112909

they were gathered in groups of three: mother, father, child. mother, father, child. if a new batch had more than three to it then the smallest ones would be sent to the "refuse" pile, thus fulfilling the "rule". if incoming subjects were a third piece short then the admitting officer would assign one of the rejected from the refuse pile to an incoming couplet, once again fulfilling the "rule".

dream of love. the unbreakable kind. the kind you wish could never be returned, because you want so bad to believe that yours is the strongest kind, that nobody else can feel about someone the way you feel about someone. you want that for yourself. to give of yourself. to receive upon yourself. dream of that love. the kind that never came. because you did feel that way, so much, so strong, so long. but he never came. love to stand on two feet. love to knock you out cold. prize fighters never knew such strength as your love. your love never knew such pain. dream of love. the kind that spreads. every drop of water is your love. every wisp of hair. every clasped hand. every blinking eye. every wanton smile. your love is your love.

110509

Giorgio Contreras Romero cut him self from hip to hip, along the waist, and back around the lower part of his neck, just below the bone. He sat in a hut at the edge of the bluff and waited for forty-two days. During that time he bled into a ceramic bowl for twenty-three days and twenty-three nights and on the twenty-forth day his wife came to him.
“Where have you been, my darling?” she asked, a relieved tremble carrying her words.
“It’s been twenty-four days, twenty-four days that I’ve been here in this hut, sitting and bleeding. Where have you been?” he responded, looking only at the marble slab resting before him. The palms of his hands were coarse and pale, flaking away like dry paint. His wife stood in the doorway of the wood hut, eyes sunken, and said, “My darling, I’ve been to here and there looking for you.”
There was a pause. Slowly, Romero stood up from his spot. He bent low to lift the marble slab from the ground, leaving only dead skin in its place. His wife watched anxiously as Romero shifted his the wafer that was his body and began to carefully walk toward her.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” he spoke, shaking as he stood in front of her, “but this is what I have seen.”
“Darling?” was the last thing the wife of Giorgio Contreras Romero spoke before being crushed under the weight of the marble slab. Satisfied with his work, Romero returned to his spot on the floor and once more took up his ceramic bowl.
Eleven days would pass before anything would happen once again in the tiny hut at the edge of the bluff. Romero lay motionless underneath the wooden beams as they shifted from brown to cold steel, mutating into something not quite whole, converting five thousand years worth of memory into a single moment. What once was dirt and stone was now cement and metal, industrious and uniform. Romero curled in the remains of his shelter. The bluff begat paved road, the wood hut spawned something of a garage, and people sat all about this new and peculiar place.

I need a new start. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my entire life.
This is something of a predicament.
No one says, “Predicament”.
Pass me another one of those.
Yeah, well that may be true, but honestly, what do you think will really happen?
This is the way those things work.
You wait and see, man.
I’ve heard it all before, okay? We’ve all heard it before.
People say that. People say a lot of things.
What? Open your mouth when you talk.
Shhh. Do you see that?
I’m telling you to shut the Hell up right now.
I’ve practiced this before. Trust me. It’s okay.
No, he’s not coming. He just called and told me.
You’re seeing this, right?
There should be some more over there.
Yeah, I think I’ve seen this all before.

enter in to occular appraisal - section two: version seven - "drunkard on the withering bank"

on a mound of black dust
is the keeper who must
be of duty and goodwill divine
though his courage is clear
his fictitious veneer
is preceded by holy combine
though in separate tunes
the lioness fumes
o'er cavorting and lamenting loons
while her partner will sleep
under whispering trees
dreaming of dead and dying cocoons
their shells hardly made
in wallowing shade
while the underside melts in the sun
and the lives of the dead
never living an age
have no value to prides of the youth
they are timid and breathless today
they are silent and ne'er the astray
they are loners in god's holy day



these are melancholy times, you said. i didn't understand what the former had meant in reference to the conversation at hand. we had only been discussing the day to day, trivial in its nature. but you came out of no where with such melodramatic verse. i told you i didn't understand. no one does, you said. no one does. though the spirits begged to be taken more seriously than yourself, that much is true.


dear god what are you even saying? let's be perfectly plain here: what is it that happens to us when we die? i have the feeling that my mind tells me it's something grand, that i'll be living my life in a subconscious state, thinking and feeling freely that which i've always wanted. a neverending dream. though there's the slight chance i may spend the rest of all eternity burning unmercifully in the bowels of hell for all time. though with the latter i find myself not as worried as the normal, god-fearing man may be. for one, i know that won't be the case. it's impossible. and for two, if it is the case, well, i know i'll be spending it there with you. right? did you really think you'd get off that easily? luckily we won't have to worry about that. but what if, on the off chance, nothing happens? then what? who's the winner in this cosmic game of eternal roulette? who's the one to say, well, i told you so? does it really matter? there's been a levity in my step since accepting what i've come to believe. and, like i said, if i'm wrong, well, i know you'll be right there with me.

part one: all hands on deck (a summoning of great import)

sir walter mcgown
was a father and clown
and a writer in '73
he lived on a boat
with a pigeon and goat
and a half-hearted love of the sea
for 42 years
he hadn't a tear
or a reason for leaving the dock
until on the morn
of april 24
came word that began with a knock
at the steps of his door
walt stood on the floor
a horror awake in his head
as the messanger spoke
with a crack in his throat
"my dear sir your poor boy is dead"
said walter mcgown
collapsed to the grown
"how could something so grim come to be?"
"your boy had gone mad,"
he spoke, cold and flat,
"and hung himself from an oak tree"
and the messanger left
with mcgown now bereft
mustering only a half-hearted tear
as he lay on his back
slipping into the black
of a peace only dreams can hear.

"excerpt"

EXT. DINER - DAY

A quaint, Chicago-style diner on the corner of two cross
streets. The lunch rush is just beginning to die down.

SAM (O.S.)
I think I’m dying.


EXT. DINER - PATIO - DAY

Sitting at a table on the patio is a 24 year old man,
skinny, black hair, and wearing a plain white t-shirt and
camouflage shorts. This is SAM. Across from his is ERIC, 24,
same build but dirty-blond hair, wearing Ray Bans and a
short-sleeved button shirt and jeans. Sam sits, distracted,
watching people walk by while Eric scans the menu.

ERIC
(Hearing this before)
You’re not dying.

SAM
What?

ERIC
What?

Sam glances toward Eric then quickly returns his attention
to the passerby’s.

ERIC (CONT’D)
I said you’re not dying.

Shuffling in his chair Sam shifts his attention back to
Eric. He is now focused on the conversation.

SAM
I am. Look at this.

He holds up his hand. It shakes like a tiny tremor as he
holds it over the table. Eric puts down the menu and
examines his hand. He grabs it, pulls down his sunglasses,
puts them back on, then picks up the menu again.

SAM (CONT’D)
See?

ERIC
No.

A young, dark haired waitress wearing blue jeans and a polo
style shirt approaches their table. Her name-tag says KELLY.




SAM
You didn’t just see that?

KELLY
Hi. I’m Kelly, your waitress.

ERIC
I saw it. It’s nothing.
(to Kelly)
Hi, Kelly.

SAM
You don’t know.
(to Kelly)
Hi.
(to Eric)
You don’t know anything.

Sam looks away from the table and fixes his focus across the
street. Kelly stands there, confused, but aware she’s just
walked in on something. Eric notices this.

ERIC KELLY
I apologize. No, no it’s I hope I’m not
okay. interrupting. I can come
back.


SAM (CONT’D)
It’s not okay. I’m dying.

KELLY
I’m sorry.

ERIC
You’re not dying.
(to Kelly)
He’s not dying. He’s just having an
off day.

SAM
It’s not an off day.

KELLY
People can have off days.

ERIC SAM
Thank you. It’s not an off day!


Sam, irritated, lifts his arm to show Kelly his shaking
hand.





SAM
Look.

KELLY
You’re shaking.

SAM
See? I’m not doing that.

KELLY
You’re shaking. Shaking’s not
dying.

ERIC
Thank you.

Sam shoots a looks in Eric’s direction who is now grinning
semi-victoriously. Kelly also smirks.

SAM
I’ll have the club sandwich.

Kelly is caught off-guard. Sam, not making eye contact, is
silent.

KELLY
Did you want something to drink?

SAM
No.

She makes a gesture towards Eric who makes a "sorry" face at
her.

ERIC
I’ll just have a cheeseburger and
water. Thanks.

KELLY
(awkwardly)
Okay then. Thanks.

She takes the menus from the two men and exits toward the
inside of the diner. Beat.

ERIC
You embarrass us, man.

SAM
LOOK AT THIS!

He shoves his arm right into Eric’s face. Eric grabs it and
slaps him with his own hand then removes his sunglasses.






ERIC
You’re not dying!

The outburst draws the attention of the other patrons. A
small child walking by with his mother stops and stars at
the scene. Sam takes notice.

SAM
What do you want, asshole?

The mother, unknowing, pulls her child’s arm and they cross
the street.

ERIC
Unbelievable.

Kelly returns with their drinks. She places both at the
table.

SAM ERIC
(not looking) Thanks, Kelly.
Thanks.


KELLY
Anything I can get you two while
you wait?

ERIC
I think we’re good for now. Sam?

Kelly looks at Sam who is still staring off. His oddness
intrigues her. She waits for his response, hoping he’ll look
at her.

SAM
No.

Letdown. Eric notices this.

KELLY
Alright. Your food should be here
shortly.

Kelly leaves the two men.

ERIC
She’s cute.

Sam, who is staring at an older, heavy-set woman sitting on
respondsowith:ch across the street when Eric says this






SAM
Seriously? She’s pretty beat up.
(turning to Eric)
You’re always into the weird,
messed up ones? What’s up with
that?

Eric realizes what Sam is referring to and quickly cuts him
off.

ERIC
I mean Kelly, idiot.

SAM
Who?

ERIC
(pointing to inside)
Kelly.

SAM
The waitress?

ERIC
The waitress. Kelly. Yes.

SAM
She’s kind of an asshole.

ERIC
No, she’s not.

SAM
No, yeah, she is. Thinks she knows
everything.

ERIC
Because she said you weren’t dying?

SAM
She doesn’t know my body.

ERIC
She wants to. She gave you a look
when you were off in space, staring
at strangers.

SAM
(doubtful)
That a fact?






ERIC
That’s a fact. I saw it.

SAM
Yeah, but you are wearing
sunglasses.

ERIC
And?

SAM
And you’re an idiot so-

Kelly returns carrying to plates, the guys’ food.

KELLY
(setting the food down)
Cheeseburger...and a club sandwich.

As she sets down the latter she and Sam make eye contact.

KELLY (CONT’D)
Anything else I can do for the two
of you?

ERIC SAM
I think we’re good. No, thanks.


KELLY
Alright then. Enjoy! Smiling, she
leaves.

ERIC
See?

Sam looks up from his food, acknowledging his comment, but
says nothing. They continue to eat.

CUT TO:


EXT. DINER - PATIO - LATER

The two men are wrapping up their meals. Sam sits, leaned
back, with his napkin on the plate. Eric is in the same
position. Quickly:

ERIC
I gotta use the bathroom.

He takes off. Sam sits there, unfazed. He holds out his arm.
It’s no longer shaking. Kelly suddenly approaches, chipper.




KELLY
How was it?

SAM
(hiding arm)
Good. Thanks.

KELLY
You’re not shaking anymore?

SAM
Appears so.

KELLY
At least you’re not dying anymore.
She smiles, signifying a joke.

SAM
I don’t know. Maybe.

KELLY
(smiling)
I think you’ll be just fine.

SAM
Thanks.

They exchange smiles. There’s a pause.

SAM (CONT’D)
So, I, um, I think we’re about done
here.

KELLY
Oh, okay.
(removing the check)
Here’s your check. I’ll be back
around to pick it up.

SAM
Thanks.

Kelly exits. Eric comes around right as she’s leaving. They
trade smiles and he winks at Sam as he sits down.


EXT. DINER - DAY

Sam and Eric walk out the front door of the diner and on to
the boulevard. They stroll down the street to the meter
where Eric’s car is parked.




ERIC
Listen, I’m not gonna be able to
make it to the game tonight.

SAM
What? You’re kidding me? It’s
finals. Chicago’s two wins away
from the cup and you’re gonna miss
it?

ERIC
I’ve got an interview in the
morning. Some firm downtown.

SAM
Some firm downtown? Are you even
gonna enjoy the Summer, excuse me,
the last Summer of your life?

ERIC
Hadn’t planned on it.

SAM
(unconvinced)
Hadn’t pl- great. That’s good. Blow
off the game. But if they lose
tonight man, just know it’s your
fault.

They arrive at Eric’s car, a nicer looking ’96 Camry. He
opens his door as Sam continues his rant.

SAM (CONT’D)
I hope you can live with that.

ERIC
Hey man, it was bound to happen
sooner or later.

SAM
They haven’t been to the finals in
years! You act like it’s just-

ERIC
I mean this. Growing up. College is
over. As much of a drag as it is, I
don’t want to be serving coffee the
rest of my life.

Sam stands there, letting the words sink in. Eric, getting
into his car, waves a goodbye. As he starts the car and
pulls away Sam looks across the street to see the small kid
from before, eating an ice cream cone and staring right at
him.



SAM
(to himself)
Mother fucker.


INT. BOOKSTORE - DAY

Sam walks up and down the aisles of the bookstore. He
peruses the short fiction section, followed by the graphic
novel section. In between looking at books he glances up and
around for other people, particularly other women, to notice
him. He finds a book, sits down at a table, and pretends to
read when, in actuality, he’s watching for any one girl to
glance at him.


INT. BOOKSTORE - DAY

Later: Still sitting at the table, and empty coffee cup and
magazines, Sam finally gives up and leaves.


INT. COFFEE SHOP - DAY

The afternoon. Sam stands in line at the shop, keeping one
eye on the few people sitting and drinking coffee. He spots
an attractive GIRL, a little shorter than he, with long
brown hair. He approaches the counter and gives his order.

SAM
Just a small coffee.

CUT TO:


INT. COFFEE SHOP - DAY

Sam, coffee in hand, spies an empty seat next to the girl.
She’s reading a textbook, "Assessing Market Flow". He sits
down next to her, a separate table but still close. She sees
him sit down, he smiles, and she goes back to studying.

CUT TO:


INT. CAR - NIGHT

Sam drives down the boulevard. Lights are just coming on in
preparation for the night. He is indifferent.






EXT. CAR - SAM’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Sam parks his car. Two neighbors are out walking their dog.
He waves, then heads into the complex.


EXT. SAM’S APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS

Sam approaches his apartment marked 776. The paint is
peeling on the door and the handle is rusted. He unlocks the
door and moves into-


INT. SAM’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The living room of his one bedroom apartment. It is scarcely
decorated. A couch borders the opposite wall and a t.v. and
stand sit across from that. A sliding glass door to the
patio is a adjacent to the couch, the kitchen across from
that. Sam throws his keys down on the kitchen table and
walks into his bedroom


INT. SAM’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Same as the living room. A bed, some clothes, and a desk
with a computer accompany empty space. On the desk are
several books, short story anthologies, and magazines. The
closet holds a few boxes of comic books. Nothing special, at
least not to any one but Sam. He sits at the desk, checking
various things online.

CUT TO:


INT. SAM’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Later: Sam sits on the couch and watches the game, beer in
hand. A couple more bottles line his floor. Score: 3-2
Chicago.


INT. SAM’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Sam sits at his computer desk looking at pornography. He
masturbates.






INT. SAM’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Later: Sam changes clothes. He’s wearing a button-western
style shirt and jeans.

CUT TO:


INT. BAR - NIGHT

Sam sits on the end of the bar, drinking from a mug and
watching highlights from the game and other sports. There’s
only a few other people.

CUT TO:


INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT

Sam sits at the couch, watching "A Goofy Movie" and eating a
fudgesickle.


INT. SAM’S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Sam lies in bed. The clock at his nightstand reads 2:27. He
masturbates, falls asleep. Then:


INT. COFFEE SHOP Ð DAY

A dream. Sam sits at the table from earlier, next to the
same attractive girl from earlier. This time though, she
notices him, he smiles, she smiles back. Then:

SAM
(raising his coffee)
Hola.

ATTRACTIVE GIRL
Hi.

SAM
You’re very pretty. Did you know
that?

ATTRACTIVE GIRL
Thank you.

SAM
I like your eyes. Wanna see my
dick?





She nods eagerly. He stands up. WE FOCUS on his face as she
slides down his lower half. We hear her SLURPING as Sam
MOANS and his eyes ROLL in his head. He’s in unparalled
ecstacy, GROANING and BREATHING HEAVILY until:

SAM (CONT’D)
HYUCK!

The attractive girl stops and looks up, eyes wide. Sam is
bright red. Beads of sweat are beginning to form. He looks
back down at the girl. She’s wiping her mouth. Sam goes to
wipe his face only to find his hands resemble Disney
character hands, big, white gloves. Sam lets out a BURST of
a SCREAM. He looks back at the girl, only instead of an
attractive young girl he now sees Bobby Zimmeruski(Pauly
Shore’s character in A Goofy Movie).

BOBBY ZIMMERUSKI
(in the voice)
Groovy!

He then sprays a long pile of can cheese on Sam’s penis as
Sam watches, horrified. The character raises his eyebrows at
Sam right before SMASHING his face into the cheese.

"de los sue?os del pasado y presente..."

mary made the best of it, but we'd still only gotten so far, enough to make ourselves feel half-decent. and this was only the beginning, but i'd gotten used to not finishing something i'd start. hanging out with mary all the time took its toll. listen, i'm writing this drunk off my ass and half-coherent to my own thoughts. frankly, it's kind of sad. but i'll make this up and force myself to be honest about the situation because it's been far too long since i've put something down on here. most days i'd rather just leave a blank thought and let the rest work for itself, but the subconscious powers within force it upon myself to expose these terrible and heinous truths to open eyes.if only we knew the things we'd speak. if only we knew the things they'd seen. and then there was the forest hill beyond benson's point. we'd only gone there a few times, mostly in the summer, and most of the time it wasn't all that special. the point of even continuing with this charade? haven't the slightest damn clue. you play the sad fool so well. play it and play it again. like jim on the hill. goddamn you. never the spine of you. play it so goddamn well. that's why they turned out the way they did. you could cry, a thousand times over, you could cry, and cry, and cry, but it's just the part. there's no real sense. son of a bitch. but there was a sun that day, and it set like the rest of them, over the hilltop, laying down like bedsheet, bursting with color and hope. this was what we'd always hoped for but never saw. this is what we'd always thought but never showed, never wrote, never said. you sorry piece of trash. these are what's within the will-less, the fearfull. there was nothing ever there to hope for. such a dangerous thing. but those suns returned fresh and beautiful skies, and their stars were something special. but it made no sense, it made no effort, at all...