she no longer
appreciated my sense of humor. sometimes this can be a
tip-off that something has gone terribly wrong. so i laughed
instead—to fill the silence i suppose. but it was a forced
laugh there was no ring to it at all. & she said nothing, just
looked away, then turned the television back on. i lied &
told her—i think i’ve seen this film before. she didn’t ask
what we’d missed.
talking to a second woman, who also happened to be
in the vicinity. she had also been seen speaking to the
first man in an animated fashion, before kissing him
i away that implied he was leaving. but he was found
slumped over the steering wheel of a new oldsmobile
with a sales sticker still in the window. a set of keys
were found in his right hand , but they didn’t fit the
ignition of the car in which he was bleeding on the real
leather interior, which was parked in front of room 18
of the hacienda motel, where a second woman was seen
driving away—squealing tires in the newly paved parking
lot. it was a blue sedan of some sort. the exact make was
arguable. the air was crisp though not bitter cold, & the
sky suggested snow. whether it did snow later or not,
i have no idea. i was long gone by then. on my way to
a small town in maryland where any other facts pertaining
to the case were left in a manila envelope with a third
woman, though i had no good reason to believe she could
be trusted either.
scene 3
moved on. find something, someone that suits your needs.
or at least where you’re not jarred by the slightest sound
& making a mad dash to the window to peek through the
curtains, then checking the deadbolt before rolling the
chamber for good measure. if you’re so worried about what
i might say or do next—why don’t you hold the revolver.
then you can see that i do trust you, despite the fact it isn’t
mutual. i would think that you’d be ashamed of yourself for
all the accusations you’ve been spitting out all night between
vodka & tonics. but i could be wrong. because i have been
wrong about you most of the way. if you’re so tired, & it’s
obvious that you are—you can barely keep your eyes open,
(i did tell you that you have beautiful eyes didn’t i?) then why
don’t you lie down. no, i didn’t say go to sleep. i said lie down,
as in put your legs up on the bed & relax. sometimes i wonder
if you listen to anything i say. you know you might feel better
if you got some rest. besides, i’ve had enough arguments. it’s
too late to go back now & change anything. yes, i still love you
but i’m not getting close enough to wipe away those tears & tell
you it will be alright. no, i’m taking off these sunglasses so you
see if the swelling has gone down. i’m staying here on the other
side of the room. & i’m holding on to the telephone. yeah,
i loved that song too.
scene 4
one left with a song in him. & i’m not in the mood to hear it,
but i can’t get off the couch right this minute & shut the
window, even though i can’t sleep. the last time i could
get up, i looked into your room & you were sleeping
in the bed with your roommate, & when i tried to curl up
beside you, you said—there’s no room. why don’t you
go home & sleep. i hadn’t noticed everyone leaving until
it was just a woman who’s name i can’t recall & me.
she left without even saying goodbye. that was when the
silence tore the page & tossed it into a corner. it may have
been something i said. even though it was four in the morning.
or maybe because it was four in the morning. i can’t piece
the conversation together. all i have are these pockets i keep
falling into every time i begin to believe that i’ve moved
ahead into a linear timeline. then i realize i still can’t make
the distinction. did i mention i can’t sleep? i take my
medications every night about a half hour before i intend on
dropping the world. it must work because i don’t hear anything
break. but i don’t carry my meds with me unless i know i’m
staying overnight. i seldom stay overnight any more. but i’m
somewhere else, unable to sleep, with another day which might
be sunday an hour or so away, with a chemical imbalance left
undisturbed. & you’re sleeping in the next room & i’m
stretched out on a couch that’s a foot too short & people are
excercizing on tv. why would someone be jumping around
with a stupid grin on their face at this hour? i see your
car keys on the kitchen table. i wonder if you’d mind if i
drove myself home. i’d leave a note promising i’d have
it back before you had to go to work. you still work the
afternoon shift don’t you? we do know each other don’t we?
rattle in the pocket. i notice it immediately because i
thought my pockets were empty. i reach in the right pocket
& pull out an audio cassette. it’s not labeled. i try to remember
why it’s in my jacket. was i going to give it to someone?
where was i headed before i got sidetracked by a phone call
that ended up leaving me here in the middle of the night
even though we hadn’t spoken in months. if it’s a home
recording of me making music then i know it wasn’t intended
for this house. she never cared less what i did on my own time.
as long as i paid the bill, & it was usually a huge bill
because she drank expensive wine & plenty of it. as long
as i didn’t take all ####ing night because some of us
have to get up & go to work. so i wouldn’t have dubbed
a tape for her or burned a cd for that matter since our
taste in music wasn’t close. actually our tastes never seemed
to connect. & there was certainly nothing earth-shaking about
our physical relationship either. so how did i wind up here—
putting my jacket on in the dark. scraping the frost off the
windows while the car warms up & the cassette rewinds to the
beginning, so that maybe i can find out where i should be now.
or where i was supposed to be, since it’s probably too late to
make it right. an innocent misunderstanding might be the
honest-to-god truth. but the truth will leave me standing there,
stammering my way through further questioning. questions i
have no answer to. & really no different than a well-constructed
lie. because there will be parts that i’m reminded i neglected
to mention. the windshield’s clear & i get in the car. why am
i so afraid to hit the play button?
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