No. 5
she took his hand and led him down the steep hill and to the open bank.
i like you, fonzie, she said. i like you, you understand?
sure, he said.
let's play a game, she said.
ok.
she started removing her dress, the one garment he promised himself to remember her by.
well, take off your clothes, fonzie. we're going to go swimming.
swimming? but it's night and i don't have my swimming trunks.
this is a different kind of swimming, she said. this is called skinny-dipping. ain't you never heard of skinny-dipping before?
is it like lover's leap? he said.
sure, she said, not quite understanding.
you mean you want to play lover's leap with me? in the name of fonzie and everything.
i guess so, she said.
fonzie felt that he understood now. the excitement was unprecedented.
take your clothes off, fonzie. that's all part of the game. we have to be naked. that's what makes it fun. it's not a game if there's no fun in it, right?
fonzie started at his shirt, removed each button slowly. he wanted this to happen. he liked the idea of sharing his nakedness with another human being. but he was also very protective of his body.
well, hurry up now, fonz. you can't delay the inevitable.
without thinking, or allowing himself to entertain his reservation, fonzie quickly undid each button. he started at his belt when he caught a glimpse of miss traum's glimmering flesh. he liked that her body was so structurally different from his own and that there was so much yet to see. it would take days to fully comprehend the sight in front of him and the absence of light, the flattering moonlight only made it that much more exciting because it deprived him of the opportunity to look and really see everything. he thought back to the story of adam and eve--how it had affected him as a child and how it had informed his conception of sexuality in the present. he had a fundamental knowledge of the female form, but until now, no real-life experience.
there it was, in front of him. he tried to take it all in, contrasting in his mind the disparities between the crude and speculative sketch he'd always envisioned and the image now standing before him, a transient model for study. it was cruel, he thought, that she could provoke these feelings within him, simply by being naked, a different kind of naked, not the kind that stared back at him in the mirror when he showered or changed clothes, but a new kind, and not feel them herself. there were one or two glaring differences in their physiological make-up, though it was essentially the same, but it was the one or two differences that sent fonzie's head swirling. she was furry in places he thought unusual for women to be furry. she had breasts and jutting hips. and none of this seemed to faze her. this is what set fonzie off more than anything: that she had grown accustomed to this image and that it was so intrinsically a part of who she was and that, try as he might, he could never truly know what that was like. she would be a mystery forever.
come on in, she said.
fonzie discarded his pants into the collection of clothes sparsely scattered around the bank.
he jumped in.
Showing posts with label paris hilton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label paris hilton. Show all posts
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
apotheosis
IV.
fonzie had just returned from some menial errand--one of his uncle's thinly-veiled attempts to keep the innocent busy. he entered the shop and immediately saw the woman standing at the counter, more or less being talked at by his uncle. she was lovely, he thought. right away, he could see she was a familiar spirit. she displayed the same sort of deferential disposition when interacting with his uncle. the same deferential gestures. in short, he was in love.
"fonzie," uncle said, "get over here, there's someone i want you to meet." fonzie obeyed. he looked down at his worn and weathered boots, never daring to make eye-contact or break the calculation of this action. he knew if he did, it would be over. she would be gone. he would be forced, then, to see, to know, to become aware of her disinterest. he risked it anyway.
"this is miss traum," uncle said. the woman did not appear to be off-put by his self-effacing nature, in fact, she seemed similarly stricken. this came as a shock to fonzie. in all his years, he'd yet to encounter a member of the opposite sex who did not immediately act repulsed at the mere sight of him. he had learned not to look them in the eyes. it only confirmed his long-held notion that he was a creep--a displaced sideshow attraction--a spectacle in real-life. but miss traum was different. he could tell. he didn't know how. or why. but he had a hunch.
"miss traum, fonzie, works uptown. she's a dancer. you like dancin' don't you, fonz?"
fonzie looked up and then quickly back down at his feet. he knew, somehow, that his uncle was being insincere.
"it's a pleasure to meet you, miss traum," fonzie managed.
"you know, if i didn't know any better, i'd say he's taken a particular liking to you, miss traum," uncle said. "you like her, fonz?"
fonzie blushed. he ignored the question. it only infuriated him. he hated being talked down to, especially when he knew that it was happening. he felt helpless. unable to combat his uncle--the words failing him.
"i gotta go now, uncle. chickens is ready be fed. bye miss traum."
"bye fonzie. i hope to see you around," she said.
he had left the situation abruptly, he knew, but he could barely contain himself. not only was she nothing like the others, but she had actually gone so far as to talk to him--to not dismiss him immediately or even after their brief exchange. suddenly, fonzie felt a surge of something like adrenaline coursing through his brain. he had lied to his uncle. his real motivation for leaving the scene was not to feed the chickens--they wouldn't need fed for another hour--but to escape the unbearable and foreign sensation rising up inside of him. he had never before come this far with a stranger, one whom he was genuinely interested in anyway. he wanted nothing more than to hold onto this one. he decided then that he would do whatever it took to make that a reality, even if it meant evading the issue altogether. he was aware of the delicate nature, the fine line he was forced to walk in order to preserve this bout of fortune and that's what scared him most--the realization that now he was expected to perform, to impress. it was a feeling altogether unfamiliar to him--equal parts invigorating and burdensome. but that was part of the excitement.
he hid behind his uncle's pick-up truck parked outside of the store, within safe watching-distance of all the action and saw his uncle leave the store accompanying miss traum to her vehicle. they were discussing something, though their voices were muffled--inaudible. whatever it was, miss traum seemed hesitant. fonzie knew his uncle well and knew that he could be persistent, that he could make anyone do anything simply because he was the way that he was and that he had been born, it seemed, equipped with the ability--a talent, you might say--to dominate.
miss traum got in her car and left, but not before uncle had walked back, a smug smile, that of a lunatic, fixed so firmly on his bulldog-face.
fonzie had just returned from some menial errand--one of his uncle's thinly-veiled attempts to keep the innocent busy. he entered the shop and immediately saw the woman standing at the counter, more or less being talked at by his uncle. she was lovely, he thought. right away, he could see she was a familiar spirit. she displayed the same sort of deferential disposition when interacting with his uncle. the same deferential gestures. in short, he was in love.
"fonzie," uncle said, "get over here, there's someone i want you to meet." fonzie obeyed. he looked down at his worn and weathered boots, never daring to make eye-contact or break the calculation of this action. he knew if he did, it would be over. she would be gone. he would be forced, then, to see, to know, to become aware of her disinterest. he risked it anyway.
"this is miss traum," uncle said. the woman did not appear to be off-put by his self-effacing nature, in fact, she seemed similarly stricken. this came as a shock to fonzie. in all his years, he'd yet to encounter a member of the opposite sex who did not immediately act repulsed at the mere sight of him. he had learned not to look them in the eyes. it only confirmed his long-held notion that he was a creep--a displaced sideshow attraction--a spectacle in real-life. but miss traum was different. he could tell. he didn't know how. or why. but he had a hunch.
"miss traum, fonzie, works uptown. she's a dancer. you like dancin' don't you, fonz?"
fonzie looked up and then quickly back down at his feet. he knew, somehow, that his uncle was being insincere.
"it's a pleasure to meet you, miss traum," fonzie managed.
"you know, if i didn't know any better, i'd say he's taken a particular liking to you, miss traum," uncle said. "you like her, fonz?"
fonzie blushed. he ignored the question. it only infuriated him. he hated being talked down to, especially when he knew that it was happening. he felt helpless. unable to combat his uncle--the words failing him.
"i gotta go now, uncle. chickens is ready be fed. bye miss traum."
"bye fonzie. i hope to see you around," she said.
he had left the situation abruptly, he knew, but he could barely contain himself. not only was she nothing like the others, but she had actually gone so far as to talk to him--to not dismiss him immediately or even after their brief exchange. suddenly, fonzie felt a surge of something like adrenaline coursing through his brain. he had lied to his uncle. his real motivation for leaving the scene was not to feed the chickens--they wouldn't need fed for another hour--but to escape the unbearable and foreign sensation rising up inside of him. he had never before come this far with a stranger, one whom he was genuinely interested in anyway. he wanted nothing more than to hold onto this one. he decided then that he would do whatever it took to make that a reality, even if it meant evading the issue altogether. he was aware of the delicate nature, the fine line he was forced to walk in order to preserve this bout of fortune and that's what scared him most--the realization that now he was expected to perform, to impress. it was a feeling altogether unfamiliar to him--equal parts invigorating and burdensome. but that was part of the excitement.
he hid behind his uncle's pick-up truck parked outside of the store, within safe watching-distance of all the action and saw his uncle leave the store accompanying miss traum to her vehicle. they were discussing something, though their voices were muffled--inaudible. whatever it was, miss traum seemed hesitant. fonzie knew his uncle well and knew that he could be persistent, that he could make anyone do anything simply because he was the way that he was and that he had been born, it seemed, equipped with the ability--a talent, you might say--to dominate.
miss traum got in her car and left, but not before uncle had walked back, a smug smile, that of a lunatic, fixed so firmly on his bulldog-face.
Monday, April 19, 2010
vanishing persons
I.
he leads her on a walk, early morning, through the fog and stops at a stream. she is looking fondly into his mogoloid-eyes. he senses her undying devotion and wonders what is that makes animals so seemingly human. it's uncanny, he thinks, though he doesn't know the word for it. she has no name. he calls her betsy. betsy the cow, like in a book.
their relationship is strictly platonic, let's establish that right off the bat. no funny business about it.
she's not eating today. maybe she knows. her soul is mostly hypothetical. a projection. this is how he'll remember her. each one, he remembers differently. but it always feels the same.
later, he is sitting at the table, betsy reconfigured on his plate. her memory is staring straight back at him, right in the eyes. her memory and her meat. uncle is blood-stained. he picks up the machete.
and this is how i did it, he says.
thwack. he makes the sound. a crude replication.
he imagines an explosive firework-display of blood and carnage. uncle laughing, red in the teeth. his apron smattered in grease and pulp. in every direction, blood splatters.
this is how i did it, he says. well, boy--ain't you gonna eat?
he leads her on a walk, early morning, through the fog and stops at a stream. she is looking fondly into his mogoloid-eyes. he senses her undying devotion and wonders what is that makes animals so seemingly human. it's uncanny, he thinks, though he doesn't know the word for it. she has no name. he calls her betsy. betsy the cow, like in a book.
their relationship is strictly platonic, let's establish that right off the bat. no funny business about it.
she's not eating today. maybe she knows. her soul is mostly hypothetical. a projection. this is how he'll remember her. each one, he remembers differently. but it always feels the same.
later, he is sitting at the table, betsy reconfigured on his plate. her memory is staring straight back at him, right in the eyes. her memory and her meat. uncle is blood-stained. he picks up the machete.
and this is how i did it, he says.
thwack. he makes the sound. a crude replication.
he imagines an explosive firework-display of blood and carnage. uncle laughing, red in the teeth. his apron smattered in grease and pulp. in every direction, blood splatters.
this is how i did it, he says. well, boy--ain't you gonna eat?
Saturday, February 20, 2010
self-inflicted murder
i had a major freakout (once again) in chicago last weekend. i'm not sure exactly what it was--could have been the anti-biotic i was on--could have been a combination of drugs--the veritable cocktail of anti-psychotics i've been prescribed. either way, i hit an all-time low. suicidal thoughts and all the rest. i think i've addressed this before, but the only hang-up i have about suicide is my religious convictions--namely, that an eternal hellfire awaits me should i ever decide to go through with it.
the sad thing is: most of these convictions seem brought about by fear, like i've been scared into believing. i'm not sure if that's right. or if everyone feels this way, but it's driven me crazy and continues to do so to this day. i would give anything to just be able to--to allow myself--end it, once and for all. i'm just so sick and tired and miserable and bored of life--new sensations become old memories, nostalgia which i'm humanly bound to chase for the remainder of my days. nothing matters anymore.
i've been sleeping a lot these days. not because i feel compelled to, mind you, but because it's the only conceivable solution to my ever-present anxieties--it's the next best thing to suicide, similar i guess, in many respects, in that i don't have to be fully conscious and aware of my debilitating mental health, which, by the way, is seriously starting to affect every little facet of my being.
what's new, i guess?
i just wish i could go back to being a kid. not that i was carefree or anything. or that my childhood was exceptional. i just didn't have all this mental stress to deal with--i would still get butterflies in my stomach by simple acts of kindness, small victories--like how the popular kids accepted me, a girl admitted having a crush on me. a pressing concern would have been something like inadvertently offending a friend during recess vs. now where every minute of everyday i spend wondering if i will eventually lose the ability to process speech and function correctly (whatever that means) in society.
i'm really worried about the future, which, i guess, is to be expected of someone my age. i just turned twenty-four and i still have fantasies--delusions of grandeur--of becoming a famous rock and roll star, writer, celebrity, et. al. it's embarrassing, to tell you the truth. i need to buckle down and get real, start thinking about a career, start watching the news (which i've recently tried in vain to do), start paying attention to the world outside my ambitions. i just get so bored of it all. so easily. so damned easily. i've been trying, though--trying to educate myself about various topics--current and historical--finances, politics, foreign policy, fair trade, etc.. to tell you the truth, though, it's impossible for me to follow--it's so deeply encoded in a language i don't speak. i lose interest. i'm sure this is some manifestation of a marxist theory, which i can't properly place at the moment (something about language as a means of oppression), but i don't really care because i don't really feel like it affects me. finances to me are: money for gas, food, and cigarettes. i work enough to afford all my expenses. and i don't feel wronged by the government on any direct level so i've got no reason to complain. of course, the more i read into politics, the more nervous i get because i can see just how directly certain policies affect others--how others have been wronged by the government on a very direct level. i guess that makes me nervous, outraged, etc.. and i'd like to help, but i don't know how. and i can't feel it happening to me, so (and i feel wrong typing this) it escapes me just as easily as it enters my brain. i don't discard it intentionally, but it's never my top priority--to right the wrongs and ratify the injustices inflicted upon others. i don't know. i have a very cursory understanding of the way the world works and i think it's pretty safe to assume i'm not alone in this worldview. it frightens me that there are others who know even less than i do but believe more ardently in their own ignorant philosophies. and what's even more terrifying, these people are the ones that show up on election day to vote--being misinformed as they are. i dont' vote--and i've always said this--because i simply do not know enough about what i'm voting on nor do i feel politicians to be particularly trustworthy. these people, however, know next to nothing, less than i do, and still show up and decide which douchebag phonies we elect into office. absolutely frightening.
anyway, i've got some tricks up my sleeve--future endeavors which, like all my great plans, will probably never pan out. i'll keep you posted as to the progress of these projects. otherwise, i'm spent.
blah.
the sad thing is: most of these convictions seem brought about by fear, like i've been scared into believing. i'm not sure if that's right. or if everyone feels this way, but it's driven me crazy and continues to do so to this day. i would give anything to just be able to--to allow myself--end it, once and for all. i'm just so sick and tired and miserable and bored of life--new sensations become old memories, nostalgia which i'm humanly bound to chase for the remainder of my days. nothing matters anymore.
i've been sleeping a lot these days. not because i feel compelled to, mind you, but because it's the only conceivable solution to my ever-present anxieties--it's the next best thing to suicide, similar i guess, in many respects, in that i don't have to be fully conscious and aware of my debilitating mental health, which, by the way, is seriously starting to affect every little facet of my being.
what's new, i guess?
i just wish i could go back to being a kid. not that i was carefree or anything. or that my childhood was exceptional. i just didn't have all this mental stress to deal with--i would still get butterflies in my stomach by simple acts of kindness, small victories--like how the popular kids accepted me, a girl admitted having a crush on me. a pressing concern would have been something like inadvertently offending a friend during recess vs. now where every minute of everyday i spend wondering if i will eventually lose the ability to process speech and function correctly (whatever that means) in society.
i'm really worried about the future, which, i guess, is to be expected of someone my age. i just turned twenty-four and i still have fantasies--delusions of grandeur--of becoming a famous rock and roll star, writer, celebrity, et. al. it's embarrassing, to tell you the truth. i need to buckle down and get real, start thinking about a career, start watching the news (which i've recently tried in vain to do), start paying attention to the world outside my ambitions. i just get so bored of it all. so easily. so damned easily. i've been trying, though--trying to educate myself about various topics--current and historical--finances, politics, foreign policy, fair trade, etc.. to tell you the truth, though, it's impossible for me to follow--it's so deeply encoded in a language i don't speak. i lose interest. i'm sure this is some manifestation of a marxist theory, which i can't properly place at the moment (something about language as a means of oppression), but i don't really care because i don't really feel like it affects me. finances to me are: money for gas, food, and cigarettes. i work enough to afford all my expenses. and i don't feel wronged by the government on any direct level so i've got no reason to complain. of course, the more i read into politics, the more nervous i get because i can see just how directly certain policies affect others--how others have been wronged by the government on a very direct level. i guess that makes me nervous, outraged, etc.. and i'd like to help, but i don't know how. and i can't feel it happening to me, so (and i feel wrong typing this) it escapes me just as easily as it enters my brain. i don't discard it intentionally, but it's never my top priority--to right the wrongs and ratify the injustices inflicted upon others. i don't know. i have a very cursory understanding of the way the world works and i think it's pretty safe to assume i'm not alone in this worldview. it frightens me that there are others who know even less than i do but believe more ardently in their own ignorant philosophies. and what's even more terrifying, these people are the ones that show up on election day to vote--being misinformed as they are. i dont' vote--and i've always said this--because i simply do not know enough about what i'm voting on nor do i feel politicians to be particularly trustworthy. these people, however, know next to nothing, less than i do, and still show up and decide which douchebag phonies we elect into office. absolutely frightening.
anyway, i've got some tricks up my sleeve--future endeavors which, like all my great plans, will probably never pan out. i'll keep you posted as to the progress of these projects. otherwise, i'm spent.
blah.
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