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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."
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He comes home from art school
and finds cold food on the table
and a note
Something along the lines
be good, eat, do your homework,
clean your room, be good
Love, mom
He puts the food in the microwave
pushes the buttons
waits
takes the food out
eats
There's a mirror on the wall
across the table
and he stares at his reflection
as he eats, watches the way he chews the food
He turns the TV on
and then off again
The house is silent as always
He gets into the bathroom
and removes his clothes
steps into the shower cabin
turns on the hot water
stands under it, shoulders slumped, looking down
The glass walls of the cabin fog up
He smiles
raises his finger
draws a feminine shape on the steamy glass
and rubs his hard penis against it
He knows that's all the art he will create
and all the love he'll get
she had long
dark
metallic looking nails
and black lips on a very
pale face
the clothes too
were designed to make her look
cold and dead
but she was quite lovely
to her new boyfriend, the mortician
She was an artist, she'd told him
And she'd also
told him that she'd like
to learn more about
human anatomy for her drawings
"That one!" she said on
their sixth date in the morgue
"I want that one! Cut his head
open from forehead
to nape. I need to see
how the brain's
kept in there."
He sighed and prepared the
electric saw. There
wasn't much for him
to complain. He'd done
pretty well
at 47, hooking up with this
22-year-old
Daydreaming as a profession 