Pattern Against User: Deviation 2

            It is summer, I have failed again, but not for the last time.

-They don’t have long islands?

Where is this?

-Of course, we live in the southeast.

-The drinks, you dumbass! Do you ever listen to anything I say?
I nod, forgetting the arrangement; she continues.

-It’s like a rum and coke.

Knowing not of either

-Tis a shame, I says.

-Tis a god damn mockery! Waiter!

The waiter turns quickly, fruit tray in hand for the anticipating family, drops the moist melons the floor a disaster…he walks away in shame, never seen again. A friendly face appears moments later.

-How may I help you…mam?

-This is a rum and coke.

Pointing to glass

The Fruit forgotten

He returns rapidly

Glass in hand

Not the request

It’ll do the trick

-Thank you, I says.

She nods, in resignation.

-It’ll do the trick, she says, bitterly

We drink

Lament some more

-And what is all this about this and that?

-I haven’t a clue.

-You know damn well!

I nod, silently

-I have recovered…tis you I love.

-Lies! Folly of all sorts. I can see it in your eyes, in the way you twitch, your deep voice, the sedated mumbles.

-No surprises…a job that slowly kills you.

-Excuses, excuses.

Bruises, unhealing

-I quit for you.

-Stop lying, stop doing this to me.

-Ok

I get up and leave

Never to return

Again.

I’m walking down a cold windy road

Flakes of winter trickled

Down from the sky covering

All in its moist embrace

A cold touch soothing vibrations.

It would be Spring soon enough,

Then Summer

Fall Following

Here Again.

            A stopping point: void any definite end. You could put it down and say no more, then it comes again a soundless fury; it tempts any fool desiring the clairvoyant warmth…promised those youthful years where the body felt invincible and the mind could think clearly, lest I think it was clearly though no longer able to tell if these pleasant memories merely fabrications of a desolate soul. I remember the first time it touched me, barely can I put together the events as they occurred that night:

            I was only a child and a lonely one at that. I had a few friends, but I felt so distant from these folks many times I would question if they truly were my mates, or just there for the ride (note: I have figured out now we are all just here for the ride). I sat in the kitchen the early hours of the morning everyone still sleeping quietly their little nests upstairs. I am eating Cheetos; I look at the finely pointed knife on display. I pick it up pierce skin watch it bleed. Very little blood is extracted, I am afraid for I know what I want to do next. I take off my shirt and look for something to write with. I find a pen, then a napkin. I write “I’m sorry.” I press down on my skin; I am scared. I take a quick jab, not deep, it will not do, far from it. I try again; I do not like this game. I try again, fail again. I should have never told them the events of the night, but for whatever I still trusted them, at this point.

            I’m at the kitchen table surrounded by family and the likes. Lucy is speaking to me and I excuse myself to drink beers and watch the stars from the hammock outside. The suburban sky riddled by lights galore and the pollution all about, yet there is still a glimpse of some hope mongst the light. My cousin walks outside, beer in hand, calls to me.

-How are you buddy?

-Fine, I suppose.

-We were just wondering why you decided to excuse yourself in such an odd haste.

He grabs a chair and sits down next to me. His eyes shift to the illuminations hanging above us.

-It’s a beautiful thing, after all.

-Thank god.

-Don’t be mocking. You don’t figure someone put all of this here?

-I figure I’m here and that’s enough to make me miserable.

He looks frightened.

-Sure you don’t need therapy, buddy? I was talking to your parents and they said you may need to see Dr. Youyuzheng and you can’t even be bothered to attend weekly mass anymore. I know what happened to you a few months ago, but the world is not out to get you and God is watching over you even if you refuse to believe in his all might presence. You will always have a chance to return to His glory/

I point to the sky; the beauty encompassing within my peripherals and mind.

-That’s all the glory I need; no need questioning that which I can’t understand.

He reaches out his hand; then another he reaches out a blank prescription, begins doodling words without any thought the ink emerging on pad.

-It’s dangerous to go alone, take this extending out his hand, I missed the mark.

            I became alone; I became lost in my head. The images of sky blended into my great super being and it too reached out a hand, a hand I accepted as my own. I held it, caressed the celestial limb. The stars came crumbling down as they smashed sweet earth under their heavy blows of decay. The doctor kept saying there was something wrong with me and this was the only way around all of it.

-It’s not something you need to do for the rest of your life, but for the time being, you will need it in coaxing your life back onto the right track.

-All right.

-Is that all you have to say, boy? I am here to help; we are all here to help

Unnamable heads salute waiving reconciliation

I bosomy beckon note their benevolent prayer

            My grades in school began to slip and I no longer could focus on anything in my life. I once spent days outside playing with friends creating these fantasies where we hunted for treasure many dangerous places no match for our party, and now here I was in a dark room watching people shoot one another on a screen as my thumbs bled ‘gainst the infinite repetition of up, down, up down, a, b, a, b, x, y, x, y and sometimes z. I got into high school and decided it was time to experiment with something in counteracting the doctor’s order. The authority figures made sure I took my medicine, but I was certain there was some remedy available, out there, in neutralizing this passive state. When I found China, white as snow smooth as silk; when it nestled inside my vein, I knew all was right with the world.

            I look in the mirror demanding visual reciprocation my gorgeous locks looking swell…quite a bother whenever it frays about such a queer coincidence the ficklest fractures ‘mongst the plump pleasantness. Wash these frail hands through fleeting time run the tips a warm embrace the scald: lather, running plump fingers smoothly, sedate, lather, sedate some more. I dry the damn bastard off and tis no use just a bigger mess waiting its turn the catastrophe unfolding.

The eyes blink

No resist

            Nestled together I hold her o’ in my arms and abode…sweet Serenity: peace off, my man.

She grabs my testicles

-You want more?

Another succulent hit

I return, deep inside

-I’ll wait…for this round.

I refused to wait

            Through the eye of the needle finding myself looking right at the inexhaustible wealth and I laugh, this nervous laugh high hopes it’ll all go over my head and it’ll all be fine the wondrous world once again. I go into the store, ask how much, and leave a happier man. I sit down in the snow and play a few chords before quickly abandoning this arbitrary endeavor. I put in the headphones and drain out the noise. Pattern Against User.

            I’m perching on a mountain looking over the brightly-lit city and the river running just below. The stars hang beautifully amongst the sky emanating beauty across the isolated mountains surrounding the valley. No lifeforms in site though you could feel their presence in the wind and wild. I call out to them and in a twist of fate this jeep pulls up and parks at the top of the hill. Three beautiful women emerge from the darkness carrying petite liquor bottles.

-Hello there, stranger! She says.

It seems like we know one another but I cannot tell from where. I’m wondering what to do biting my figurative nails in anticipation: clock ticking; sweat building; emotions stirring; time still wasting…

-Do you really not remember me? She says.

-To be honest, I did drop some Lucy earlier and I’m peaking pretty hard right now.

They giggle in unison, the anxiety begins to disperse.

-Got anymore? Another asks.

I did in fact have a good bit in satchel, after all this was during a period of my life where I would go around selling sheets of this stuff around this disparaging hipster town…I digress once again getting lost in my head as the psychedelics shift my body between realities.

-Who’s asking? I respond

The girl who mentioned I knew who for whatever reason looked upset.

She slapped me.

-Do you really not remember me?

-Can’t recall, I says.

She looks out into the wilderness as her friends smoke marijuana ‘mongst the scenery.

-It was our senior year of High School and you were dating this bipolar girl…umm, Sally Ranger I believe her name was.

I remembered Sally quite well; she was my first true lover. Sally used to cut herself and then tell me it was my fault for what she was doing to herself. I tried doing anything I could for the lass and still she fell into this deep dark depression she dragged me down in. I picked up cutting and told her it was all her fault; she dissipated ‘mongst the darkness.

-Are you still there?

-Yea I remember you now. Cobra. You went out with Horse back in high school ay?

-See, I knew I was somewhere in that head of yours.

-Just takes some time bringing back all the memories. High school was a crazy time, no doubt.

-What ever happened to Sally?

By her own hand she dissipated ‘mongst the darkness; those years of scars paved a way for larger incisions.

-Lost touch after college, after all, I’m not one to waste time on social media and the like.

-Well, I’m here now

-We’re here now, chimes in her mate.

-Would you ladies care to ascend with me?

-Maybe another time, we sadly don’t have 12 hours to spend looking at rocks and black sky. We live downtown next to the Wicked Weed, we will see you there sometime.             

Sometime later, I met her again, many years had passed…I believe I was living in Germany, in a little town east of Berlin. I was at the bar drinking with new friends, seeing her in the corner of my eye brought back that memory, and yet again I refused to make a move. She walks over a blink of a moment passing.

-Hello again, stranger.

-I remember you this time.

-So you do, mind coming with me.

My new friends snicker and I hush them up swiping the air friendly agitation.

-Sounds lovely.

I go with her outside and we begin making out immediately. She reaches her hand down my loose pants tugging my limp cock renewing it back to life. She ceases once it gets nice and hard, signaling to her car.

-You go home with me and I bring you back to your home later.

I should’ve said goodbye to my mates, but I had something more important to attend to. We proceeded.

-If I wasn’t driving I would put your thing in my mouth

I unbutton and begin pleasuring myself thinking of those luscious lips going down on me.

-Keep going, it’ll be some time.

I am quick to the punchline; she turns on contemporary pop music.

-The latest from Taylor Swift, you know her?

I continue playing with myself; a threesome ensues in my head: a slim Southern Belle and the wench before me going down on my precious limbs kissing dear dented ovualic orifices

-We are almost at my house.

I finish, in my head

-Ok

We pull up, a decent pad rests before me. Perhaps, I could move in with her. This was for a time later on, but surely I need remember a woman of such class.

-Fancy pad you’ve got here.

She laughs. I return with laughter

When we walk inside, there is an older man strutted out on the sofa.

-Tiger’s the name, he says.

I look at her in bewilderment.

-He just wants to watch…play a little.

-A tidbit, remarks.

I head for the door, he grabs my shoulder.

-Stronger than you thought?

I feel him up.

-Firmer than I thought.

-Easier than I imagined, he spoke.

            I think I have finally gotten over my ex-lover, both of them, now realizing my only soulmate is that sweet succulent smack; the stuff never issuing a formal complaint and treating me a king’s worth. The writing has begun flourishing again and I hope to have a novel published by the end of this year, if everything works out according to plan. This current piece I’ve been exploring concerns a young boy named Thomas who lives on a deserted island, in the outskirts of humanity shrouded in mystery and creatures foreign in appearance. For thirteen years, he yearns for socialization knowing not what he searches only acknowledging something even better out there. He starts by making mates with a group of friendly flowers down by Hobbes River just south of the border. They are a quiet bunch who don’t mind the pricking of their stems and seem to pay little mind to our protagonist Thomas. He has never properly socialized with someone before, such is the life of an alien, so tis no surprise the lad hasn’t a clue what it is he wants, but by being a social creature, a reality for us human beings and the like, he simply knows there must be something missing from this whole equation; he leaves Plato’s cave one day and there a mighty ship approaches a grey wilderness never before seen…he doesn’t even question the dangerous scenery. He believes life is worth losing if this life all a world can offer, and the worst that could happen from a cautionary endeavor is certainly death. He was wrong.

            The captain spots the boy and tells Thomas he needs a deckhand. Thomas complies and sets sail with the captain for many years. There is even a point where they fight a gigantic squid creature. The bastard has all of these tentacles and they just come crashing down on the poor lads. Didn’t even see it coming, nor did she.

            I am still in an editing process where I am considering adding more to this section, but as it is it shall end here because I do not wish to chronicle Thomas’s seaward journey in my masterpiece, this is far from the purpose I am wishing to obtain. It is his romantic encounter with Nancy McClinton at ‘their’ bar on small island southeast of New Zealand, and I believe it was Fall at this point…not entirely sure anymore. It was a stormy night and the captain decided the crew stay in town for the night and let the catastrophe pass ‘em by. He goes to said shabby pub alongside the rest of the boys and they all throw back Guinness and whiskey all night like the stuff was going out of season, but good Irish lad he was he save the rosary beads and the like nestling his pennycoat not a worry in the whole god damn world.

            She was at a table with her grotesque friends and the boys decided it had been too long since any of ‘em got any action, so they moozy their way on over to these maidens spot and start talking up a storm about this and that. We show off our muscles and let ‘em indulge in our masculinity as we tell ‘em tales of sea never happening aside concocted memories, agreed upon in silence…now, they’re engaged. Thomas asks Nancy if she would like to go out for a cigarette; in the alleyway outside, she proceeds to suck the dry sailor off; no longer limp and happy as a woodpecker in autumn, he falls in love. Marriage shortly follows, as do troubling times since I am in part basing this on real life experiences…such is the folly of the writer. How much further should I drag out their downfall? I am unsure; the crux of my story awaits. I want the audience to see the hero’s downfall. If I were to write on a regular basis…it would be the demise of the protagonist page after page. When doth he slaughter thine beast o’ Callaghan? Never, every page. I will drag on development for as long as I fucking can before it all becomes arbitrary garbage haunting me night in, night out. Nowadays, Thomas had developed a liver problem and sends countless mornings coughing up last night’s  sin and some extra rummages that been stored away. Nancy has grown into a fat cunt and they have two children, Sid and Nancy. Thomas no longer sails the seven sea, in search of treasure; he now works at a little shop down the hill selling flowers while his wife stays at home stuffing her obese face and chugging away all the wine. Thomas begins daydreaming as a means to deal with reality. He constantly wonders what life could have been if he just stayed on that little island in the perfect bliss undiagnosed at the time. Why did he care so much about these foreign people? He supposes its because he didn’t now how good he really had it.

            Sid interrupts Thomas’s lazy Sunday with the abrasive music coming from the garage; Nancy says let him be he’s only a young boy. Thomas drinks whiskey on the rocks and also throws down a couple of sleeping pills. He takes a hot shower touching himself the whole time since Nancy no longer wants nothing to do with that flabby wreck dangling between his legs. He cums on the wall and the waters flushes sweet sin down drain and out of sight. Thomas goes to bed, for once.

            That evening, he has a surreal dream where he has returned to his island home, yet now it has been taken over by these rainbow centaur creatures leering evil horns. They speak another tongue undecipherable to poor Thomas. They signal for him to follow and he complies knowing of no other action for a situation such as the one at hand. He introduces himself to her majesty and is warmly received amongst the council of the divine

-Are you an English speaker? She asks.

-Of course! He replies.

-Fear not, I am a linguist and one of noble cloth. My question for you is simply this: what do you seek, my child?

-A return, he says

She bites her tongue and rolls her eyes over at the council then returns to Thomas saying:

-I am uncertain what it is you desire, young one.

-What I had!

-Too abstract are these demands!

            Thomas awakens in a cold sweat wiping blankets of the stuff off of his forehead. Nancy moans (note: not the kind of moan she made when they first got married) as she kicks meager Thomas out of bed. It is 6 AM, he makes coffee, fresh of black and bean, and takes a walk outside amongst the winter. He runs his hands through decayed life crumbling the frozen carcasses into dust. He walks into a convenience store and purchases a beer and a candy bar. He engulfs both directly outside then decides to go back in for another round.

            He stops by a park and notices a father playing catch with his son. Thomas once had that sort of relationship with Sid…obsolete presently, a thing of the past probably never returning way things are nowadays. He vomits on accident and the man’s son looks startle; Thomas vanishes embarrassment.

            Thomas revisits the bar where he met Nancy fifteen years prior and he orders the same Guinness and whiskey, on the rocks. He takes his drinks over to a pool table and decides to play by himself. An hour or so passes, and a stranger in black approaches the table and makes a friendly gesture

-Name’s Gregory.

They shake.

-Care for a game? Don’t feel pressured…I would hate to encroach you as such

Thomas smiles and hands Gregory a rod.

-Care to break?

Gregory nods.

            They play for sometime and then decide to grab some corned beef and taters over at jolly O’Flannigans. It had been sometime since Thomas had been there (note: Thomas had a falling out with Mr. O’Flannigan because it was speculated the old man (sidenote: the old man begin O’Flannigan, in the flesh) was getting more action from Nancy than poor Thomas (side note: Nancy’s doctor got more action from her than poor, old, washed-up Thomas)) though Thomas knew it was time to put these woes in time past and return to a place he once called home accompanied by a new pal. They arrive at their destination unscathed at what stands before them: a deserted building. They go to the nearest McDonalds, bringing along a handful o’ rounds o’ Irish delight, and enjoy feast of newly acquainted passengers.

-What brought you here? Thomas says.

-The closing of O’Flannigans

-No here! This city!

-Modern life is rubbish, no further questioning in the matter. I am in this city today because of the god damn navy, back when I thought enlisting was going to change something. I watched the heads of men get blown off behind a computer screen and the only humanity I have left is to continue chugging this sweet liquor hoping I will never again have to play Call of Duty. And you, my brother?

-I was one of nature, back then.

-Back when?

-Before civilization and all this folly.

-Ah. You are some drugged out hippie, it would appear.

-Far from it. I have discovered my true happiness.

-Explain to me, then.

-I was in exile for so long, just wanting to communicate with someone else, and then one day these foreigners come, and I feel they free me, and they show me the world, and meet these women, and one woman, she captures my heart and has me feel all is right with the world, and at that moment, I felt the happiest I have ever felt, a very dumb happiness simple words or expressions cannot define, yet still I can recall on these times when I want to relive moments I felt truly aligned with the rest of existence.

-And from there…it was all, how to say, downhill? He asks

-Certainly, but who are you to say?

-What do you mean?

“What was the happiest time in your life?” Thomas asks his comrade.

Gregory pays the bill, and walks out the door. Thomas returns home.

            Advancing in time, we are brought to a scene where Thomas, only now in his mid-40’s, has developed a crippling affliction in both the lungs and liver, and spends countless mornings coughing up last night’s sin some extra rummages stored away from long ago. Nancy has grown into a fat cunt and they have two children, Sid and Nancy. Thomas no longer sails the seven seas, search of treasure; he now works at a little shop down the hill selling flowers while his wife stays at home stuffing her obese face and chugging all the illgotten wine. Thomas begins daydreaming as a means to deal with reality. He constantly ponders a life remaining on the island he loathed so much a time past. He calls upon Gregory, who he has not talked to in ages, hoping the man can write down his final testimonies and finally respond to the abandoned question.

…no funerals, no plans. That’s where I want to conclude my story, yet I hope the reader can mold some epilogue of thee own creation. I was thinking of a scenario where Gregory leaves for Mexico after a month spent agonizing his lost comrade. He stays in that empty house next to the rotting corpse. He feeds him booze once a night around eight o’ clock, sharp. Thomas’s limp dead lips do not give way to the incoming flow of happiness, yet Gregory holds his head at a precise 60 degree angle (note: to the back from a Birdseye view, grasping the lifeless skull tight). He processes the memories they’ve had together for the past few decades, and slowly Gregory starts burying them in a place no man, or woman, or thing, can access. The past is now behind him, and as I’ve said, he goes to Mexico. There: he meets a woman and immediately marries her in quiet desperation. They get divorced; they have accumulated three children, genital herpes (note: from that night Gloria (sidenote: his wife’s name was Gloria) fucked the gardener), a stomach virus, a felony charge (note: still pending), a numerous amount of debt here and there, gluttonous time discards on seasons of television shows: loved; hated; loved then hated; loathed and loved together…an entourage of friends, a bundle o’ enemies, a few friends who became enemies, an enemy who became a friend (note: he ended up being a pedophile), a love for Italian food, a hatred for American Italian food, a month spent learning all the lyrics to some John Lennon album that I can’t seem to remember the name of, an intolerance for gluten, a fear of water, an acceptance of a gluten-free diet, quitting all together diet colas, getting back on the poison alongside the fermented sauce, being hard on himself for ever leaving the navy in the first place, regretting not spending more time in Tangiers with that brown-skinned girl, remembering the John Lennon album and hoping he had forgotten it all the same, the same shit he dealt with back home minus the same people, anxiety of commitment that was already there but has gotten worse, addiction to dope…a new sense of purpose where previously hallow thoughts manifested night and day; winter has ended, and the feeling stays the same.

“I was in love with a dark girl who did anything I asked because she knew abiding adoring cherishing thine white flesh would do her the best in the long ,” smiling “I got her pregnant, for a time. Some doctors are geniuses, if you pay them right. God bless America, money makes everything easy on your cradled conscience. I caressed corpse in arms before throwing it away down the river...a shovel always does the trick. No bother, anymore, I have forgotten bout the deed. A cynical thing to say death made me the happiest, but wasn’t death that did my soul well, and we know it’s not a dead fetus I’m talking about, it’s about not caring anymore about what you do and who you harm in the process. If you take your own life, that is yours for the taking and others just have to deal with the reality. We have made this decision to disregard the rest of the human race and look into ourselves for divine absolution, and no one can tell us the same. I don’t quite understand any of it, but in the end no one ever does and that is why we are here and not there with the rest of the lot,” responds his illadvised comrade.

He appears, reappears…disappears

Fades away a blanket of deceit

The grey night stalks him.

It’s a deserted Waffle House

Off Interstate 485

Not a soul in sight

Him; I, clearly wasted

Gone; I, simply outdated

-Another cup of Joe, asks he.

Fresh of black and bean

I nod in blissful resignation.

-This one’s for the road.