the weight curse

Part 1

It was the clattering in my kitchen that woke me. Stupid cat, I thought and turned under my blanket. Wait. I have no cat! I sat bolt upright and listened, heart pounding. The kitchen clammed up. I croaked a ‘hello’ into the dark apartment.

My dry throat begged for a glass of water and a panic room. Gosh, all these wishes were as likely as an oversized cockroach making me coffee. The air moved. Something smashed on the tile floor. It must be rats. ‘Mr. Burglar, go away. I’m broke.’ 

to give away

Each step on the road I take,

Each step on this line of blood,

A bullet point on the list of suffering

-if only I could understand

bad blood

One cold night the full moon’s blaze burns

The children tremble and pray, taking turns

The sky bursts its heartbeat into buzz’n thunder

Black turning into whistling metal, going under

My sweet baby, there’s only blood for your baptize

ready for bed, after the noise and havoc slowly dies

Stay in your cellars, a howling beast is out tonight

It’s something beautiful, deadly and cruelly bright

The night shivers with autumn stars

Highways packed with abandoned cars

Dark and deep silence solidifies into absence

shifting days and nights back into balance

Wishful thinking, being covered in leafs and  mud

Meat and saliva, sweet baby, this is bad blood

said and done

I can’t wait for those nightmares

bad choices snicker at my scares

on the fence, I’m drying my sins

guts of a scapegoat fixed with pins

Where to Mr. Jones?

part 1

 

The thin man walks up to you. “Mr Jones?” In his hands a cup filled with mealworms. “Your car is waiting. This time the driver won’t be naked. I promise.” He sips from the cup, makes a delighted sound. 
You try to fight back the overwhelming nausea. You’re gonna throw up, if he smiles!
“Come on, Mr. Jones. Don’t make that face. It´s not polite.” Thank god, you turn your head the other way. You just nod. You don’t want to look at that face, ever again. You hope he is not your driver.

the name of the morning star

I’m in love with the morning star.

This is not only about me, my stories, or my search.

It’s about the sky and the stars, and everything behind that deep blue void. Behind that distance, the stone cold space, deprived of… meaning?

No.

That’s not right.

It isn’t the lack of meaning.

twisted

I don’t know what it is…

We just sit on the stairs, outside, in the darkness. No one speaks. Rain. It is a gentle, silent rain like in autumn; still summer though…

Inside, the party is in full swing. Laughing, music and shattering glass. Next to me she moves suddenly. The ice cubes clinks in her glass. I still have liquor left in mine.

„You know“, she states, letting her voice slip away into the blue. „You know, I’m different.“ I wait if she throws a meaningful look at me, but she doesn’t.

I stare at her silhouette, trying to spot the thing that isn’t right. Feels like… Don’t know. She is weird. Definitely. She talks with an accent I don’t know where to put…

Besides, who else would prefer the chill outside over a party? Who cares? Something about her face catches me, in first place. I think it is her eyes. She keeps them casted down. But from time to time, she seems to forget it, and I catch a glimpse.

She has unusually bright yellow eyes, glowing with a soft golden light. As if there is a lit candle in the depth of her scull.

„I’m a foreigner.“ She says in a flat tone. This time she looks at me. „You should not be here. With me.“ Her eyes darken. „Leave! They come to pick me up.“

eloquent baby sitter

The door to the office isn’t closed. My desk is nearby, so I can hear Mr. Ribinsky yelling at someone on the phone.

“What? It’s been now; let me check my… Two hours and forty minutes straight. Well. I can say that you are a persistent little shit. Congratulations on that! You get your assignment alright. But don’t come and complain about the client. I told you – you are not ready. Yet. You are going in anyway? I guess, you do. But if you insist… Don’t expect mercy from me, or anyone else. Got that? Good!”

The noises from the building lot cover the rest of the conversation. The construction workers are making a fuss. All that yelling and whistling… What’s up? I only guess, that Smith finally got his appointment. He is the only one not-ready-cause-still-recovering.

I´ve been doing his job lately. Mine and his, that is.  He’s sloppy, unfriendly, reckless and lavish… Lately, there have been a lot of complains about him, and his little problem.

Smith is one of those guys, who just don’t know when they have enough… Which is not my problem. Mr Ribinsky stands in the door way, smiling at me. “No. Whatever it is. Just no!” I tell him, but I already know it’s too late… “What?!” I ask.

“Dear Wellington, even if you roll your eyes in that eloquent head of yours. It´s already decided. You do such a great job! I think a promotion and a nice raise is going to be in this month. If!” His voice is so sweet.

“If…?”

„If-you-watch-over-Smith-and-he-doesn’t-fuck-up.” His eyebrows -and his chest-shoot up expectantly.

“This is a fucking joke?!” No way I’m going to do that!

„I’ll fire you, if you don’t.” He laughs. “You know you’re good, but-  you want to bet your job on that?” He’s right. “It’s a nice raise. Big money. And a paid holiday. Anywhere you want.”

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.” He’s reeling me in.

“Damn you! I swear, I’ll punch Smith so hard, he’s going to need an ambulance, if he annoys me. You know he merits it!” He has a stupid grin on his face. So satisfied with himself.

“Do as you wish. Whatever seems suitable for you. I give you plenty of rope.” With that said, he turns around and goes back into his office.  Babysitting Smith won’t be easy. A hell of a week.

“Look at you, you poor poor Mr Know-it-All. So you are going to watch over Alex, hm?” Estelle, Mr Ribinsky´s secretary, is leaning over her desk to me, with an amused look. “Mr Smartypants, you look so annoyed… Boohoo. Now  listen, you bookworm! If you lay a finger on Alex, or harm him in any way, I swear I´m going to cut you!” Obviously she hates me. But this means that she likes Smith… So, this is how he gets his informations. I’m not impressed. Not at all. Raising an eyebrow to her, she pulls a switchblade knife from her handbag and makes a distinct gesture. From left to the right, across the skin of her own throat, just under the jawline. Then she points it smilingly to me.

What’s under Lady Luck’s skirt?

“Kiddo. You need luck! Without it, you don´t even start.”

The old man looks friendly. His wallet lies on the ground, near his seat. He’s already finished his  coffee and  his pie, rumbles on about something in the newspapers. There isn’t even one he could be lookin’ at. Anyway. He stares at me. He talks to me. What the hell?!

And me? Lookin’ busy. Studying my books sprawled over the tiny coffeeshop table. Old man, why you keep  looking at me? I’m not interested in social contact… Except for that wallet. Yes, that wallet… I’ll keep that in mind.