trash snippets #4

ME:“Nono, sweetheart. This not how you do it. Look.”

DEALER:“Twenty- one.”

ME:“See? That’s mine now. You want a smoke? I won a good brand and a nice lighter… Here. Now you.”

POOR GUY:“Go away.”

ME:“My, touchy? No darlin’. You have to hit… There you go. Now stick!”

DEALER:“Soft seventeen”

ME:“Oh. now come on. Don’t leave me now. You’re doing great! Don’t make that face, smile sweetheart. You’re my lucky charm.”

POOR GUY:“No I’m not. What makes you think that I’ll stick ’round?”

ME:“Yes, you are! You’re the most pathetic, luck free person in this room. And broke. I’ve got a job for you, mister-leave-me-alone-I- have-to-drown-my-problems. I’ll make you my pet.”

Septim

Septim

He felt the pressure-lock shutting behind him. Latching. He clutched at his suit and breathed.

To catch a sane thought he tried to shake off the wooziness, but his head was spinning,  fingers tingling. All that adrenalin screaming through his system. The sensation of moving skin and muscles under his hands. The fading power of defense, which wasn’t a defense anymore. His arms would remember that feeling as long as he lived. The nausea was overwhelming. A big gulp forced his stomach back down.

Continue reading “Septim”

trash snippets # 3

I stood in the middle of the garden. The sun shone down and tried to melt the blue out of the sky. In front of me, a big Hydrangea bush dipped. Something moved, fell and rose again. Something black. It dropped…. Mhmm.

“You see it? Landed over there. Bird of paradise flowers. Look.” Danaus plexippus. Monarch butterfly. His steps stopped right behind me. I looked him square in the eyes, but I couldn’t read anything in them. The insect moved across the orange flower. “They’re bigger than I thought.” He told me lazily leaning on my shoulder. His weight and warmth attached itself to me… I felt a tiny click somewhere inside. The click of two magnets meeting. His breath smelled of coffee and liquor. “You know it by name? Don’tcha, doc?”

Breathing was always hard with him around. Speaking even more, so I swallowed instead. He snuggled with my nape. “Why do you always smell so good?” He hummed into my hair.

trash snippets # 2

trash snippets # 2

“You have to be a proper human! Not just some kind of smart and crafty animal.” An old hobo pokes at his leather jacket. “All instinct and raw character with no manners.” Oz gives the old man the eyebrow. He  has to decide whether he is amused or irritated. Maybe both, maybe equally.

The man belonging to the dry bony pocking finger blabbers his words mixed with jiberrish. Or is that a language? The eyebrow shoots up again. Was that something mainland European?

“You know how a proper human looks like, lad?” The old man laughs and attempts to stand up. His hands shoot forward to grab the counter. It seems to be moving for him. “Not like this…” He concludes more to himself. “Still not drunk enough. There’s still hope in me. It keeps seeping into me, through the cracks of the night and day. Suddenly its all back from nowhere…” He slams his palm unto the polished wood. “Dammit! You hear that, lad?”

Oz gets his rum, and is about to drink.”What do you mean? The music?”

“I only hear one song.” The club goes mad behind the hobo, the mass on the dance floor twitches and screams to a new song. He points at his heart and then between his brows. “It is here, all the time. Nothing else. It tugs and pulls…” The rhythm pushes on, vibrates through limbs and guts. Oz’s eyes find a beautiful lady in a black dress in the crowd enjoying herself. Then they come running back to the drunk old man. “Alien melody, boiling my blood. Already heard once before, can’t remember where.” He looks at himself in the mirror of the bar, smirks. “I could go anytime, I know that. I don’t have to be alive, but what can I do? Not rushing things. Stepping back in line.” The monologue turns even more into an irritating and awkward angle. The hobo strokes his left lower arm.

“My mother used to say: all roots dig into the black, the dirt.” He sighs and looks at Oz pondering. “So do I. Betray and get betrayed. You know what I mean, lad?” His eyes  plunge down the bottleneck, preparing to drown in there. “Heh, flush the guilt with this.” He drains his beer and waves it to the bartender, who nods and  places a new full bottle before him.

trash snippets # 1

trash snippets # 1

They get shoved down the stairs, into the dim belly of the club.

Kosmo takes one deep breath, before submerging into the vibrating opaque atmosphere of the noise ocean. It is coming to greet them, to swallow them, to devour them in one bite.

Suddenly he feels the air in his lungs turn to acid and leak into his bowels. “Pull yourself together,” he orders himself. Even if he is going to have a panic attack, there is no way back, with all the people following them down. Others want in, want to get their brains washed away by beats. He is pushed forward, like some middle section of a running millipede.

Benny turns his head and beams up at him. “You’ll like it. You’ll see!” Kosmo doesn’t hear a word over the laughing and the music, instead he forces a smile and nods to whatever his best friend just said. He has given up, and let Benny pick out clothes and location. And this is what happens: him, being on the edge of disgust, disappointment and irritation. Maybe anxiety too, but he isn’t going to let anyone in on that. After five years, his first night out – alibi socializing. At least Benny will finally shut up.

They make their way to the flashing dance floor. The mass is about to go mad, heaves and breathes perfumed sweat, liquor and smoke. The rhythm drills through limbs, hearts and heads like a machine.

Kosmo searches for the darkest corner and starts to gravitate towards it. He needs an excuse for Benny and evaluates his possible choices. Excuses he has used the last three weeks, used all of them, and his best buddy will notice. No excuses then! Maybe he manages to disappear and manifest in the furthermost corner of the room.

But Benny – with his super bullshit sensor- feels him slip away, and grabs the collar of his leather jacket. He has a sixth sense for him sneaking away. With both hands he pushes him towards the dancing twitching crowd. The music stomps on. For some time he considers just stopping. Not making another step; due to his size, Benny won’t be able to move him, if he didn’t wanted to…

Kosmo’s throat dries up, and his heart tries to break out of his rib cage. It will undoubtedly try to crawl away…

He wants to crawl away so badly, hide somewhere, in the fuzziness of the club. The next best thing is the fuzziness of a drink. Yes. He sets his mind to it. Go get a drink! He tells Benny. He mimics it, plays it out for him. Drink. Benny’s hands detach from his spine and he is free. Free.

His best friend laughs  and waves a little goodbye. Kosmo points at him making a questioning face. Benny shakes his head before disappearing between the rhythmically moving limbs.

by night

I’ve always been afraid of the dark.

My whole life I was scared when the lights went out. When the day dissolved into the night, I crawled, as fast as I could, under my blankets, leaving my reading lamp on. Often the whole night.

But things change…

There is no reading lamp – not anymore. No blankets. I sit in my chair, smoke and wait for the dusk to come. The grayness descends so slowly, carefully, not to scare anyone away.

Emerging from the business of midday, from the productivity others use to care for, the twilight spawns. Slowly unfolding, growing… As if breaking up the surface of  reality, the fuzziness within and around things reveals itself.

In those moments I feel my heart beating stronger, louder, faster… As if it would  respond to a call, I did not hear in the first place. Ill-defines movements under a dust layer. Left alone, for so many centuries. Left to feel despair, to feel quilt, to feel … myself, my flaws.

Janus

I can’t stop myself from looking at him – snow white skin, hair, dark as chocolate, topaz eyes borrowed from a bird of prey, soft lips, bowed in a mischievous arch – vibrant memories, which won’t  let me sleep, won’t let me close my eyes. Even if I do, I’ll open them up, asap. Feeling his breath, his gaze peeled to whatever there is to be to be noticed in my face.

Even in the darkness of the room, drawn curtains, and the half moon shining… Even in the solid black mist his eyes seems to glow in that strange orange golden light. He seems to emit it, his faces, his mouthes, his shiny teeth… All screaming curiosity.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I´ve never seen someone fall asleep before.”

“What? Never? Why?”

“I never sleep. So I’m curious.”

“Suit yourself.” Indeed, I’m exhausted, and ´bout to fall asleep. “So you never sleep, hm? Do you – ever dream?” My lips move lazily. The bed sheets still hot and messed up. Feeling heavy on my skin.

“Yes. But mine are different from yours. I do not lose myself doing so.” His voice softens, moves closer somewhere near my left temple. “And when you’ll lose yourself, you’ll be empty – a living, breathing hollow shell. Just waiting.” His voice sounds now like a whisper, moves suddenly from my left to the right ear… Of course -forgot- two mouthes. Two tongues. Strangely, they sound the same.

Can’t open my eyes, sleep burns inside of them. It is a soft warm black, that keeps dripping, dissolving into my mind. “Mhm. What for?” Words drop out hazily, I just breathe them out.

“For me, to do as I please… Shhh, now. Go back to sleep…”