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| "THE SAUSAGE CREATURE"
Jet black wheels against the murky dense silence of scab toned asphalt.
A couple hours straight into the heart of Arkansas. Pine trees claw there way out of the sad ground, reaching out an an unforgiving sky. I watched quietly, as we passed a broken down semi, organ tail lights flickering. The driver light his cigarette and sighed.
The road clawed on into the dead of night. Only the howl of the wind to remind us that we are not, nor will we ever be civilized human beings. A truck blasts its horn and charges on. Yes we are all just apes in this freak show and the tickets are free.
We stop in some shit kicker town. A young boy with down syndrome sits laughing, drinking a coke while his mother plays solitare, deep lines engraved in her cigarette toned flesh. Forgotten pinball machines and a clerk with a nervous face, listening to country radio. I see a man buying a pouch of redman and a 24 back of beer.
Souls gather around the cash register as jumpy looking meth fenes grill up the stench of liver or gizzards or something that makes me head straight for the door. A man wearing a camo jacket holds the door for me, I never got much southern hospitality anyway.
But no bother, I was never one to embrace anything so shallow.
True cultures are rooted straight into the depths of the earth. Brown toned faces. Emotional intelligence. Cosmic language, crying out into the falling snow.
We press on into the jet black of night.
On the side of the road the flash of white light electrocutes the eyes of pointy eared deer. Heads bowed down against the earth, feeding on grass.
I didnt think much of Arkansas.
But any hotel room with cable television.
Can always make it seem like home.
If only for a moment.
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| i remember dusk
as the magma light flooded across the tall green grass like the secret flutter of broken angel wings.
pacing in the faceless gas station. orange soda pop in my hand. kids trying to buy cigarettes.
i remember getting into the van. as we made our way twords durango. that orange glow. hovering like forgotten static.
the road weaved.
grass.
faded into aspen groves.
music roared out of trebble toned speakers.
girls talking to boys.
boys pretending they were listening.
we sat there in the back of that van. watching the headlights drift beside and then beyond us. lost forever for all we knew or cared.
i remember the amphetamine drip.
her head pressed against my sholder.
everyone talked and mummbled and made useless noise. but i didnt say anything. i had nothing to say. just sat there listening to the sad drone pouring out of my headphones. 18 years old. still an asshole. but at least i was still trying.
we sat in the back of that van. watching the headlights blanket the road. watching cars rise and fall over nameless hills in the thick of the colorodo night.
and then it came
orange city lights flooding the skyline like gasoline on a wedding dress
weaving into town. sitting in the back of that van. her head resting against my shoulder.
we pull into a shitty motel. everyone gets antsy. kids rushing to escape for the inevetable cigarette break.
my senior class trip.
teachers getting rooms. stressed. fucking teenagers.
i get off the van and waltz across the ugly concrete. i see him standing there with keys in hand. he has known me since i was 15. i ask questions about rooms. there are not enough teachers to fill every room. i gaze into the sparkles of his eyes.
"can you promise me that there will be no exchange of bodily fluids between anyone staying in your room."
i answer straight faced.
he smirks. i smirk. i take the key in my sweaty palm.
she has a twin. hes my best friend. we share a room.
we enter the motel room. that sweet motel stench. such character in its musk. far to many people will never learn to appreciate its worn out broken boned odor of lost hope.
we turn on the television. its blaring waves of shit as usual. we watch some sitcom about people who live in new york city. none of us have ever been there. but we laugh like we understand and actually care.
then they suggest we go on a walk.
we leave them alone in that hotel room with its broken boned stench.
the midnight air swirled across my bare legs. that sweet blue air flooding my lungs and filling my heart. my hair flickering in its glow. that sweet midnight air of shitty motels and dreamy nights in durango.
we walk to a grocery store. its late. and there still open. we walk the isles. we find some ice cream. the cashier is tired. the cashier is always tired.
outside we sit on a display bench. we eat our ice cream. my arm wrapped around her. remembering that just that time the previous year i lost my virginity at 17 against a canyon wall. one month later i would enter rehab. the only way i'd ever see her again. and there i was. sitting with her on that bench in the midst of the blue night in durango. somwhere in the distance a motor roared. neon signs light up somwhere in the distance. traffic buzzed. i remember it like it was yesterday. smoking my cigarettes there on that bench. without a care in the world. what a feeling. such life lay ahead of me. and where did it all go? when does it all come crashing down?
we wait.
and wait.
"so do you think there done yet?"
"i dont know maybe"
we walk back across the empty street. its 1am now. we knock.
"JUST A MINUTE"
i laugh. light another cigarette.
we wait. a minute later he comes to the door with an evil grin on his face.
they get dressed. they leave.
we were just kids really.
later on they come back and take a shower together. we watch more bad TV until it gets late. they get in the other bed and we all watch TV together. and its strange. almost akward. but i dont care since i'm sitting as far away from them as possible. huddled in the corner next to the window. like it should be.
i grew up intoverted you see. seeking out comforts. always afraid. insecure and anxious. fucked up and everything else.
we talk a bit. me and him have some laughs that they dont understand. we have been close for.
a long time.
the night begins to grow old.
we are all getting sleepy.
the light goes out.
the tv turns off.
we silently dance under the motel sheets once more.
in the morning the sun is shining bright.
i was 18 years old.
i remember that blue night.
that swirling wind snagging my hair in its angelic grasp.
god damn it was good when everyone was even.
now its over.
i have become a failure
others have moved on
the even playing field is just dried bones in the desert wind.
as long as i'm with her
things are gonna be alright
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| i'll add to that
last week i went into the phsyc unit to please my parents who are all feaked out about me going on and off my medication. it was lame in there. they treat you like you have just murdered room full of school children. first they said they were just goign to give me more valium for my anxiety but they didnt. cocks. so when my throat starts closing up from anxiety i have to take tiny bits of what little valium i do have left. i think they beleive i'll abuse it because i've been in rehab. ivde had 7 pills in my possesion for almost 4 weeks now. years ago that shit would be gone in one day. i've just gotten older.
p.s. in general i think apes are facinating creatures. | | |
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| translation from a german blog:
Was too rotten to that translate, now aber..)
I saw just the series 'Ghosts' of John Argetsinger (http://www.wavyhead.com/). It gathered some homeless in Alaska portraitiert and its stories. The pictures, as well as the texts, had an immense influence on me. I only can recommend to lead myself that too mind. It expands the horizon unusually, and one gets naturally also very much inspiration.
Many an of you will know probable that I go weeks in the autumn two to Bosnia. It becomes very interesting.. just now where I planned this project.
The formed under us (;)) the war/e would be allowed to know around that at that time in the former Bosnia. One sees very many people even in the earlier so cultural, highly esteemed university cities around money beggaries. Very many children ask about a couple of mark or meal. The people say one, one should give these people no money. That would be yet all gipsy. Gipsy is by the way synonymous with bad, ill-bred, uneducated, impudent...
Likes to be. But how in despair a family or a mother must be, to send its own children to complete strangers. Therewith it beggaries. How incorrect this grateful view can be if one gives one of these children a hard disk bread.
Through the war, many people lost everything. Your loving, its possession, its belief, its hope. Your will. Teddys with bombs were prepared, that became cancel activated in that and later rose an hour, probably in the children room of an infant. Civilians were shot on the street when they wanted to go shopping. Measure rapes, of women, of children.
I will seek people, whom such things are befall. That permit me to hear its story and it to portraitieren. In order to expand my horizon. In order to expand the horizon of the world. In order to show the world an aspect, that it so not yet knew. Commentaries commentaries & answers | | |
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