Monday, August 31, 2009


Its another day and I can't wait to get started! My boy is there to hold me close. He barks at me and then lets me go. I kiss him a few times and he pushes me off. He smells happy today. He has a lot of strange things to do. I do not understand them. I go downstairs and check to see that there is food. I hope there is food today. I'm very hungry and I do not want to kill my boy and eat him. I could kill my boy right now if I wanted to. He's not strong like I am. I could kill my boy I will not kill my boy because I love my boy. I think that's what love, not killing something when you could. I love my boy because he combs my hair. I love my boy because he scratches my ears. I love my boy because he feeds me. He is not always the one who feeds me, sometimes its the boy's mother or the boy's brothers. The father almost never feeds me. He is not very nice. If I need to kill someone and eat them, I would pick the boy's father first, than one of his brothers, than the other brother, than the mom, and then my boy. I would not like killing and eating my boy but I could If I wanted to and I would want to if I had to but only if my boy does not feed me which will not happen because he always does. The food today is the same as it was the morning before. It is from the square, saggy animal they killed about two weeks ago. Its meat is in little brown rocks which kind of just flow out when my boy turns the animal sack upside down. Sometimes they put wet meat with my food which I like a lot but the rock sack animal is tasty too. There is fresh water for me too. I leave the warm/cool when you want it cave and head to the little outside which is connected to the big outside. I lean forward and empty out all the things I ate yesterday from my asshole. I lean into my goo and give it a good sniff. Just as I thought! I trot around the fence post and look for things to see. I smell him in the air. He knows better. This is my part of the big outside and if I see him, I swear I'm going to kill him. I keep looking for him but his smell is the only thing I can find. I smell and I look and I smell and I there he is! I see him. He should not be here THIS IS MY PLACE! STOP COMING HERE, THIS IS MY SPOT. STOP STOP STOP! FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCKING FAGGOT PANSY PUPPY SHIT! I"M GOING TO KILL KILL YOU KILL YOUR FUCKING SHIT HEAD FAGGOT FACE! YEAH YEAH, COME HERE! GET CLOSE SO I CAN DIG MY TEETH IN YOUR STUPID WEAK DEAD FUCK SHIT NECK. I"LL KILL YOU AND FIND YOUR KIDS AND FUCK KILL SHIT THEM FUCK FUCK FUCK YOU BITCH ASS SHIT FUCKING LOSER ASS JERK. Yeah, I sure told him. I piss all over the path he took so that the next time he comes, he remembers. I wish that asshole said something to me I would have killed him. I want to kill him which is unlike what I want to do to my boy because I love my boy and I hate that other guy. I head back to the little outside and then the cave that is hot and cold when you want it to be. I take a nap. I've worked very hard today and I need some energy.

My boy is back from the things and the place that make him smell funny and act different. Sometimes he barks to me how those things make him smell. I just give him lots of kisses because I do not understand. What do you want from me? I'm strong and smart but not the kind of smart my boy and his pack need. They are a strange pack who walk funny and hardly ever hold things in their mouth. My boy puts his round arm around my neck and attaches it to his normal arm. He takes me to the little outside and the then even smaller outside that rolls. We head to a place somewhere between the big outside and a small one. Its bigger than the small but smaller than the big. I like this place because I can relax a little bit here. I do not need to be on the job. So long as my boy is safe from people who might kill him for other reasons than the one I might but do want to do. I can hang out with other guys and sniff their assholes to see where they have been. Sometimes there are women here and sometimes we have sex. Other guys tell me about having their male parts taken away from them. How it leaves them confused and anxious. Another reason why I love my boy and would only kill him if I had to is because he has not taken my penis and testicles away. If he did I would still love him as long as he feeds me.
I am looking for food because I am always up for eating more even if it makes me puke because then I can eat my puke again. I smell something dead which is good because it is easier than killing something with my teeth which are sharp. It is small and covered in the soft things inside the squares my boy and his pack sometimes sleep on or in or around or on top of. It is dead. It smells great. I roll around in it. I stick my face right up and let some of the white fleshy things crawl on me. They are wet and they only like dead things. They do not hunt or kill which makes them weak and stupid they should die but they are too small for me to really catch unless I really want to which I do not. I see a lady. She is pretty and a little taller than me. She smells great. I come up to her face and sniff her because I am a gentlemen. I only sneak up behind and climb once in a while if I think she won't like the way I look and how I smell at her. I think she likes me but I am not going to really wait for an answer so I'm just going to get on top of her and start. She's trying to get away but we are attached right now and I'm feeling great maybe she is too but its not about her if she didn't want it than she would not have smelled so hot today. My boy is calling me which is good because I am finished and she's going to start fighting me soon and she's bigger than me and has teeth like mine so I do not know so I listen to my boy's word. He knows how to speak one word I can understand. I cannot translate it directly but it means "Comeherenow" and I almost almost almost always do because my boy only says this word when he has food or gifts or he needs me I hope he does not need me but I can be there for him if he needs me to because I love him and I will not kill him unless I have to which is love. He takes me back to the cave that changes from hot to cold and cold to hot. More food is ready for me which is great because it means I will not have to kill anybody today and I can put that off until the day I have to which I hope never happens because I am a good guy who loves his boy and his boy's pack. I will probably take a few more naps tonight before really going to sleep. I did a lot of work today for my boy. I kept my boy safe, I kept his pack safe, I kept that spotted shithead from getting up in my turf, I did some pooping, some peeing, I met a pretty lady, I did it all. I wonder what tomorrow is going to smell like? I can't wait to find out!

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Bad Troper

Whoso sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be shed: for in the image of God made he man.
Topic: Punishment
Source: Genesis (ch. IX, v. 6)

Larry considered the poetic flavor of quote. He thought it was kind of what he was going for. It was difficult getting into the mind of his character The main one, at least. The victims were easier. Just cobble together a quick bio, a couple quirks, and rub them out as fast as your hands can type their deaths. He closed the website and took his eyes from the screen.

If you want to make a good serial killer story, you gotta have a really good serial killer. Well, not "good" good" but interesting. Compelling, that's a better term. The killer can't be just a killer. He has to be an artist, his work has something to say. But what?

Larry wished he had more life experience and cultural absorption to draw from. If only he had looked at his extensive study in Goosebumps and Choose Your Own Adventure books under the lens of a post-modern literary critic instead of a 7th grader. Looking up themes and motifs from the Google museum was not as real.

He looked around the apartment. Inspiration can strike from anywhere. You can open your door at the end of a long day, toss your keys on the futon, and by the time you turn around its there hitting you in the face! Larry paced around the room and into the walk-in kitchen. This place was unfamiliar with him and he of it. That is why Larry choose it to be the source of his inspiration. Larry felt lucky to know someone compliant enough to let him draw from this place in solitude. He would dedicate his masterpiece in the making to him.

drit plsh drit plsh plsh

He looked at the sink. The faucet, it was trying to tell him something.


A classic motif. Jerry, the killer, would drown his first victim, burn his next, bury his third, and do...something windy with the fourth. This was a well used trope but tropes are not "cliche" or "worn out" they are the tools of a writer, no, STORY TELLER! Just like a plumber's wrench or a farmer's...trident.

The only problem was, that was it. All you have is earth, wind, water, and fire. Each murder had to count, it had to have something memorable about them. This wasn't some dime novel/made-for-tv killing spree. It was art!

Maybe he'd draw upon the Eastern elements which included things like metal, jade, and wood. No western author would think of doing something so bold and fresh. He admired the eastern way of storytelling; how they left so much up for the reader to determine. He had not noticed this himself in the manga-kas he read until the wikipedia article on the subject he wisely choose to browse explored this. His masterpiece would be exotic to readers on his side of the world, and a new classic that borrows from a proud literary/oral tradition to the East.

This is the great American novel. No, its more than that. This is the epic I've waited my whole, unhappy life to make and one the whole world has waited to read, no experience! I'll draw from the North and South too!

But the Bible stuff was just too good to ignore. With that frequently translated, commanding and dire tone, it had a way of adding pure genius to any story. No matter how you shoehorned it in.

I know I can make this work! How can I marry the two and make them compliment one another?

He looked at his first victim character. He pictured his entire life in his mind and looked for a way to mix water and the Bible into his poetic death. His murder would set the entire tone of the work.

"Jerry gripped the handle of his knife" Good, good, I'm getting somewhere "He knelt down at the victim, his whole being unfolding (blossoming?) like a flower onto his hardwood floor" Ohhhh this is great, I got to write it down before I "Like Picasso, Monet, and Vaan-Go he started with gentle strokes" The victim was his canvass.

I'll carve Bible Quotes into each victim. I'll match what they say with the element I killed the character with. I made them, I can do whatever I want with them. I bet they even know this!

Larry got "up from the hardwood" floor and looked do"wn upon his creati"on. Jerry was n "ot happy but grimly satisf"ied with what whe" had done. The text was clearly carved on his chest. It was real, fleshy lines given depth and color through blood. It was clearer than anything Larry had seen in his life.

Now they will listen. I've always had something to say and now they can't ignore me.

Larry left the apartment. The sun was beginning to rise. Inspiration knows no clock! He was tired but for a good reason. He had accomplished great things today. He'd sleep walk through work today. The weekend was starting and he'd be able to start up again real soon. He stepped around the owner of the apartment and thanked him for allowing him to work there. He said nothing in return, too humble to thanked by such an artistic giant.

He's just happy to be a part of it, no doubt
. Who wouldn't be?

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

The Last Mariachi

Inspired by

"I gave you a new life. Now I'm going to take it away"

Abejundio began to sweat. This was one of his best suits and he hated getting it dirty.

That's not going to matter anymore soon

"Shut up!"

The Coyote belted him with the side of of his gun. He would later laugh to himself on the ride home alone how that he forgot the safety was off, but now he was mad. Just because he was going to kill this deadbeat did not mean he had to be a dick about it.

"I wasn't talking to you. I sometimes talk to myself. I'm not crazy, don't worry"

"I'm not worried. I'm not the one who should be worried"

The Coyote smirked. He ran his left hand through his bangs. They were pretty nice. They seemed like the only part of him that was soft. He tipped his hat forward. He was not sure if he wore it ironically or not, he was that kind of human smuggler. He had his own blog after all, there is no reason why he could not be a criminal of conocimiento.

He slammed his fist into Abejundio's head. It actually did not connect very well. He sheepishly removed the hat from Abejundio's head and hit him again. It was towards the top of his dome where it began to arch up. The bone was slightly thinner there. Abejundio fell back into his chair and tipped it over.

"Crazy people do talk to themselves and you gotta be fucking crazy if you did not think I'd find you"

Abejundio was dizzy and in great pain.

This is what you get. You should have found a way to pay this man. He didn't bring you up here for free

He would have smacked himself to keep him quiet but he was in too much pain to consider it.

The Coyote paced around the cabin. This was new to both of them. They were in a somewhat remote part of Colorado. You'd think it'd be far from home but its really not. It can be hard to believe that two places of such temperature extremes could be so close together.

Or at least that's what a bad map will make you believe.

"You didn't pay me. The first half in the beginning is just a deposit. I gave you and your faggy friends time"

You should have stayed in school and become an accountant, or some vanity organic rancher, shit, I don't know, anything but this! "Ehhhhh, lets all give up our scholarships and sneak into America and become Maraichi" Great idea. Now you're dead.

"And I'm reasonable too. I killed you one at time. I figure the further along I go down the roster, the more motivated the survivors are going to be. I already wrote it off as a loss, I figured this would be at least interesting"

Snow fell. It made the same sound a puffy blanket does when you throw it on yourself. It was pretty nice too and Abejundio enjoyed looking at it. It was a good distraction from the voice within and the voice without.

The Coyote scooped him up and grinned right in face. Abejundio felt the his voice vibrate on his nose and through his teeth.

"My experiment has failed. Nobody paid me. I killed them all but you. You're the last Maraiachi"

He threw Abejundio to the ground and kicked him. He cocked his gun.

"Get up"

Abejundio slowly rose to his feet. His eyes were shifted to the floor. He felt something prod his chest.

"Play me a song"

Abejundio reached for his hobby-toy. The Coyote smacked him across the face with it. It hung somewhere between the sound of bone hitting flesh and the sound it was supposed to make.

"I think this is actually or was actually a Seguiryas, which is better suited for Flamenco. No wonder you fucked up"

He handed it to him again. Abejundio shook his sore hands.

"Make sure you make this a nice and long one. It's all I'm giving you"

He had a hard time concentrating. He was not used to playing without any accompaniment. It sounded odd and came out all wrong.

He hummed along to try to make it sound like what he was used to. It was more of a low wail. A moan. It made the music even more eerie. His hands plodded against the strings. Notes stumbled out. The Seguiryas was slightly less damaged than he was. He hated listening to himself play his wounded song but he figured this was the last moments he'd ever have doing anything.

He fell into some sort of zone where a pleasant melody seemed to spring from nowhere. He thought he even saw a smile from the Coyote. But as soon as it was there, it was gone. Abejundio could not keep it up anymore. His hands were aching. The strings was fraying. Time was running out. There was something of a wrap up and then he dropped the guitar. It cried out as it hit the ground and split down the middle. He hummed for a little while longer.

Heart to Heart

"Are you still mad at me?"
She says nothing. She won't even turn around and face him. You're never too old to pout.
He puts his arm around her left shoulder and drapes it around her breast.
"Please baby. Don't start the day like this"

More nothing. She's being cold to him. He uncurls himself from his wife of 40 years. He sits up and hunches forward, his hands rest on his cheeks. He's upset.
"I'm sorry"
Time passes. You can hear it on the clock. Its one of those loud ones. Each second has its own little click. Watching time pass in angry silence when you are old is difficult.

He remembers when they were young. Sailing around the cape, flicking off the Kennedy compound, cheap beer and thick joints while watching the sun set, its light dripping into the ocean. Their friends, their families, fun, and failure.

That's it. That's what set him off. "You failed to give me a child", that's what she told him last night. It came out of the blue. There was no warning that day, rather it was the sort of thing that had grown and festered over what he had thought were happy years together.

You failed me

"Was life with me really that bad? Is a child all that matters to you, now, at this age?"
That's what set her off. Age. That it did not matter now what they did or how hard they tried. She would never be a mother. Your dreams are the sort thing that you get around doing once the garbage is taken out, and the bills are all paid, and you get that degree you always planned to do, and so on for as long as you can hold it. You can always put a dream aside for the moment but realizing that its never going to happen, that its dead and someday soon so will you too, there is no real way to get over that. Especially not first thing Sunday morning.

He thought. He thought about his work. Arbitration. Compromise. That's how he made his fortune. If he can pacify a sweaty, smokey huddle of union guys, than this shouldn't be a problem. That's how he made a life for the two of them. It was good enough for her yesterday.


That's the wrong way to look at it. We both want to be happy. I love this woman.

He turned towards her.

"Let's adopt. We got the money. We got more than a few good years left in us. The help can do all the more unpleasant things. We can focus on ice cream cones, trips to the zoo, and hugs. Let's do it. Let's find some sad lonely kid and let's give him a good life. A great one! I'm glad you brought this to head today. I love you and I can't be happy if you aren't"

He's very pleased with himself. He plops himself down next to his wife again. He kisses her on the back of the neck. She's still cold.

"Are you still mad at me, baby?"

He kisses her a few more times on the back of her neck. Its cold. Really cold.


She's dead. It probably happened in her sleep.

Don't go to bed angry.

Monday, August 24, 2009


I know what that light means. I got a good 20 miles left. I'll circle around for a little while longer and then head home. I can gas up in the morning. It will be okay.

She's driving. Just around. She's trying to avoid going home. She can't do it forever, but she can do it for a while at least. She thought about a song she liked. A song about roads. A different road than the one she was on but it applied.

I drove around/for hours/I drove around/for days

She sees a man in the distance. The headlights capture his torso. The rest of him is covered in fog and night. He has a brown derby on. It looks out of place for today. He's wearing a brown suit and gray pants. Its like he doesn't want to be seen.

I know I shouldn't, but why not? He could be interesting.

She slows down and cuts off his path safely. She rolls down her window.

"Need a lift?"

He's at a young middle age. One could tell that this is a person who lived a quiet and careful life. He looks well preserved and healthy. What is he doing out here all by himself? At this hour? In Killingly? Route Six is chock-full of adventure. And misadventure too.

"Bless you, young lady. I'll take you up on your offer" He opens the door. She did not remember unlocking it. He glides right in at the front. She was kind of hopping he would sit in the back.

They say nothing. They listen to the drag of the car on the pavement. She wants to hear from him. Anything. That's why she picked him up. She already took a risk tonight, she takes another.

"So, what are you doing out here tonight, if you do not mind me asking?"

He looks right through her. There is a moment's tension. Then he smiles.

"I'm glad you asked. I'm looking for my brother"

She hits a rough patch of road. She swerves a little bit and quickly regains control. When she's comfortable again, she glaces at him.

"Oh, how goes the search? Have you been looking for him long?"

He flexes his lips.

"Its going well, very well. I think I've been looking for about 30 years. I've lost count. If you do not mind, can you make a right, here?"

The sign says "Balley Hill Road". She thinks there is a graveyard near there.


She makes a gentle turn to the right. She's a very good driver. She does this all the time. Its a great way to avoid being home.

"So, your brother has been missing for 30 years?"

"Yes, yes he has. And the search is going so well. I've looked all over tri-state area for him. And I have not seen or heard a trace of him"

She knew what it was like to avoid family.

"You must think me very strange, miss"
"Nnno, not at all"

He paused, waiting to be interrupted again. He wasn't.

"My brother vanished one day. We thought he ran away with his guitar teacher. But she had not heard of him either. So I began my search so many years ago. It feels just like yesterday. Each time I go out and I do not find any clues about where he is or what happened to him. I know he's safe. It's another awful thing I can cross of the list of disasters that could have befallen him"

"I see"

Somehow, she knew he was getting off here. She pulled alongside the graveyard. She kept the engine running. She looked out at the small headstones. They looked like the heads of little children, tucked in by the white fog. Wrapped up in night. It looked comforting. Certainly more comforting than what awaited her at home.

"It was nice meeting..."
He was gone. She did not even hear him shut the door.

She started making her way back home. It was not really a home. Anyplace where you are abused is not a home at all. She pulled alongside the front of her driveway. The lights were off. Maybe he was not there. You could never tell. He was just as likely to leave them on when he was home as off. She did not want to go in there. She knew he was going to hit her again. That was fact. Maybe it would not be as bad as it usually was. Maybe he would kill her this time. Both were just as likely. Last time, he really laid into her. She thought she would never stop bleeding. She was shocked when she woke up without a headache or any new bruises.

I drove for weeks/and months/and years/and never went no place

She stared at her fuel gauge and concentrated. She did something to it. She wasn't sure what it was but it worked. Eyes facing the dashboard, she considered her options. All two of them.

I know what that light means. I got a good 20 miles left. I'll circle around for a little while longer and then head home. I can gas up in the morning. It will be okay.

What do you want from me?

"I'll be back in six days Paul. I'm going to miss you. Will you be okay without me?"
I give her the look. Something between annoyed and assuring. What I want to say is Yeah. I can take better care of myself than you, you fat needy wreck.
She kisses me. Its on the forehead. This is progress. It took a while for us to come to a more comfortable understanding. We have communication issues. She's really fucking dense. I'm not attracted to you lady. I'll hang out here because we got a good thing going on but try to keep your greasy hands off me. I even had to hit her a few times. Of course she took it, I'm all she's got. We both know this.

"Goodbye. I'll call you"
And I won't listen. I hate phones anyways.

I go to my own personal bathroom. I hated sharing one with her. Its not like she can't afford it. I take a head clearing shit and make my way to the couch. It's only 9 but I feel like sleeping anyways.

When I wake up, my food is prepared for me. I could get my own but why bother? It makes her, what she calls, "happy" and the less I have to do, the better. Being available for this wretch is draining. We're both on vacation right now. Not that I work or anything. She also left me a nice, big bag. Its the strain I love the most too. I spend the next 3 days stoned, well fed, and happy. I even sneak out a few times and score a little passing tail. Sluts, I love 'em.

She will come back in four days instead of the six she promised me. Whatever. She couldn't bear to be without me. She paid to change her flight and everything. She probably told everyone at the resort about me. This is why she doesn't have any real friends, any real people in her life. I love the life she gives me but I hate her. I hate her needs, her weakness, her body, her face, her voice. Maybe I really am getting exactly what I deserve. I wish I could say the same for her.

She waddles through the door and plops down her suitcase. She grabs me and presses me to her face. I am trying very hard to stay cool.

"I missed you so much baby. I couldn't have a good time without you. Come here"

She kisses me, this time on the mouth. I swat her fat face and rake my nails into her cheek.

I'm a cat for fuck's sake. What do you want from me?