Paincourt Antique

Title: I want Jesus to Glug

meant this some other time.

how to skin your knee and two other un-fascinating subjects.
fall down for Christ’s sake if you really want to skin your knee just never
blackout after it occurs.
See how you run to mums bosom with crocodile tears?
If you can’t vomit politely then please vomit in the privacy of your own
home. I remember that the hangar was full of lights and aircraft which isn’t
what it really looks like. This is the sign of a family ripped apart for no
good reason at all. Some people resort to negative religious beliefs when
this happens. Others, resort to seclusion and sarcasm. Remember grandma’s
poppies? You tried to cut them for their syrup and never really got any
results. You were doing it wrong. You should have focused on the aircraft.
Fucking old World War II planes just sitting around gathering dust and you
have no access because you are worried about other things. The hills and
mountains of Afghanistan. The jungles of Honduras. The low flying radar
skimming produce of Columbia. It wasn’t even in those areas that was a
primary concern - you heard the stories from your dad after he came back
home after being gone for a couple of days - tanned - in the middle of
January. If it isn’t your old friend the DC3 - smell the oil and the metal?
If it isn’t your old friend the USS Bainbridge? Smell the oil? smell the
metal? All these places they took you and all the adventures you did or
might have had. Blurry like dreams. A man falling on a pier, down a hole,
breaking both legs, drunk. a man shitting his pants and smearing the walls
of a restroom. a man smacking you in the knee with a crescent wrench. bill
before the suicide remarking on his travels. stories of Chicago and dry
humping girls in his mothers basement while listening to madness. a fat girl
on the pool table trapped by a snowstorm - says she will do anything. Darren
takes her up on that - I got to get the fuck out of here. Get me out of this
place. I want French and Algerian whores - not these Midwestern future
wives. I want to see EVERYTHING. I can see it in my mind and I still do when
I sleep. I did see everything and now I sleep.
I keep finding little bits of seritonin reflecting and ferrying these little
bits over my own personal Hades. Pluto. halo. it will be mighty cold one day
and there won’t be much left to warm me back up. maybe memories are a ticket
out of hell.
the old days are ambiguous. I should spell check but we all get the point.
there was darkness and light and you are supposed to decide about that
sometime. keep running out of time. busy. lethargic. laconic?
the new days are ambitious without me. I see myself in a particular setting
and I have never tried to see myself in one that is pleasant and heavenly.
doesn’t exist for me. the memories never tried to construct a vision or even
a bridge to utopia either here or in the next world. Still seeing the world
for what it is, not what it will become or could be or even should be.
See her in that one skirt back around 1990. still see the smile and the wind
blowing it gently around her. It was maybe the only time I really loved her.
It was alright.
Out in the middle of the Atlantic before that time I saw ALL of the stars
and that made me feel so terribly small out on the black glass as we slipped
through it. It made me remember her and wished she could see what I was
seeing. But I knew the communication wouldn’t work. I knew either her or
myself would stumble upon some idiotic hurdle we set up years before. It was
the first time that I ever really hated her.
You want these things that I never wanted. Male - my world could be dirty
and I wouldn’t mind. Female - My world will be perfect for a child? is that
it? Back into my shell I would always hide. I KNEW that nature could take
love and smash it. she could smash a babies head on the rocks emotionless.
atomic energy feels no love it just is. that’s what I am afraid of and can’t
get anyone else to admit. evil is a dirty house? evil is everything? take
your pick. I have. now its worse than before but better at the same time.
isn’t it? when you say that everything is fucked up don’t you mean that
everything is going to be alright? whatever happened to suffering in
silence?
so when she was saved I am not sure if it was ever formalized. I don’t
remember her going to the front of the church like the others. it was just
assumed that she knew HER god. must have been the way she always looked so
judgmental. people of god usually look one of two ways, worried, or
judgmental.
it was here that they lost me. it was really about the way they looked and
smelled more than what they had to say. I could smell their fear and I think
some really bad people can smell it now too.
what was her name anyway? I don’t remember anymore.
so some remember the old ones - Persian - Manichean - and so on. it really
shouldn’t be a question anymore - but many still ask it. we should all be
well aware of what it can do to us and what it eventually will do to us. and
what it makes us do to each other. when I say these things you get angry and
ignore me and say that there is no way to be happy with those thoughts. but
I AM HAPPY. I really am. I get happier and happier the closer it comes
because I think I won’t have to think anymore. I will be put on autopilot. I
will be back to the source. I will be in that hangar again but I wont have
to remember.

so where were you - bad tennis shoes - new friends - I still remember when
you said I was a worthless drunk but now you are dead? god is unfair isn’t
she? or?
there was a time when they weren’t too sure they liked each other. I suppose
opposites attract. you keep coming up with excuses to describe the evil you
see. humanity isn’t even really supposed to act this way but it does and you
get subjective. once again I am right. always right. I don’t need a crystal
ball. I understand the nature of it all. I connected the dots years ago -
the chubby kid said, “fuck dood, the wall is down, I’m staying in, there
will never be another war.” I said, “This means that there will only be
more.”
Was I crazy then? Am I crazy now? ignore it, what the hell, don’t react
until it directly effects you - I realize you can’t help it. I see how that
happens. Lillith never revenges the cycle and you won’t try to figure out
what that means. I speak in codes? You had the chance. The arithmetic is
done. It has always been finished.
And I can remember a day that it wasn’t. Think and then stop. Madness. I see
art in noises and I still hope something is listening - I want you to listen
for me.
I see you in the summer resting on the bed with the fleece blanket and the
cat is sleeping between your legs. it is a perfect picture but I will not
run and get the camera because I think it is burned into my memory.
this is the real question. why allow us all of these memories only to erase
them. they were meant to be erased? it is all that we have god damnit. it is
all that we have ever REALLY had.
this is why some want to build these bridges to you and why I want to burn
them down.
You came to town on a mission. the thoracic pounding was so slow. can you
even remember what you said to your acclaimed best friends on a certain day.
that day maybe there was some music playing and maybe there was some
marijuana smoking going on and you secretly hated their future because they
didn’t have a future and you knew that you did and that you would probably
have to stunt it for their acceptance but that is the way the world works
after all and now you see it all around you and you hear certain people you
care about say how unfair that it is but somehow now you have remained the
same but have grown and they haven’t. soon it all becomes class warfare.
sooner or later even on a microcosmic level one class is always better than
the other and you have to find your way through that maze. the minotaur this
time is friendly? did he lose his horns? Confused but not trampled or gored.
still looking like a brave man? never in the history of slough has there
been such a man you say! a loser who wins. trust me, this is only possible
in this world at this time and place. had we been born 1000 years ago we’d
both be someone’s slave or serf. more concerned about our next beating or
slurp of gruel than whether or not we should have been napoleon or the
antichrist.

here is where the silly bit comes in. you see that sometimes it is
impossible to not laugh about all of this because it is really above
anything that ever mattered and below everything that can ever be acted
upon. you get some cheap thrills pretty easy and then realize they aren’t
thrills at all.
its funny that everyone is so afraid to say they’d love to murder especially
because so many want to so badly. it is ever silliest to think they project
their rage back on themselves and their own kind - a suicidal genocide. its
ever sillier because you think this has never happened before but we always
learn sooner or later even if it is too late.

Addendum 2010:
This is stream of consciousness writing about people I have lost in my life. It was helped out by rum. I drink Vodka now.

Title: Cherry Bean Bite-a-man

Bill asked, “mom why can't I go swimming?”
His mother answered as only mothers can, “you know I don't want you kids to go swimming in that filthy creek, especially right now with it up in its banks.”
“Jeez mom! First off, I am not a kid anymore. Second it's so hot today I heard that the devil was trying to buy an snow cone.” Bill whined as only a teenage boy can.
“I said no, what part of no don't you understand?” screamed his mother.
“Please mom?” begged Bill.
“No!” screamed his mom again. “Besides you have some chores to do, when are you going to take out the trash?”
“Later.” Resounded Bill.
“Are you going to do that quarter before or after later?”
Bill rolled his eyes and huffed, “Okay, I'll do it.”
Taking out the trash wasn't the only thing that Bill was going to do. Bill was fifteen years old, old enough to go swimming wherever and whenever he wanted. He decided during the mandatory screaming match with his mother that he was going to go swimming regardless of what she said. He picked up the bags and hauled them out to the garbage cans. As he walked down the driveway his mom yelled out, “I better not hear you were down at that creek!”
“Yeah, yeah whatever.” He said in a muffled and ungrateful tone.
After he dumped the trash he made his way to the creek. About halfway there he met his friend Bob. Bob was sitting on his front porch smoking a cigarette. Bob was around a year older than Bill. Bill thought that Bob was a very cool guy. Bob did anything he wanted; Bob smoked, Bob drank beer, Bob even had a tattoo. Bob was cool.
Bob called out to him, “Hey Bill! Where are you going?”
“To the creek, to go fishing or swimming, I don't know really. What are you doing?” Bill responded.
“Nothing, the creek sounds good to me. Mind if I come along?”
“Sure, that would be great.”
Then Bob said, “well hold up a minute and I'll grab some fishing poles and steal a six pack from my old man.”
Now Bill was happy as a lark. He would be swimming in the creek. He would be hanging out with Bob with the added pleasantry of beer stolen from his keepers. Today was turning out to be a glorius day.
They walked lazily on down to the creek, the tree line offering shade to the muddy and alluring creek. There was something about catching fish that made you feel like a grown man. Grown men answered to no one. Soon they found a nice little fishing hole that was deep and suprisingly clear. It was alive with crawdads and perch. There was a little metropolis of nature hiding in there waiting for Bill and Bob to conquer. They sat down and fished and began to reminisce about their short lives. Soon it became dark and they were both drunk and flush with stories of imaginary conquest.
Bill exclaimed abruptly, “I am going swimming!”
Bob responded, “I am not sure if that is such a great idea, the creek is up kinda high and it will be getting dark soon. I mean you could drown. Have you ever been drunk before? I mean, even if you have been drunk before it isn't very smart to go swimming. It just isn't a good idea. Shouldn't we be going home by now anyway? I mean it is getting pretty late.”
“Shit Bob, you kinda sound like my mom. I thought you were tougher than that.” Bill gloated and then full of himself exclaimed, “Nope, I am just perfectly fine right here, you go ahead and run home to your momma.”
“Well Okay, but I think I am going home, I am getting kinda tired, I mean I would hang out but I got stuff to do tomorrow. Here, you can have the rest of these beers for the road.” Saying that Bill got up and staggered home.
Bill lay back on the dew laden grass and contemplated the stars through the brush of the tree limbs above. Nature humming along with his alcohol induced buzz he noticed that the stars were moving in concert with him and although it made his stomach churn oddly, his head was on fire with this symphony of the stars.
He knew that things would seem funny when a person got drunk. Once he watched his older brother when he was imbibed and his brother had an in-depth conversation with a dog for a whole hour. That was pretty funny. Everything was seeming funny that night, when suddenly he imagined that somehow he began talking to something as well. For a while he wasn't sure if he remembered where he was or what he was saying.
“I don't like anyone telling me what to do.” Bill was mumbling. “Me either,” said something in the gloom with a hiss.
Bill sat up and rubbed his eyes, he couldn't believe what he was seeing, sitting next to him in a flannel vest and a fishing cap similar to that captain on that MASH TV show was a big red lizard.
Bill exclaimed in a startled manner, “Did you say that?”
The lizard replied, “Why yes my friend, who else would it be? There is no one else here but you and I.”
“Yeah, that is right, but lizards aren't supposed to talk let alone wear clothes.” Bill giggled nervously.
“Well that is because I am not just your run of the mill lizard. I am special in the reptile department. They call me a Cherry-Bean-Bite-A-Man. I am supposed to talk and wear clothes.” Commented the lizard while grabbing a flask of corn whiskey out of his shirt pocket.
“Wanna drink?”
“Yes, yes!” Bill took a slug of the flask and choked down the burn and then gasped, “that's good stuff.”
The lizard then grinned, “I see that you are a drinking man - and a fisherman to boot. Surely a man of my own taste.”
Bill rubbed his sleep ridden eyes a few more times and then opened them slowly and precisely to make sure once again that he wasn't seeing things. When he adjusted his eyesight he only saw the yellow buggy eyes of the lizard staring back at him.
The lizard smiled at him in his best reptile smile and said, “So what occasion brings you to this fishing hole at this late hour?”
Bill responded urgently, “Well, I just get tired of all these people telling me what to do. I needed to be alone for awhile. Everyone is always telling me what to do. When I want to do something, everyone tells me not to. They all do what they want to do; they go fishing, they go swimming whenever they want! Everybody always tells me what to do, I can't do anything unless THEY tell me I can It really pisses me off.”
Bill then chirped, “It is just like today, my mom told me not to come here but I am staying here anyway.”
“Good decision,” gurgled the lizard. “Stay here under the stars, yes stay under them forever - I have - no one tells me what to do. Let us ponder the stars for a moment. Let us say that each star was a soul, would they stop shining just because someone told them not to? Let's stay here under the stars. I am, I always have - I have always done exactly what I wanted to do.”
Usually the Cherry-Bean-Bite-a-Man is not so friendly - however he is very friendly if he sees an opportunity. His slit yellow and bloodshot eyes are seeing one now. Usually, the lizard will not attempt to fill his belly of land-dwellers - a lazy fat catfish will usually fit the bill. The reason for this is that he is clumsy on land, where he has all the grace of a sloth. However, in the murky, muddy water he is the ballerina of carnivores, the artist of eating, the poet laureate of ripping flesh from bone.
The lizard continued on, “Yes, I do whatever I want, when I want to go swimming, I go swimming. When I want some beer, I drink some beer. Say I want to catch some fish, well then - I catch me some fish, it is all rather a happy life that I lead.”
“I am going to do whatever I want as well!” Bills voice crackled with delight.
“Good, that's the spirit young man. I think I am going to go for a dip. Man, it is hotter than fresh bacon grease today. How bout' yourself?” The reptile smiled cautiously.
“Yeah, I am sweating like a pig - a swim sounds awfully good right about now.” Saying that, Bill gave a howl of manhood and dove into the churning water. The reptile slid in elegantly behind and made a savory meal of Bill.

Addendum 2010: This is a story I wrote long ago while thinking of my grandfather on my mother's side. Although the story is modernized, the monster was his invention. He created this guy to keep grandchildren from straying out to various ponds and creeks unattended. Also, in his version(s) the Lizard tended to eat much younger children. I wrote this originally in a creative writing class. It was submitted to be in some University publication by the professor but was rejected. Probably for good reason.

Title: I want to believe

The phone was ringing off the hook. “Where in the fuck is my answering machine?” thought Dr. Wilson. He stumbled off the couch, cranky from a bad TV dream he was having. “Fucking stupid television!” he screamed and then picked up the phone, ” Dr. Wilson speaking.”
On the other end of the phone, violent music was blaring, MY WAR!!! YOU’RE ONE OF THEM! YOU SAY, YOU’RE MY FRIEND, BUT YOUR ONE OF THEM!!!!” “Dr. Wilson SPEAKING!” the music was pissing him off.
“HELLO!?!”
“Ah, um, yes, Dr. Wilson, this is Thomas, er, Tom Roth, I’m like, one of your patients.
“Yes Tom, could you turn the music down? Have you been drinking?”
“Ummm, yeah, hold on.” Tom mumbled.
During the pause, Dr. Wilson thought, “I should have never left the West Coast, and people think everyone in Los Angeles is fucked up? They don’t hold a candle to these hillbilly’s.”
He heard the music turn off and Tom making dreadful noises on his way back to the phone.
Tom said, “Dr. Wilson, hello? Hello?
“Yes, Tom.” Replied Dr. Wilson in a loathsome manner.
“Well, um, you remember saying that if anything bad happened, er, um, an emergency, I could call you at home?”
“Of course, Tom I like to give my patients that extra attention, if necessary, have you been drinking again? I can come over, we can talk about it.”
“Well good, um, I’ve got a real humdinger here, yes sir, a hum d-i-n-g-e-r!!! Do you remember me tellin you all about them aliens and you said that I was just wanting to believe in em to fill a spiritual void or something? Little gray guys with big oval eyes?
“Of course Tom, I told you these are delusions.”
Tom cut him off. “This ain’t no delusion doc! I got one, he’s dead, have him here in my house, in my cellar! I drug him down there after I got him, I hid him, you know the others will find out, I’m freaking out here!”
Dr. Wilson replied “Now, now Tom, that is absolutely crazy, now I’m coming over there and we’ll call your sponsor at AA and get you straightened out.” He thought, “Shit this guy is nuts when he drinks, no wonder his wife left him.” “I tell you what Tom, I’m calling Andy and we’ll be over in a little bit.”
Dr. Wilson ran some water over his face to wake up a bit, “What a nut-job.” He thought. “Let’s see, one house call, 200 bucks, not bad, and to think I used to baby sit drunks in college for free.” He called Andy, Tom’s AA sponsor and told him to meet him at Tom’s house in about an hour.
On the drive over, Dr. Wilson popped in a CD to relax. “Ahhh, Crosby, Stills and Nash, ‘Teach your children well,’ he began to sing along.
“Man I still got it.” As he thought about his voice and his looks and his car. Heavy Summer Raindrops were falling on the windshield; a nice heady, warm wind was blowing through his hair. Soon he reached 401 Beacon Street. “You know, for being a crazy fuck, this guy sure has it going on, shit after I’m done with him, he’ll be getting a second mortgage,” he chuckled.
Dr. Wilson knocked on the door. Tom answered immediately, “That you Doc? Hurry up, come in here.”

“O.K. Tom, hold on, can I have some water?” Tom replied, “I ain’t talkin to you unless you have a beer. You just have to see it, man!” See what?” replied Dr. Wilson. “The God Damned alien! Weren’t you listening when I called? Jesus!” With that Tom forcibly grabbed Dr. Wilson and led him to the cellar. The cellar wasn’t well lit and was full of spider webs and old, long neglected objects. Just as creepy as any cellar.
Dr. Wilson chuckled, “have you lost your mind? Maybe I will take you up on that .”
Tom cut him off, “see, do you see this beast?” Dr. Wilson looked down, and he saw a rabbit that had recently been shot.
He exclaimed, “Tom, that’s just a rabbit, is this some kind of joke? I think we need to get you in to the office a little more frequently.” Then he began to look up, somehow Tom was in a bunny suit, grinning from ear to ear. He wondered, “Did I miss something?”
Tom began talking excitedly, ” I have taken a life of the other, and now I have become the other, his life force has crept into mine .”
Dr. Wilson began walking slowly backward, “Tom, why don’t we go back upstairs and talk about this.”
“No time for talking, the Leader has let me know things, the Leader says you may not know them!” Dr. Wilson stumbled over an old lawn mower; a screw or something jutting out of it cut him right under his ankle. He jumped and screamed a quick scream. It was then that he saw the ax in Tom’s hands. He turned and ran. Stumbling up the wooden stairs, he felt the blow, he felt sick, dizzy and fell down into the wet grass and mud. Pain shot through his body “so this is it?” He thought. The smell of the grass reminded him of mowing lawns when he was a teenager. He didn’t want to open his eyes, but he did. He saw .30 or 40 rabbit’s gathering around him, they were talking to him, they were telling him secrets of the universe and at the same time, they were reading his mind. He saw Andy’s headlights shine on the shed in the backyard, he tried to scream, “Go away!!” but, all he could do was gurgle up blood and a little vomit.
Soon they final blow was dealt and the doctor was a doctor no more. Tom stood triumphant over his first victim. “There is much more to do,” the master spoke telepathically as he wiggled his pink little nose. “Yes master!” responded Tom.
He began to walk out to his driveway to greet his next guest, Andy. The head alien/bunny then telepathed, “What is the first step to recovery Tom?”

Addendum 2010:
I would some day like to expand on my idea of the "alien all around us" feeling that I sometimes have. I found this short story silly and fun but my intent behind it was menacing. I suppose that part did not work out. I originally had these quotes at the beginning:

"Solve unto me the enigma that I then beheld,
interpret for me the vision of the loneliest one.
For it was a vision and a foresight. What did I then behold in parable? And who is it that must come some day?

Who is the shepherd into whose throat all the blackest and the heaviest will crawl?
-The shepherd bit as my cry had admonished him; he took a good bite, and spit the head of the serpent far away: -and sprang up-

No longer shepherd, no longer man–a transfigured being, a light surrounded being, that laughed. Never on earth laughed a man as he laughed!

O my brethren, I heard a laughter which was no human laughter."

-Nietzche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra

FOLLOWED BY:

“Just like I Nietzche to suck my dick”
–Steve Albini

I now find that particularly telling of my self confidence issue. I don't suffer that so much these days, so I left that out.