(no subject)
Nicola let us borrow her car because we needed cigarettes. Her keys fit into the ignition just as swell as the night fit into my imagination. There was this gorgeous passenger in her passenger seat. The weight his body held against the leather seat is a minor percentage of the weight his body held against my heart and mind (not counting the weight of his head). The words and lyrics sent back and forth between us. Eyes playing down each other's bodies like metal balls in a pinball machine. Upon both our heads, every string of hair danced in the wind escaping in from the gaped power windows. For once in our lives, the radio signals were wholesome for a little while. If only, if only perhaps it was the cause of our own secret signals being crossed, so close together, to infiltrate the original broadcast. Something special just for us. We parked on a dirt road off of LeForge. I struggled for a moment and earned the courage within myself to bat my eyes to his. He stared deep; strong and aggressive. This man, this man of mine. He reached out his arm and stroked my hair from front to back. I knew strands of dandruff were smothering the soft flesh of his tiny hands. His fingers began to play with my rat-tail only just before pulling it back and jerking my head into submission. The force of his mouth pressed against mine was halfway shocking, halfway enthralling, and halfway I don't know. I was too flustered and confused by the scrape of his five o'clock shadow against my lips and chin. His tongue dove so deep down my throat, tickling parts of me that no woman could ever attempt to touch. Due to my stereotypical social phobic emotional disorder, I felt my force pushing him away... But, baby, I pushed him too hard. I wrenched him right into the zero hour between life and death. Right in the middle of the face. His entire head slung back and hit the plexiglass of the passenger window. A slight crack appeared. Blood quickly wrote a song down his face, from his forehead to his chin to his shirt, and then some of what I couldn't even see..
Immediately, I started singing. I couldn't think of what to do so I just started singing. I sung a song I knew. My Bloody Valentine's "Lose My Breath". I apologize for the irony involved in the situation.. but the song fit, and made me feel better. With my hands wrapped around the wheel like it was the throat of an unwanted child, I drove around the woods in a vehicle not my own attempting to find a proper burial spot for my best friend. I could smell the blood staining the car interior. I could feel the tension building in my bones; the guilt, the sorrow, the justification. The proper burial. Somewhere he would like. Perhaps a riverside? Perhaps a mountaintop? Perhaps a fence post? A ditch? A cherry orchard? I don't know. He had so many loves as one of the living. Perhaps I should bury him in the front yard of his girlfriend's parent's house with a dildo shoved in his mouth so she'd know what a faggot he was. Perhaps I should dump him in the river rolled up in a carpet lined with pizza crusts and remnants of meatball submarines. I don't know. I don't know. But I do, I do, and I did. With my own hands and arms and strength, I wrapped the corpse of my best friend in old bedsheets and I dug a hole in the woods so deep to hide his body in. This is where he'll decompose. This is where worms will work through his dead skin and crawl into his eye sockets just to squirm through his empty veins. They'll infest his heart. His liver, his kidneys, his stomach. Maggots. They'll eat anything that is left. They'll eat every hug, every drunken kiss, every piss we shared in the upstairs bathroom of some girl's house. This is where our legacy will now reside. Infested. Deceased. Gorgeous. Unforgettable..
Immediately, I started singing. I couldn't think of what to do so I just started singing. I sung a song I knew. My Bloody Valentine's "Lose My Breath". I apologize for the irony involved in the situation.. but the song fit, and made me feel better. With my hands wrapped around the wheel like it was the throat of an unwanted child, I drove around the woods in a vehicle not my own attempting to find a proper burial spot for my best friend. I could smell the blood staining the car interior. I could feel the tension building in my bones; the guilt, the sorrow, the justification. The proper burial. Somewhere he would like. Perhaps a riverside? Perhaps a mountaintop? Perhaps a fence post? A ditch? A cherry orchard? I don't know. He had so many loves as one of the living. Perhaps I should bury him in the front yard of his girlfriend's parent's house with a dildo shoved in his mouth so she'd know what a faggot he was. Perhaps I should dump him in the river rolled up in a carpet lined with pizza crusts and remnants of meatball submarines. I don't know. I don't know. But I do, I do, and I did. With my own hands and arms and strength, I wrapped the corpse of my best friend in old bedsheets and I dug a hole in the woods so deep to hide his body in. This is where he'll decompose. This is where worms will work through his dead skin and crawl into his eye sockets just to squirm through his empty veins. They'll infest his heart. His liver, his kidneys, his stomach. Maggots. They'll eat anything that is left. They'll eat every hug, every drunken kiss, every piss we shared in the upstairs bathroom of some girl's house. This is where our legacy will now reside. Infested. Deceased. Gorgeous. Unforgettable..