Dead Frequency
05-03-2005, 06:04 PM
Drugs, Booze and Tears.
The alleyway was dark -- and full of suspense. The shadows loomed far behind Jasper as he came out running at a full sprint onto the dimly lit street corner. Standing at the corner bending over breathing vehemently, as with exhaustion, he is approached by a man with a backpack and a walkman -- very loud. He lights a cigarette and gives a short wave. The man turns down his walkman, pulls a plastic bag out of his left pocket and hands it to Jasper, taking care to pick up the three fifty dollar bills in Jasper'shand. The man turns his walkman up and walks away. Jasper is pleased. And continues to walk home. When a bus hits the man walking away.
Jasper turns and looks back. Takes the situation into his mind and processes it, but he is not alone in this. For the bus driver is doing the same thing as he. After thinking around for a hard minute or two Jasper runs to the man and takes his money back, while the bus driver is stepping out and mentioning something about a girl with red hair being scottish and hitting her head and oh my god there's blood everywhe -- .
" . . . there's blood everywhe -- why are you stealing that man's money!"
" . . . it's uh, mine. I lent it to 'im the day afore yesterday."
"Bloody hell you did! Police! Police! Hit and theft in progress!"
"Bugger off, old man! What're ya tryin' ta do? You already killed my only friend in the whole bloddy world," Jasper says as he picks up the man from before's head and presses his hand against his forehead, caressing it from cheek to forhead and back again. "I'll miss ya like a lover." You should have seen this caress. It was beautiful. The man's mother probably wouldn't have caressed him like this. When he stood up, he spit in the bus driver's face and angrily ran away with the man's drugs and money, while the bus driver yelled obscenities like your mother's father used to know, after him..
At Edgepointe and 64th Jasper caught a cab to the place he was staying at with his girlfriend Malady, who he didn't like very much, but stuck around with because he had nothing else to return to -- and she had a lot. His mother, Diana, died in a horrible umbrella accident back in '55 (his mother had returned home from the umbrella store with a brand new black 'that's so dahling' umbrella that had white stripes going up and down it, when a friend had asked her if there was a design on the tip and how fancy it is when there is a design on the tip, this is when she went to look at it, however, and simultaneously, the floor board cracked under Diana's friend's foot causing her to fall forward and to viciously impale Diana, causing immediate death -- poor Jasper was only 2) And his father had been shot to death after dueling with his cousin because of a bouncy Scottish tart, that people referred to as simply 'Mcleod's Kid' (she was one of a few Mcleods that never knew when to quit).
Three days pass, and all is good.
What am I doing? I am drinking, and drinking more than I probably should at that. I started first with the brandy and quaigh, next to each other in the cabinet on the left of the door, of course, moved on to the tequila but saved the gin for tonight to cap it all off. All the while Malady's dog has been scampering back and forth, whimpering every so often, in front of the door. My guess is that it wants to be let out. But, see, I hate two things in life: children and dogs . . . and Malady knows this. She got this dog to get back at me for cutting down her tree, which I cut down to get rid of the children that always ran by and had the audacity to laugh and sing and dance like little hell crazed demon kids having a good time in my very front yard (on and around the fucking tree). My life is a perpetual lose-lose situation, or rather, I'm a perpetual loser.
"Why are you shouting and stomping about like that?" Malady yells at me as she comes in shouting and stomping herself.
"Why did you get this dog?"
"Don’t get so sore. Tyler’s a nice dog, he really is."
"What about all of the times it’s crapped and pissed all over everything you own?"
"What about all of the times you’ve crapped, pissed and vomited all over everything that I own?"
"Oh OK, so I piss on your bed once when I'm drunk and all of a sudden I'm a fuckin' piss machine? Where's the gin? I need some gin."
"Oh the ways that I hate you," she says with a soft smile running across her face "It’s in the cabinet there." She goes on to grin like a fool - she always does and I hate it when she does, it's the biggest, stupidest grin I've ever seen. The "I'm laughing at you" kind of smile with a hint of goofy/retard/retarded goofy, but this time I notice a hint of sadness -- which I quickly ignore..
"The gin is in that cabinet there, love."
"Oh my." I smile with self-delight as I walk over to the cabinet and pull out the gin.
"Gin," says the label.
"Just try not to drink too much, as it is barely reaching ten in the morning."
"Oh never mind that, I’ve been up all night," I say while staring at the bottle in a sort of trance that only an alcoholic can truly be completely unaware of and then put it down readying to open the bottle up.
But before I get a chance to pour any liquor, or so much as open the bottle, Malady comes up from behind and turns me around, then she starts hugging me. I take a step back, at which she starts to cry. I step forward and embrace her, with the alcohol in my hand that I picked up when I stepped back, being held secretly behind her back. I proceed to put the bottle to my lips as often as the opportunity arises. Which is often. After having my seventh sip from the alcohol I begin crying as well. I don't really know why, maybe it was because I was already drunk and had gotten drunker. Perhaps it was because I was working on finishing the last bottle of alcohol in the house. Anyway, so Malady is crying about having hit her head when some guy was pushed in front of an oncoming bus by a tall stranger with a black overcoat, that went on to puke in the man's face and clumsily steal whatever was in his pockets -- reports say the man had a crazed look in his eyes as he kicked the old man that he pushed in front of the bus in the head. And while she's blubbering on and on about all this, not paying attention to her, I begin to get an erection.
Mind you, I'm drunk. It's OK for a drunk man's mind to wander to sex every so often, only so long as, of course, it is an appropriate moment. This however was not an appropriate moment. And however drunk I was, I wasn't about to be inappropriate. So I began edging my waist away from Malady's until I was standing as far away as possible with my arms around her back, still drinking behind her shoulder.
However, she notices that I am moving away from her as she is talking.
"And then the bus driver came back with a cut above his left . . . Why are you moving away from me? Do you not care about anything I have to say? Can I not emote with you any longer, Jasper?"
"No of course you can, love. I, just, well, I have an erection in my pants. I can't help it! They come and go, even without my consent! I had nothing to do with it, I swear." At this point I am frantically waving my hands around, as Malady might put it, 'emoting' with great intensity.
"Oh, so you've been drinking and thinking about sex this whole time I've been telling you about what a horrible day I have had, have you? Oh yes, well . . . Just because you don't care about me, doesn't mean there isn't anybody that does."
"I didn't mean ta get an erection!"
"Oh Jasper, I know you didn't. I'm just really upset and I feel like I need to use you as my crutch and you're not there."
"I love you too" I slur as I lean in for a hug.
As she hugs me I take another gulp of vodka and start crying again
The alleyway was dark -- and full of suspense. The shadows loomed far behind Jasper as he came out running at a full sprint onto the dimly lit street corner. Standing at the corner bending over breathing vehemently, as with exhaustion, he is approached by a man with a backpack and a walkman -- very loud. He lights a cigarette and gives a short wave. The man turns down his walkman, pulls a plastic bag out of his left pocket and hands it to Jasper, taking care to pick up the three fifty dollar bills in Jasper'shand. The man turns his walkman up and walks away. Jasper is pleased. And continues to walk home. When a bus hits the man walking away.
Jasper turns and looks back. Takes the situation into his mind and processes it, but he is not alone in this. For the bus driver is doing the same thing as he. After thinking around for a hard minute or two Jasper runs to the man and takes his money back, while the bus driver is stepping out and mentioning something about a girl with red hair being scottish and hitting her head and oh my god there's blood everywhe -- .
" . . . there's blood everywhe -- why are you stealing that man's money!"
" . . . it's uh, mine. I lent it to 'im the day afore yesterday."
"Bloody hell you did! Police! Police! Hit and theft in progress!"
"Bugger off, old man! What're ya tryin' ta do? You already killed my only friend in the whole bloddy world," Jasper says as he picks up the man from before's head and presses his hand against his forehead, caressing it from cheek to forhead and back again. "I'll miss ya like a lover." You should have seen this caress. It was beautiful. The man's mother probably wouldn't have caressed him like this. When he stood up, he spit in the bus driver's face and angrily ran away with the man's drugs and money, while the bus driver yelled obscenities like your mother's father used to know, after him..
At Edgepointe and 64th Jasper caught a cab to the place he was staying at with his girlfriend Malady, who he didn't like very much, but stuck around with because he had nothing else to return to -- and she had a lot. His mother, Diana, died in a horrible umbrella accident back in '55 (his mother had returned home from the umbrella store with a brand new black 'that's so dahling' umbrella that had white stripes going up and down it, when a friend had asked her if there was a design on the tip and how fancy it is when there is a design on the tip, this is when she went to look at it, however, and simultaneously, the floor board cracked under Diana's friend's foot causing her to fall forward and to viciously impale Diana, causing immediate death -- poor Jasper was only 2) And his father had been shot to death after dueling with his cousin because of a bouncy Scottish tart, that people referred to as simply 'Mcleod's Kid' (she was one of a few Mcleods that never knew when to quit).
Three days pass, and all is good.
What am I doing? I am drinking, and drinking more than I probably should at that. I started first with the brandy and quaigh, next to each other in the cabinet on the left of the door, of course, moved on to the tequila but saved the gin for tonight to cap it all off. All the while Malady's dog has been scampering back and forth, whimpering every so often, in front of the door. My guess is that it wants to be let out. But, see, I hate two things in life: children and dogs . . . and Malady knows this. She got this dog to get back at me for cutting down her tree, which I cut down to get rid of the children that always ran by and had the audacity to laugh and sing and dance like little hell crazed demon kids having a good time in my very front yard (on and around the fucking tree). My life is a perpetual lose-lose situation, or rather, I'm a perpetual loser.
"Why are you shouting and stomping about like that?" Malady yells at me as she comes in shouting and stomping herself.
"Why did you get this dog?"
"Don’t get so sore. Tyler’s a nice dog, he really is."
"What about all of the times it’s crapped and pissed all over everything you own?"
"What about all of the times you’ve crapped, pissed and vomited all over everything that I own?"
"Oh OK, so I piss on your bed once when I'm drunk and all of a sudden I'm a fuckin' piss machine? Where's the gin? I need some gin."
"Oh the ways that I hate you," she says with a soft smile running across her face "It’s in the cabinet there." She goes on to grin like a fool - she always does and I hate it when she does, it's the biggest, stupidest grin I've ever seen. The "I'm laughing at you" kind of smile with a hint of goofy/retard/retarded goofy, but this time I notice a hint of sadness -- which I quickly ignore..
"The gin is in that cabinet there, love."
"Oh my." I smile with self-delight as I walk over to the cabinet and pull out the gin.
"Gin," says the label.
"Just try not to drink too much, as it is barely reaching ten in the morning."
"Oh never mind that, I’ve been up all night," I say while staring at the bottle in a sort of trance that only an alcoholic can truly be completely unaware of and then put it down readying to open the bottle up.
But before I get a chance to pour any liquor, or so much as open the bottle, Malady comes up from behind and turns me around, then she starts hugging me. I take a step back, at which she starts to cry. I step forward and embrace her, with the alcohol in my hand that I picked up when I stepped back, being held secretly behind her back. I proceed to put the bottle to my lips as often as the opportunity arises. Which is often. After having my seventh sip from the alcohol I begin crying as well. I don't really know why, maybe it was because I was already drunk and had gotten drunker. Perhaps it was because I was working on finishing the last bottle of alcohol in the house. Anyway, so Malady is crying about having hit her head when some guy was pushed in front of an oncoming bus by a tall stranger with a black overcoat, that went on to puke in the man's face and clumsily steal whatever was in his pockets -- reports say the man had a crazed look in his eyes as he kicked the old man that he pushed in front of the bus in the head. And while she's blubbering on and on about all this, not paying attention to her, I begin to get an erection.
Mind you, I'm drunk. It's OK for a drunk man's mind to wander to sex every so often, only so long as, of course, it is an appropriate moment. This however was not an appropriate moment. And however drunk I was, I wasn't about to be inappropriate. So I began edging my waist away from Malady's until I was standing as far away as possible with my arms around her back, still drinking behind her shoulder.
However, she notices that I am moving away from her as she is talking.
"And then the bus driver came back with a cut above his left . . . Why are you moving away from me? Do you not care about anything I have to say? Can I not emote with you any longer, Jasper?"
"No of course you can, love. I, just, well, I have an erection in my pants. I can't help it! They come and go, even without my consent! I had nothing to do with it, I swear." At this point I am frantically waving my hands around, as Malady might put it, 'emoting' with great intensity.
"Oh, so you've been drinking and thinking about sex this whole time I've been telling you about what a horrible day I have had, have you? Oh yes, well . . . Just because you don't care about me, doesn't mean there isn't anybody that does."
"I didn't mean ta get an erection!"
"Oh Jasper, I know you didn't. I'm just really upset and I feel like I need to use you as my crutch and you're not there."
"I love you too" I slur as I lean in for a hug.
As she hugs me I take another gulp of vodka and start crying again