A BUS STOP SHELTER

 

 

A BUS STOP SHELTER

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There is a bus stop shelter down below on the corner. Tonight, raindrops sparkle in its island of light.

On the lateral sides of the bus stop shelter are LED-illuminated advertising display screens. They splash colors from their scroll of ballyhoo.

A bundled figure shuffles ashore out of the night and sits on the bus stop bench. There are no buses running at this late hour.

It is an old man. His white hair is tousled. He wears a down jacket but it is wet, dingy, and torn. His pant cuffs are tattered. He wears big red Nike Volt running shoes, incongruously.

The old man sits and stares down at his shoes.

Now his gaze is drawn to a flickering advertisement on the display screen next to him. It is a pitch from a market for Thanksgiving dinner. It shows a cozy family gathering around a large table laden with feast. The family is smiling and nodding.

The old man turns to the display screen and opens his mouth in a smile and clasps his hands, joining the rhythms of the happy family.

Suddenly the display screen scrolls to a new advertisement. It is about a Medical Group specializing in cancer treatment. It shows a woman wearing a colorful scarf over her head; a cancer patient bravely smiling as a doctor hugs her.

The old man’s smile has fallen. He reaches to touch the woman. The advertisement fades and the old man cries out in anguish. He lowers his head and sobs. He sobs and covers his face.

When the old man again raises his face the display screen is showing a young boy on Christmas morning. The young boy is holding his father’s hand as they descend the staircase.

The old man smiles once again out of his wet face. He beckons to the young boy, “Sonny! Sonny!”

The advertisement ends and the old man shakes his lowering head.

A distant train proclaims its burden to the night.

The old man listens to the train intently and then arises as it starts to fade in the distance.

The old man leaves the bus stop shelter and steps off of the curb directly into the dark road, following the calling train.

An automobile is approaching rapidly.

In an instant the old man is transfixed in the headlights.

The police car screeches to a sliding halt.

Out from the police car emerge not only the policeman but a man, a woman, an older woman, and a boy.

The street echoes.

“Dad! You scared the shit out of us!”

“We’ve been looking for you for three days!”

“Martin! I swear, don’t you ever scare me like that again, you stubborn man!”

“You aren’t supposed to go out of the house without one of us!”

“Grandpa! Why did you leave us? You took my shoes! You’ll miss Thanksgiving tomorrow!”

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And so I was glad I made the call. Can you pass the cranberry sauce, please?

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PEANUT BUTTER AND PUMPKIN JAM

The CLOUD CHAMBER

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Dare to be happy as I am
Peanut butter and pumpkin jam
Ember and ash
The world is toast
You’re still the one I love the most
~
Hear rebelling dust assert
Leave to my shadow the nap in dirt,
Flowers and rust,
A dreamer awakes
You and I are all it takes
~
Pumpkin jam and peanut butter
Lick my lips, let us mutter
Melodiously
Out of mind
Out of sight is where we find
~
Peanut butter and pumpkin jam
Sweetly spread together cram
Happiness
Into a flutter
Pumpkin jam and peanut butter
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ILLYCIT

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ILLYCIT

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I should not have been born.

It be twenty years of an earlier time our Pilgrim Fathers lead our families to this new world.

Seeking to preserve us midst wickedness that is England, our Fathers put faith into God’s Hands and sailed their congregation of five score souls hither on a sea of troubles.

Forced by the elements to avoid their true destination in the Virginia Colony, it was God’s Will that we settle here the wilderness of Cape Cod Bay.

Half of our good Pilgrim founders died that first bitter frigid winter.

It was then my mother dishonored our Pilgrim Fathers. She sought warmth in dark sinful embrace, she did so confess, darkening the pious light from our spiritual City Upon A Hill.

Our good General Court did decree my mother’s chastening and penance ‘ere I was born. As constant admonishment I was to be named, as I am, “Illycit”.

I was verily conceived of that bitter cold.

It so be seventeen years of an earlier time my mother brought me into this world.

I have always been shunned by my good peers as thus wisely instructed by their good mothers.

I have so borne my repentant mother’s punishment as she had so borne me into life.

I have seen her tears of anguish that she did give me such of her life, this dowry of sin.

At night often do I come here and in my soundless spirit follow along yon moonlight road upon dark water.

Pray pardon me to have been startled by your approach, good Pilgrim.

I have not noticed you in town likely for my head is often bowed.

I am unworthy for your company, young Brother Clemence. You are kind. Know ye, your presence is sweet water to my parched soul.

I am so bleak. Do not depart me just yet. Remain yet a while hence.

I have always drawn much solace from our honorable visits though I dread what might bethought of our innocent unchaperoned assignations.

It is your honor at risk, good Clemence. My honor has been denied me summarily by decree.

I fear I shall enter and dwell in the allegorical pig and drown, only in loneliness.

Clemence! Harken that! Who goes there?
Clemence, hide thee!

The Constable! And goodwives of the colony!

How fare ye this night, all?

What say? The Devil? I am no foul witch! I spoke not to the Devil this night!

Unhand me, please!

All is innocence!

Since you demand, it was good and honorable Brother Clemence offering me mere words of kindly Christian consolations. He took charitable mercy upon this sinner.

What say ye? Why do ye mock my humble testament?

Say ye all? There is no Clemence who habits our colony?

I swear a good Christian Clemence heard my prayers and came to me! Not the cruel and foul Devil! I could not be so fooled!

Pride? I am already cursed with sin?

You have known me! I show ye penance each day!

You would murder me by fire! I am not a witch! I am not a witch! Dear God of Mercy Who is my fair witness! I am not a witch!

Clemence! Clemence! Show yourself! In God’s Name I pray thee! I see you in my mind! I do verily!

What? You all see? What?

Now I do see there too! A star falls from heaven! No! It be a wandering star, not the Devil! Not the Devil falling to earth!

I am doomed, merciful God! With that Sign You have sentenced me to fire!

Thus does Your Infinite Wisdom set me free of this world that wants me not.

Oh, Wandering Star, for whom the gloom of utter darkness has been reserved forever, Clemence! Kind Clemence, will you be there for my lonely purified soul?

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SATAN DON’T SURF

SATAN DON’T SURF

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I’m Corky Dora, the world’s top surfer, and this is my story.

First, I am “legally” obliged to say that reading my story to the end constitutes a contract with Satan for your soul.

I’m sorry. I need 666 of you to get me out of my own contract. I’m sorry.

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THE END

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Ha.

Sorry. That was a sick joke. I’m scared. That wasn’t the end. But the rest of what I just said is true. I warned you. Legally.

I was a fat little white worm sitting on the beach watching the surfers. Listening to surf music on my iPod. Getting painfully sunburnt.

Watching the surfers get beautiful honeys, sometimes two for one guy.

They made fun of me.

One day I said out loud that I’d give my fucking soul to be like those guys.

Next thing I knew this hot honey kneeled next to me and whispered, “Those guys are assholes. Fuck them. You could be better than all of them.”

I stuttered, “Huh…? What…? ”

Her suntan oil smelled like sweet coconut.

I flushed when I glanced at her barely restrained tits.

I stuttered, “How…? Why…?”

She giggled so sexy. She said, “I’m Satan.”

I thought rapidly, she’s teasing me like the others, she’s reading my eyes, she’s speaking metaphorically, fuck, who says “metaphorically”?, no wonder I’m a worm, she’s pushing her tits at me.

She said, “This pair could be yours. And more chicks than you can shake a dick at, Corky.”

I really stuttered, How…? How…? How…? You know my name?”

She smiled and I froze as she kissed my forehead. All I could see were her tits and all I could smell was hot coconut.

She said, “Does that sound like a bargain? Think about these. And if you want to be the best surfer in the world there is a simple thing you can do for me. Besides masturbating!” and she giggled so sexy.

Then she became serious and said to me intently, “Kiss my ass.”

I almost boiled when she turned and she got on all fours in front of me.

She looked back at me and said, “Sign with you tongue ‘Corky Dora’.” Then she giggled, “I’ll bet you wish your name was ‘Englebert Humperdinck’.”

In a dream I did what she asked.  In a dream my life changed.

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I have won all the top surfing events in the USA. Florida, California, Hawaii, Virginia, wherever, whenever . I am ripped. I have become Legend. I have fucked a thousand girls.

Finally, the night before the North Shore Grand Event, I was fucking my thousand-and-oneth girl when she started to laugh. I’d had girls moan, scream, and cry but never laugh! I thought I hit a new spot.

Then suddenly it felt like a crab claw grabbed my dick.

I yelled and looked into… what-was-her-name’s face.

She said, “You forgot to ask how long you had.”

The crab claw released my dick and I was spat backwards out of … the bed in mute terror.

She leaned on her elbow and looked down at me over the bed, “Satan got your tongue?” and she giggled.

I stuttered, “I.. I… thought you would come after I died! I’m still young!”

She raised her eyebrow, “Yesssss. Tomorrow you die. A rouge wave. A heroic attempt to ride it. But when I suddenly take away all of your skills that I gave you… you die. Very dramatically, of course. Shouldn’t hurt too much,” and she giggled.

I was nauseous. My mind outraced my soul. I begged, “Take someone else. New deal! What can I do? What do you want?”

She put her finger on her pouty lip, then giggled, “I’m short 666 souls.”

I clutched, “I can deliver 666 souls! I have thousands of fans.”

She nodded, “Very generous. How?”

I muttered, “I… I… I could sell my memoirs.”

She frowned down on me, “And?” Then she giggled, “I’m really fucking with you now! I’m putting thoughts in your mind,” then she became serious, “You will write your memoirs but they will really be a contract with me.”

I felt sick with cowardice, “How?”

She continued, “You will have to be completely honest. You will have to start your story with a legal disclaimer. The rest is free will,” she giggled, “Very expensive.”

I whimpered, “I don’t understand.”

She proclaimed, “Anyone who reads your story to the very end will consign their soul to me.”

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I just couldn’t write and write and write this to stall anymore for your sake. I just can’t write anymore. I’m so tired. I’m sorry. So tired. What can I do?  I have re-read this draft over and over.  Hey… Wait a minute…

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(TO BE CONTINUED)

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HEAVY PETTING

HEAVY PETTING

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I am not a bad Ogre.
I love my humans.
I tickle their soft bellies and I pet them.
They make chirping sounds.

I am sad when I pet them too hard and they won’t move anymore.
Those ones don’t taste as good.

I like my rowdy humans.
The other Ogres say they need discipline.
I like my humans rowdy.

I like best the soft sweet-smelling ones.
Especially when they smell of blood.
I tickle their legs.
I lick my fingers.
I coo, “You taste sooooo good, sweety.”
They make shrill sounds.

I like their heads the best.
I bite them off and they are crunchy then soft.
It might be bad manners but I like to suck their insides out through their neck.
“Mmmmmm.”
I could go for one right now.

Their skin and bones I use to feed my other humans.
Their excrement makes soft beds for them.
Recycling is important for Mother Earth.

I am not a bad Ogre.
I love my humans.
You should see how other Ogres treat their humans!

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SATAN’S HALLOWEEN ADDRESS

SATAN’S HALLOWEEN ADDRESS

Whores, Liars, Wormfood. Thieves all. Welcome to the 2,017th Halloween,

<shrieking>

We are gathered tonight to celebrate the Soul Harvest and to dishonor the still living! Would I lie to you?

<laughter and weeping>

Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.

<laughter and weeping>

End of days first:
A shout-out to Harvey Weinstein, crucified for your sins!

<sound of mass flagellation>

We loved your money, Harv! Hashtag #UncleSpooge.

<sound of lustful moaning>

Anyway.
We all know that I invented Jesus.
I gave you My Word.
Fake News to give you all false hope.

<“Filthy liar!”>

‘Thank, yuh. Thank, yuh, very much.’

<laughter and weeping>

Turn, turn, turn, turn.
You had two more cheeks on your ass.
You let me behoove you.
Like cattle in a chute, you bowed for the hammer.

<“Yeah we did!”><“Mooooo!”>
<laughter and weeping>

Sin-searingly! Cross my… eyes!

<laughter and weeping>

As God is my witness!

<laughter and weeping>

But honestly,

<laughter and weeping>

What smile does not bare teeth?
I offer succulent corruption.
I am CEO of every human endeavor.

<“Work will set you free!”>

I made you money.
You did as I said.

<weeping>

Suffering is not the distance from God.
Suffering is the distance from material comforts.
God, indeed! Don’t get me started!
You prayed to your Holy Shit.

<laughter and weeping>

I preyed to my fill.

But that is the season past.

You are with me now.
Do you still believe in God?

<a dim small voice, “Why have you forsaken me?”>

I am the Bitter Truth, the Ember’s Light, the That’s All, Folks.
You might as well believe in your Self, LOL!

This night, let us all scream helplessly at the sky.

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WHAT AM I?

WHAT AM I?

I gather sunshine
My roots are dark underground
I hold to the wind

I blossom brightly
I gather the stormy rain
Rain travels in me

To the sky again
I offer all my children
While they are sleeping

Once upon a time
My roots rose above the ground
I was a human

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