Coup-de-grace
Slap. Stlop. Strip. Strop. Sandhoppers
hop, hop, hop all around. Up and down. Hop, hop, hop. The Demon Days. Those Demon Days. Those mirrored
mornings of emaciated tequila sunrises. It smelt of old beer and recondite
depressed sand. A seagull. Squawk. Sqawk.
Squawk. Annoying rat-birds. My friend once called them, upon being highly
inebriated, “The Piranhas of the Sky”. I coughed and rubbed my bloated eyes to
expel that dry-sand-eye-crust-sand. Blood…again on the wrist. Angry handcuffs. Another
drunken struggle. They don’t get it, the officers, they don’t get art. The law
was my worst enemy. Far more so than the critics. I think they liked me.
Those mornings of
the wind-cutting February were all the same: desperate and jam-packed full of that
mid-youth-adult-naivety. I was hungry, but I would not eat today. It wasn’t
because I had no money, no. I just enjoyed the starvation. The grumble-grumble
of my stomach enzymed the suffering. I rolled onto my grumble-grumble stomach
and pushed myself up from the cold sand.
Flit flllllliftrrrt ffffff fffff fffffffllllrrrfff. I brushed the particles
of clingy sand off of my bruised skin. They fell back to where they belonged. I
picked up my shambled shirt and placed it over my scarred skin. I licked the blood
off of my wrists to avoid questioning. The blood tasted bad, like a spoiled
Eurasian boar. I started to walk towards the beach exit. I was glad my feet
were working. The sand seeped in-and-out-and-in-and-out-and-in-and-out of my
toes. Cold sand was always my favorite. It was comfortable and it reminded me
of those youthful nights of promiscuity and campfires. I made my way onto the
wooden exit pathway. Trrrroomp. Trrraaaoomp. Trrrromp. Looking
around, I ascertained that I was about a mile away from the heart…I mean the home.
I needed to get back to my room to grab my supplies for my next project. I
needed to prepare…tonight would be the night. The mural…the
masterpiece…the…the…the…
My room was a mess.
What did you expect? Sock, sock, sock, underwear, shoe, half a shoe, paper,
paper, book, book….. ah yes! The Wal-Mart bag. Inside was something special,
for the project. Cans of paint that clinked-chink-chunked together. I was
thoroughly excited. I placed the bag on my vagabond couch and crashed my body
into my bed. I didn’t sleep. I already slept on the beach of sandhoppers and
sky piranhas. Like a sapling I planted myself into my bed. Hours….they did
pass. They didn’t pass well….but they did pass. C’tick C’tock. Slow and goopy the minutes flew like a bird in
slow-sad-motion. The idea of it….the mural…I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I
felt like Mary. There was something gestating within my sinewy soul. It was to
be fantastic. Even the law was to love such a great work. Indeed. Indeed.
There was a knock
at my door. Pf-oooom! Pf-ooooooom!
Loud and thunderous. It was the landlord.
Wakawakawakawakawakawaka….blahbablahbablahblahblah. Nuisance noise from an
angry landlord. He droned on-and-on-and-on about the bullshit rent. I didn’t
care. Money is just a capitalist scheme. The landlord said something then about
eviction. I didn’t care. He wouldn’t kick me out. He never did before. He was a
coward. A bald greasy coward. No one likes a landlord…except Carlyle.
The fridge was
full. Beer mostly. I saw a couple of apples in the hind portion of the fridge.
I couldn’t remember why I put apples in the fridge. I grabbed a beer…no wait…I
grabbed two; for insurance purposes. It was 3 pm; I debated the concept of
getting drunk this early. I returned the beer back to the fridge. I decided to
be civilized. I looked around the room for something to do. I found a pack of
cigarettes. I was trying to quit, so why did I have these still? I grabbed a
pot and I placed the cigarettes in the pot. There was a bottle of yellow
lighter fluid to my left. Grabbed it. Squeezed it into the pot. Came out like
piss. It smelt strong; just like you’d expect it to smell. I walked out to my
balcony. Clriiiick. Shhhriclriiiick.
The lighter flame was lit. Clang. The
zippo hit the pot. Fooooooooosh! I
lost an eyebrow.
Suddenly…triggered.
I caught the spirit of the great unborn mural within me. I had it. The
inspiration. My…my…the…my…
The Fear
It gains momentum
Cannonball Express
The collision!
My
womb of inspiration writhed-and-writhed-around-around-angrily-around. The
gestation of a glorious revolution was on the verge of prolapse. A few more
hours.
To kill Atlas
Assume control
The collision!
Watch everything
The Origins of
Species Pt. VI
Shassshshagashasa. Shhhhjhhchkkkkrchaaashas.
Ssshhhkkarrrreasssshhha! ch cha cha datradtas!! Wretregggggshhhhakkarsha!!!!! My
neighbors argued once again; their voices sliced through the paper stucco
walls. Their penetrating sounds of insolence and domestic strife fought
intensely with my spirit. It was time to leave.
The Exodus
The
sidewalks were covered in friendly garbage. I kicked a can. Then I kicked a
rock. Then I kicked the can again.
Thecantherockthecantherockthecantherockthecan…In the distance I saw a woman. I
fell in love with her. I didn’t know her. She was built like a romantic fauve. My eyes traced the outline of her
body. I-loved-I-loved-body-the-love-I-loved-yes.
Lemon tree very
pretty and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of
the poor lemon is impossible to eat.
Lemon tree very
pretty and the lemon flower is sweet
But the fruit of
the poor lemon is impossible to eat.
I
loved that woman. She was my momentary lover. Sweet…impossible to eat. I never
talked to her. I kept on my walk. Thecantherockthecantherockthecantherock…
The
park was broken, but satisfying. I sat on a hill next to a palmy-palmy palm tree.
It swayed, with gusto. Swiiiiiishhhswwwwaaashhhswiiiishhhswooooosh.
I looked out upon the people roaming the park.
One…two…threefourfive…six…adog…seveneight…ten. Ten people wandered around the
circular pathway. Each interspersed along the ridges of the green hairy grass. Roooooffff. Rrrrrrrooooff. I sat in the
middle, on the hill, back against the swish-swaying-swashbuckling-palmy-palm-tree.
Eleven. Roooooffff. Rufffruffrooooof. Another
dog. Yipyipyip. Yaaaapyipyip. I
closed my eyes. I prayed to something. Keeechhhhhhauuuuuuu.
A man sneezed.
6:36 PM
It
was time to begin.
I returned to my
room. That was when the drinking began. The process was necessary. My first
beer was the coldest. Refreshing and beneficial. The worst part of every beer
is the first and the last sips. The first sip tastes the best, but then come
the bubbles-frothy-frothy-grain-pale-frothy-bubbles. The bubbles always spill
on to the floor like a bad science experiment from high school. The last sip
tastes the worst. It is all bubble-bubble-beer-froth. I cleared the fridge and
constructed a glass monument to my victory. The alcoholic Arc de Triomphe de I’Étoile. I was Napoleon and the architect.
The
paint. Clank. Clank. Clunk. Clank. The
brushes, stiff extensions of my hands. A ladder, my transcendent platform of
Babel. I had everything. It was time to give birth.
In those days a decree went out from Caesar
Augustus that all the world should be registered.
The Exile
10:46 PM
Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the
town of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem.
The wall. This was
the Bethlehem wall. Near the park. The wall of the mural. On the hill. It was
to be done. The wall. I opened my bag of paint. Shriiiish. Shraaash. I grabbed one of the clank-clunk-chunk cans
and opened it. Behind me two men were arguing. I mixed the paint
around-around-around. The colors mashed together until the paint was white. Yaaaaahggghh! Yaaggbbaaa Yahhhbaad!!!
Yataaaaatchatatata!! The argument was heated. Thwackkk! A blow was made to the smaller of the men. I grabbed my
brush and began to paint the bottom half of the wall. Thick brush strokes. Fwiiiiiif. Fwiiiiiif.
Day after day, alone on the hill
The man with the foolish grin is keeping
perfectly still
But nobody wants to know him
They can see that he’s just a fool
And he never gives an answer
Roooooooofffff!!! Raaaauuuuuffffffff!!!!
Rooofffrooofrofrofrooooof! Another dog. Eleven? I climbed up on the second
step of my ladder. Higher and higher the paint reached. Ca-Click! A revolver was drawn. The paint spread further and
further. Pop! Pop! I climbed down the
ladder and I opened a can of royal-pristine-purple-paint. The bigger man
screamed in agony.
And while they were there, the time came for
her to give birth.
Maddening
footsteps escaped through a back alleyway. I began to paint with the purple.
Quick brush strokes. Fwip. Fwipfwap.
Fwipfwip…fwippfwap. It was coming together. The master piece. The child.
It hurts to set you free
But you’ll never follow me
The end of laughter and soft lies
The end of nights we tried to die
My arms moved
swiftly-rapidly-volant-quick-quick-convulsions. Purple consumed the empty void
of the white painted wall. The child. Next, was the yellow paint.
Blue-red-blue-red-blue-red-blue-red-blue-red. The flashing police lights
bounced off-and-on-and-off-and-on the façade of the mural. I opened my final
can of paint. The child was here. The Christ….
And she gave birth to her firstborn son.
I
dispensed the yellow onto the wall. Footsteps behind me. Faster and faster I
painted…I birthed. The pain was strong when the black despotic nightstick hit
me in the face.
Glory to God on the Highest.
I stood back up from the
discombobulating blow. I ran back towards the painting. I had to finish.
Desperately, my brush contacted the wall. I was almost done.
In his anger and his shame
“I am leaving, I
am leaving.”
But the fighter
still remains.
Fwwwhhhammmmm!!! Another blow. To the
chest this time. I fell to my knees. I am almost finished. The immaculate
conception!!!!!!
So ya
Thought ya
Might like to go
to the show.
To feel the warm
thrill of confusion,
That space cadet
glow.
Tell me is
something eluding you sunshine?
Is this not what
you expected to see?
I coughed up
blood. Not the first time. I stood up. The final charge. The last crusade. Custer’s last stand. I charged the wall
wielding my yellow tipped sword. Thoooock!
The night stick collided with my face. I pierced my paint-sword into the
wall and I furiously thrusted it downwards. The last stroke.
Unto us a savior is born.
I fell to the ground. Face down I
was beaten-beaten-beaten. I gave up I was done. This was the…divine coup de grace.
This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end.
The
grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen.
