how romantic to cleave yourself out of a life. how utterly selfish and cruel. I cannot rewind or undo or forge forward. but i am suffering, they are suffering. i cannot reach out to her. i can barely reach them. i do not want to be reached. i am failing at this. i am a failure. i have failed you all.
All posts by manny@savo.us
slap images
play fetch:
man coerces dog to pee into urinal loaded with moth balls
which he then proceeds to swallow one by one
royal roast:
king visits royal stables to select hog for tonight’s roast
then proceeds to rutt with it while giving it a reacharound
blow her mind:
man cuts off the top part of his lover’s skull
then proceeds to fuck the crack
between the left and right parts of her brain
structural damage
i have built this tremendous thing, it is awe inspiring, it takes up all this room. more importantly, lives depend on it. so many lives wrapped and entwined. i study the foundation. she says to me, you’ll have ruined my life. i take a step back but do not know how to admire it any longer. it presses on me. but i do not know if the fault is with my sight, the time of day i’ve decided to regard it, or the structure as a whole. what i do know is that i can never rebuild such a thing again: it’s taken me far too long.
hurricane
pounding on glass to break out to break in to beat her to beat him to beat them into a bloody mess of jealousy and rage and glass and skin. this is what she says to me, this is what makes me smile. we sit back and breathe, trying to control the situation. my brother says to me, you’ve been out in the rain too long and it’s getting to you, these grey skies are getting to you, you need to get of london, what about rome? i’ve roamed enough, i say, and take her hand and we walk off into torrents and downpours, into mass hysterical moments of naked aggression and sex in parks. this is what i am, she says to me. i reply, this is what i’ve become
always liminal
always in this liminal fucking state yearning for the american dream and an alternative to property ownership, career instability and 401k’s shoved down the back of the throat. i can’t help but stare. i am staring and do not know how to shift my gaze onto some epiphany and resolution to all of this. i never wanted this for myself, for my wife, for my children. how did this happen? how was i convinced? why was i convinced? why have i become unconvinced? where is the lack?
he says to me, why boy, isn’t it obvious? nothing wrong with it or the rest.
you are the lack, you are the despair.
captain fuck-all
the heckler, all the time, he screams at me, how are you doing that boy, how could you possibly think you could that? you ain’t superman, you aint even captain canuck, you’re captain fuck-all.
and of course i try to drown him in scotch and mourning and racing the car through tight cobblestone streets.
it only cheers him up.
hey captain fuck-all, this is some wild ride in the back seat here. it’s like a roller coaster, but without the rails, or the belt, or any common sense whatsoever.
i pitch the junk of metal that is my car right off a cliff. how about that for a ride?
hey, what is that your problem captain fuck-all? what is your motherfucking deal?
local draft
a dreaming of this at all sides, all angles, panorama surreality, bee bumbling about into the nexus of desire and longing and restraint, all passion an empty sleeve where moths gather up and burn through, scattered bulbs of gasoline and church pews, fluttering into the parched mouths of priests whispering your confessional and we all knock back tumblers, slamming our fists out of our chairs into listening for your cunt and all it begs of you
two things do not make another
two things do not make another. he asks me, being kirk to his spock, have you ever thought that maybe it’s chemical? like try taking sami-e. and i think, no i’m not crazy, this isn’t mental. it’s behavioral. it’s when i stop doing that the rabbit hole looms and devours. the minute i rest properly and enter the small death of sleep only to resurrect back into my daughter prying open my eyes. then i return. two things to not make another. two things simply make two things more than what you had before.
no one knows everything
no one knows everything. compartments where we lock things up but cannot forget. cannot forgive. it’s all a stutter. i ghost from room to room. she tells me how her aunts told her to keep an eye on me, to keep me happy. what the fuck do they see. what the fuck do they think i am. brutal monster, i’ve forgotten how to read to my child. device failure. human failure. stain. swath of sweat across the chest, and the stench. this is what i am. not what i’ve become, this is what i’ve always been. i’m only normal in the sun, where the light blinds everyone.
(not) my fault
it is not my fault i remember things, i cannot help it. i cannot stop. the way he played with the hairs just under his nostrils, whiffing at them, as if he was remembering something, like the scent of her. just the glimmer of it, on the edge of haughty and musk. she with her feet propped up across his legs, lotion in his hand, toes splayed back. she said, get busy with my clit and i was astounded. the way his son looks at him as if to say with one fragile eyebrow raised and a shy tilt of his head, i will be more of a man than you. i cannot stop it, it slides in and out of view, like the way i can tell the difference between holding someone and being held, the reluctance and recalcitrance, the wanting and the loss. he says to me, that stupid bitch has filled the house up with everything and i take the cigarette he offers and smoke it viciously, for this too will remain.