She followed him home from
the casino
because he
swore he was a gambling addict
A true gambler
he lived only to gamble
Never missed a chance to declare it
"I like gamblers," she
said. "Love 'em to death."
He was all
smiles
and then she continued, "Say, what
about a little gamble
of our own? You down for that?"
"Baby," he said, "long as it's a
gamble I'm down to hells
and below, haha."
Once in the room
she climbed on the bed
and removed her clothes
and shuffled through her purse
and pulled out about a dozen
hypodermic needles
"What you doin' with those?"
he asked
She grinned at him
and spread her
legs and pointed between them
"I'll stick some of 'em
here in these lips. Your part
of the gamble is to
turn off the lights and slide
your way between 'em. Let's go, gambler.
Oh, and no fingers. It's
an all-or-nothing gamble."
I liked her dad
He was an interesting guy
preached all day
long
about smartphone
addiction
while his daughter was on her
smartphone, ignoring
him
“A human life,” he was saying.
“Controlled by a piece
of plastic
with lights. A destiny
completely determined by
a machine
designed by corporations to become
god, to claim souls. How
blind, how utterly and
impossibly blind a whole generation
of human beings can be. To
willingly subject
themselves to slavery like
that. Their thumbs
and fingers always tap-tap-tapping
that screen
as if trying to break
their soul free from beyond. But
it never happens. You cannot
break a door
by merely knocking on it...”
“Whatever, dude,” said his daughter
with the phone before
her face
He shook his head and
then looked at me. This time
I too was looking
at my phone.
“I see she has corrupted you too,”
he said. “Shame. I was hoping
it could be
the other way around
just for once.”
I let the phone
down. “Me? Oh no, I was just
checking my e-mail. I've
sent some poems to
a bunch of publishers and
was hoping to
see a reply or something.”
“Hm, and is there any
reply?” he asked
“No,” I said
He nodded. “How about
a beer?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
those cold evenings
coming inside
the house and crying
"Mom, I'm hungry."
A whirl on the heels
A stare colder than
the outside weather
Hands on her hips
"Show me your tongue."
The little mouth opens
and the tongue
comes out
She stares at it
and then grabs it between
her thumb and index
and studies it, gives it
a rub and
declares: "No. You're not that
hungry. Get out of
here and leave me alone."
And her words carry the finality
of God's words from
the Bible
because she is the god of this
small world
and her word is law
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my neighbor from upstairs
claims that
God sticks
post-it notes on his
fridge overnight
I did ask him
what they said but
he only told me that I'll
have to follow
him to church if
I want to find out
I'm generally not a very
curious guy
so I declined
and, what do you know, few
days later I see
lots of other
people following my
neighbor to church
They all looked the
other way when
I passed by them and said hi
Thing is
I don't even doubt
God spoke to my neighbor
through post-it notes
and gave a lot of people hope
I just
like being the outsider
more than I like
being hopeful
He jumped off the building and
the metallic wings carried
him high
towards the clouds
where others like him swam in absolute
bliss
but then something
hit his head
and
he woke up
turned around in bed
and realized there
was blood trickling from
his eyebrow
The girl besides him was
holding a
stapler in her hands
and her eyes were watching
him with hate
"What the fuck!?" he shouted
"Keep it down," she said. "Ah, you've
got some nerve to
play victim here, boy."
"What?"
"Oh, I tell you what. I was talking to
you and for a reply
you turned your back
to me and closed your eyes and
fell asleep. Like, what the fuck? So
I figured if you
can't keep your eyelids away
from your eyes I'll give
you a hand. Ah, sometimes I think I'm just
too good for you, boy."
He put his head on
the pillow and breathed heavily
"Yeah," he said. "Me too."
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at least the clouds are
smiling back
they have faces and
souls
and they stare back from their
blue canvas,
down on his dirty, snot-smeared face
It’s a warm
sunny day
but the
bottom of the shallow, dry well
is cold and full
of critters
Well, no problem. The sky is so
pretty with all its smiling
faces that he
won’t even cry. He’ll stay there
and look up. Still waiting
for mother to return and
pick him up
Still waiting
Smiling back at the clouds
Still waiting
as usually
not much going on at her place
“Why did you
insist
on coming here?” he
whined
And she watched him with
scrutiny. “What? You don’t like
it?”
He looked around. “To be honest,
your hobby scares me. You
design dolls and
plushy toys for a
living. They even watch us
as we fuck. I can’t
stand this place, and don’t know how can you...”
She stood from
the bed
walked over to a pile of plushy toys
dug in for a brown hippo
and reached up its ass
and her hand
returned with a small bottle
of brandy
“Shit,” he said.
She tossed him the bottle.
He caught it.
“Right,” she said. “Now, why
don’t you
enjoy your treat and keep
some company to
Mr. Big Walrus there in the corner
while I get
back to work. I’ve some
commissions to honor.”
He opened the bottle
smelled it
Nodded at her and
went into the corner of the room
where Mr. Big Walrus
awaited
warm and fuzzy
what would be the reason
to have an open casket funeral?
Why should the living
see the dead?
He addressed the questions to no one
in particular
but his dead wife answered from the
picture on the wall
"Don't you wanna see me, darling?"
"Not like that, I don't," he said. "That's
why I have your portrait. So I don't
have to look at your
dead body in the casket. But your
mom wouldn't understand..."
"Darling, I think you're the one
who doesn't
understand. And I think it's
time we talk about your therapist."
"What about my therapist?"
"You tell me. You tell me why did she have
to tell you that she's single now
and looking to settle. I thought she
was supposed to
help you cope with the premature death
of your wife, not tell you her
problems."
"Dear, please..."
"And one more thing. I don't like
the medicine she
prescribed you. Have you even read the
label? That shit's dangerous, you
know?"
He stormed out of
the room and
went straight to the morgue
and told the morticians to seal his
dead wife's lips with glue or
something
They looked at him like he
was crazy
"What is it?" he asked
"Well, sir, to glue the dead's lips
for the open casket ceremony is
just... standard procedure. Else the mouth
opens and it's not a pretty sight. Did
you work with the dead or something?"
He thought a bit
"Yeah," he said. "Something... something
like that."
Daydreaming as a profession 