[and you write “things” because you have no idea what they are or their consistency, whether they are patterns or memories or active synapses, whatever they are, they’re wound up in tight and taut muscles, somewhere in your mind, a bundle of nerves, wires, just above the medulla, atop the spine. Within this, that “thing”, that trembles.]
[It’s a matter of discourse and detachment; of coming and going and returning to where “she” is no longer.]
[This thing that haunts with one face, your face; “she” has melted into everything you remind yourself of, even though it is hardly ever just “her”; The parts that were never “her”, but there is no one here, besides yourself, and the trembling, to note “otherwise”, in the sparse margin you left “her” in.]
[Even in “her”, you struggle with what you wish to remember solely. It is, perhaps, a cowardly act to believe when something is no longer there, that “she” was that one thing to need, to have here always.]
[In the magical moment of fascination, it is all possible, all can in deed be answered. At the precise moment of disbelief comes “belief”, fashioned by the shape of “her” unrecognizable before you and you ignore the monstrosity of it. Of course it is not too large. Of course “she” is all you ever wanted, every time you have met “her”.]
[Every thought is just a half thought, not a half consideration, or half important, but because each is extremely so, you are here to begin with, and these are more than thoughts.]
[You wonder briefly, if these places are shared, if “she” walk into this or that particular memory and can, even more so, remember the things that you see there, or, if “she” didn’t walk, or remember, would it still be the same room?]
[It is only a matter of time, as always, that the walls of “her” room, compress themselves into the one remaining corner, similar to an escape hatch, that “she” breathes out and through all that you denied of “her”. You peer into this corner and wonder if “she” can so easily strain through, what of the memory of “her”? There is nothing here to hold this with, save perhaps your teeth, and this.]
[You remember because some thing is short of time, short of breath, you believe it to be your body, it is not quite clear.]
[And when memory and the memory of a dream become interchangeable, when nothing is clear and all permeable, the distinctions you make of “her” can not be trusted to be of “her” exactly. For exactly this reason is the membrane thin, you’ve worn “her” to the point where “she” has lost distinction.]
[In your head you’re in a place that you do not want to be in but that is relatively the safest place. Looking at her brings so very a point to everywhere else. Not that you do not feel pain here.]
[At this point you stumble to just one thing, always when you have just nothing to say, when you’ve said all that had to be said except for this, this “thing”, that trembles.]

Two fractions of one thing equal broken parts strung together by a hairline of a fracture and if fractions are held together by fractures where can we find ourselves in each other whole?

There were many steps around his fingers, round and twisted distortions of feathers. The distinguishing mark of his vein seemed blue and realistic, as if the sun had set vineyards we were watching. He said, “There were many distinguishing features of our jawbones.” A corrupted tree was the sign of a new intention. And we were clever; all we had was sawbones, or bones that were sawed, it was hard to tell with racks of pain. She tried mangling her hair again, a sculpture of divine proportions and she fucked anyone who could afford it. I hated the incompetence on my part, I didn’t take up the rope and strangle all politicians. It was an impasse and the blades were drawn onto sand. She said she liked it, especially when my hands were a warped conception: as long as we weren’t conceiving.

She held me tightly and as she gripped and stroked me to point of cumming, I felt her fangs pierce my neck. I came and went. I came and my blood went, both into her and onto her until I was spent and dead. And to think that was the end of it.

He had been bleeding for a number of days now and it was beginning to worry him. What troubled him was that he couldn’t pin point it’s source, just a thin puddle everywhere he went, usually left at the bottom of whatever seat he was sitting in, or around the soles of his feet. No one else seem to mind, occasionally someone would point out to him that he was bleeding, and embarrassingly, he’d nod his head and mutter, ‘I know, i’m sorry..’

And after he passed out, she reached into her purse, pulling out an exacto razor blade. She went back to the limp form and turned him over, straddling him. Carefully, having bent close down to his face, she stretched the skin of the eyelid with two fingers, between the eyelashes and the eyebrow, the top of the socket. Slow and precise, she lowered the razor.

He dragged her to the opening in the ground. She sobbed and laughed, tears and smiles, eyes half-closed and smeared mascara, grizzle in her teeth.
He couldn’t understand, didn’t care to, shuffling along, grip ion the handcuffs, tugging her, sandpaper scraping of her boots.

He checked the window again.
She was late.
The phone rang. He picked it up on the third ring. “Yes?”
“Hi honey, I just got home.” Susan. It was his fiancee.
He checked the window, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder. “OK babe. Get some sleep.”
“Goodnight then, hey, tomorrow at five?”
Headlights turned onto his driveway. “Of course,” he checked his watch.
She was an hour late.
“Sweet dreams hon.”
“You too”, he blew a kiss into the phone and hung up.
A knock at the door. He opened it and she came in wearing only a raincoat and spiked heels.
“You’re late”, he said.
“A late fuck is better than no fuck”, she walked into the living room, shouldering off her coat, “C’mon handsome, the welts you left me last time are beginning to heal.”
He looked at the phone and then slowly, eyes now on her, entered the living room, undoing his belt.

so we were cutting her up, skinning her to tell the truth, and well, she kind of frowned. we had plenty of time before we would actually ‘disassemble’ her, as terri had put it. but that’s how we went about it: skin her and then saw through the bones. we had pretty much worked out the details, this wasn’t our first time. we weren’t amateurs, you know. plenty of experience, let me tell you. one time we had to chase down a girl down in the bayou. shit, terri got all pissed when he fell flat on his face, almost right on a crocdile. ripped that bitch almost right up the sternum.

‘It isn’t always quite as easy as this.’ he drew across the floor a line in the dust with the mangled branch he found outside. ‘We’re lucky that there’s still time to catch the flight.
She turned from the motel window. Making sure that the curtain fell back over the view. She could barely see him or the stick, even though she had been the one to find them both. Kneeling down where there was a huddled mass of something thicker than the rest of the room, she tried to make out the dust or the line in the dust, rather than the floor, she had enough of floors and things to be standing on. Gently her hand found his and he was shaking, by then she could make out the stick in his hand and she could see that it had done drawing the line across the dust piled on the floor, and that it was steady. ‘Of course’, she whispered.
‘What?’ he turned to her and could see her fascination was somewhere else and he didn’t mind, not that he could have any say in the matter. that was how things were between them, not much thinking about aloud, no harassment to spare, or even subject the other to, neither had considered it for a long time, and besides, the sun was setting, they were little time left, and left only to each other. Trust had to be a somehow come out of this, something as impossible as that, not sex, not love. Not a night’s worth of passion and just plain old dangerous liaisons as one would say, nothing Hollywood happening here, just them and the stick and an overfilled parking lot that hung outside the door with dread and silence.