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Showing posts from April, 2017

Violence over midnight street sausage

I am not standing.
I am not lying on the ground nor even sitting, properly speaking, but rather collapsed in a sort of lump – as though I’ve gone boneless – at the base of a lamppost. The lamppost, for its part, is standing in its usual place at the corner of Westheimer and Montrose Boulevard.
The light, way up there at the top of the lamppost, refuses to hold still. It continuously zigs up, back, up, back, like an image from a film projector gone bad. Maybe it’s trying to escape my vodka, who knows?

First flu

My mother declared this to be my first flu, though it seems impossible at my age, me being too old for firsts by now and there having been so very many assorted ailments along the way since that day, long ago, when the doctor rent me from her. Screaming, probably.
I mean to say that I am likely to have been the party doing the screaming, not the doctor. I cannot say for certain.
Almost from the get-go there has been hacking. Fountainous discharges. Infections and wounds of all variety. Over a lifetime, this body has played host to viruses and bacteria big and small, both foreign and domestic, some of which, I imagine, stuck around and remain to this moment, here and now, biding their time.

Part 7: The side effects of time travel

This is the part of my story I had intended to be the conclusion. Not just an ending – no, that would never satisfy a mind like mine – but a real first-rate, proper conclusion, with lessons learned, themes brought together. The whole nine yards, as they say.
But now that I have arrived here, I find that it is merely the end. There were no lessons learned. No grander themes. Some people died, others broke up, and most kept on doing things exactly as they’d been doing them before.

Part 6: The time I thought Jamie was dead

“[Stonie’s] diary, found days later, included a list of people he threatened to kill.” –
3 days later:
“Hello, ossifers! I almost said ‘officers.’ Ossifers. I mean I’m the one who called about the window watch your step there. Thanks sorry. Harry Hamid yes absolutely but the apartment and the window are up h-here, here, second floor, offsif… everything is on the second floor except my girlfriend why I called she’s missing watch your step. The cats are still there though they sent four of you – three, four, yes – because the murderer lived’s’s in that one you know about the kill list right? Was I on the kill list, no, right? Harry Hamid? You’d have to tell me, right? – rules, I’m right, right? Sorry really if I’m babbling, f-fight or the flight – you know! – and aluminum and I do not make apologies for natural body responses. Bodily. I’m shaking! Look!
“Look, the window is here like this and he could be anywhere,…

Part 5: Murder in Montrose

The cops and the papers and even Stonie’s mom, they told a story, later on, of what happened that day after Stonie left Jamie’s balcony. And if it is not a true story, well, I had no means of disproving it and still do not.
But if it was not a true story then the world is a better place after all.

Part 4: Stonie's bottle

I was unfamiliar with the term “head” as used in the diary, that is, to mean “oral sex performed upon a woman.” Whether this was owing to my own lack of worldliness or to it being a neologism of Jamie’s generation or to Jamie having misused the term entirely, I don’t know.
I have never seen it used in this sense outside the diary entry, written fourteen years ago now.
Yes, I read her diary, a blue hardbacked book with off-white pages.
And yes, I know that was wrong, probably.
The diary entry in question said this (or else something very much like this): “I got head from Stonie and I screamed so loud I can’t believe the neighbors didn’t call the cops.”
This was read by me – and understood, too, despite the unfamiliar use of the crucial term – without the gut punch, that familiar blow to the groin and the belly I usually felt upon learning of a betrayal**. Maybe I’m admitting too much here…
I wasn’t upset.
Then, two days later, I arrived at Jamie’s apartment and there she was, sitting with …