Short

Yucatan

/ mbrazfieldm / 8 Comments
Picture courtesy of Sue Vincent

The evening was cool and the calm was fuzzy and delightful. Abbey walked through the narrow door of 4302 and laid down a paper bag full of spices and stuff. She loved going to Grand Central market to gossip and catch up on the news of her world. Abbey asked if I was going home tonight because her boyfriend was coming over and she didn’t want him to pick a fist fight with me again.

I promised her that I would go to my friend’s house on the west side later tonight and asked her if she noticed anything different about her room. The Pine Sol fumes suckled her dainty caramel nose and licked in and out of her nostrils.

Thank you for cleaning mi reina, the smell takes me back to the valleys and rivers of my town in the Yucatan. Abbey had come to the US in the early 60’s on a travel visa and stayed. She started taking the dried Chiles, peppercorns, cumin and pumpkin seeds and chocolate bars out of the paper sack. Being a little high, watching her pluck each item out of the sack was like watching a jeweler study his precious stones.

Sitting back on the only chair in the room, I asked Abbey about her town in Mexico. She pursed her lips inward and let out an exhausted sigh. Staring at the dim lit ceiling she noticed the freeway knot of spider webs forming on the northern corner.

Abbey looked past the top of my head and stared of the Virgen of Guadalupe poster on the waxy wall. In a little girl voice she described the valleys as having shaded trees and cool patches of grass. The streams, as she remembered were cold enough to soak their beers and sodas when the families of the village would go pick-nicking on Sundays.

Abbey appeared lost and happy reminiscing about her country. Did you know that in the spring time we’d light big fires and because the temperature in the valley was still cold in March, the smoke looked like cloudy fumes against the pitch black sky. And the stars, Ave Maria purisima, the stars were so bright and when you saw them through the smoke fumes of the fires the whole thing looked like a fancy lace veil twinkling with diamonds.

In a melancholy tone I absent mindedly asked Abbey if she missed those nights with the firewood fumes and the stars and cool streams. She smiled wide enough that I could see her gold tooth as she looked down at her old beige pumps and she shook her head telling me no.

The door shook from four heavy thumps. Her boyfriend was in the hallway asking why the hell she wasn’t answering. Abbey cursed under her breath and ordered me to stay quiet and to leave as soon as she let him in. I tried asking her if she was going to be o.k. or did I need to alert Spare Cock.

my way…

the evening was cool and the calm was fuzzy and delightful Abbey walked through the narrow door of 4302 and laid down a paper bag full of spices and stuff she loved going to Grand Central market to gossip and catch up on the news of her world Abbey asked if i was going home tonight because her boyfriend was coming over and she didn’t want him to pick a fist fight with me again

i promised her that i would go to my friend’s house on the west side later tonight and asked her if she noticed anything different about her room the Pine Sol fumes suckled her dainty caramel nose and licked in and out of her nostrils

thank you for cleaning mi reina the smell takes me back to the valleys and rivers of my town in the Yucatan Abbey had come to the US in the early 60’s on a travel visa and stayed she started taking the dried chiles peppercorns cumin and pumpkin seeds and chocolate bars out of the paper sack being a little high watching her pluck each item out of the sack was like watching a jeweler study his precious stones

sitting back on the only chair in the room i asked Abbey about her town in Mexico she pursed her lips inward and let out an exhausted sigh staring at the dim lit ceiling she noticed the freeway knot of spider webs forming on the northern corner

Abbey looked past the top of my head and stared of the Virgen of Guadalupe poster on the waxy wall in a little girl voice she described the valleys as having shaded trees and cool patches of grass the streams as she remembered were cold enough to soak their beers and sodas when the families of the village would go pick-nicking on Sundays

Abbey appeared lost and happy reminiscing about her country did you know that in the spring time we’d light big fires and because the temperature in the valley was still cold in March the smoke looked like cloudy fumes against the pitch black sky and the stars Ave Maria purisima the stars were so bright and when you saw them through the smoke fumes of the fires the whole thing looked like a fancy lace veil twinkling with diamonds

in a melancholy tone i absent mindedly asked Abbey if she missed those nights with the firewood fumes and the stars and cool streams she smiled wide enough that i could see her gold tooth as she looked down at her old beige pumps and she shook her head telling me no

the door shook from four heavy thumps her boyfriend was in the hallway asking why the hell she wasn’t answering Abbey cursed under her breath and ordered me to stay quiet and to leave as soon as she let him in i tried asking her if she was going to be ok or did i need to alert Spare Cock

King Eddy study (i)

/ mbrazfieldm / 14 Comments

riley-so how long you hangin out i’d like to show you somethin

grady-since you put it that way i might stay here and wash their plates

riley-Jesus woman you’re harsh i’m jus lookin for some fun i got let out of Wayside two days ago

grady-really i walked out of Tarzana this morning

riley-oh well yeah i was in for stealing cars and i punched my ol lady but it was self defense you see

grady-(forcing smile and nodding raising eye brows)

riley-so can you help me out a little you’re really cute i’m clean as a whistle too

grady-(forcing smile and nodding raising eye brows)

riley-you wanna beer

grady-no thanks i don’t like it

riley-(inching closer to grady and smiling) wuddah ya like then (wiggling eyebrows up and down)

grady-vodka

riley-ok yeah but afore we order drinks you wanna go out back to the alley we can poke around

grady-ummm what for what are we looking for

riley-(lets out frustrated giggle like Frank Booth) i mean to do it i’m horny you’re really nice

grady-yeah but no i’ll pass i’m waitin for my man you know there might be some good time girls on Central by 4th ask for Melva she’s cool people

riley-(pulls back looks at grady up and down) aint you a whore

grady-naw man i’m a college kid with lots of problems and lots of friends in very low and dark places (winks at riley) so get the fuck outta my face (forced smile sips ginger ale puffs at clove)

riley-(gets off bar stool as he sucks his teeth and looks grady up and down)so you think you’re better than me then huh stupid cunt

grady-(gives bouncer O’Neal the tap out look and blows kiss at riley)

fancy James Brown footwork

/ mbrazfieldm / 5 Comments

Last night was rough at the Cecil. I invited friends from school to party at Turkish Turi’s, but they couldn’t hang. It wasn’t cool enough. Turi was salt of the earth kinda’ people. Rough and say it like it is, but protective of the people around him.

My mother agreed to meet me on Los Angeles Street and 7th on account she wanted to buy some rugs for her house. She was in a good mood and I wanted to bond with her. It had been a few days since I was at her home. I was late to our 12:30 p.m. meeting place.

As I made my way to greet her, my head looked down, avoiding eye contact just in case she was pissed. Mother was German, punctuality was no joke. She had on a beige PONY track suit, very soft and fancy; lady like and proper. Her hair pixied and dark red like cherry wood. Her neck graceful and pale was  adorned by a very thin gold chain and a blue diamond pendant Star of David.

Sitting in front of the Cecil daydreaming and sobering up; anticipating meeting with my mom, I remembered a time when I was around four. She was dressed like an angel, a Charlie’s Angel, bell bottoms, pink lips, rippling feathered hair and white boots. It was the mid 70’s, but my mom loved British rock and with a little Daniel’s in her she started grooving to T.Rex.

Lucy was happy that day, like genuinely happy, laughing and dancing and talking her German tongue to her lady friends and kinfolk. We kids never learned. Then, as I was looking for my can of apple juice, she invites me to dance. “Bang a gong, get it on, bang a gong.”

As the buses swooshed by and the vagrants were getting ticketed in vain on Main, I smiled wide. I was lapping up the memory in my head; a short chubby four year old with red patent leather Mary Janes contorting like Joe Cocker. I bent back, down and sideways, but the coup de gras was the fancy James Brown footwork I threw out there for my mom to see. I’d watch him on Soul Train when my baby sitter would come on Saturday nights.

The world felt better at 1:13 p.m. I was late, but my heart was in the right place. Lucy’s was too. The edge of skid row was my home away from home. It felt like my mother’s arms or at least what I thought her arms might have felt like. It was very unnatural to see Lucy there, so beautiful, but so sick at heart. I was more of a body guard than a daughter. She stayed in a home paid for by a man who was just like the other men who had sent many of the women I knew to exile at the Nickel. Lucy was not only a victim of my father, but her of ego as well.

my way…

last night was rough at the Cecil i invited friends from school to party at Turkish Turi’s but they couldn’t hang it wasn’t cool enough Turi was salt of the earth kinda’ people rough and say it like it is but protective of the people around him

my mother agreed to meet me on Los Angeles Street and 7th on account she wanted to buy some rugs for her house she was in a good mood and i wanted to bond with her it had been a few days since i was at her home i was late to our 12:30 pm meeting place

as i made my way to greet her my head looked down avoiding eye contact just in case she was pissed mother was German punctuality was no joke she had on a beige PONY track suit very soft and fancy lady like and proper her hair pixied and dark red like cherry wood her neck graceful and pale was  adorned by a very thin gold chain and a blue diamond pendant Star of David

sitting in front of the Cecil daydreaming and sobering up anticipating meeting with my mom i remembered a time when i was around four she was dressed like an angel a Charlie’s Angel bell bottoms pink lips rippling feathered hair and white boots it was the mid 70’s but my mom loved British rock and with a little Daniel’s in her she started grooving to T.Rex

Lucy was happy that day like genuinely happy laughing and dancing and talking her German tongue to her lady friends and kinfolk we kids never learned then as i was looking for my can of apple juice she invites me to dance “Bang a gong, get it on, bang a gong”

as the buses swooshed by and the vagrants were getting ticketed in vain on Main i smiled wide i was lapping up the memory in my head a short chubby four year old with red patent leather Mary Janes contorting like Joe Cocker i bent back down and sideways but the coup de gras was the fancy James Brown footwork i threw out there for my mom to see i’d watch him on Soul Train when my baby sitter would come on Saturday nights

the world felt better at 1:13 pm i was late but my heart was in the right place Lucy’s was too the edge of skid row was my home away from home it felt like my mother’s arms or at least what i thought her arms might have felt like it was very unnatural to see Lucy there so beautiful but so sick at heart i was more of a body guard than a daughter she stayed in a home paid for by a man who was just like the other men who had sent many of the women i knew to exile at the Nickel Lucy was not only a victim of my father but her of ego as well

officer Cassidy and the J walking kid

/ mbrazfieldm / 6 Comments

you/so what is the problem now

me/ nothing

you/your father is worried

me/hmmm… i haven’t seen him in three weeks

you/the school district is thinking of recommending a level 12

me/i don’t wanna go

you/it’s for your protection

me/all the shit i needed protection from has already happened

you/ why are you angry

me/why not

you/do you think sarcasm will help you

me/i’m not asking it to

you/your psych tests show you’re very smart

me/i’m a girl

you/(smile)

me/so… are you charging me or what

you/what’s the rush

me/you bore me

you/you made the driver crash his car

me/how do you figure that i was just crossing the street he ran the stop sign thinking i would suck his dick

you/now is that language necessary

me/i’m talking the way you boys do

you/he says you ran toward his car

me/i did not i was crossing the street J-walking to be perfectly honest

you/so you’re saying he was trying to kidnap you

me/no you’re saying that

you/enlighten me

me/he sped up as i was getting on the curb he thought i was a hooker

you/hmmm…are you sure

me/look i didn’t total a car so i really don’t care what you think or believe

you/your dad is worried about you he thinks you’re doing drugs

me/i know he’s doing drugs and more

you/you’re so young why so much hate and rage

me/(smile)

you/well

me/i’m cool man

you/maybe you need to go to juvey for a while

me/on what charge

you/(silent glare)

me/was my mom called

you/she told the principal to call your father

me/(knot in throat) cool

you/the driver wants to press charges

me/that’s fine

you/do you care about anything

me/sure i’d like to visit Bora Bora someday and i love NASA

you/you’re a piece of work

receptionist/the parent said he’s not dealing with this to call the mother

you/were going downtown kid

me/(knot in throat) may i request a copy of “The Catcher in the Rye”

you/(silent glare)

a crumb of life

/ mbrazfieldm / 5 Comments

his fedora was camel tan felt with a gray ribbon around the crown he missed a tooth or two skin dolphin blue ashy like the flick of a Cuban cigar he belonged at that piano bar he had always been there an entity but every end of a lifetime he’d take on another body and the fedora man would return to the same old black stool sagging with confessions of past souls bemoaning life and living being a junkie i was on the look out to see if he could be trusted the old man spoke English but our real conversation was on another level we understood each other with our eyes we were all intuition instinct pulse gut feeling we were cons used to the streets i wasn’t stable material i thunk too much he wasn’t to be trusted he assumed too little one day we both happened to be there i told the owner who wore fake diamonds and bee stung eyes i’m just a grad student from Harvard can i stay and scope things out what do you study she asked hoping i might be a doctor her jowls exploded with pride that someone with class and money could be among her crowd yes psychologist i lied i lied oh how i lied old fedora was there wearing a black as night striped suit with shiny shoes the kind they wore in Paris long ago as they ran to catch the frantic trains heading for Lisbon when my mother was a little girl i must have had a wild imagination too many old Hollywood flicks i suppose he was just a dirty old man and i a junkie student just wanting waiting     

never too young for T Leary

/ mbrazfieldm / 3 Comments

Home was cold and lonely. Waverly had gone away for the holidays with her family. I hadn’t bonded with anyone at school. I wanted hot cocoa and warm pajamas, ginger bread men cookies and a Christmas tree with glass ornaments in 1985. I wasn’t going to get it. So I bussed it to Chinatown, scored and got a bag of stale fortune cookies.

I thought about going to the Cecil and dropping there, but I didn’t want to be lectured by the old lady on the first floor. Florida was the cleaning lady she had worked the docks in San Pedro during WWII as a steel worker. Bent and grey she would polish the walnut sticks of furniture sparsely laid out.

The walk from Broadway to the park on Plaza Olvera was calm in spite of the screaming bitch called traffic. I didn’t mind. I was trailing and smiling. As always, invisible to the eyes of the world but never to my city.

I sat following the giant furry beasts that seemed to engulf the people with multiple hands and faces. Deep blues and the oranges were never more orange. The sounds of people talking or laughing were vague, but I understood the strands of human energy feeding the cosmic realm set to take off into the sky.

The Pio Pico Building sat there quiet in the chaos of the mariachi music and the stop and go low riders booming the likes of Grand Master Flash and Run DMC. Then a mirror suited man walked up to me muttering sounds and wearing a huge red dot on his nose. Thousands of me’s exploded like shrapnel landing in the pupils of my eyes.

It took an eon or two, but I finally directed him to the train depot. Satellite man gave me a balloon dog. The dog was red and the heads and tails and every little knot fanned into dozens as fireworks dazzled from my finger tips. I felt alone in the sea of people, I felt cold frozen fire under me as the Aztec dancers circled about their worshiped sun it was all the same to him.

Time moved with grace like a swan in a lake. I thought about my father and how he taught me how to shoot a gun and a rifle and how to box and use a knife. Years later I found out that it wasn’t because he wanted me to be well rounded he was just disappointed I was a girl. He was really very disappointed and I was very lost. I needed a dad. I wasn’t sure how I felt about women. My mom was tough on me. She expressed numerous times how useless I was and even wished death a few times.

I feared women; they hurt your heart tore your spirit into nothing, fucked around with your brain. Men hurt me physically. I felt like I could at least fight back, scratch or kick something. I couldn’t hurt a woman.

my way…

home was cold and lonely Waverly had gone away for the holidays with her family i hadn’t bonded with anyone at school i wanted hot cocoa and warm pajamas ginger bread men cookies and a Christmas tree with glass ornaments in 1985 i wasn’t going to get it so i bussed it to Chinatown scored and got a bag of stale fortune cookies

i thought about going to the Cecil and dropping there but i didn’t want to be lectured by the old lady on the first floor Florida was the cleaning lady she had worked the docks in San Pedro during WWII as a steel worker bent and grey she would polish the walnut sticks of furniture sparsely laid out

the walk from Broadway to the park on Plaza Olvera was calm in spite of the screaming bitch called traffic i didn’t mind i was trailing and smiling as always invisible to the eyes of the world but never to my city

i sat following the giant furry beasts that seemed to engulf the people with multiple hands and faces deep blues and the oranges were never more orange the sounds of people talking or laughing were vague but i understood the strands of human energy feeding the cosmic realm set to take off into the sky

the Pio Pico Building sat there quiet in the chaos of the mariachi music and the stop and go low riders booming the likes of Grand Master Flash and Run DMC then a mirror suited man walked up to me muttering sounds and wearing a huge red dot on his nose thousands of me’s exploded like shrapnel landing in the pupils of my eyes

it took an eon or two but i finally directed him to the train depot satellite man gave me a balloon dog the dog was red and the heads and tails and every little knot fanned into dozens as fireworks dazzled from my finger tips i felt alone in the sea of people i felt cold frozen fire under me as the Aztec dancers circled about their worshiped sun it was all the same to him

time moved with grace like a swan in a lake i thought about my father and how he taught me how to shoot a gun and a rifle and how to box and use a knife years later i found out that it wasn’t because he wanted me to be well rounded he was just disappointed i was a girl he was really very disappointed and i was very lost i needed a dad i wasn’t sure how i felt about women my mom was tough on me she expressed numerous times how useless i was and even wished death a few times

i feared women they hurt your heart tore your spirit into nothing fucked around with your brain men hurt me physically i felt like i could at least fight back scratch or kick something i couldn’t hurt a woman

a girl’s gotta

/ mbrazfieldm / 5 Comments

I hadn’t been to the Cecil for about four months. I was going solo-er than usual. I had a habit and I needed to hide it, but at the Cecil, that meant hanging with the big children; my habit had to hide me. That took some energy, but I was chalked up to not only falling through the cracks, but literally jumping off the deepest canyon; voluntarily and with pleasure.

Tiny tattoos started bleeding through my skin and sex hated me. My mind was random, my family really random, but as I got older, I figured God’s grace ushered me through.

Early on a Friday morning just before 2 p.m., I decided to go see if spare cock Amos was still living at the Cecil. I was supposed to be at college prep but it wasn’t interesting. Sitting anywhere for longer than 8.9 seconds was excruciating and my limbs just needed to move.

The bust stop bench in front of the hotel had been vandalized and some Mexican guys in orange vests were loading the pretzelled metal unto a Metro Services pick-up. One of the guys, a squared faced short legged man with spikey salt and pepper hair puckered his lips at me a few times, like when a dog really needed to take a shit. I looked down, noticed a lady bug on the left cuff of my sleeve and cupped it in my right hand.

She was deep brick red with tiny black spots. Slowly the hand uncupped. The chipped black nail polish on my hand mimicked her spots. I too puckered my lips, blew a kiss and Holly flew away. I named things and stuff.

The hotel lobby was worn down, the palm trees dried out and their pots ashy and clay like. The coupons dissected and plucked from the Times were neatly stacked on the concierge’s desk. I sat across an olive toned man who wore a sports jacket and Laker color biker shorts. I could see that his toes were mostly calcified with nail fungus. He asked my name as he offered his, Steponas. Francine, I reciprocated starring at his foam green flip flops.

Looking around Steponas scooted to the edge of his couch. His ass must have been sweaty on account of the screeching sound he made when scooting. I sat back deeper into my couch crossed my twig legs and swung my combat boot left to right. Steponas retrieved.

My attention got hijacked by a loud drag queen coming down the stairs, but she wasn’t spare cock. She was just really pissed off. Apparently she contracted crabs and had no qualms about sharing it with the few meat bags staring at her in the lobby.

My eyebrowless Puerto Rican cutie with flaming red hair and flat ass stormed out cussing in Spanish now. I followed her as she bee lined north toward Broadway. I wondered if she’d be going to La India to share her tales of woe with the lovingly self-nick named “puta boys.”

my way…

i hadn’t been to the Cecil for about four months i was going solo-er than usual i had a habit and i needed to hide it but at the Cecil that meant hanging with the big children my habit had to hide me that took some energy but i was chalked up to not only falling through the cracks but literally jumping off the deepest canyon voluntarily and with pleasure

tiny tattoos started bleeding through my skin and sex hated me my mind was random my family really random but as i got older i figured God’s grace ushered me through

early on a friday morning just before 2 pm i decided to go see if spare cock Amos was still living at the Cecil i was supposed to be at college prep but it wasn’t interesting sitting anywhere for longer than 8.9 seconds was excruciating and my limbs just needed to move

the bust stop bench in front of the hotel had been vandalized and some Mexican guys in orange vests were loading the pretzelled metal unto a Metro Services pick-up one of the guys a squared faced short legged man with spikey salt and pepper hair puckered his lips at me a few times like when a dog really needed to take a shit i looked down noticed a lady bug on the left cuff of my sleeve and cupped it in my right hand

she was deep brick red with tiny black spots slowly the hand uncupped the chipped black nail polish on my hand mimicked her spots i too puckered my lips blew a kiss and Holly flew away named things and stuff

the hotel lobby was worn down the palm trees dried out and their pots ashy and clay like the coupons dissected and plucked from the Times were neatly stacked on the concierge’s desk i sat across an olive toned man who wore a sports jacket and Laker color biker shorts i could see that his toes were mostly calcified with nail fungus he asked my name as he offered his Steponas Francine i reciprocated starring at his foam green flip flops

looking around Steponas scooted to the edge of his couch his ass must have been sweaty on account of the screeching sound he made when scooting i sat back deeper into my couch crossed my twig legs and swung my combat boot left to right Steponas retrieved

my attention got hijacked by a loud drag queen coming down the stairs but she wasn’t Spare Cock she was just really pissed off apparently she contracted crabs and had no qualms about sharing it with the few meat bags staring at her in the lobby

my eyebrowless Puerto Rican cutie with flaming red hair and flat ass stormed out cussing in Spanish now i followed her as she bee lined north toward Broadway i wondered if she’d be going to La India to share her tales of woe with the lovingly self-nick named puta boys

ma’ woman lef’ me too blues

/ mbrazfieldm / 5 Comments

My wife was fast, manipulative, expensive and mean, but when she was in my bed she had an addicting sweetness, filling the worm holes in my soul with the light of the stars under God’s feet. I simply believed then that I loved her more than anything, ever. The continents could fall below me, Satan himself could drag me into the molten pits of Hell by my guts; I didn’t care as long as she was there with me, on my arm or at least have her close enough where I could sniff her tarty scent.

An amber bronzed Persian princess, Schiva curled my toes with delight. Schiva licked and suckled universes in and out of my body and mind I never knew existed. Schiva’s almost vapory fingers massaged me, penetrated me in luscious blinding ecstasy, swirling my very breath in orgasmic space travel past the Nebulae that are yet to come.

The Schiva Nirvana ended one October. More or less a month prior I ran out of disposable income. Schiva did not understand that I was a working stiff with debts. “I do not give one damn about your problem Grady! You want me, you pay!”I thought I heard her say as I squirmed on a midnight blue suede couch. She left out my mind’s door and slammed it behind her.

I’d been crying all day. The madness that comes with convulsive laughter possessed me. The memory of a 30 year old, ex-orphan, trust funder named Jeff who introduced me to her at his King Edward Hotel suite came to mind. Jeff of rotund body and broken heart was the vehicle that would take me into what I perceived to be something better, anything was better than how I felt then.

Then Schiva whispered, Jeff whispered and the three of us shared penetration-less sweet love on his dirty blue sheets. Sheets stained with other sweats of other addicts who had too signed their life away to the Beautiful Golden Dragon.

Schiva and I started off by going out on dates with Jeff exclusively at least six or seven times a month. And as long as I had the money. The problem was that Schiva and I started dating at least twice a week behind Jeff’s back and he did not appreciate that. Jeff would become angry and jealous and would withhold her from me. He wanted to take Schiva first and leave me his sloppy seconds.

Being of a non-confrontational nature, I stopped hanging out with Jeff and Schiva off and on for about a year and a half. I had found other crutch mistresses to pass the time. At 17, things changed between Schiva and me; we got closer. I worked hard doing office work, recycling, driving trucks for my uncle all for my new bride Schiva. 

That October 10th I loathed myself, so I ran to Baker’s Beach in San Francisco for almost two days. I guess that about forty-four hours passed. I rolled around in the wet sand, vomited, cut my knuckles on the rocks, burned in fever, shook in the cold and cried; alone. Night turned to day back to night and then almost morning. The purge was good. The purge was the kindest thing I ever did for myself. I thought about dying to live, then all went blank.

But, in the midst of the spiritual hell of the very human junkie withdrawal, I had dark thoughts too. I would cut my arms in such a way that bleeding could not be stopped and before passing out, I would run into the water to make sure I drowned. But first, I would pan handle enough change to get a few bottles of Nyquil and vodka to make sure I was completely disabled in the cold bay water. I had all I needed, except the money. I giggled at the irony of being penniless now, when just a few measly weeks before I was burning through all the money I had to get high.

I hated myself. I judged myself to be selfish, weak, inconsiderate, cowardly and worthless. I tried convincing myself that no one could help my loneliness, my need of love and acceptance. I felt dirty because I had been repeatedly used and violated. I did not know how to express anything other than being good at being a fuck up. I did not know how to ask for help; I did not give anyone an opportunity to help. I wanted to run and disappear; I wanted something beyond mere death.

my way…

my wife was fast manipulative expensive and mean but when she was in my bed she had an addicting sweetness filling the worm holes in my soul with the light of the stars under God’s feet i simply believed then that i loved her more than anything ever the continents could fall below me Satan himself could drag me into the molten pits of Hell by my guts i didn’t care as long as she was there with me on my arm or at least have her close enough where i could sniff her tarty scent

an amber bronzed Persian princess Schiva curled my toes with delight Schiva licked and suckled universes in and out of my body and mind i never knew existed Schiva’s almost vapory fingers massaged me penetrated me in luscious blinding ecstasy swirling my very breath in orgasmic space travel past the Nebulae that are yet to come

the Schiva Nirvana ended one October more or less a month prior i ran out of disposable income Schiva did not understand that i was a working stiff with debts i do not give one damn about your problem Grady you want me you pay i thought i heard her say as i squirmed on a midnight blue suede couch she left out my mind’s door and slammed it behind her

i’d been crying all day the madness that comes with convulsive laughter possessed me the memory of a 30 year old ex orphan trust funder named Jeff who introduced me to her at his King Edward Hotel suite came to mind Jeff of rotund body and broken heart was the vehicle that would take me into what i perceived to be something better anything was better than how i felt then

then Schiva whispered Jeff whispered and the three of us shared penetration less sweet love on his dirty blue sheets sheets stained with other sweats of other addicts who had too signed their life away to the Beautiful Golden Dragon

Schiva and i started off by going out on dates with Jeff exclusively at least six or seven times a month and as long as i had the money the problem was that Schiva and i started dating at least twice a week behind Jeff’s back and he did not appreciate that Jeff would become angry and jealous and would withhold her from me he wanted to take Schiva first and leave me his sloppy seconds

being of a non confrontational nature i stopped hanging out with Jeff and Schiva off and on for about a year and a half i had found other crutch mistresses to pass the time at 17 things changed between Schiva and me we got closer i worked hard doing office work recycling driving trucks for my uncle all for my new bride Schiva

that October 10th i loathed myself so i ran to Baker’s Beach in San Francisco for almost two days i guess that about forty four hours passed i rolled around in the wet sand vomited cut my knuckles on the rocks burned in fever shook in the cold and cried alone night turned to day back to night and then almost morning the purge was good the purge was the kindest thing i ever did for myself i thought about dying to live then all went blank

but in the midst of the spiritual hell of the very human junkie withdrawal i had dark thoughts too i would cut my arms in such a way that bleeding could not be stopped and before passing out i would run into the water to make sure i drowned but first i would pan handle enough change to get a few bottles of Nyquil and vodka to make sure i was completely disabled in the cold bay water i had all i needed except the money i giggled at the irony of being penniless now when just a few measly weeks before i was burning through all the money i had to get high

i hated myself i judged myself to be selfish weak inconsiderate cowardly and worthless i tried convincing myself that no one could help my loneliness my need of love and acceptance i felt dirty because i had been repeatedly used and violated i did not know how to express anything other than being good at being a fuck up i did not know how to ask for help i did not give anyone an opportunity to help i wanted to run and disappear i wanted something beyond mere death

JC and the milk crate dancer

/ mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments

i’m so tired of being an addict i hate having to travel on Temple Street but all the signs are good Our Lady of Angels Greg Laurie Harvest Stickers car plates chock full of hearts and tiny hands instead of numbers letters they’re all messages from high up i’m cool i can handle this there’s the Déjà Vu Club who cares i don’t worry about chasing my fixations into there

what am i saying do i really feel safe walking down this damn street full of crazy assholes trying to get to the nearest bar why don’t i lay on one of these benches and just stay still damn it and what’s all this taking bumper stickers and 158 year old buildings as a sign that anything or anyone for that matter is cool

it’s comforting to me ok i know how anal i can get about that stuff not that anyone cares better yet not that anyone would ever suspect that a loser like me even thinks about her soul so why worry about it i can’t control my thoughts my fleeting humming bird mind

hmmm on the other hand lemme be a devil’s advocate do i ever feel like texting my people and telling them if i ever have to drop everything and everyone and give my life and soul and everything else and die in the name of and for Jesus would i do it

my heart says yes i guess you can’t be lukewarm its yes or no yes yes i would i don’t have anything in the world to lose but man yes yes i would

sounds a lot like i’m trying to convince myself that would mean leaving everyone and everything i love behind leaving the world I know for the unknown i’m crystal clear on that right

yes i am it’s the only thing that i am sure of look i don’t have anything to offer that’s original or universe shattering i can choose to be nice humble sacrifice all whatever etc but that my fucked up little mind is merely revolutionary NOT UNIVERSE SHATTERING right but the outcome is unknown regardless now why do i think that because the recipients of my choices and deeds are people and people are human and humans aren’t perfect so by that rational it doesn’t matter a flying rats ass what  do or don’t or believe or don’t my heart says do it jump off the cliff step off the boat God will be there my puny runty tiny black worthless heart tells me that not brains or conscience uh no hard feelings ok my little fragile mind but that’s what i believe i was born with this belief i can’t shake it shoot it out cut it off chemo it beat it it’s in me whether i want it or not i can’t even ignore it

besides a human would push me off the cliff and throw me off the boat in an episode of hysteria it’s just survival instinct who can blame them so i’d rather do it myself jump step off you know take hold of my own destiny captain of my soul whatever

then again it sounds like i’ve been watching too many Prophecy flicks so the church is sharing real estate with the strip joints do i think that’s funny do i think that juxtaposition by the freeway was there for me does it make me think deeply does it make me question morality hmmm

no not really i’m not special like that but if i look at it business wise being that this is Downtown Los Angeles the church gets its souls and tithes and the strip joint gets its saps and tips win win it’s all supply and demand my good woman

wow Adam Smith ‘Wealth of Nations’ who knew anyone could ever make a triangular connection between church titty bars and world economics freakin’ smart

well i do my worst thinking on the freeway ramps sorry but my decision stands firm can i turn off now my stream of consciousness is a big ass blinding light of a reminder in my eyeballs

what do i remind me of i’m just a stream of irrepressible and unimportant thought that no one can control remember

you remind me of where i am and i don’t want to be reminded at all let’s step off the milk crate now the sheriffs will be finding us soon enough

Rooster

/ mbrazfieldm / 2 Comments

In 1993 I learned two things about Chinese culture. First that it was the Year of the Rooster and second, that “he who strikes the first blow admits he’s lost the argument.”

 In 2003 I sat in the Cecil’s lobby, putrid and rancid with depressive thoughts, but hoping to score; human companionship. No one was there anymore and I was an adult now. My mind meandered.

Rooster was my father. In his youth he was Billy-from-Easy-Rider handsome, cocky, and a womanizer. Rooster would never back down from a fight, ever. He drank enough booze to fly a plane, snorted mountainous amounts of cocaine, cursed, worked hard and partied even harder. I heard that in the autumn of his life Rooster wore scars and tattoos like medals, sped on motorcycles, and had no connection with the children he spawned in and out of wedlock.

Two blond women with big jugs stomped into the lobby and yelled at the janitor demanding that he produce a Roy Mingus. I’ve never forgotten that name on account that is sounds really cool. I imagined Roy looking like Hugh Hefner but broke. The ladies left into the back of the hotel and gassy breeze sneaked in; I thought about Los Feliz and me squeezing lighter fluid into the barbecue pit when I was five.

During the years of my short lived young life, my mother survived through ten years of battle and then my parents divorced. When sober, Rooster was verbally abusive and when high and drunk ultra-violent if anyone crossed him. Other than that, he had been a devout Sunday morning Catholic, chest pounder, and rosary wielding. Tithe giving included.

Rooster came to the brink of death a few times at the hands of his own brother, Gjeo and their motor cycling brothers when they got wind that he’d beat up some broad. It wasn’t in their intricate code of ethics to strike women or kids. The running joke amongst them was that Rooster was like Lazarus for having the longest record of recovery after having his ass and several other organs handed to him over the years. In some ways, I admired the resiliency in him. In other ways, I had always felt profound sorrow and tenderness for the old man.

I curled up and nodded off into the ozone of the lobby. It was around one in the morning that old Pike straggled in and woke me. He startled me and I swung, narrowly missing his crotch. After cussing and gasping he sat across from me in the greasy old easy chair. We started talking about lawn mower motors. He chattered away, but my mind was ten years back.

That 1993 spring mid-morning was fragrant as the moisture in the air teased out the green hopeful smell of ferns and pepper trees surrounding my uncle’s garage. I needed my uncle to explain catalytic converters to me. My mechanic wasn’t able to fix my Jeep and maybe Aces, as my uncle was called, could.

my way…

in 1993 i learned two things about Chinese culture first that it was the Year of the Rooster and second that he who strikes the first blow admits he’s lost the argument

in 2003 i sat in the Cecil’s lobby putrid and rancid with depressive thoughts but hoping to score human companionship no one was there anymore and i was an adult now my mind meandered

Rooster was my father in his youth he was Billy from Easy Rider handsome cocky and a womanizer rooster would never back down from a fight ever he drank enough booze to fly a plane snorted mountainous amounts of cocaine cursed worked hard and partied even harder i heard that in the autumn of his life rooster wore scars and tattoos like medals sped on motorcycles and had no connection with the children he spawned in and out of wedlock

two blond women with big jugs stomped into the lobby and yelled at the janitor demanding that he produce a Roy Mingus i’ve never forgotten that name on account that is sounds really cool i imagined Roy looking like Hugh Hefner but broke the ladies left into the back of the hotel and gassy breeze sneaked in i thought about Los Feliz and me squeezing lighter fluid into the barbecue pit when i was five

during the years of my short lived young life my mother survived through ten years of battle and then my parents divorced when sober Rooster was verbally abusive and when high and drunk ultra violent if anyone crossed him other than that he had been a devout Sunday morning Catholic chest pounder and rosary wielding tithe giving included

Rooster came to the brink of death a few times at the hands of his own brother Gjeo and their motor cycling brothers when they got wind that he’d beat up some broad it wasn’t in their intricate code of ethics to strike women or kids the running joke among them was that Rooster was like Lazarus for having the longest record of recovery after having his ass and several other organs handed to him over the years in some ways i admired the resiliency in him in other ways i had always felt profound sorrow and tenderness for the old man

i curled up and nodded off into the ozone of the lobby it was around one in the morning that old Pike straggled in and woke me he startled me and i swung narrowly missing his crotch after cussing and gasping he sat across from me in the greasy old easy chair we started talking about lawn mower motors he chattered away but my mind was ten years back

that 1993 spring mid morning was fragrant as the moisture in the air teased out the green hopeful smell of ferns and pepper trees surrounding my uncle’s garage i needed my uncle to explain catalytic converters to me my mechanic wasn’t able to fix my Jeep and maybe Aces as my uncle was called could