Machiavellian Trash

She'd awoke into the crisp, late-morning sun descending upon his staling body, quiet with the taste of those 130-plus years. She touched his dumb, haired chest, telling her chest to be quiet. Language & gestures tickling through Samantha's becoming-ancient body.  That form ready for breath. Eyesight. That form quiet in its cave of infinite thoughtfulness.  She thought of the Underworld. She thought of scrambling, achieving, being. Samantha put her hand upon him, Sisyphus finally gone.  When she let herself stand to her feet, Samantha's thoughts echoed to the waking-day. Tired form of a retired century drawing into some wildly misbegotten day. Nearly mid-century day.  The trees & flowers & leaves & of that wild spoke to Samantha as she scanned the landscape for somewhere to bury Sisyphus, his stale corpse laying in its stale shadow against the light of chance.  She thought of Brooklyn, Brooklyn, Brooklyn. She thought of words in the womb and the w...

looking for some kind of good pressure, here,  in the raining midnight morning. that phone  device that doesn't work  that money you already spent  the wheels of the machine penetrate a gravity, a sense of gravity, hardly seen since  the unfolding of time, itself.  it's cold. it's not cold enough.  cancer phantoms evaporate  in the silent turnings of the shadow  as they kiss into oblivion, all mislaid  all ineffably mislaid beneath the  unkempt stenographer's fingernails.  Sixty Dollars ($60) out of nowhere  or even Thirty Dollars out of nowhere  will change the very color of the sky, if  you're looking right.  the brilliant, lazy rain paints a sound  as soft as a discarded razor, whispering,  fermenting...dreams.  **** 

He's excited that he worked. Carried pieces of steel, pieces  of metal, mostly in a plastic bucket (I couldn't make), mostly  on a handtruck (I couldn't make) down stairs, etc. etc. hallway  wheel-bin elevator the little lights  for the elevator gone.  I know less about Numeranio's childhood  than Linda has hours to count favorites  with me... with you... with anyone.  the clouds of a 2AM sky squeeze  raw  dreams  like the juice of pain, itself  like the hallowed light of pain, itself.  your name, quietly spoken.  Grandpa Bob had an aneurysm in '93, when  I was about 10. My father had his last heartattack  in 2014. both about 70. -- I'm 43, now. Want 90.  **** 

They used to call Larry Fiskovitz 'the Chameleon' on account of how readily he could quit/pause in conversation with a potential buyer, rechecking his script, weighing the pros & cons, presuming outcomes, just in the pinch when the buyer'd say Yes or No, and, usually, get them to say Yes, or at least think of it.  He was never trying to be manipulative. But once you're trying to persuade the Masses, once you're trying to persuade "the average person," where they live, how they live, what they ought to be living for...well, you've got so many bombs, so many supplements & pharmaceuticals, and so many non-drug/weapons like furniture & decoratives...and at some point you've got to sell more of them than the proverbial next guy. So....  He was a serious person, but he didn't exactly want to be. Wherever he came from, whatever it did to him (personally) he believed a certain due of eclecticism was in order. I mean, how often do we say No ...

I don't like to pass up any opportunities. But I tend to see a lot of bullshit as opportunities. And some of it comes from me. And some of it comes from my family. The pieces arrive as the pieces will, gradually, like some real-time Tetris-puzzle of your emotions and your environment, a lack of allies or supportive-figures or a preponderance of toxic, imitation allies and supportive-figures: enemies in disguise, enemies disguising their enmity as Concern.  Okay. So I get tired of saying this so many times, and I certainly can't tell you to go and read something else if you haven't read it and then you have to go and read that and try to come back here in the same headspace as when you started: So, I'm telling you what I've told hundreds and millions of people and maybe this is new and maybe it's a refresher.  My mom left my dad when I was about 14. No big fight. No sudden death in the family. She just ended her bullshit marriage as arbitrarily as she'd appar...