Night Walking

Gently, I picked up a rock from the pavement and smashed his windshield.

I felt no remorse; he never should have fucked with me in the first place. As the windshield shattered, lines of glass separating, like the veins of an emaciated man, the sounds of neighbors, fine and vigilant people of the area, could be heard resonating through the alleys and down from the rooftops.

"Shut up you faggot!"
"Get a life bozo! Go to sleep!"

And the insane Jewish mothers, curlers in hair, last bon-bon still on their breath, shouting from a distance..

"Don't you know what time it is? God damn --"
"Johnny?!! Is that you? You magg--"

And the variety of commentary that could be heard reverberating continued. I thought to myself, I'm not Jewish, I'm crazy. I walked away from the vehicle slowly. hoping that those who could see me know that I am just an innocent passerby, a good samaritan like them, frustrated and awake at this ungodly hour. I probably had just come out, looking for the rogue creating all the racket. As I walked my black shoes buckled against the dark pavement, like a strained horse galloping away from the action. It didn't help that my shirt was bright yellow or that I had a sizeable chunk of my shoulder missing, blood pouring out of it slowly. It had been a few hours since that incident and I had luckily eluded my captors by jumping into the back of a passing garbage truck, throwing the garbage men off, you could hear the thud of one of their heads (accompanied by a groan) and the scream of the other as he hit a pile of wood on the side of the city street and broke his leg (craaack) as he did so. Sorry guys.

As I hung on with my good arm to the back of the truck, expecting a pickup-stop at any moment or a drunk vagrant to pummel me with a glass bottle, I saw several people sleeping in the street, some with plastic covers, some with old, weathered jackets and finally some with cardboard boxes. In the next moment I saw a man exit a building with a pristine black, pinstripe suit, with Black Bruno Mali shoes, something shiny on his wrist, short black hair slicked back and a black leather briefcase. As we drove by him, I stuck my hand out smacked the back of his head. He dropped his cellphone and briefcase and started chasing after the truck yelling "You fuck! I'm gonna get you!" He was snarling and seething at the mouth. I laughed as we turned a corner and he ran out of steam, screaming at me as the distance between us grew till infinity.

I continued to hang on, sucking in the night-morning air, thinking of my next conquest, my next escape. Forget this place, I thought to myself as I lept off the truck and onto the quiet, foggy street.

One More Bob for the World Today

There is one more Bob Arctor in the world today.
His slippery appearance will elude so many again.

There is one more Patrick Bateman, a stare looking back at him from a mirror.
A slumped over homeless man mourns somewhere.

One more breath.

The Slow Isolation of White Space

cough cough.
snap snap snap.
get going, get going, get going.
please move on, please move on.

go ahead and cancel it.
charge it on mine!
put it in the suede bag.
place my shoes in there please.

a policy in GPO land.
symbol q.n in exchange 438 xrp.

I am subscribed, prescribed, derided.
How many words do I hear each day?
How many new words do you hear each day?
If only I could speak new words each day,
breathe new life, stop tapping my head
not knowing what the next will be.
Can I start to know it all, be familiar,
get rid of what I don't need?

Exclusions instead of inclusions?
Break loose instead of hang tight?
Distribute instead of consume?

We're media loons after all.

Hi, I am this poem. Don't read me.
You're wasting your time and you're wasting mine.
Because of you, I still exist, an idea in a head
somewhere is what I am.

This poem makes no sense, ehh?
There is nothing about it that binds it.
Its just a way to pass time,
mental masturbation,
real horror-show.

Go to sleep, my author already did that,
why are you still awake?
Leave me alone already! For god's sake, its wrong
monitoring and following me like this.

Just turn the page, click the button or
do whatever the fuck else it is you have to do.
Tuck me away somewhere, let me rest,
let me vanish, disintegrate, perish.

Let me be (me).

blast echoes temptation

motives expire, explosives detonate
desires transpire, prayers resonate
thunderously dire, prior efforts are too late

some survive with their voices
others die by the gun
some stand by their choices
others try to cut and run

trees don't care how one ends up in the grave
when its trunk is used to make the coffin
what matters is if one was brave
enough to take a punch but never go down

Run Jack Run - Grogs Part 4

"Its a bloody sprawl that brought me to the place where I am today." -- Jack

I shot through the front doors, past the bathroom and down the brown and dusty hall. I could still smell the stink from all of the bankers who had shit and pissed on the bathroom floor. As my legs propelled me down through the darkness of this god-forsaken place, I could hear screams firing at me.

"Jack don't forget --"
"Hey Jack nice tie --"
"Mother fucker! Get out of my --"
"Jacky boy! How's the --"
"Can you sign this before you--"

I felt like screaming, "You're all fired" but I knew that would require me to stop and explain, which I definitely did not plan on. Not today, not when I was late for Grogs.

I headed towards the staircase, trying not to knock over a woman carrying a pile of financial reports but her movements were to jagged and I ended up plowing over her and an explosion of paper hit the air. Pages flying left and right with bindings flying off and stabbing the arms of all of those unfortunate enough to be seated in the area.

"What the fuck! God --"
"Son of a bitch, whats this sh--"
"Watch where you going you damn who--"
"Oh my god my fucking coff--"
"Jesus, can you calm down?"

I apologized briefly, "Sorry about that! Maybe you should carry fewer at a time.." and navigated through and around the puddle of coffee and paper clips; I was on my way, rushing up the stairs, heading towards Grogs and his crazy shit. Words going through my head at the time:

shit
piss
fuck
hurry
papers
coffee
Cecilia
freedom
wonder
Florida
pussy
fuck
jealous
Grogs
smack
punch
kill
death
thrown from the copter
happy
content
sleep

And then I'm just about at the door, ready to finally head out onto the helipad, when I hear a thud and everything goes black.

black
smack
what?
Grogs
kill
bastard
fuck
Cecilia
quiet.