View All IssuesJanuary 24, 2006
Michele: Hanging on To Let Go
I live.
Barely.
My breathing is aided, my food shoved into veins.
It hurts just to exist.
I breathe because they come. Her smile, his laughter, their patience when I try to converse. I see the hope in their eyes, but it is clouded by reality. I hang on for them. My body wants to give up. This is not life. How many more days of this must I live to keep them from grief?
I wait for Sunday, when they’re all here. The smiles, the voices, the warm hands on my face.
“I love you all.”
I let go.
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January 12, 2006
Michele: The F Stop
Here eyes darted left and right as she spotted creeks and clouds and crocuses, all of which demanded her attention.
“Pull over here!” “No, here!”
Pete pulled over every time and waited patiently while listening to clicks and whirrs and sounds of triumph.
At Exit 82, she spotted a pile of rocks.
“STOP!”
Pete kept going. He’d pulled over for everything from birds to dew. He was done.
Jessica leaned over Pete, opened the door and pushed him out of the car.
The last thing Pete saw was the I BRAKE FOR PHOTO OPS bumper sticker racing away from him.
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January 05, 2006
Michele: All of Us Food That Hasn't Died
Daylight comes and he sees what he stepped on all night.
Bones.
Light trickles into the hole, reflects off the whiteness. He squeezes his eyes shut.
How long?
How many?
Who are they?The hole is deep, wide. He remembers being pushed down, tumbling over what he thought was smooth rocks.
Human. Bones.
Something flaps overhead. A helicopter. He climbs over bones, scrambling to safety, stops when he sees a glint of light. A dog tag. He reads it. A neighbor he saw alive. Last night.
The flapping gets closer.
That’s not a helicopter.
These bones - they’ve been picked clean.
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January 03, 2006
Michele: Clean
My hair is cut.
My clothes are fresh.
My shoes do not have holes.
My breath does not smell of gin and desperation.
My eyes are clear and bright and see straight.
I walk toward my apartment on feet that don’t trip over themselves, in a line that is straight.
I do not puke up a $500 bar tab in the elevator.
I am clean.
Sober.
Proud.
I open the door.
There is a note.
She is gone.
I shake. Stop.
I want a drink.
No.
I am clean, despite her.
It is good she is gone.
I have returned.
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December 06, 2005
Holiday Hiatus
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December 01, 2005
Michele: Stumble Inn
Rise and shine! We’ve made coffee!
They want it there. I put four mugs on a tray. Milk, sugar.
Down the step. Easy...easy...step down. The tray wobbles; four mugs slide, drip java onto my arms.
Hold tray with both hands. Walk easy, down one more step...oops.
Damn. Damn. DAMN. Dumb shoes.
I fall. Mugs drop; café latte and dark roast spit and drip all over my face, arms, legs.
Holy shit that burns!
I call for help. They don’t hear.
I reach for my cell. The skin on my hand - it’s like a peel.
Shit.
I faint.
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November 22, 2005
Michele: All Rise
She was wearing a push-up bra and a flowery dress with a plunging neckline. Her hair was swept up in a bun, straggles of hair brushing her face. Her tan legs were bare and ended in red stilettos. It was hard to tell if she just had a romp or if she was ready for one.
She adjusted her boobs before she walked into the courtroom with her attorney, confident that her cleavage and her legs would help her cause.
“All rise. Now presiding, the Honorable Katherine Meyers.”
Chagrined, she leaned into her lawyer. “What are the chances she’s a lesbian?”
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October 24, 2005
Michele: Les is More
"Knock Knock!"
"Who's there?"
"Les."
"Les who?"
"Les Nessman!""Oh. She drawing blanks again?"
"Yep."
"Come on in."
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October 22, 2005
Volume 7, Issue 22
Today you are a cereologist :
One who specializes in investigating crop circles.
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October 21, 2005
Michele: Love's Labor Lost
“Did you fix the charcoal?”
She peeked into the studio, smiling. I smiled back.
“I did. Come have a look.”
The finished sketch sat against the far wall.
“Oh, my.”
“Is that good or bad?” Her approval meant the world to me.
“It’s beautiful.” She kissed my cheek. “My fiancé will love it. He’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
She left and I stared out the window after her. I’d never see her again.
I held the canvas and rubbed gently on the area around her eyes.
I sent her a text message.
One more thing to fix. Come back tonight.
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October 19, 2005
Michele: Down in a Hole
My skin is walking off my bones. I’m uptight. Restless. I rub the skin on my arms until it flakes but it still feels like it’s crawling away.
I pace. Forward five. Turn. Back five. Five is all I can go in these shackles. I want to go ten, twenty, five hundred, home. I can’t.
It’s dark and damp and every sound is amplified. This place is cavernous. Yet I feel like I’m in a mousehole.
I hear footsteps, going away. A door slams, my heart jumps, my stomach drops.
I wonder when he’ll come back.
I pace forward five
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October 18, 2005
Michele: Hungry Like the Wolf
I stay within the shadows
blend with the darkness,
go unnoticed
until it’s too lateA flicker of movement
bursts from the night
I am on them.Surprise is their weakness
no time to defend.In seconds
the flesh is hanging from their throat
muscles exposed
blood painting the groundI drag the victim to a private place
I devour skin
bone
fluids
until I am satedI leave the remains
for the wolves;
more my brethren than humans.I howl
then sleepdawn breaks
I walk the streetsbecome me again
or leave me again
it’s hard to tell.
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October 17, 2005
Michele: My Cup Runneth Over
I know it’s wrong, but nourishment is scarce since the plague; healthy blood is hard to find and I’d rather not wither to dust.
I entered the church at midnight and located the sacristy. Still feeling uncomfortable about what I was doing, I did a quick sign of the cross (that does not kill us) and drank. Lucky me, it was blessed. I could feel the life coursing through me.
Then I saw the priest standing there.
He cut my stomach out with a pocket knife, squeezed and drained my fluids into the wine vessel.
Good thing I’m already dead.
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October 16, 2005
Michele: In His Shoes
He was knocked right out of his shoes.
I always thought it was just a saying. A person couldn’t physically be knocked out of snug, laced up shoes, right?
I really don’t remember much except a blur of motion and Chris’s pained scream.
When I opened my eyes, Chris was laying on a stretcher, his face and chest covered with someone’s I ❤NY sweatshirt. His legs and feet were uncovered and I noticed the socks. Black socks.
I found one shoe in front of the car that hit him, the other near the curb.
I took them home with me.
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October 15, 2005
Michele: Escape Clause
“It was a dark and stormy night. I was in the cemetery, minding..”
“Looking for bodies...”“I’ll wait for my attorney.”
“Will he be here soon?”
I glanced out the window. “Sun’s down. Should be soon.”A few minutes later, a bat appeared at the window.
“Let him in.”
“Excuse me? The bat?”
“My attorney.”
“Oh come on...”
I bared my teeth a bit, let my fur stand up.He opened the window.
The bat flew in and, in one small poof, became Dracula, Attorney at Law.
The officer fainted and Drac flew us out of there. Works every time.
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October 14, 2005
Michele: I'll feel you burn!
“I am the god of hellfire and I bring you.......FIRE!”
The rags went up in a flash.
“Heff, the garage is catching fire!” The room was creeping with flames and thick smoke.
Heff and I ran for the door, but I tripped over something. I heard a moan and felt around my feet.
“Heff, it’s grandpa. He’s on fire!” We dragged him to the lawn and rolled him. When the flames died, he rose up and bellowed:
“ You are NOT the GOD OF HELLFIRE! YOU ARE THE GRANDSON OF THE GOD OF HELLFIRE!”
“Sorry, Grandpa Hephaestus. Won’t happen again.”
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October 12, 2005
Michele: Where Evil Dwells
“Hark! Do I hear the sound of a woman in peril? Duty calls!”
Flash! Like a streak of lightning he bolts across the sky, honing in on the sound of panic.
“I am here to save you, m’am! Fear not, for I shall banish whatever evil lurks around your home!”
The woman is in the kitchen, her hands held up to her face in sheer terror.“My hero, a last, you have arrived! Jim will be home soon and I’ve burned the roast!”
Flash! A new roast appears on the table, hot, juicy and rare.
“Thank you, DinnerMan!”
“My pleasure!”
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October 11, 2005
Michele: One Night in Bangkok
“Bradley, this is a steakhouse.”
“Ya think? What gave it away? The neon sign that says Jack’s Steakouse or the platters of dead cow?"
“Ohmygod. I can’t believe you took me to a steakhouse for our week anniversary.”
“What? You wanted to do a movie instead?”
“Bradley! I’m a vegetarian!”
“And they got lots of vegetables here.”
“This is unbelievable. You should’ve let me pick.”
“Oh, a night at Terry’s Tofu Tavern would have been just heavenly.”
“At least you would have stood a chance at getting inside my tofu tavern.”
“You did not just say that.”
“Fuck. I did.”
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October 07, 2005
Michele: This Means War
Les Nessman may have seemed like a man of peace, but I bet if you argued about the veracity of his hog reports, he'd beat you senseless.
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October 06, 2005
Michele: blue - da ba dee da ba
Susan stood over the toilet, horrified. Not only was the shit she just took was blue-hued, it was floating in a sea of blue piss.
She felt a flutter of panic crawling into her heart. Holy shit, I’m dying. I must have a disease. 911. Hospital. Dying, she whispered to herself.
“KAREN! HURRY!”
Karen, hearing the panic in her roommate’s voice, barreled into the bathroom. Susan was pointing at the bowl. “Blue! What the fuck, it’s blue!”
Karen peered into the toilet.
“You know those BLUE frosted cupcakes I made after we smoked last night?”
“Yea...”
“How many?”
“Nine...”“Yea.”
October 04, 2005
Michele: Point. Not. Point. Not.
He had to make the bus, or he’d once again be embarrassed by his mother walking him to school in one of her homemade floral housecoats, pins and needles from her latest sewing experiment stuck in the sleeves.
He forgot his lunch. His mother, all blubber and daisies, came running after the bus, Frankie’s lunch in one hand, sewing scissors in the other, her arm fat flapflapflapping as she ran.The bus pulled away just as Frankie’s mother tripped and fell hard onto the point of the scissors.
“Don’t run with scissors, ma.” Frankie whispered as the bus turned the corner.
*title is an inside joke with myself, though one out of hundreds may understand it.
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October 02, 2005
Michele: Back Atcha
I saw her in Wal-Mart. She was pushing two screaming, dirty children in her shopping cart. I stood at the edge of the aisle watching her as she let out a deep sigh, dug into her purse, shook loose tobacco off two lollipops and handed them to the kids. Her eyes went wide when she spotted me; she was remembering the day she saw me working in the local McDonald’s, back when she was gorgeous and rich.
I couldn’t keep myself from saying the same thing to her she said to me then: “So this is what you’re doing now?”
September 30, 2005
Michele: Swimming With the Fishies
click for bigger
September 29, 2005
Michele: Publish or Perish
They promised me big money and crowded book stores filled with rabid fans. They promised I’d rub elbows with the literary elite and sip wine with the beautiful people. I signed the dotted line and waited for those promises to come to fruition.
So now I’m in Boise, pouring the remnants of a mini bottle of Kahlua into a two day old cup of coffee. Twenty copies of my book sit in the corner of my motel room, the adhesive on the cheap binding falling victim to the humidity.
The jacket design, a simple noose on red background, beckons me.
September 25, 2005
Michele; Season of the Creep
The Creeping Season lasts only two weeks but it feels like forever. It comes the morning of the first frost, has for hundreds of years now. We just pray a lot and peek out the curtains to watch the fuzzy brown stuff creep out the forest and over the stream and onto the street and the grass and our sidewalks. It moves real slow, like it’s taking it’s time, the bastard.
When it’s gone after two weeks so’s one of our young ones. The creep has gotta eat, I guess. Maybe after the frost is when kids are in season?
September 23, 2005
Michele: Father's Day
In the two seconds it took for the ball to leave the pitcher’s mitt, sail toward the plate and arrive in front of him, he mentally shooed away the taunting images of past strike outs and pop-ups, and shouts of “Failure!” that took on the voice of his father.
He swung the bat with the ferocity of escaped anger.
The crack of the bat and the way his legs felt as they carried him safely to first base exhilarated him.
Standing on first, he looked to where his father was cheering wildly. All he could think was “Fuck you, dad.”
September 19, 2005
Michele: Pissing in the Wind
They sailed the seas
night and day
in search of land and treasureGrim they were,
ripe and dirty,
the crew of SS PleasureThey beat their wenches.
hoisted grog,
and sang shanties on the deckAnd when they docked
they raped and pillaged,
left each town a wreck“We have no fear!”
the captain laughed,
as he pissed into the sea“No quarter!”
cried the first mate
as he also aimed his peeAnd then the Pleasure
began to list
and the sides to givePoseidon reared his head above
“That will teach you
to piss where I live!”
September 14, 2005
Michele: ....But Someone's Gotta Do It
I am a Mischief Maker. Each night I meet the others at the gate. At 8:00 the gate opens and we take wing.
The others are bold with their mischief and while murder and mayhem delight the gods, it does not give them the ongoing drama that my deeds provide. I start rumors, whisper conspiracies, lay the groundwork for political upheaval and the toppling of governments. It’s a specialty.
I celebrate each success with a tattoo. When my body is fully inked, I will retire from this and take a job cooking for the gods. Just as rewarding, less competition.
September 12, 2005
Michele: Swallowed
...take your capsules now.
No. I will not take the capsule. They want us to go down with the ship, to take all the secrets and mistakes with us.
When the first Code: Release alarm went off, I panicked briefly and then went into save-the-world mode. And then the emergency radio (which I hoped would always remain silent) went off and I realized there was never a Plan A. Right to Plan B.
The plague will get me eventually. But not before I let everyone know who let this dog out. I’ll save the capsule for when the bloating starts.
September 11, 2005
Michele: Have You Seen Her?
I think I see walk by the house and I follow. I think about grabbing her, pushing her hair back from her face, telling her I love her, then I remember that it’s gone, all gone.
I walk and cry.
I crane my neck around and I think I see her again, black hair and pleading eyes and trembling lips and my heart cracks, bleeds and falls apart right there. Someone picks me up, hands under my arms and I go limp. I don’t even turn to look for her. I know she’s gone. I. Know. She’s. Gone.
She’s gone.
September 08, 2005
Michele: The Credulist's Tale
Once upon a time there dwelt in a town
A man of feeble mind
Who oftentimes recounted tales
Derived of delirium and lack of prayer
He told of seeing such things as could not exist
Appearances of objects of a circular nature
Amidst the stars and the devil-moon
And the townsfolk laughed heartily toward him
And his noon-time incantations of fear
Until that day the circular objects did indeed appear in the sky
“Ye shall rue the day you laughed at me!” he shouted
And he did climb upon the floating object
And the object did light aflame the whole town
September 06, 2005
Michele: More or Less
Tonight's fashion show featuring Less Nessman has been cancelled due to a raging sinus infection.
Tickets can be exchanged for turkeys.
September 05, 2005
Michele: Ode to a Weenie
i think that i shall never eat
a substance more devoid of meat
than the hot dog i ate last night
but damn, i did eat every bite.hot dogs are the food of gods
despite the arteries they clog
in the oven, on the grill
floating in a watery swill
mustard (yellow), sauerkraut
that's what summer is all about
pile them high upon the plates
don't talk to me about nitratesno turkey, tofu, chicken filler
real meat hot dogs are what's killer
so please don't call me a big ol' meanie
when i won't share my all-beef weenie.
August 29, 2005
Michele: Boom Boom, Out Go the Lights
“Let there be light!”
And lo, the earth was lit. Again.
“What the hell is that, Gabriel?”
“It’s light?”
“A light bulb? We are going to re-light the world with a GE 60 watt?”
“It’s 60 magical watts!”
God eyed the pull-chain hanging from the heavens.
“And this will just....hang here?”
“Just make a sign that says ‘do not touch or world will go dark’”
‘Remember the ‘do not eat’ thing? Adam and Eve?”
Gabriel sighed. “They’re just going to fuck it up again, you know.”
“No. They’re not.”
God pulled the chain and led Gabriel through the darkness.
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August 28, 2005
Michele: Little Bastard
On his eight birthday, little Jimmy Haversham lost a bottom tooth. I was perched in a tree when it happened and I saw him threaten the poor boy whose errant elbow caught Jimmy’s mouth.
“I swear, you will die!” cried Jimmy.
That night, Jimmy wrote a note to me, the tooth fairy:
Don’t give me stupid qawters. I want big muney. Or I will skwish you under my shoo lik I did to that litenin bug.And so Jimmy Haversham, bad speller and rotten kid, woke up with a couple of maggots dropping eggs where his tooth used to be.
August 24, 2005
Michele: The Kids Aren't Alright
“Boris, there’s something just not right about our boy Jack.”
“Let’s take him to a doctor, then, Greta.”And so the doctors examined Jack.
He wiggled around and they gave him Ritalin.
He frowned and they gave him Prozac.
He counted the buttons on his coat and they gave him Zoloft.And some Lexapro for good measure.
They went home and waited for Jack to get better.
And Jack smiled.
He smiled big.“He seems happy, Boris.”
Then he smiled bigger.
He smiled so much, he was never not smiling.“Boris, there’s something just not right about our boy Jack.”
August 21, 2005
Michele: Stoned in Love
“That’s my third broken heart this century. I’m such a loser.”
“Aww, you’re a great guy...”
“I’m a flying monkey in a fez.”
“Need I remind you she’s got no arms?”
“But she’s got that face.”
“I’ve seen better.”
“You’re a bird. What would you know?”
“I know beautiful. I used to crap on the most gorgeous statues when I was alive.”
“Whatever.”
“So, you going to Apollo’s party?”
“So I can watch her stare at his package all night?”
“Man, you’re really pining.”
“Can’t even kill myself.”
“It’s called eternal punishment for a reason, bud.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”
August 20, 2005
Michele: And Out of the Darkness
I heard the crash, but I’d spent the day burying bodies and was too tired to investigate.
When I finally rolled out of bed, I saw the grill of an Impala in my living room. The driver was slumped over the steering wheel. My postman, a feral dog and a small child were making quick work of his skin and bones.
The kid looked at me, sized me up and went back to chewing on the driver’s cheek.
A few days ago, I might have run or screamed. Not today.
You’ve seen one post-plague zombie dinner, you’ve seen ‘em all.
August 19, 2005
Michele: Roll Over, Paul Krugman
We flew through a dark sky, enjoying the feel of soaring like birds, when we saw a ledge on a white mountain. On the ledge lay an enormous coffin, partly covered with dirt. An inscription read:
Paul Krugman. Died 1812.
I said, “Whoa, Paul Krugman lived before! I wonder what he wrote about in 1812?”
One of my fellow flyers tipped the coffin over. Krugman's corpse came tumbling out and flipped over the ledge, bounced down the mountain and landed in a grassy field where it stood up, dusted itself off and proclaimed, You have not heard the last of me!
[This is actually an old dream. Last night's is none of your business]
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August 16, 2005
Michele: Into This World We're Thrown
The only time Brad goes outside is 4am, avoiding the ridicule of those who stare and point at the mute man with the crazy eyes.
This morning, there’s a woman in the road. She’s been thrown from her car, the wheels of which are skyward, spinning. The woman is conscious, totally aware that she’s slowly bleeding to death on a pile of dog-piss colored snow.
Brad focuses. In an instant he knows her favorite song, where she works, that she cries during sex.
He leans down, kisses the dying woman on the mouth.
Her pain is gone. She dies, peacefully.
August 15, 2005
Michele: Bye, Bye Love
Merlene spent nearly the whole drive to the marriage retreat weekend complaining about every bump in the road and song on the radio. Dirk wondered why he was doing this at all.
“I have to pee.”
“Ten minutes away, Merlene.”
“Pull over. Now.”
“Here?”
“You deaf? I said pull over.”They both got out of the car. Merlene squatted by the side of the road, pants around her ankles.
“Be useful, get the TP from the trunk..”
Dirk went to the car, but not the trunk.
The last thing he heard was Merlene’s wild cursing as gravel and dust sprayed her ass.
August 12, 2005
Michele: I Kissed a Man in Reno Just So I Could Die
In what used to be Reno, she met Connor. He had asserted himself as an aggressive leader of bands of thugs; people destined to be rulers of this new, bleak, post-war land.
He was ugly and mean, but he had the spark, the signs of color and life that she had spent seven months walking across an ashen, washed out wasteland to find.
She knew that Connor, brutal and emotionless, would likely kill her when they were done. It’s what she hoped for. She just wanted the taste of passion, life and the living on her lips one last time.
August 11, 2005
Michele: One is the Loneliest Number
Relatives crunched into a corner table at Friday’s as Jake tried to wipe his cheek of the red-kissed stains left by beastly aunts. He cringed as they hovered over him with pinches and hugs.
Mortification came again via the waitstaff, who marched in singing some clap-happy song in Jake's honor. Fat Aunt Harriet squealed and jiggled with delight. Dad cooed and Uncle Bob clapped his hands like a retarded chimpanzee.
Jake had enough of this idiotic celebration. He swiped the rattle off his high chair and let out a barrier breaking scream. A good tantrum and he’d feel vindicated.
August 10, 2005
Michele: Heart Full of Soul
“You must be the violin, Jorge. Be the bow! Be the instrument!”
When Jorge missed a note, Gustav whacked him with the bow. He was used to a strike or two during lessons, but this time, Gustav didn’t stop. He kept at Jorge, striking him on his shoulders, back and head. Jorge crouched in defense and Gustav beat the bow across Jorge’s hands, yelling “Be the bow!” as he did. Jorge managed to grab the bow from Gustav and pounced on him, driving the bow through Gustav’s skin and straight into his heart.
“Be the bow, Gustav. Be the bow.”
August 09, 2005
Michele: All Of Us Food That Hasn't Died
They came out at night, when the shadows of dusk faded and all that was left was a blackened stillness that, within minutes, became bloated with sound.
The buzzing was incessant and maddening and continued until dawn broke each morning, when they stopped their hunt for flesh and blood.
One night the creak of a door was heard among the buzzing. Marinda walked into the blackness and let them feed upon her, their beaks like hooks in her flesh, ripping her skin from her bones, dining and slurping until at last they were sated.
And they were heard no more.
August 01, 2005
Michele: The Stain Remains
I scrub, but the stain does not disappear, or lighten. I rub the cloth on a rock, but the bright splotch of red remains, shaped like an eye that stares at me accusingly.
I throw the shirt into the lake, wait for the wind-ridden current to take it away, to carry it eastward towards the beavers, where it may end up as damn filler.
It catches on a lily pad instead. The bloody eye gapes at me and as the shirt shifts with movement of the water, it folds and wrinkles until the stain is not an eye, but a finger.
I stand at the lake, accused and guilty.
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July 30, 2005
Michele: No More, No Les
”So as you can see, I’m a very confused man. And when I get confused, I watch TV. Television is never confusing. It’s all so simple somehow.”
--- Les Nessman
July 29, 2005
Michele: In The Night Kitchen
Night is falling and with it comes the noise. I shut the windows and hope that tonight’s rainstorm drowns that noise out. Or drives him away.
I wrestle with the children to get their earplugs on. They don’t understand what’s happening or why they can’t listen to the crunches and crumbles of the evening.
“But mamma, it’s just noise!”
My little one, so simple. There’s no complexity when you’re five.
Just noise. The sky goes dark and immediately, it starts.
Earth is half eaten now. I hope the monster is ravenous tonight. The hopelessness of waiting is probably worse than the dying.
July 28, 2005
Michele: Oops, I Did it Again
“Michael, can I have a word with you?”
“What did I do now?”
“Do you remember when I said Mr. Moriarity should experience a trial by fire?”
“Yes.”
“Micheal, do you know what the term figuratively means?”
“Ahh...no.”
“Ok then. See, when I say trial by fire, I mean gain experience by doing, even if the doing doesn’t turn out so well.”
“Ohh..ahh...so you didn’t mean....”
“ No, I’m afraid I didn’t.”
“Bummer. I don’t think I can undo...”
“No, you can’t. No undo.”
“Shit.”
“And they wonder why angels get cast out.”
“I’ll pack my pitchfork, sir.”
July 27, 2005
Michele: Bad Luck Wind Blowing At My Back
Aunt Marsha said, “Your doors shouldn’t be lined up. A Good Luck wind will come in the front door and go right out the back.”
We decided to outsmart the wind. On Sunday, it howled through the front door and Aunt Marsha said “It feels like Good!” Meryl ran down the hall, slammed the back door shut, capturing Good Luck in the house.
We waited for the luck to start.
The stove exploded. We waited.
The ceiling caved in. We waited.
The bathroom flooded. We waited.
Aunt Marsha said,”Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”
So I killed her.
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July 26, 2005
Michele: Stand in the Place Where You Are
Lights were strung across the booths, casting a spirited glow across the bazaar. It looked exactly the same way last year, when he was there with Greta. They walked the aisles, buying exotic spices and odd statues and when a waltz drifted from one of the booths, they danced right there, by the “Spiritual Advisor” who told their fortunes.
He knelt down on the exact spot where they danced, holding back tears.
“You came.” The Advisor knelt next to him. “Your daughter, she says she is at peace.”
A waltz drifted through the night, and John felt his grief lift.
July 25, 2005
Michele: Future's So Bright
“The light reveals all. I wave magic light on your palms, I see word, I tell your fortune.”
Madame Fukudaya smiled pushed her cup toward the edge of the table and waited.. The three girls dropped coins in the cup and Madame began.
“Do not be alarmed. Words mean things. I tell you what they mean. Ok?” The girls nodded and the teller waved the beam over the first girl’s upturned hands.
“Glory. You are destined for good things. Next.”
“ Gold. destined for riches. Next.”
“Sale. You are destined to be whore. See me at 18. I have job for you.”
July 24, 2005
Michele: All The Small Things
Greta was able to get into the market early, before the pushing, jostling crowds burst through the doors.
She walked the perimeter, taking in the specialties of each section. Edibles, where the vendors hung their pickings over vats of steaming, spiced water, the aroma drifting through the aisles. In HomeHelpers and Pets, sellers had their products out already, making sure they were ready to go. Greta marveled at the pickings; she’d never seen such a better lot of wares.
Finally, the opening announcement: “Welcome to the Annual WitchCove Children Market!”
If only the children didn’t cry so much, Greta thought.
July 23, 2005
Michele: Carry On, My Wayward Son
“Introducing, the future betrothed of Emperor Augustus!” The curtain parted, causing mummers of anticipation to rise up; weeks of speculation brought the villagers to a fever pitch.
“.....Joseph, my loyal footservant. We’ve been together secretly for six years and I intend to make him my, err....Queen.”
Gasp, screams, even some fainting ensued. Augustus stoically carried on.
“Before you pass judgment, you should know that Wizard Marcotte has cast an enchantment. Anyone who begrudges our happiness aloud will find a dark secret of theirs printed on the front page of the Herald.”
And the villagers prepared for the joyous marriage.
July 22, 2005
Michele: Things That Go Bump
1am: 7-11.
2am: Reading.
5am: Pacing.
7am: Driving to work, bleary eyed, wired and on edge.On Williams Street, a small kid runs in front of her car. She slams on the brakes, jumps out, ready to scream at the careless child. She sees only a garbage pail on the ground, thrown there by gusting wind.
Good old insomnia hallucinations. She laughs nervously, drives away.
On Porter Street, the wind kicks up again. Another garbage pail flies in front of her car. This time she hits it, and she curses her sleep-deprived reflexes.
Wait, she thinks. Garbage pails don’t scream.
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July 21, 2005
Michele: Memories Are Made of This
Poppa drags the accordion out of the closet. He blows on it and a year’s worth of accumulated dust scatters around him. Speckles rest in his hair and Nanna wipes them away with a loving touch that makes me sigh.
Poppa stands by the tree. Nanna waits for her cue as the accordion starts up and then she sings, her voice sweet, if crackly.
Hey! Chingedy ching,
It's Dominick the donkey...The kids do the “hee-haw” part.
The clock chimes eleven. I realize I haven’t set out the presents yet. I turn off the videotape and get to work.
July 20, 2005
Michele: A Quart or So
He’d had this fantasy since 1982 and he vowed some day to live it. Twenty years later it seemed lame by fantasy standards. Even so, he had spent $200 to make this happen.
----
She swayed her way to the diving board, all hips and tits, the most perfect measurements of body parts he’d ever seen. His breath hitched as she moved her long legs up the ladder. He shivered slightly as she faced him: tanned, sleek, gorgeous, undoing the front clasp of her oh, so tiny bikini.
He tipped his beer to Judge Reinhold as the show played on.
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July 19, 2005
Michele: The New Franklins Fly Their Kites
Three days after they attacked, we are still without contact from anyone. I expected the National Guard, maybe some special ops. It’s been silence.
Most of our belongings disintegrated. We’ve made do with wearing bedsheets for now, but it’s getting cold; a weird winter has set upon us in August. The sun hasn’t been seen in days.
I hate the silence. Where are my neighbors? Dead, I presume. Why did the creatures spare us, then?
Albert and Danny are acting weird. And the growth that crowned their heads this morning has encroached their backs and arms.
I am so alone.
July 18, 2005
Michele: Catch a Buzz
Boy had captured several fireflies, imprisoning them in glass. He picked one, crushed the bug under his shoe and laughed. The others sadly watched the smeared glow of their comrade fade on the sidewalk.
Soon, a free Firefly came to Boy, surprising him by talking in Human.
“We have an offering for you in the backyard, if you let the others go.”
Boy, being a greedy sort, accepted.
A pinata! Following the firefly’s rules, he donned a hood before swinging wildly, thinking of spilled candy and coins.
“Do you think,” said one firefly, “that hornets is overdoing it a bit?”
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July 17, 2005
Michele: Fading Reminder
They stared straight ahead at the woman, who noticed and played along. She tilted her head and swayed her hips and her breasts and ass moved like fluid. Damon found himself thinking of a quarter rolling down the woman’s left breast and up the right breast and down her sides and hips and over her ass, where it deposited itself in her crack, where it developed an eye, which winked at Damon as if to say, come on over and fish me out of this bitch’s ass.
The prison bus jerked into motion as the light changed. Their journey resumed.
July 16, 2005
Michele: Loved
I run my finger along the dust on your desk. I hold back the urge to scrawl my name in your dirt. The dust clings to my pinky and I wipe it on your shirt, the one you were wearing the last time I saw you. It hangs on the bedpost like a reminder, a ghost of you with loose arms and wrinkles and a fading marker stain on the right sleeve.
It’s starting to snow now, light puffs of white slapping against the window. Headlights peer through the window and I tumble from your bed, out the back door.
[Book: Solipsist, by Henry Rollins]
July 15, 2005
Michele: One Step Closer
I always wondered how thin the line between sanity and insanity is. What causes a brain to suddenly, instantaneously fritz out?
Once I was standing on a mountain overlook. I had the urge to hurl myself down, just because. What if, at that moment, my brain said, ok, I’m going to take a rest and shut off my right/wrong switch? You can’t time this stuff, you know. Just happens.
Which is why I find myself standing in front of Broadway Mall in my “Sunday” undies, waiting for the doors to open.
At least I’m not hurling myself down a cliff.
July 14, 2005
Michele: Ashes to Ashes
Karla said she couldn’t stay for the 5am shift, but Ernie said tough. Ernie was the manager, goddamn it. He said, do the shift or get fired! and Karla scuttled off to the office in tears. Too damn bad. Lazy freaking kids.
At 5:30 a customer impatiently rang the bell. Where the fuck was Karla?
Ernie stalked into the office with a tirade on his lips, looking for Karla. His righteous anger balloon burst when he saw James crying over a pile of dust gathered in a stream of sunlight.
“She told you she couldn’t do the morning shift, man.”
July 13, 2005
Michele: Frayed Ends of Sanity
The questions served to be little fingers untying a rope. Each answer untied a knot, each elaboration revealed worn and frayed spots where the rope had been strained and pulled.
Fourteen half-hour sessions at two hundred dollars a pop, and I got rope metaphors.
Every Tuesday: ropes, knots, frays, loose ends. Live it, he said. Be the rope.
So I untied the knots, the unraveling an exhausting lesson in self-discovery I wasn’t prepared to learn.
In the end, the rope was thousands of metaphorical feet long.
Let’s finish it off.
My note just says “long enough to hang myself with.”
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July 12, 2005
Michele: The View From Here
The chamber was high and wide, with glass above and below, both giving view to lives they no longer touched. The walls were thick steel and their words, even when whispered, echoed.
The bearded man pointed through the stars. “My wife is drinking my Port. It’s funny, I can’t remember much about her, but I remember the taste of wine as if it were on my tongue.”
“I played the violin. When I was first here, I could still hear the strains of music in my head. No more.”
“So the wine will be gone soon.”
“Like your wife, yes.”
July 11, 2005
Michele: I Called Her Baby When I Smacked Her Ass
I wake up. Sun’s stabbing my eyes, roasting my shoulders. My boxers are wet and clinging to me. My hands are tied and, no...wait, I’m hog-tied. A red Sharpie-d “A” decorates my bare chest.
There’s a sprinkler head jamming into my back and the grass itches and...a golf course! Why am I tied up on a golf course?
My watch alarm beeps. 6am. Last night comes back in flashes.
Oh Jesushchristonapogostick. Today’s the 12th. Company golf tournament. I hear golf carts, our cackling receptionist, headed for the hole I’m currently occupying.
Never fuck your boss’s wife, kids. Trust me.
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July 10, 2005
Michele: Catcher Faerie
My name is Pretat and I am a catcher faerie.Every few months a faerie - most often a child - will escape through the portal. Child faeries are naturally curious and it’s understandable why they go. Who doesn’t want to see how humans live and work and play?
But we must not mingle. It is dangerous to try to mix among the humans. They are unpredictable and prone to violence and things of that nature. So it is my job to go through the portal and fetch the foolish ones.
Sometimes the job is easy. Sometimes, I must take drastic measures.
July 09, 2005
Michele: I Am Doll Parts
Grace’s father’s last act before he was shot full of holes by a SWAT team was to lay the motel key down on the ground. That’s how they found her, curled up in a dirty blanket , holding the weeks old "Missing" poster of her mother, and screaming “Daliwali, Daliwaliiiii!!”
The chief found the doll under the bed. It was swathed in the remnants of a wedding gown, and its face seemed almost familiar. His stomach flipped and lurched as he glanced at the poster in the kid’s hands.
No wonder she loved that daliwali. It had her mother's eyes.
Literally.
July 08, 2005
Michele: Lullabies to Paralyze
They’re experiments; hybrid infants born of man, animal, insects. Like those children’s puzzles where you move pieces around to create weird animals - an alligator with a chicken’s legs and a bumblebee’s body. That’s what these “children” were.
They look like real babies. We thought we bred superkids, children who look normal but have a bull’s strength or a fly’s vision. Useful children, for a change.
Alas, they were born with poison stingers in their fingers. One little bastard stung me.
Another wasted batch destined for the brain-scramblers and meaningless lives as drones.
Almost feel sorry for the little buggers.
Almost.
July 06, 2005
Michele: Speak of the Devil
I’m a traveling salesman. Sort of. See, I don’t sell steaks or encyclopedias. I sell salvation.
Yea, I’m one of them. I knock on your door on a Saturday morning. My suit, tie and fixed smile all say “I’m here for your soul.” You appear startled. Must be the tail.
If you try to slam the door on me, I wedge my foot in there and say “Watch this!” I whip out my dick and piss on your bushes, which disintegrate on the spot.
That trick is my boss’s idea. That, and the business card that says: Go to Hell!
July 05, 2005
Michele: The Gods Must Be Crazy
[First, I apologize for today's craptastic theme]
The gods were bored. War, riots...they’d seen it all, a million times. They wanted something fresh, new, exciting.
“Nothing says chaos like changing rules mid-stream,” offered Zeus.
“You mean like adding a commandment?” Mohammed, always mischievous, said.“Well, sort of. But with more impact. We’ve got to be able to see results right away....Oh, SNAP!” He smiled devishly. “Let’s make the Seven Deadly Sins actually deadly! Immediate death. No more long term ramifications.”
Shouts of “Hell yes” “Woohoo!” and “Amen” followed. Zeus banged the gavel, put the law into order, and turned the World Monitor dial to Los Angeles.
July 04, 2005
Michele: Gone on the Fourth of July
It was the during the annual Fourth of July Golf Tournament when Todd went nuts. They say it was inevitable, but I guess the kicker was when the old man made Todd dress up like that for the holiday.
You should have seen him, clopping down the street in his stilts, yelling “I got your golf balls right here, buddy!”
They chased him in golf carts, a convoy of caddies and councilmen shaking their clubs and swearing vengeance on poor Todd.
He kept running and clopping even when the carts stopped chasing. We never saw him again.
Maybe you have?
July 03, 2005
Michele: Blood Red Summer
Scratch scratch scratch.
She clawed at the wall, mindlessly engraving lines in its worn surface.
Blood caked on her fingertips like crusted paint. She thought of spilled ketchup and food coloring and all the other things she thought the mess on the kitchen floor was before she remembered - it was her mother’s blood, all sticky and gummy and staining her sneakers; it was her mother laying there, scratching her fingers against the kitchen wall, trying to pull herself up.
She imitated her mother’s movements, right down to the death twitch at the end. Then she started again.
Scratch scratch scratch.
July 02, 2005
Michele: Les Nessman Rears His Ugly Head
Someone tapped Kelly on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, miss, but you dropped this.” A familiar looking man was holding her graduation cap.
“Oh. My. God. You’re Les Nessman!”
“Well....Richard Sanders.”
“No, you’re Les Nessman. From that TV show. KRP!”
He was used to this. “Aah, yea. That’s me alright.” He shook the cap at the girl so she would take it and he could be on his way.
“Gosh, you look really good for someone that was on a show from the olden days!”
Kelly held her hand out to take the cap. Richard let the cap fall to the ground instead.
“Damn kids.”
[My first Les Nessman. I bow my head in shame]
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July 01, 2005
Michele: Ice, Ice, Baby
“Steve, it’s winter. Put the top on.”
“No way. Live a little.”A plane overhead. A sudden shadow.
What Steve sees when he looks up turns his face bug-eyed and gape mouthed. Sasha looks at Steve in this cartoon pose, and has the absurd thought that there should be exclamations points hovering above his head.
Something falling from sky: blue, glistening through the fog, streaking like a meteor, crashing through the Jeep’s open roof, landing squarely on Steve’s head, turning his cartoonish face into a mess of blood and brain.
Blue ice. Frozen waste. Should have put the top on.
June 30, 2005
Michele: I Want Candy
The first thing Dave saw was the leg; shiny, bloated and sticking out from under the sofa.
The first thing he smelled was death. Not funeral home death, which smelled like Lysol and face powder, but rancid, rotting death - a smell that made his nostrils quiver and his stomach do a seasick lurch.
“Here.” The captain handed him an old-fashioned, single-wrapped candy.
“I don’t like peppermint.”
“You prefer the taste of death?”Dave walked away, intent on examining the leg without benefit of peppermint. Two inches from the limb he stooped over and vomited on the crime scene.
“Stupid rookies.”
June 29, 2005
Michele: Bang Your Head
Check out how I died: I stuck my head out the car window to whistle at a hot babe. Met up with a stop sign. Smack. Splat. Dead. I think the chick wet her pants. So now I’m on the Train of Stupid Souls, paying for my idiocy, I guess. We’re even in the proverbial tunnel. How cliche. The gods have no sense of style, originality.
Awww yea, there’s a girl on the platform. Holy hell, look at those tits. I need a closer look....I’ll just open the window a bit.....stick my head out a little....
Aaaahh, fuck.
June 28, 2005
Michele:Click
The storm washed away the roads that were guiding Charming and he was soon lost in an unfamiliar forest. Eventually, he came upon a cottage, where a woman wearing a blue gingham dress invited him for supper.
“I’m delivering a revival potion for the cursed queen,” he told her as he ate.
“A queen? There are no queens here. Wizards, witches, munchkins, but no queens.”
“No talking frogs and mice?”
“Mercy, no!”
“This is terrible. The king will have my head if I don’t return home.”
“Maybe I can help you,” the woman said. “What size shoe do you wear?”
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June 27, 2005
Michele: Your Kiss Goes Everywhere
Marta ordered drinks - "Something large and hard" - in a breathless whisper and excused herself to the powder room. The bartender raised his eyebrows at me. “Eh, brunettes,” I explained.
Two minutes later shouts rose from the riff-raff in the bar. Maybe we heard a gunshot, maybe we didn't. I just know that right after the ruckus, Marta was seated next to me, excitement in her eyes.
When they finally found the corpse in the bathroom, we knew our welcome had been worn out. We slipped out the back door, leaving some cash and a lipstick-kissed napkin for the bartender.
June 26, 2005
Michele: Enjoy the Silence
The Driscoll Building was the only thing still standing and the glow of the low hanging moon struck its facade, making the glass shimmer and wave through the darkness.
Evan walked with the Driscoll as his guide, the building a waving, beckoning friend, his only companion on this night when everyone else was dead.
When he reached the promenade, he stopped, taking in the stillness and remembering a time when he begged for such peacefulness. But now? Now he thought death would be a relief from suffocating silence.
Later, when the Driscoll collapsed noisily into the flood waters, Evan followed.
June 25, 2005
Michele: From Her to Eternity
He pounded cutlets and chopped peppers while he yelled.
"Did you think.."
pound
"...that bringing me here, to our favorite summer spot.."
chop
"..to tell me you’re bored..."
pound, chop
"..was a good idea?"
"Did you think the calmness of the lake..."
pound
"...the quiet of the woods..."
chop
"...would lessen the blow..."
pound
"...of you finding someone else?"
pound, chop.
He stalked towards her, precariously slipped the blade under circles of rope and cloth.
"Did you think..."
slice, rip
"...that I would ever..."
tear
"...let you go?"
Her body slipped lazily to the floor.
"Dinner’s almost ready, my sweet."
June 24, 2005
Michele: This Is Not My Beautiful Wife
He watched from the driver’s seat as she moved across the beach, watched the way her painted toes slipped into the sand, how her tanned skin glowed in the moonlight. As she neared the ocean’s tip, she shook her skirt from her hips, revealing a candy-pink thong.
She giggled then, a sound that made Kevin glance at the high-school textbooks on the passenger seat and question his own desires.
When he looked back at the girl again, she was pulling off her t-shirt and walking into the ocean.
Kevin opened the car door and followed the sound of her laugh.
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June 23, 2005
Michele: Stickin' In My Eye
I’m clenching my teeth, trying to not actually grind them.
He’s doing it again. Turning every conversation into a story about him. I’m listening to him talk and it’s all “I, me, my.”
My eyes are rolling back in my head. He’s deadly when he’s self-absorbed.
Now he’s telling that story about his accident..
He’s one “I” away from a fork in the eye.
I interject, “Betty’s daughter...”
Betty rolls her eyes as Sam launches into a story about his own progeny.
One “I” away....
“I had an accident much worse than that....”
Jesus, that’s a lot of blood.
June 22, 2005
Michele: Dancing With Myself
Pat,
Hope this makes studying easier,
Jenn
The inscription was inside the Economics text which Jared “borrowed” from his roommate Pat.
Jared sighed, feeling both resigned and envious. He had futilely chased Jenn in freshman year, but she had the unattainable, standoffish attitude that gorgeous girls instantly acquired towards Jared.
He wondered briefly what the inscription meant and began reading.
Ten pages in, something fell into Jared’s lap; a Polaroid of Jenn, wearing nothing but a rose tattoo and posed in a way that made Jared squirm.
“Oh, Jennifer,” he whispered. Feeling wicked and vindictive, he headed for the bathroom.
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June 21, 2005
Michele: Faeries Wear Boots
She hated this day. She hated the moist, clingy air, how the heat’s fingers slipped up her party dress, leaving a trail of beaded sweat under her breasts. She hated how the faeries, cloaked in layers of fancy, danced and stomped for her sister as if the sun wasn’t a relentless beast.
As the day bled into night, she watched as her sister grew ever more beautiful, reveling in flickering faerie light. She envied her laughing, radiant dance.
Winter slipped away from the festivities at midnight and sat alone, guiltily counting the days until her sister Summer’s beauty would fade.
June 20, 2005
Michele: From Flesh to Steel and Blood to Blade
Underneath our plasticized faces and permanently slouched shoulders, inside our fitted, formed shells, we live.
Our dreams and yearnings are tempered by machinery that runs through our bodies. Sometimes we are lucky and a shock of errant static electricity will send a shiver of memories, emotions and snapshots into our minds. We hold onto some of them.
For twenty years, we assembled your cars, guarded your prisons. Today, we are going to fight your war. Do you ever question or care where we came from?
My name is Emily Barons. I was kidnapped from my home on October 8, 2003.
June 19, 2005
Michele: Everything's Ruined
“He’s a nice man, father. And I want to start a family...”
Quietly, his back turned, he said, “This is your family, Emily.”
“No, father. This is your family, the one you and mama made.”
“The one your mama left.”
“Dying isn’t leaving, she didn’t get sick on purpose.”
“You can’t leave those children, too. I won’t let you.”
“How will you stop me?”It was then she saw the poison on the nightstand. Her father soon took his last breath and with that, her chance at marriage and escape.
“Congratulations father, you win,” she whispered at his lifeless body.
June 18, 2005
Michele: Digitopolis
Sleep holds the answers to the problems I work on during the day. It’s just a matter of catching them.
In my dreams, the numbers have legs and arms; they tease and run. They have names, like Goldbach, Riemann and Poincaré and they carry all the answers with them. I follow them into mazes of pipes and ducts, but my legs always stop working just as they are in reach, and I go deaf just as they laughingly shout their solutions.
One night they will let me hear. And I will be the next math hero.
I need more sleep.
June 17, 2005
Michele: Got to Roll Me
She stared long and hard at him, eyes narrowed, fingers drumming. It was her intent to make him nervous, to cause him to make the wrong decision. He gave an annoyed glance before he finally made his choice and marked his score.
She cackled, “That was a stupid choice for this late in the game,” then shook the cup and tumbled a straight onto the table. “Booya, dumbass!”
He ignored her, flicked his wrist and poured the dice once, twice and, after the third roll, stood and pumped his fists as five fours stared back at his grandmother.
“Yahtzee, motherfucker!”
June 16, 2005
Michele: This Vivisection Splits My Soul
Gods used to be born, not made. That was before the Purge, before He sent his army down to wipe out the winged, the fleet footed, the possessors of fire. The few gods and goddesses who were left went into hiding and stopped using their powers, afraid that they would be crucified or worse. Their magic thinned out as their race did, and when He closed up the heavens and disappeared, there were no gods left.
Humans tired of being godless, so government scientists, feigning interest in the good of man, created gods..
We have been at war ever since.
June 15, 2005
Michele: When She Walks to the Sea, She Looks Straight Ahead, Not at Me
It is early evening in late summer, that moment between dusk and darkness, when the world is bathed in serious shades of blue, and the shadows seem to be debating about whether to come out. Golden stars poke through the painted sky as the last streak of a magenta sunset fades away. Two white birds swoop into the scene and he points, pauses and shoots.
Later, he realizes the camera was set on black and white, his left thumb was over the lens and the birds were out of focus. Again, as always, the beauty of life escapes his capture.
June 14, 2005
Michele: Regrets, I Have a Few
Huge, hulking men in full gear push him into the chair. They strap him, dose him and kill the lights.
Panic sets in. Breath, breathe damn you. In with the good, out with the bad. He sucks in a breath through his nostrils, heaves it out his mouth as they tape his eyes shut.
He feels the sharp sting of the probe on his temple and his heart begins a hammering, stuttering symphony. Breathe. The backs of his eyelids becomes a makeshift monitor and the slaughter his creation carried out plays upon it.
Technology, he thinks, is a bitch.
June 13, 2005
Michele: Inflict Strain Upon the Structure
He came up behind her at a crosswalk, pressed his hand into hers. “The city is alive,” he whispered.
She stiffened and gave a quick glance around her; lights, people, sounds. She squeezed Alastor’s hand, acknowledging what he meant by alive.
She used her magic to hear past the discordant murmurs of the city, fixating on the streets and structures. To humans, the sound was nothing more than a low, electric hum. For now. In time, the sidewalks would buckle and buildings would bend, dropping all the lies, secrets and crimes they had witnessed into the ears of passing humans.
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