Visitors

"That was terrible, holy shit," Matt says, falling to the floor. 

"Now you can write about it," Scott says. 

"This feels interesting actually...No. I don't even want to write about it - yet, anyway" Matt says. "I want a shot!"

Matt rolls over and knocks into the chair with wheels. The chair rolls a little. The box fan rattles a little. 

Scott's eyes widen. Matt and Scott's eyes connect visions. Scott moves his eyes around, then Matt does too. 

"Shots!" Matt says. 

Matt and Scott don't find any liquor in the kitchen and Matt goes to his landlord for some, who forces the bottle into his hand grudgingly. 

"Don't keep me up," the landlord says with close-cropped eyes.

Matt swallows a shot of gin and says "This all feels really good... man, I feel alive, bro," into the medium-space, before the off-white wall. 

Matt registers each of his reactions to the outside world as individual feelings, glowing distinctly in his chest. Hands scooping the circumference of color-coded orbs. He resigns knowing the despair will soak into his flesh and pours another shot.

"You're doing a good job," Scott says.

Matt moves his eyes over to Scott's without moving his head, which is fixed over the desk, the bottle and the glasses. 

"They were both just here, right? Did you see them there and hear their voices like I did?" Matt says.

Scott smiles at Matt, wildly a little. His hands in his pockets, tasting gin. He cannot feel any of his own problems directly. Matt touches his finger tips to the desk and begins moving his body rhythmically to the music.

 

a poem about the wildlife refuge in brooklyn

my life seems depressing. 

when i write about the things i do in real life i feel like i am fucked.

we all change as people, right. there are some bananas near me

and there are more bananas on the windowsill. 

i changed as a person, but still feel existentially frustrated,

and now i like to drink coffee and think about how societies are meaningless

constructs. the line breaks in the poem will drive home this winning argument - 

something, be post modern maybe.

my endocrine glands have been infected, i feel

and will require an injection

the doctor says. 

the serum they use is electrically charged, and seems sweet!

the anxiousness in my stomach is yellow and ice creamy. 

at night on a friday i feel like i took a nap and woke up extra oily.

i read some

sentences of short stories and then stopped after some sentences

and made pasta, ate it, 

rode my skateboard around at 5am and bought a huge cantaloupe

and dropped it, but it was fine and then i ate it

then i took the train to the wildlife refuge

where i walked around in a maze of bushes.

sometimes i came to mud and grass taller than small trees

and at one point felt completely surrounded by birds

but could not take pictures of any with my cellphone.

with my shirt off, sweating a little,

red lines and patches streaked across my chest and arms.

then, finally i felt too tired to keep up my an inner monologue or something.

forgetting, but imagining a little, 

i slept a little on the train ride back.

Whensday?

Lenny was thinking that American English was an ignorant language. His eyebrows were pointed and full of worry. He chewed the inside corner of his mouth.  Across from Lenny, George sat silent and whistled a lit match through his pipe. A grandfather clock chimed and tick-tocked through the room of daze dust and sun. George exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“How was Len-Fest?” George’s curious eyebrows and ears curled.

Brimming, Lenny stated, "A modern debauchery recalling the days of Caligula Rome." 

“That’s always good,” George unfolded his arms. A little annoyed about missing this "caligula" thing. 

“Well, besides the horses it was actually pretty legit.” Inserted Lenny. He thought about the party and about the seducer of his friend and the stained carpet. 

“Well I hope it wasn’t too tame.” Winked George.

“I had encountered much stress, offered Lenny coughing, 'but managed quite nicely. My brother wound up coming with some of his friends.” Lenny began a sip of beer but stopped… “ This friend of my brother's is some tragic disposable hero. Real 'live for the music' guy. Completely over the top. Quite sure he ripped into the PA he brought with a guitar.”

"Was he any good?" George asked.

"No, he partially cried while singing an original titled 'Basement Mother Blues."

"How old is he?"

"30."

"Wow."

"Yea."

“Did you play?”  

“Yea, me and my brother alternated on drums.” 

“How is Sal anyway? He’s married no?” George asked recalling Lenny’s brother. The tall bright guy. 

“Yea, couple years. New baby.”

“Oh shit, congratulations. “

“Yea, well that’s what happens.” Lenny winced. 

  

“He still at the plant?” 

“Nah. Laid off with a six month severance.”

“Fuck man, my mom got laid off too.” George offered. Lenny looked at George's screwy blue eyes.“Really? Sal’s wife also.” “Damn,”  George scratched himself. “My parents are pissed because Sal and Lena just went to Arizona for vacation and are now planning on Cabo.” Lenny snorted.

“I read about that in the paper.” 

“About my brother?” Lenny asked, questioning reason.

“About laid off people taking vacations . . .why not right?”

“Well the problem is each of them have debts the size of a house, and my brother’s wife got a job but first morning they called early to tell her the job wasn’t in the budget.”

"Damn."

"Yea."

Each of them paused. Lenny wanted to laugh, like when he did when his dog was being put down and afterwards seeing a new puppy on his way out the door almost winking.  George was thinking about yard work and a rubbish fire and crashing through the woods with a big stick. Then they both thought about the time when they were fighting a war in the desert. And they didn't want to talk about that. 

"Stupid clock." Lenny spat and dusted off the clicking grandfather clock. "You should get a cuckoo clock." George smiled and exhaled another cloud of smoke into a beam of sunlight.

"Nah. This is like a family heirloom." 

"Is it worth anything?"

"Not in dollars my friend." 

"Does it work?"

"Not properly."

"Get a cuckoo clock." 

"Shut up, George." 

Silence came over them and the ticking clock again filled the room. George and Lenny both felt terribly lonely. They wanted to speak hot and fast and laugh at something really funny but there was nothing. Lenny started to think about an Arab girl that reached out to him as she died. George put on the Television.

"Seinfeld's on."

"Yea."

I was/ You were

English grammar is arbitrary. Other than that I haven't much to say. I got drunk and woke up with some violent scabs on my palm and wrist. Apparently I refused the stairs. This morning I was in the hospital at the bedside of a stomach virus victim. Took a cloudy motorbike ride out to a beach on the weekend. Too early to re live it but last summer was the shit over there.

Distracted Party

It came apart all over my hands. Stacey scratches her eyelid with a stick, reaching for a plastic, purple egg. What a way to ruin an almost perfect day - the egg cake eaten in minutes. 

The internet said low of 35. I drove the shy kid home and quickly returned. What I did when I got back didn't look like what I was really doing. I'd have to explain the intentions of ten different people. What was important was that I woke up in my clothes again.

An image of a person with the impulse to bring their guitar somewhere entered my head. The image had my apartment in it. I was in my apartment. The easiest way to say it was to say that my apartment was floating. 

The party was a gathering of old friends from the hotel. No one expected Chuck to be drunk upon arrival. No one performed badly, though. In fact, Chuck had us all laughing in minutes. Whatever people felt before we got drunk was gone, but returning tomorrow. My friends are sleeping to the noise of a giant fan.

In minutes, I'll receive a memory, like a trinket. The thing had an interlocking, internal structure. One piece broke under a lot of pressure from my finger nail. My finger nail felt like a piece of paneling being pulled back, but the thing came apart first. 

The Sad Basketball Diaries

Yao Ming holds Nate Robinson over his head like a basketball. Steve Nash jumps off a small trampoline, makes his legs into a 'V' over Nate Robinson while grabbing Nate Robinson and does a front flip. Steve Nash then dunks Nate Robinson in an over-sized hoop. Steve Nash lands and Nate Robinson tangles in the net. Nate Robinson dies from strangulation by the ropes of the net. Steve Nash and Yao Ming leave Nate Robinson's body in the net and go to McDonald's. They order extra value meals with one dollar menu item each. They sit in the second story seating of the McDonald's, looking over Federal Plaza. Yao Ming says "I want to write an iconic book of poetry while I'm still young because that's the only way it's possible." Steve Nash says, "That might not be true. Anything is possible." There is a pause. Then Steve Nash says, "I want to enrich that girl's existence be sending her office supplies in the mail." Yao Ming sees the girl Steve Nash is talking about and says, "oh."

After McDonald's Yao Ming and Steve Nash go into the City Hall subway station. A W train comes by and Steve Nash gets on and sits down. Then Yao Ming gets on and sits down. Steve Nash says, "This is the wrong train" and runs off the train. Yao Ming runs off the train. Steve Nash says, "We should go to MSG anyway." Yao Ming says, "Yeah."

When they get to MSG, Steve Nash makes baked ziti in the conveyor pizza oven but with cut up pretzels instead of ziti. Yao Ming eats the ziti and says, "This ziti is dry." He throws the ziti onto the basketball court from the upper tier where they are. The ziti lands below Nate Robinson's dead body still tangled in the net. Steve Nash stares with a vacant facial expression at the hoop and the baked ziti splatter. Steve Nash says, "That is where famous bands played like The Rolling Stones and The Grateful Dead." Yao Ming says, "------- hippie."

New bands like My Morning Jacket, Kings of Leon, and Vampire Weekend didn't play at MSG because basketball and hockey seasons have been extended to year long seasons with no off-seasons. This caused players to spend a majority of their lives inside arenas. Players also traded teams regularly and recklessly; team loyalty faded with million dollar contracts and endorsements, which all failed due to the collapsing economy. Sometimes a player played on a team for only one game and then moved on to another team. Kobe Bryant once scored 100 points against the Milwaukee Bucks using only three-pointers and foul shots. On the backs of playing cards it listed the teams players did not yet play for. Some players played for each team in the league at least once, the older players sometimes twice. Carl Malone came back from retirement and played for each team three times as a publicity stunt. He lived permanently in a coach bus fueled by restaurant oils. He nurtured one large cat through obesity and back to average mouser weight.

Steve Nash and Yao Ming were now in the visitors locker room of MSG. Yao Ming wears his Houston Rockets shorts and his Orlando Magic jersey. Steve Nash wears his Boston Celtics shorts with his New York Knicks jersey. At one point both Yao Ming and Steve Nash thought of themselves as iconic figures of the NBA. Now, you can see in their faces a sense of prophetic sense of loss. Yao Ming bounces a basketball off the top row of lockers that makes a very loud rattling noise. Steve Nash hands Yao Ming an avocado bowl. They both begin to eat avocado bowls sitting next to each other on a bench. The locker room smells like lemon cleaning products. A laptop on the end of the bench plays Journey To the End of the East Bay by Rancid repeatedly. When Yao Ming finishes he feels a little drunk though he is not drunk. He stands up on the bench and makes a 'man-gina' by tucking his penis between his legs. He calls Steve Nash's name and Steve Nash looks up at Yao Ming's exposed crotch. Steve Nash shouts "Nooooooooo" in an exaggerated tone.

Brooklyn, New Orleans

- Brooklyn's between-81 and 71-square miles contains 2.5 million people.
- New Orleans' 180 square miles contains a little more than 1 million people.
- New York state contains between 5,000 and 4,000 black bears in the Adirondacks, 2,000 and 1,500 in the Catskills, and 500 and 300 in the Allegany region.
- Louisiana contains 1.5 million alligators and .5 million of which are on farms. They contain between 1,000 and 500 black bears.