Friday, February 20, 2015

The Cold

Your skin sticks to metal. The air is so cold, you feel your lungs burn when you breathe. Tears stream uncontrollably from your eyes, but they still burn. The facial hair begins to stick together. The stinging of your lips cracking becomes unbearable. There is no relief for at least for four more hours. You close your eyes, letting your mind go for a moment. You let it travel to a place you nearly forgotten. You see her walking through the ocean of wild flowers. The sun makes her skin glisten and for a moment you forget about the cold. 

Thursday, February 19, 2015

Soap (WIP) part 2

I had everything a guy could imagine, a trendy home, a trendy car, and a trendy girlfriend. As long as the books were selling, things were pretty awesome, but when the books stopped selling there went the house, the car, and the girlfriend. That's right, my life was a country and western song. Not even a top selling one, one of those songs that starts out in your mother's kitchen. She's humming while kneading some bread. The song doesn't make it any further than the front porch, while your mother is picking peas, your sister is peeling taters, and you are practicing your whittling with a bar of soap. Yet, I suppose it doesn't need to go any further than that. Because you know deep down, no one will ever sing it the way that Mama does.

The house was one of those country colonials, located in the middle of bum fuck Egypt. The place was supposedly good for writers, you know, serenaded by the silence, listening to the wind, or whatever ridiculous bullshit your realtor came up with before they separate you from some insanely large amount of money, never would you have considered spending just a year ago, back when you were a runny nose away from being homeless. A time when that master's degree in English literature you're so damn proud of; scored you a job making a dollar and quarter more than minimum wage at the local five and dime. It leaves you longing for the nights spent at the all-night diner, how you sat in the corner booth nursing a cup of burnt mud and playing with the loose corner of Formica on the tabletop. The kind of diner where the waitresses remember your order. They are the unsung beauty queens, who couldn't catch a break. You know, they were the actresses and the singers who took this job until they landed that big role or were discovered in a record store singing along to Paul Simon. Yet, they are refilling your coffee with weary crooked smiles fifteen years later. It is there in that same booth that you scribbled the opening scene to the novel that sent you into country living. The country where no one warned you about the enormous winter propane bill, the well water, higher gasoline prices, or the noisy neighbor with droopy boobs. Now, I really don't have anything against droopy boobs on an older woman; gravity and all, but this woman was in her early thirties. Every time I had a conversation with her, I swallowed a delicious desire to scream “Go put on a damn bra!!!”

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

6th Avenue Heartache


The Paradise was the local drive-in that was located at the end 6th avenue and Church, which was the neutral zone. This meant no gang activity at the drive-in. It was the only place in town where you could walk around without worrying about no one beating you senseless for simply being on the wrong side of town. My little brother, Trey, wanted to go see a double feature playing there this weekend. I was 17 and hanging out with your 12 year old little brother when you where supposed to chasing tail, wasn't ideal. In order to get to the Paradise, we had to cross enemy territory. I had knew the 6th Ave boys owed me a few beatings for jumping a couple of them when they got caught in my neighborhood. Trey didn't know anything about my part in the beating, but he had witnessed a few as they happened. 


"Yeah, Trey"

"Why are they beating that man? What did he do?"

"Nothing, Trey .. Just in the wrong place; wrong know?" 

"No I don't....make them stop, Moe" 

"I can't" 


"It's the world we know"

"It doesn't have to be" 

Thursday, February 12, 2015


This snippet is a portion of on going project that I am writing as a result of wager with a beloved friend. Note to self ... Never bet with her in the future. My poor fingers will forever be strained with ink and there is only so much Lava soap can do.

Everything was wrong from the start, I should have walked away, packed up my tools and got the hell out of there. The endless alarms going off in my head weren't enough to keep me going against every shred of decency in my being. That says a lot. I come from a time the entire neighborhood got a piece you when you acted up. Mothers washed out their foulmouthed offspring with soap. I can still taste the different flavors; Ivory, Dove, and Irish Spring. Irish Spring, in my opinion, was the best because of it minty taste.  Though I can't remember any of my friend's mother doing it them... anyway. As soon as, my boss offered to orally copulate me weekly in order to satisfy her odd craving, something changed inside of me. After a slight pause,(I do mean slight) I agreed. Now, I know on the surface it looks as if I am a shallow opportunistic bastard, but I swear somewhere neath the slime was a genuine concern for a fellow human being. What would you have me do? I very well couldn't allow her out there picking up strangers from the bar, supermarket, or the random hookup in the copy room. I felt I was offering my services of sorts in the name dignity and honor...or at least that is what I keep telling myself. The truth is ... I really never a chance to decline the offer. Before I knew it she was kneeling in front of me engrossed in satisfying her hunger. I must say she was quite skilled. A few groans and a spasm later it was over. My body tingled like I had been stung by thousand lightning bugs. Yeah, Yeah ...before you say it … I know lightning bugs don't sting, you have to admit it a certain ring to it. Sometimes in storytelling that makes all the difference.

Before we go any further, I suppose I should introduce myself. I believe its only fair to have a name to associate the scum too. Son of a bitch, sorry motherfucker, and slimy bastard do have a certain ring to them. Hell, they even roll off the tongue if pronounced correctly. However, like most things in this world,  they tend to lose their flavor with over usage. I am Nathan Gower, award-winning novelist, creator of the Cicero Wafe series. (lifting up my glass of single-malt with a hardy howdy) Perhaps, you have heard of them. No applause necessary, if you have. If not, where the hell you been? Chuck the rock, step out the closet and boost your life. I suppose I should take in account my little gems have been out of print for over fifteen years, but I won't. There was talk of a movie once, but that shriveled up like an erection when my girlfriend caught me banging her lesbian roommate with untamed gusto. My girlfriend was livid, I tried to explain it was my civic duty to convert her roommate back. How was I suppose to know the two of them had a thing on the Q.T. … The Hush, Hush. I begged her not to shut me out with promises lewd, freaky, and if stimulated properly, primal acts in the name of experimentation. I thought I had a fighting chance because we were still quite active, but my girlfriend wasn't hearing any of it. Man, I just can't catch a break.

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

somebody to love

It was such a alluring sound. The bass thumped back and forth in time with the drums cadence. A blond, a brunette, and a redhead sautered towards him. The redhead made him nervous and the blond had no effect at all. Yet, the brunette was the one his mother warned him about was the greatest temptation of all. 

Go wake Mangus 

Make him heed the call 

He was being chased by kitty's and knew he was about to fall. Tell 'em green hookah-smoking muse has told him the tale. 

this happened to Mangus 
when he was small ...

Just as the patrons of the graveyard get up and guide where to go. He had just smoked some writer's shroom and his mind was moving slow 

Go find MMMMaaaannnnggguuuusssss!!!
I'm sure he knows ....

When madness and darkness release what has been bred 
and the blond is speaking gibberish 
and the redhead slaps the blond head 
Remember what the brunette said ... 

The brunette rips open her top exposing herself 

"Feed the Madness"
"Feed the Madness" 

Don't you need somebody to love ?