i got my friends drunk and we all wrote a story.
it has not logic, a lot of gramatical errors, and is ridiculous. but enjoy.
an old man’s love letter.
a love letter written by an old man. it is interupted by emergency flare guns. launched off a fishing boat by the woman he loves. one of the ones he is writing letters to.
flash back to his youth. he was a boy on the east moungrel river. summers that ended in ritualistic haircuts under a deep red moon. he remembers her. with her sunken eyes and hair so dark it made the night seem nonexsistant. did she really love him? he will never know.
flashforward to now. he had a wife... once. maybe twice. but what happens in cairo egypt stays in cairo egypt....right?
it was located in alexanderia on the delta. she was persian...flat faced and magestic. the princess of the nile. he took a plane over the sudan until he reached the home of a rain cloud. rain clouds are known to have extreme bipolar tendencies, but this one was especially sullen. he wore an antique top hat with a wide brim and barnacles decorating the side. a dead squid trapped in the cloud recited the ceremony.
flash back, he is five. white picket fences lined with lucky rabbit feet. could this be a dream?
flash forward. he’ll never eat rabbit again. here he was in africa. a safari is not like it is in the cataloges. smiling giraffes....not being ripped limb from limb by lions in the jungle quicksand. quicksand, it is such a lie. it might be the slowest deat he had ever experienced.
flash tforward a bit more. here he is. he wishes he had not tried to kick down that door. he had known what was in there from the beginning. did he really need the confirmation? that was the last time he ever saw her. climbing out that window. she was him. he knew she did. she only pretended not to notice.
“my god, never laugh. nevernevernevernevernever laugh back at thos hyenas.” he learned that the stovetop way. tried to chuckle back and got burnt. the hyenas called up their magician ally. immediatly his beard octupled in length. the hyenas laughter became a ferocity that reached a pitch to high for him to percieve, he wept. he wept for the perversion comitted his fine sea beard. but only for a moment. for soon he learned he could fashion his tremendous beard into a lasso in which to ensnare the rare elephelk that bounded and danced in the red mountians of scottland.
flash backto his 9th birthday. the day he walked in on his mother and the delivery man kissing in the kitchen. years later his theropist would tell him that this is the moment he lost faith in women. he knew it was actually the moment he found faith in delivery men.
flash forward to the moment he DID lose faith in women. a carneval and he is 18. the beautiful gypsy fortune teller told him he would die in a train accident. trains have been extinct for 23 years now and he is still waiting for death. that bitch.
he could never really shake that prophecy. he had seen it there in the spattered shapes of the spilt coffee grounds. he had seen it before the gypsy woman spoke it to him as a young boy.
his end, but not the end of his story. to his turn on the North Dakota prostitute. eleventh in line, the same in rank. suprising for an old man to move up so far with in the Hells Angels in only a weeks time. he mounted the 18 year old farmers daughter turned tricks. it never occured to him the “train” of his fateful wreck may have been figurative...not now. not as he typed his phantom typewriter.
. flash forward. sandcastles stolen from children on various beaches of the east coast of madagascar lined the hallways. the janitor once was furious. now just apathetic. does he even know what that word means. is he only faking intelligence. to impress her. it worked and it didn’t. she loved a man that didn’t exsist. she loved apathy, he was only pathetic.
flashback. he is twelve and learnign the meaning of red woolen sweaters. with out them he surely would have been comfortable in that lonely desert. the sand is as the heart. the only difference between the two so synonymous was that one was in his chest and the other was in his eyes. he spat it out and rinsed his teeth with cactus water. “have you a bandoleer” said the rattlesnake “i need to get my children to their father’s house. he gets them on the weekend” “you are such a god damned cliche” he said “and yes. just let me void it of shells”. the shotgun shells just fallen were carried off by a band of suspect desert hares. the snake put her children in individual bullet sleeves and snaked off. “thanks fuck for coffee” said the man as he tried to win the most desperate staring contests with the horizon.
he had found oasis with her. he woke in the morning with a mouthful of sand. with the queen of the desert as your lover this is a common occurence.
flashback. he shot bottle rockets at the neighborhood cats.
flashforward. he shoots pistols at the full moon.
“when did you lose it?” he would ask her, grossly unsympathetic. she was always losing things. “senegal” she said and took an ever breif and sickly elegeant sip from her raspberry tea. “well, at least it was your right eye” he said. “fuck” she said.
so he spent a year or two in a tugboat decorated in old christmas lights sailing the Indian Ocean. he considers it a year or two wasted. he only went to forget her. her and her feirce blue eyes. as feirce and as blue as the Indian Ocean. he couldn’t forget.
flashback. he had met her in an all night diner. she drank black coffe and smoked all of his cigarettes. he told her she was beautiful and she walkde out of the front door. he never saw her again. do you see a pattern here?
at the moment he was perusing an old copy of the history of the roman republic. he consulted cassious longious and found that his motives were too audible. the fate of a man is not determined by the stars but within himself. when he found this out he wept for 8 days. how unfair. when he emperged from that bout of depression he took that advice to wallstreet.
this is now. not now then or later in his story. this is a plane of time that exsists between the two. i should tell you at this time that the language “spanish: has been reinvented. it is now closer to modern day math than anything else.
back to the beginning. back to the end. he never answered her emergency flares. it would not be fair to all the other women he had loved. and lost. instead he held his breath and drowned with her. with all of them.
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