Sunday, August 31, 2008
66.
MANHATTAN SYNDROME. A neuropsychological disorder wherein the patient feels a need, real or imagined, for all members of the opposite sex to be in love with him/her. Individuals within the patient's realm of familiarity are automatically considered subject to romantic interest, while individuals outside the patient's familiarity are treated as hypothetically attainable, subject to the patient's will. 9 in 10 cases non-fatal. See also: HEART DISEASE.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
67.
Most people, they get stabbed in the shoulder, they say something like "ow" or "holymotherfuckingow." Athens just says: "You're getting sloppy."
"Doesn't matter," spits Manchester. "I've found something better... grenades."
Athens rolls her eyes and extracts the blade. "Look, it's not that you're not dangerous. You just lack precision. And it's not. all. about. blood."
"Murderer."
"Sticks and stones..."
"Rapist."
"Getting warmer..."
"Faker."
Athens winces, satisfied. "Attaboy."
"Doesn't matter," spits Manchester. "I've found something better... grenades."
Athens rolls her eyes and extracts the blade. "Look, it's not that you're not dangerous. You just lack precision. And it's not. all. about. blood."
"Murderer."
"Sticks and stones..."
"Rapist."
"Getting warmer..."
"Faker."
Athens winces, satisfied. "Attaboy."
68.
London sleeps like a rock. Literally. He's incapable of sleep.
Half the problem is Phoenix mumbling revenge schematics in his unconsciousness; the other half is the spin-off ideas this gives London. Blend with a dozen Hail Marys, cold, and you've got yourself a nice little mixed metaphor, complete with the twist of irony.
He climbs to the ramparts, to see everything. Tonight it's a ship, swiftly moving east.
Half the problem is Phoenix mumbling revenge schematics in his unconsciousness; the other half is the spin-off ideas this gives London. Blend with a dozen Hail Marys, cold, and you've got yourself a nice little mixed metaphor, complete with the twist of irony.
He climbs to the ramparts, to see everything. Tonight it's a ship, swiftly moving east.
69.
Bulletproofing the station wagon is maybe the smartest idea Dublin’s ever had.
All jobs thus far: scot-free. Still, says Venice, it doesn’t really count till they’ve done Colombia.
(You know the proverb about life screwing you over? By now, Dublin’s had so much proverbial fucking lemonade he could vomit.)
“Let’s rock’n’roll,” he announces, ignition hot, then spits on the rear view mirror for good luck. “Lot’s wife’s rules apply.”
All jobs thus far: scot-free. Still, says Venice, it doesn’t really count till they’ve done Colombia.
(You know the proverb about life screwing you over? By now, Dublin’s had so much proverbial fucking lemonade he could vomit.)
“Let’s rock’n’roll,” he announces, ignition hot, then spits on the rear view mirror for good luck. “Lot’s wife’s rules apply.”
Monday, August 4, 2008
70.
One night, the maiden finds her sister drunk, throwing stones at an upper window of the monastery. “Havana,” she says gently, “please stop.”
Postergirl of bloodshot heartbreak, Havana stumbles forward. “It’s too late. He’s already coming down. To forgive me.”
The maiden pulls back her sister’s hair, sopping with whiskey and bile. “I thought it was the end?”
“Nah.” Havana smiles, weak and wasted. “That’s the only lie he tells.”
Postergirl of bloodshot heartbreak, Havana stumbles forward. “It’s too late. He’s already coming down. To forgive me.”
The maiden pulls back her sister’s hair, sopping with whiskey and bile. “I thought it was the end?”
“Nah.” Havana smiles, weak and wasted. “That’s the only lie he tells.”
71.
He removes his blue dress shirt, so she removes her blue jeans.
“He’s a child!”
“He’s old enough to commit arson, he’s old enough to have his heart broken.”
(Secretly, Cairo sanctions this logic.) “You could lose your job.”
“You’re thinking of alcohol.”
He removes black jeans. “Uno.”
She sheds a black stocking, so he puts his shirt back on. “I miss Go Fish,” she pouts.
“No, darling, you miss winning.”
“He’s a child!”
“He’s old enough to commit arson, he’s old enough to have his heart broken.”
(Secretly, Cairo sanctions this logic.) “You could lose your job.”
“You’re thinking of alcohol.”
He removes black jeans. “Uno.”
She sheds a black stocking, so he puts his shirt back on. “I miss Go Fish,” she pouts.
“No, darling, you miss winning.”
72.
The way most people have only one good joke, London tells only one lie.
From the monastery ramparts he sees everything – countryside for miles around; ocean to the west; the past, present, future. And Havana. Occasionally as a vision and more frequently to the east, attempting a self-stoning ritual with the ricochets from his bedroom window. I repent, she screams.
…And the last shall be –
The first step to self-sacrifice is forgetfulness.
From the monastery ramparts he sees everything – countryside for miles around; ocean to the west; the past, present, future. And Havana. Occasionally as a vision and more frequently to the east, attempting a self-stoning ritual with the ricochets from his bedroom window. I repent, she screams.
…And the last shall be –
The first step to self-sacrifice is forgetfulness.
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