Eddie and Nancy

Eddie sat straight up in bed and started swinging. It was the nightmares. The flashbacks. His life was a war story.

His voice shook the house, loud and grumbling. It was terror. It woke him up and frightened his wife.

Nancy was downstairs on the couch reading a book. It was 3:49 am but she slept during the day when her husband, Eddie was at work. She was used to Eddie’s bothered sleep schedule.

Nancy heard the commotion upstairs and it startled her, every time. Eddie was not a loud man. He was reserved and kept his emotions contained. It was in his nature; a gentleman. War hadn’t seemed to occupy many of Eddie’s thoughts since his return home. He simply went about his day acting just as he had before he left.

He woke up at 6:30 am and took his coffee black. He’d read the paper and eat his eggs over easy with white toast. His dog’s name is “Babe.” He’d kiss her right after he kissed Nancy goodbye. He’d reach in the cabinet and toss Babe a dog treat just before closing the front door behind him.

He drove his Ford F-150 to work and spent his half hour lunch break eating either an egg salad sandwich or grilled ham and cheese, mostly. Those were his favorites. Sometimes he’d do a crossword if the TV in the break room was occupied.

He’d come home each night and have one Coors beer with dinner. He’d always pour a little out of the bottle into Babe’s water bowl. Then he’d watch the baseball game. His team was the Baltimore Oriels. Nancy would watch them play, too sometimes. She’d fold the laundry and pretend to get excited when Ed did.

And he was just over having another one of his violent nightly awakenings. He breathed heavily and wiped the sweat from his forehead. With shaking hands he stood up and collected the pillows off the floor. He made the ravaged bed. Then he tried collecting his thoughts, but instead lost his mind.

Ed went to his middle drawer and gripped the handle of his .44 magnum and pulled it out. It was loaded. He switched the safety to “off.” He pulled the hammer back.

Eddie walked out of the room and into the hall. His bare feet thumped against the fake hard wood floors. The gun in his hand cast a shadow on the space where the hallway walls met the floor. He descended the stairs.

Nancy didn’t look up from her book.

“You okay, Honey? I heard you having ano-”

BAM!

Pages from Nancy’s book floated down through the air like feathers from a chicken fight. Blood, hair and skull fragmented brains caked the wall behind the couch.

Ed cringed at what he’d done. He winced and looked away, disgusted. Fully snapped out of his former mind set he almost cried. But instead, he pulled back the hammer and put the hot barrel just behind his chin. He pulled the trigger and hit the carpet, headless.

Babe barked and barked. She sniffed and licked the corpses while whining and circling the room.

I hope that was it.
I mean all that it takes.

I’m going to believe it, just so i can be right.

take a look at my face when i say this
and don’t shake your head at me.

what happens if you don’t grow up to be anything?
just loss of memory

you don’t even like the way that bullshit sounds to your ears,
you just want to be right.
that last album is the best one and you know it,
cause they got better with time

don’t take anything too seriously
especially that as futile as music
you’re not as important as you think you are
your voice is gone if you abuse it.

without the blues

Vices stand accused because the years keep passing.
And I’m letting them get away.
There’s no target audience that ever could relate
unless they’re in a certain kind of pain.

years ago I used to dream about a masterpiece
that i’m afraid now i just can’t create

I can only tell the truth so many ways without the blues
without the blues things are just never looking up
I can only sing the blues so many times about the truth
unless it’s real then it could never hurt like love.

People talkin shit. I Just sit there listening.
At least some things get better with time
I’m finding out more of what I can’t change with each day that goes by
So if your hands are tied then so are mine

in every sense of the word.

every way it could hurt.

P-A-I-N

absolutely hard pressed for positive; i took a look in the mirror.

every. single. day. i’ve faced this fear.

in a small town in central pa. summertime. the people and sky are blue.

i searched and searched for something but only found drugs to do.

my girl is gone. gone. gone. gone. gone. gone. gone. gone. gone. gone. gone gone.

i am losing my mind.

p-a-i-n.

What a great name.

Just watching you get undressed-
Everything I was thinking about; I forget except for you.
Nothing bothers me.
Nothing is wrong at all, with anything.
I am in love with you.

Thomas

Thomas had the blues. He hated himself. So he’d go to dive bars and drink whiskey and pick fights.

Thomas wasn’t tough. But he wished he was.

Thomas had a way with ugly words. He was an instigator. So he’d get drunk, find the biggest motherfucker in the bar and give the man no choice but to beat his face in.

One bloody night on the way back from a dive called Pappy Thompson’s, he saw a fruit bat the size of a cow. The gigantic creature hovered in the air like a swarm of bees.

“I am God!” said the humungous bat.

“Hop on my back and I’ll fly you to heaven”

Thomas was whiskey sick and his brains were rocked from the beating his head just took. He was bleeding a lot.

“Okay.” said Thomas. “Am I dead?”

The bat looked at Thomas and asked,

“Why else would I fly you to heaven?”

the selloutz (sat august 4th at Roger’s)

Four hardcore kids formed a band when they were in their late twenties. This was after they had all sworn they’d given up music at least twice.

They were all dudes who hated their factory jobs. They all lived in cheap apartments or with their parents. Gas was almost $4 a gallon.

One day at band practice the bas player sarcastically suggested they play a song by three days grace. They all laughed. Then they played it (faked it) all the way through as a joke. But when the song was over they all had the same idea at the same time. No one said anything and they all felt dirty. So they packed their gear without a word and went home.

At the next practice they finished a set of their own original songs they‘d worked so hard on. No one aside from the band really liked any of their songs.. But they played them as loud and tight as they could. They were happy and high.

Until they decided to play a hinder song as a joke at the end of practice. It was like the week before all over again. They hung their heads. They silently packed up and went home.

As a bitter cold winter lingered on and on for most of the year; the pasty hardcore kids decided that easy money might make them happy. So in an act aimed to prevent their collective suicides they decided to be a bar band.

After lots of work that wasn’t anywhere near as hard as factory work, they had a 3 hour set they could play through at practice. It took six weeks to learn. They all quit their jobs.

For the rest of their late twenties they made enough money to scrape by. All they had to do was play five finger death punch songs to rednecks in bars that looked like basements.

The four hardcore kids weren’t as miserable ever again. The free drink tokens at the bars they played didn’t hurt.

And sometimes at practice they still played their own shit for fun. And sometimes they thought about how stupid they were playing music they loved, rather than music they hated for money.

Rita

Sitting in ice cold bathwater, freezing. She hung up her phone and just dropped it in the water.

She stood up. Goosebumps covered her beautiful body. Water drops ran down her long smooth torso and increased in speed when they reached the heavenly curves of her thick thighs. She used a large teal towel to dry herself off and then threw it in the cold water when she was finished with it.

She made herself up and stared for a minute at the beauty of youth in the foggy smudged mirror.

The cheap plug-in stereo abruptly stopped playing. It cut off the echoing chorus of a soul song she loved most on the album. She inspected the small radio/alarm/cd player by opening the tray. She tried the on/off switch a few times. Then into the tub it went. If it wasn’t broken before; it is now. She smiled at herself in the mirror. She brushed her teeth.

Down the stairs passed the kitchen and out the front door without locking it. No one broke into houses in this town. Onto her bike. Into the street. Along with the traffic.

At her job as an editor of the magazine no one bothered her. She was scathing and mean. She was unconventionally gorgeous. And depending on who you were in the office, you avoided her for either reason.

She left early without doing any real work. She picked up the salad she ordered from an Italian restaurant on the way home.

She arrived home, through the unlocked door and tossed her purse onto the couch. Straight to the refrigerator. She withdrew a bottle of her favorite hot sauce and poured some onto the salad.

She finished and ascended the stairs to her room. Upon entering her room and switching on the lights a man in dark clothing stood between the doorway and her bed. She froze without screaming. She was too shocked to move for a few seconds; just starring. She turned to run but the man grabbed her hair and forced her to the ground. He kept the handful of her hair as he dragged her to her bedroom closet and forced her in.

In that closet she screamed and begged for help. The door wouldn’t open. It was blocked with something extremely heavy. She tried and tried to open it for 3 days.

It took a week for the police to break in and find her there, after she failed to show up for work and no one knew where she was. She was bloated, ugly and dead.

I’ll just get it done tomorrow.

On a gray afternoon at the end of October.

I slept in too late.

There were phone calls I ignored.

My dog was barking and barking.

My mother was yelling and screaming.

The TV was blaring.

But I just rolled over,

Thought, “fuck it”

And went back to sleep.

It was a Beautiful Day in Pennsylvania.

A beautiful day in Pennsylvania.

A few more days until spring. It had been a harsh winter.

I woke up late and decided against cashing my check. So I had no choice but cancel my plans.

My plans were to pay my insurance. 3 months late. Re activation fee. Late charges.

I was hungry. I needed exercise.

I didn’t brush my teeth, shower, shave or do my hair. I just got dressed.

[SCENE REMOVED]

I put my new sunglasses on. I walked out into the sunshine. I lit a cigarette.

I was on my way for two sweet chilli dogs and a chocolate milk. I start walking.

The city is dirty. People who have been indoors for an entire winter are outside. It’s not pretty. Women are pushing strollers everywhere. In fact, so many females are out strolling babies around that I even saw one I didn’t mind looking at.

A couple blocks later there is a man walking. I gain on him cause I walk faster than anyone I know.

A school bus let’s all the kids off. And a fat little 5th grade girl says to me,

“Smoking is bad for you.”

I hate her stupid tone of voice and her stupid little kid face. I ignore her.

“Smoking is bad for you!”

Again I think maybe she’ll get the hint and give up if I don‘t acknowledge her. I don’t want to talk to any little kids. Ever. Unless:

a) they’re family
b) they’re my friends kids
c) I’m selling them something at work

“Smoking is bad for you! Smoking is bad for you! SMOKING IS BAD FOR YOU! SMOKING I -”

I stopped, turned around, tilted my head at her and put my plams out.

I kept walking. The weirdo mid thirties Sunbury man I was in the midst of walking past smiles and says,

“Hey. did you know smoking is bad for you.”

I smirk without looking at him. I hope he doesn’t start talking to me. He does.

“But so is everything else you know?”

I don’t answer him.

“Everything is bad for you. Even sex is bad for you. It leads to them”

He points back at the school bus.

I just nod my head.

(A long pause) And he says,

“…But it feels so good though.”

I cross the street.

I remembered it was St. Patrick’s Day so I passed McDougal’s on the way. They open at 6am every St. Patrick’s Day.

The huge glass windows present to me that McDougal’s is PACKED.

A dude from high school is sitting with friends at a sidewalk table scattered with empty bottles. The ashtray is full.

We bullshit. I tell him I have to work. But looking at that bar full of happy daytime drunk people makes me want to party instead. I’m going to have a few hotdogs and decide whether I’m coming back for a beer or not.

He says,

“You know sometimes if you just have one; it’s hard to say no to the next one. And the one after that.”

He’s fucking right.

I walk another block or whatever to Pappy Thompson’s for my feast. I order from a really attractive older lady. My phone rings. I realize after I take the call that I am on the phone while I’m paying her and she’s not happy about it. I hang up on my phone conversation so I’m courteous. But mostly so I have two hands to handle my wallet and take the food.

The walk home was far less interesting. The way I like it.

And the chilli dogs were delicious.