I wrote this after I did a lot of mushrooms. It blows. 

LAZY BONER PICKING V. CULT GUMP RASH

The side effects of hexavalent chromium don’t include any of the following: night terrors, habitual addiction to picking, weight gain, or cigarette shaped finger blisters. Most of these symptoms are manageable. But, picking. Picking is a touchy issue. The general rule is, “DON’T FUCKING PICK AT THAT.” So, you don’t. Then there are agonizing hours of wanting to pick. Waiting until no one is around and looking at it in the mirror or the light of the bathroom behind closed doors. Still not picking. You could pick it and no one would know, not a damn soul. Just you and the flickering fluorescent toilet. But you still don’t pick. “It’s dark out now but in a few hours you can just call a doctor, make an appointment, do it right,” is reason enough for idle hands to poke and pry at some other area. Fuck with your nose, your ears, your eye gook. 

I

In Telfair’s sophomore year of high school, he developed a compound to aid lucid dreaming for a science project he titled Consensual Reality. It took six months of self-experimentation before he found his perfect chemical equilibrium. During trial runs Telfair often slept for days on end. Finding more of an allegiance with his unconscious mind, he eventually became addicted to the dream pills. Slowly he built a tangible existence in a dream state and a consequent permanent waking discomfort. Ever since Telfair’s bout with consensual reality, his scoliosis spine forced a crooked stance in almost every position he could contort his lanky body into; in fact, the only time he ever looked comfortable was while asleep.

The dial doubled decibels and drowned out the howl on a block notable only for noise. The sun forced into the filth of the floor at a forty-five degree angle, burning any ants trapped in the myriad of magnifying glass, broken or in bottle form. Blood frosted the peaks of the ridged glass ranges sprawled across the linoleum floor. The most desperate of ants braved it, deranged by the southern summer sun, trying to find the zenith of their Everest. Telfare didn’t mind. In fact, he liked the fuckers. Through four foster homes, eight girlfriends, seventeen apartments, three colleges and an infinite amount of bottles his tiny insect ecosystem seemed the only permanent fixture in a ephemeral life. 

FOUND TAPE. TRANSCRIBED TAPE.

B: What is your favorite texture?

H: My favorite texture is an extra shiny see-through sheen. 

 (INAUDIBLE) 

B: Okay, so, how many times do you need to be reminded of forty ounces before you know that forty ounces is forty ounces?

H: The only time I need to be reminded about forty ounces is when I’m getting some Hot Cheetos and I remember the eighty ounces is.. is ten times?

K: Are you recording?

B: I’m recording a very important tape… This is the sound of someone crunching Hot Cheetos. Jalapeno. Hot Cheetos. Jalapeno. AD 2012. Ten. Twenty twelve. Hot Cheetos. 

H: One, two, three, four, five, six, six six. 

(INAUDIBLE) 

H: holy shit. 

(INAUDIBLE) 

B: Hanne is radiating fertility. 

 AUGUST 26TH 2010

H: Today we have a very special guest with us, a certain Elizabeth Megan Hole. This is a very special experience. This woman has never been interviewed before. ELIZABETH MEGAN HOLE? WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? WHAT ARE YOU FEELING THIS VERY SECOND? Go!

B: Right now I wish I could cover a toddler in caramel. Like apple candy. The end. 

H: If you were to have a little girl right now, what would you name her?

(INAUDIBLE) 

B: Sixty nine. Sixty nine. Sixty nine point seven. 

H: The news is that we are going to be dead soon and the world will end, how do you feel about twenty twelve?

B: Uhm.. I don’t know, honestly.. I think we, uh will uh, all combine back into the spirits we were at one point, like uhhhh.. (INAUDIBLE) jesus church and the latter day saints. 

H: How do you feel about Sergio? Sergio had a theory that the people show conformed would become dead but everybody who believed freely would become one and that the world would not end but it would change. How do you feel about Sergio’s theory? 

B: It makes me think of (BACKGROUND NOISE) it makes me think of Oscar Grant and how his life would have been if he lived in Europe. 

H: Oscar Grant did grow up in SAN FRAN-CIS-CO CAL-IF-ORN-NIA.What if he lived in Oakland? WHAT IF OSCAR GRANT LIVED IN OAKLAND? Do you think his life could have been alternated? 

B: I think if Oscar Grant had spent his nubile days in Oakland. 

(INAUDIBLE) 

B: I see it really as, uh, it’s a lot like, uh.. 

(LAUGHTER)

H: New question. Today there has been news of an android acwoss. Acwoss? (LAUGHTER)  

H: There has been nude ..

(LAUGHTER) 

H: There has been nude? There has been news of an android running acwoss the Bermooda Triangle screaming at the top of it’s lungs. Do you think this android has anything against us humanoids? 

B: 1000% I think that it’s android screams are..

(LOUD BACKGROUND MUSIC)

B: Absolutely, I think if you look at it and dissect the noise’s, and uh, it’s um, something that goes way, way back to the Cretaceous Period. It’s a problem of, uh, there’s certain noises that Homo sapiens respond to and one of them is definitely the ‘Android Cry’ which is something that J.P.L. (Jet Propulsion Laboratories) nick-named it, it’s not my name for it. But it’s actually a huge problem with Earth’s colonies on Mars. 

H: But the scientists have definitely called evolution incorrect. If evolution is incorrect then uh, is it correct that asteroids entirely made us? Completely made us?! Completely designed us?!

B: No, no, no… This is retarded. This is where the scientists fucked up is they didn’t read the mother fucking Bible. The fucking Bible. I mean there is silverware and there is science. It’s the same shit. 

 (SCENE MISSING)

H: Twist. Twist. Twist. Twist. Twist. Twist. Twist.

 (INAUDIBLE) 

B: Was I saying words right now?

(SCENE MISSING)

(INAUDIBLE)

D: GOO GOO. OH, I can only crawl. 

H: Where is my forty? I think that’s my forty.

K: GRINDCORE. I WANT GRINDCORE AND I WANT GRINDCORE. 

(INAUDIBLE) 

B: I’m really just trying to do my job right now. 

H: Welllllll… My forty is gone. 

D: They’re three thousand forties in this house. 

B: I don’t want to take your forty. 

H: If you lived in a world of forties? 

D: A FOURTY TREE

B: IF I LIVED IN A WORLD OF FORTY FORTIES, EIGHTY FORTIES, A HUNDRED AND TWENTY FORTIES, A HUNDRED AND SIXTY FORTIES. Hanne, uh where is my forty? Can somebody find my forty? 

buzzards circle overhead.

REALLY OLD. NOT FINISHED. JUST FOUND. 

ROUGHLY FIVE MINUTES AGO

you’re not me. the mirror glanced back overshoulder. a dead pan double take. you’re not me. that phantasm fought swiftly but spoke slowly, the dead dilated gauged gaze searched, swirled, spun, finally set. set, straight unto me, connecting to counterparts, like magnets. it may have been the first time they had noticed each other in a decade. the twins aged and aged and aged heavily and transfixed an empty eye toward one another. the decline of a reflection. you’re not me.

black red and hazel

red white and black

i knelt on pews

pressed purple knees 

on hot

hot concrete

i asked

i begged

pickin’ at gnats 

with gnawed nails

floating on the foremost layer 

of the lowest of my good times

i felt my last

line go slack