HOME | POLITICS | SPORTS | LIFE | SCI/TECH | OPEDS | HELPFUL TIPS
|
Feb. 21, 2007 Many Hands… They arrived at the same time, and the two were part of a group of friends that were helping another with a move. M ate half of a submarine sandwich and then gave the rest to his dog. M had one real eye and one glass eye. His dog was named Blackie and had two real eyes. They soon went into the apartment building and up the elevator. At the apartment D was there and she sat at her kitchen table. D was a lifelong political activist and saw life mostly in those terms. She had pictures of a lady in her kitchen. She had photocopied these and taped them to the wall behind where she sat. They were pictures of Rosa Parks. Soon some others arrived. They loaded everything in an old blue pickup truck. Somehow they all piled in after. Some sat in the cab, and some sat in the back, on the furniture. One of them, J, sat atop a chair. They drove through main streets and made for a strange sight. There was M and Blackie, and the old hippie driving, and there was D, the political activist. J had a big beard and wore blue coveralls for no reason other than they were comfortable. They received not a few stares. M asked J if he thought the pedestrians should throw rose petals towards the truck. M told J that he knew all about his guru, and had seen him on television in the eighties, looking holy as his followers threw rose petals at his feet. In a fake Indian accent M laughed and, imitating what he thought was on the guru’s mind at the time, said, “Yes, yes, bless you all…and who is the fool now, yes, who is the fool now. Give to me all your money please and thank you very much, yes yes, very good, give to me more please…who ease tha foooool nowa?” At this J played the part and pretended to bless the people they passed. When they got to the government townhouses they got out and looked around a bit. They moved the stuff in without much of a problem. A few others arrived. It was a bleak looking place, but it had nice flooring for some reason. Two of the group sat in a room talking. A good-looking woman of about twenty five said to J, “ Why won’t you sleep with me sometime? You make excuses, and say this and that. I don’t believe you though. It is because I have the virus. You won’t even kiss me. I would like it if you would just kiss me. I really want to kiss you. I would settle for just one kiss.” J did not answer. He had already told her many times that he would not sleep with her. He had also told her he would not kiss her. He had the idea that even kissing was something very intimate. Soon M came in the room and rolled a joint and lit it. M and the woman smoked it, but J did not. After a while there was the sound outside of an ice cream truck. They went out to buy ice cream, and as J fumbled over and over again trying to count out the proper money, he started laughing and couldn’t stop. He realized that because the room had gotten green housed, that he had gotten a bit high. The ice-cream truck man was amused and kept saying to the three, “High on yer own supply. High on yer own supply. High on yer own supply…” It was not funny, but it made J laugh more, because the ice-cream truck man thought it was funny. J was laughing at the ice-cream truck man, because J thought the ice-cream truck man was a loser. The ice-cream truck man was laughing at J, because he thought J was a loser. M was just eating ice cream. The woman was standing there, probably trying to figure out a way to get J to at least kiss her one-day. Somehow they managed to pay for the ice cream and go back inside. Later on dusk came, and D was settled enough in her new digs. Everyone began to make their way home, or to wherever else they were going. J felt an excitement in his belly as he walked along the busy sidewalks. He made his way down into the subway. When the train arrived, he saw one of the city’s free newspapers, and turned to the astrology section. He read all the horoscopes, then put the paper back down and just looked ahead of him at the walls outside the window as the train continued from stop to stop. Matriarch Vexed ladies And broken Glasses of Lemonade Their matriarch Was dying In the springtime Brave soldiers Of the thing called Life, but this was Beyond them Everyone pays Everyone pays Their Dues The void Is a cunt that Way Someone has To sweep the Broken glass Even and Always As the matriarch Dies ------------ Email Brian Michael Barbeito: Brian1750@Hotmail.com Comment on this article here! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
||||||
|
|
|||||||
|
