SCOOTERS MOBILE
Every situation changed. There were less consequences, provisions, we pretty
much made it all up.
So begins the mobile game. The who done it and who snagged the line, had
nylon fishing string, lures, enough oil and gas ratio, swivel seats. Here’s Bonk
Fendo caught, purposely but not. Momentum although lazy strides.
I fit into the scene. Don’t call me a chameleon, actor, artist, finishing touches, I
believed. I bounced back whatever came… whatever they reacted to… sprung
nails in floorboards, missing placemats, yarn, a cat and mouse puzzle. Of course,
Dewe university taught me a few things, suspected me as an insider,
unapproachable professor, triumphant success narrative impeding electrical
currents, sockets, portable voices. In their homes I snatched their personal
belongings, catalogues, magazines, precious matches, studied it and became the
polar opposite, most influential man in the Americas.
Later on I made a favorites list. Photographs, diaries, emergency numbers, “the
neighbour has the nine o’clock movie,” it got said. I slept on the island, in their
beds, on the countertop. I looked in their files and erased some important dates
and figures and re-mortgage the land, sent out divorce papers, international
newsletters, so on.
Most evenings I told jokes by the artificial fireplace and they patted my back in
return, kept the window shades open. The furthest thought in my mind was to
be a nightmare to them. Early one morning I removed the yolks from the eggs
and heard sizzling from the frying pan, rerouted a handbag deal to new york,
boston, philadelphia. I was primary owner of this imagination.
To get past my frustration I had a meeting with a friend of Freddie Scootero, the
architect responsible for lots of it. I wanted him to explain the synopsis for
psychology and the effort he took to get into people’s houses. We swung on the
swingbench on a breezy day in the porch and had a mutual respect for the quiet
drive into the forest, Jackie Riding Hood territory, lime hunters, man versus
machine among other tangibles. What he wouldn’t say was the pain he endorsed
on me because I had a new responsibility to refinance America, court with
supermodels, mow lawns, do stuff. Jealousy isn’t an appropriate term, it’s a cop
out to understanding so we finished a strong ale and I pushed him off the cliff. I
knew he’d survive, he had to, he was in my saga.
For another week I stapled documents, flyers, papers, played the role of a
businessman incompetent as a husband but loyal company. I highlighted big
names so they’d see and then I went shopping in the sports sedan.
Yobos! Grocery basically pulled me in and directed my feet through the aisles,
gave me coupons, samples, I listened to elevator music. It wasn’t Jarry Pholps, a
ripoff punk trio I think, it guided a bit and I filled the cart and paid for it all.
Once upon a time I’d slip and twist an ankle, try to sue but who does that these
days? I loaded the car and snooped. Neat area. A mile down the road it
bottomed out and I skidded into the ditch… a trivial happenstance to the wheel
of fortune and I phoned for Fankay to get me.
Rumors were spreading like insects, he informed. If we inspect we must dilute,
if we become happier we must leave, perhaps to Paris, somewhere in
Switzerland. Dark atmosphere hit. You noticed the bargaining hill of nowhere,
cards, pools, decks, stakes. We added sugar, beet juice into a compartment in the
glovebox and slowly motored.
Around the bend we got into disguises. Okay, practice some German, French,
rough hues and cues, we thought.
Hedges. We checked if it was sparked, tied to an alarm. Property owners do
this. I hoisted my friend onto my shoulders and he hopped over… go on, I
insisted.
An hour onwards and no word, clue, hint of plans in motion. Do I get
desperate? I could do the stretcher trick. I flipped a dice and it said yes.
Franciso found me half-broken and aching in the garage section of their house,
completely still on the device. Through my sunglasses I read a code and needed
to find the vault now. I played dumb and I think she went to party.
3 am. I’ve managed to wheel myself upstairs and locked a door, brought myself
back together again. Focus. Freddie Scootero’s name was on a table, him
smiling, no teeth, no whereabouts. I searched under the hinges and there it was,
the button. Everything rotated and I jumped into the tunnel.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Acceptance.
Vulnerability.
When I get motoring I get motoring, I believed. This new residence had an
impressive swimming pool and I used a broom-screen to collect the algae,
determination, positioning, and then seamlessly entered the demographic
millennium. I took rests in the shed so no one would see me and I rehearsed
yoga stretches to make qualifications work. One ad told me about a friend of
Freddie Scootero’s that instructed class in India and sandwiched business ethics
into the mix, golfing, cave hunting. I converted my torso into ‘the bandit from
tunnel GV.’
Residence 8824 had a party. The diving board got busy and by the end of it the
tank was bone dry, a few minnows squirming, a few discarded items of no
interest. Inside they had some extraordinary oceanic tanks supporting a girrifish
and a virocafish, each a separate entity but partially of the same breeding. I
swallowed hard, bit my moral tongue, cut off a supply of berewater and would
have to lie about circumstances, superficial reality, industry executives in a jawdropping whirl. If only my pockets fit, sustained a coral reef, I’d be a celebrated
decoy baiting Clevoton Hill, gesturing, insinuating, copying magic.
Rooftop. Imaginary handrailing. Those gliders not in reach and a cause for
comets, false introspection, trait malfunctioning, volcanoes I sketched while
serving time at the lakehouse some distance away, a universe of component
structures, generations, storms, lukewarm hiatus, supreme hinges that never
crimple, try to tell you a more valid way, an easier bourgeois, philanthropy.
Their signs are different, spans that we cannot fathom.
I do my best thinking when I sense the chase is on. Regret seekers on a trail and
swirling phenomenon, frontiers, panic attacks, the tale they wove and encrypted.
Seasons were no longer here. A valet service I tagged. I had probably been to at
least a hundred hotels in previous routes and my luggage went in smoothly,
departures and arrivals, the mundane summary blinking and bleeping. One
thought however, I never liked my room, it made me anxious, inspired, a
corporate leech. I always ironed my suits and snuck to a rear lobby to chit chat,
discover who’d be there, the actors, politicians in robes, sheepish grins, overseas
brides, sickmail, snails, elongated columns. I clutched the disc grinder, sawed. It
sounded as if Jarry Pholp’s detuned his larynx, quilted the ambivalence in him,
continued, I was informed by a gentleman veering, seizing accusations. He
commented on my humor, its resonating impressionistic mix. “You’ve been at
the showbiz,” he said more firmly, “take me with you.”
So we strolled. A rental dog with us and yapping at the sweet grates, shoots to a
conundrum, jinxed reliance, an attachment disorder I invented.
We did a whole block and Bensoni the retriever started clawing at the ground, in
his appeal, bound energy. Let him be.
I learned more in regards to this fireagent anointed top position, same floor,
brawny mustache and gumption sandals, tacky warming lines, and staff buzzed,
shifted shifts, inhaled exhaled. He thickened the window awnings, wore a vest
to stay hydrated, forced his mind to dream.
From my office I wired plug-ins to the visitor’s brain and my monitors gauged
progress. Was he fully into the plan?
I had sunnyside eggs, ham, French coffee and delighted myself with a daily. I
had begun to fight the movement and wakeboarding didn’t fit the scene, leisure
controlled my viewfinding, accounts of what’s really been going on. You worry
and than doubt turns inward, you’re a trafficking system and all your votes are
earmarked, returned to sender. I finished five full cups and rested on a Chris M.
couch, let the sparrows sing.
Fankay found me close to a warehouse having been ousted by a moving
company at the request of a disgruntled employee. We got through the
drivethrough and polished a java each and raspberry donuts. We were on a roll.
What was to be dispensed with? Common sense, no. Meaningful slides, no.
Fun that couldn’t pass for logic. Eventually you’re sought after. They’ve read
about you in the waves, mist, trouble treble, sonic deregulations. Pacifica
turbulence. My phone booth at limited speed and skimming the surface of it all,
rejecting pitstops, docking somewhere east and using a canopy, refreshing,
packing flares, emergency dials.
I had a titanium briefcase, wrangling attitude.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Back in my room.
Scootero’s idea.
I had been a salesman in an earlier life, I cobbled into the role.
For a while I pitched appliances meaning I literally chucked them and they
landed upright and in working condition. Travelers bug. The need to fit into
connectivity, a dispute in togetherness, actions otherwise interpreted and
nobody pegged left from right, ceiling from familiarity, it seemed the magician
was in town.
Hiring him was my trick though. Establishing the canal he drifted, blockaded,
easily longed for the chameleon his skipping rope a feat, method to lead twitches
astray, body counts, meat distribution houses and farewells, postage, the fishing
expert on a lawn chair, soaking, gripping the short end of the stick. I’ll name him
Freddie Scootero, a twin.
Perimeter residence 8824. Dusk. Bonus clauses in a sinking medium, plausible
hugs and pinches, ‘hey are you there,’ don’t report us because we instilled this
randomization, hooded overcoat swimming suit, directional debut, enhanced
cameras and digital processing, the brainchild of Freddie Scootero, the twin.
These items made it fast delivery, express, quotes from an undisclosed location
and flippers at a zero latitude line… cleanup jobs in awakening, phosphorous
columns, calcified infusions.
Over the fence. The half-life meter on me. Questions, answers, rules. Interest
for interest, pain. Reassurances as symmetry hurts, slips spinal fluid into railings
and limbs hold, network, somber elegance makes one attractive. Franciso was
bored with her mode, her media-intrepid leap and you stood again, metal
shoulders, bodychecks into padded walls, early repairs. It motivated me, to
section certainties off, allow myself space, time, surrealism. My abdominal
muscles were sturdier than my hips so I stepped into a basement and patched,
rested on a futon observing a broadcast about erroneous attainments, the ill seed
to past, present, future. Delicate podcasts. Intricate lures. Snappy swivels.
Knee jerk reflections airbrushed and affiliated, triumphant snickering as if
rewarded, threatened in camaraderie, positives removed. Now complements
maintained and ammunition ingested, my memory card was full however and
amnesia or its partner clopped, irked bold entrances. Video surveillance
captioned me and altered design features in empty rooms. I need to roam.
According to folklore, a true banking system has a fault switch and an automatic
timer to several central depots. I pressed my face, 11 percent absorbing cells,
relative humidity. I drilled a bore hole and inserted a dwarf’s map, one from a
sunken bottle near Nice France. I applied a mud base and got into the next maze
segment, the sobriety of a beached shell, this boha triangle, miracles in miracles, I
had my deepest breath and concentrated, reviewed classified parallels, the tennis
clays I had been on, the bleachers I had sawed to bits, piled neatly in the van
warehouse where my boss spent jolts on the computer, pac man, identities.
No one was running in. It goes against logic and definitions, the bright crystal
clear evasion, the crashing a party boha, and I cracked my knuckles, braided,
allocated because I went to the border, examined, congratulated all of us. I got
into a vent shoot again, expanded, and residence 8824 disappeared.
How did every occupant of the house vanish? Various, different backgrounds.
Planks to a clandestine bridge, and I tip-toed along, keeping my balance,
headlamps, mineral losses, “come into the sludge!” something blurted. I was
hesitant, the ship might forget about me, quite a risk involved, supplies were low
as well. “Come into the sludge!” they proclaimed. I quickly did a 180 and made
shore.
Night came from every angle, elevation. Whispers of the great accomplishment,
share splitting, reversals of dynamite and mountains, supreme hideouts,
TreeBluebears versus wolfies saying they’d left Paris underground. Who’d
believe it?
I had tender nuggets over a crackling fire with a crisp oceanic lager and slept for
five hours and forty-two minutes. I dream best when I don’t force thinking. I
pretended to jog and I was still injured to a publicviewfinding so minimal
impairment worked. Responsibility issues. The erratic diplomat in my lunghead
and I hadn’t had a whiff of tobacco in eons, a symbol of its phases, yawning,
sandy composure, that in itself my effectiveness, hibernation ethic. Vitality
waded. Mortality waked. Same routine, course grounds, boiled water, pressure,
and a foamy cup of coffee to the delight of binoculars I had set in the wilderness,
coaxed, convinced the shades in the jubilee, square dancing, cowboys and
Indians, symptomatic displeasure, cones.
I fished. Activated new lures I had taken from residence 8824 and by noon
wedged in twelve beauties ranging in size and shape. Fankay had lost ten
pounds I could tell… Oceanside, paradoxes, trials and errors. I learned filleting
techniques, neck to tail and saved plenty and stored the chunks in an icebox
under a Sereotree, the barking ants already livened and climbing as I spoke,
indirectly, directly to a busy port. Rockiness came and went. Hundred meter
spikes and driftwood, mannequins, tourism.
Mr. Bonk Fendo revived. I had a fake cigar in forever and its ashes flew to the
psychology department where the substitute gathered information, made collect
calls in a phone booth and wished. Things don’t get more strange after dark,
they only stir the dailies. We need a steady flow of news, neutral energy, white
noise some would say, a train conducting the conductor, Rudolph Vukks
surprised, checking his thumbnails, agitated in a Machiavellian fight. Ms.
Summary intellect, I thought.
S.O.S. signs. I covered the scene with a rubber tarp and walked away.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
A telegram from Boston.
Dizzy daisies.
Supposedly residence 8824 landed, got a transfer, that’s all they told me.
My job then entailed scouring streets and sweeping the concrete chips into the
garage, turning the volume decibels down, incorporating maladjustment. Fendo
the negotiator, dimming switch.
If failure succumbs you then it’s your mindset, a hypothesis from Dewe
university or its foyer, a scare tactic to higher learning, inferences, computer class
with a friend of Freddie Scootero’s, manipulating, eye contact and the professor
scribbled, a trash can overflowing, a lawyers fee in his pocket, appointments.
One hound followed him, Freddie Scootero’s beloved friend, to a discreet office
at 5111 Corret street, chic American doors, Hinkwood laminate not visible to
outsiders, a controlled environment. They communicated for approximately half
the day and did not exit, a silent alarm activated.
Nine o’clock movie original, they announced, insisted I was late for the talk show
host. I viewed it as an unbiased copycat like Seniora swayed on his rocking
chair, unraveled fireflies, spat into the sink at his distance, pressed stop and
edited, Ms. Leverage, Ms. Venodase repeating herself.
She used the subway cars twenty percent of the time, locomotion fifty percent of
the cycle, commingled in austerity, pliable reassignment, medical mannequins
showering praise, suitable meetings and a boardroom conveyor. Between ten
and fifteen, I utilized amateurish fools, a holiday yet falsified. Blown-in mirrors,
cotton, clowns. My associate tampered with institutions, daily logobikes,
greetings, countdowns, sales reports. Here and there I dropped the shuttle,
wrote emails, telephone pole posters, advertised Bonk Fendo and the five
characters.
At hideout. I pasted a rubber mask and had ‘Ms. Venodase the robotic servant’
add some makeup, water the crowflowers, depress analogies, basically own the
east ocean. “Oh the Americas,” she sung, “that carpet on the walk really
sucked… it hurt us and them… it changed the weather… it changed my lovers.”
In actuality she was thinking in regards to Paris, the lawyers flat, shambles,
evening escapes. I ran a scan and the comp said “you passed,” I felt steady,
confident. I left Boston the following day.
In method, I will.
A Bonk Fendo quote.
I purchased a Freddie Scootero mannequin and drove him through country
roads wearing a fedora cap and tapping his hands on the dashboard, in a ripoff
Lamborghini I’d wanted since childhood. We were within bandwidth speed
limits and binoculars were surely on, compressing, collecting information.
Luxury. Leather seats, gadgets, vents, foam incubators. My friend recalled the
danger that bogs have, their lack of remorse and oxygen.
We camped in the car. 9:45 pm. Crickets. He read the instruction manual and
the map persevered said “wolfies splashed and pouted.”
“What comes forward frightens.”
Freddie Scootero.
I dreamt like mountains do. Like masterminds don’t. We swam. When he got
hungry I stuffed him with algae and mud so buoyancies held and we shored
close to New York island. My mask was in tact, clothes a little wrinkled,
confidence yes.
We hit prestigious clubs. Bennies. Lorrieomons. Smooth enters and exits.
Information quality. Humble beginnings. Eureka policy. Concrete teeth.
Reinforced agony. Trillium zest. Ivy handshakes. Distilled gables. Monotone
air. Surfboard shoulders. Goggles no goggles. Canes, ties, slips. Pink slips.
Erasing. Disqualifications. Jonkensen? Rebecca?
Chances said it’s an only opportunity, they blurted. Ocean wind you imagined.
You skeleton. Priority mail. Sickrocks. Tide. Objects. My professor in laziness.
Cotton patches. Haze. Bumper walls. Nanoseconds. Bleeps. Jittering.
We played cards. Regret funds. Velvet above. Tyrants. Ms. Venodase alive.
Intent on the tip of her tongue, her nil apology. In a booth it became void.
Now in Spain. Young Bonk Fendo. The world. Piñata features. Paranoia. Lame
stepping. Recordings of tomorrow. Zero wolfies. White casual. Slapstick
comedy. Rue de da 2222. I maneuvered on a scooter greased and chaotic, grip,
ramps, sullen tantrums, waterfall drops, a raft and the edge. Van Mocke, an
associate, bohemian wizard, a straw hut and huffing and puffing.
I skimmed blueprints. The tunnel. I inked in what that grim architect on the
swingbench inferred, “ruining families is what I do… bringing myself better,
that’s it.” He said it so compactly that I believed the sparrows, the worms, the
scene was rusty, compulsory, a veneer treefort.
I made a list. Fankay, myself, Franciso, Freddie Scootero. Four unique
mannequins. A banned store and credit bureau. This is going to get exciting. I
removed some older photos and let the breeze take us away, siding, boat launch,
fishing tackle, life. At the bottom I gulped and most of the barbs sunk and we
were in, treasure room. Off with the mask, 67 Celsius, gyrated cartilage,
absurdity, formulated cops, we’d buy them, corrupt the team, poke holes,
penetrate lemons, diffuse reality, rally protests, pull Mr. Options in, alleviate
concerns, compete with my suitcase, felt, pockets, classify suspects. To be a thief
I had to find the runs before me. All I had to do was study a fast five and history
indebted me, sufficed entertainment, nicked suffering, the research I had done,
struggled with, swallowed seaweed, swelled nervous systems, eels Willis C. had
initially dealt with, composed into serenity, chopped magenta, painted logs,
added steel shavings.
One of my tricks was ‘compassion.’ Seeing the problem and curbing enthusiasm,
establishing comfort, telling the hatchery to settle and I heated the house, worked
for the appliance company again. Beach toaster ovens. Skillets. Cast iron frying
pans. Natural things. Cloven wines. Aggressive beast. Chase. Rice, oysters,
copper, angle braces. Quasi-rainbows. The director searching.
I already wrote his horrible childhood. Fun and descriptions. Elaboration
allegations and I dressed in a police uniform in row 77, clapped disappointingly
and scantly. Oh audience. For the finale I stooped on stage and improvised,
sorted moguls, catalyst media, Bethco magazine and timid chutes, grainy feed,
static, television slices. Oh Roles Royce. Lamborghini quid. I huffed and puffed
on banter ditches.
***
I accepted wisdom from Yobos grocery and stocked my calves, bad cow
disorder, hoaxes, mini conversations. Man could I bluff, excruciate hoods, peel
paint, remove cylinders, choke on vomit, Kid GD mowing lawns, infuriating
press, my prof in complaint, silk films, backspacing, space junk in cans, swiped,
goals in wands and levers. Hydraulic appraising. Comparing sludge and plants.
Clippings. Wanted posters. Separation is thorny, thumbs down to restraint. The
avid skid and logs tumbling, stacking, I did the balance beam drama, strived,
success stowed, culprits anonymous.
Franciso spent it on the garage. An insulated algorithm, ping pong with nobody,
shelving units, a chip off the old block routine. She had this imaginary sports car
from 1980’s psychology, crashing the motel owner’s desk, toggling cues, missing
persons reports, radars and satellites, perfume nasals, or an abundance of
cleaning products, advertising, dullness. She was in fact dreary, your charcoal
writer, your cartoons in Sunday loafers, seepage into culvert drains, Institutions
themselves, raving, suggesting, implying avoidance. Residence 8824 seemed
trite, a composition. She saved the bass soul.
Of anybody, she fit within the wall best. Used a metalsaw, 7 by 7 square and
held the piece until the setback got solved. You funny cloud, she thought aloud.
Insistence brought her navigating a logobike on flat tires or over-inflated ones,
whatever the asphalt provided, semi-immobile statuettes, disclaimers, botheredself. In stratosphere ions. In brief pauses. In checkered pavement rectangles.
She distributed, gear ratio tangling, lift.
My tenure at the van depot said “get wrapped in windshield politics and you’ll
allow snubs, puppies, the slippery syllables.” It’s where I molded Freddie
Scootero’s silhouette to the passenger’s compartment, made proud, added rare
languages, dialects, deficiencies. I called him an extrovert, spoiled washing
bucket, and he always denied the obvious inflammation, the hovercraft we were
in. He never consumed lures, put a toe in the water, but he had this aura most
resist, bottom themselves in the social milieu, go human nude. It’s like my
position raking algae from pools and lying about it. Sometimes you have to.
When asked, I snipped stories as gold shares fluctuate. Somewhere in residence
8824 there were gold bars, editorials, Monday loafers.
I reveled in weekend Editions. In the magnifying glass. I could kickbox my head
because the structural supports were lower, the neighbours were peeved and not
able to cancel any atypical reservation, let alone commune and communicate,
deprive me of tasks. When they vacuumed I put articles in the suction pump
and it stalled progress, I was given a second chance. When they rearranged
furniture I used a magnet and it demagnetized relations, I was accepted in a
third space.
Onwards I met with the architect on the swingbench again and we invited the
fireflies, the musty foliage to trickle, become a display case. We were in a
microscopic arena and an imaginary wolfie brought us a radio to tinker with,
“listen in on channel 569 it’s a patchy cut and paste, a nuance in contemporary
art,” he said and escaped. In our childhood I had sawed the cable to bits and
then suddenly we collapsed, it shattered the deck from three feet high but luckily
no bones broke. I phoned Fankay to pick us up and his Volvo scooted a few
lanes and we piled in.
Awkward silence. Melodramatic clauses. Choices between Freddie Scootero or
the grim architect in the multiplex hovercraft and a ten-year associate wearing a
fedora hat, encouraged opaque cylinder necks, new masks. “I’ve purchased
some from a localite and we’ll just tour until the gas dries… until the ditches
grab life bleeps.” So we did.
It’s hard to differentiate rock cliffs from fluidity. We were in a straightjacket
from an original movie I hummed, incorporation techniques, gaps in reality,
vagueness. I wanted more than residence 8824, a quicker tunnel, frequent stops,
platforms, exchanges. This was my idea, no one else’s, not Dewe’s, not Ms.
Venodase and her untimely etiquette. I recalled the ‘department handbags’ from
Nice, the false bottoms, the floating corks, the messaging center. I’d read some
here and there and delete them you had to wonder where it went, the why, the
how, ‘the rescuing.’ Accuracy pouches, I thought. Some people will do a lot in
the attainment, I believed.
One particular medical facility had the gigs. At night I viewed xrays and weight
shift. The entire car scaled to a woodbridge and my right clunked when I tried
exporting myself to another body, a client escapee who intensified manhunts and
suspects. I dreamed and dreamed. Fissures and cartilage, acrophobia, vases,
lumps, congestion, info glut. I’d wake the workaholic passed out on his office
chair and a buzzing symphony orchestra playing, a Jarry Pholps tribute or his
latter years, the Kid Ghi 3 exercising and one curious guy, a jungle gym, paper
airplanes, sandalley bowling, jacks, beanbag, hop scotch. We’d say “the bronze
knuckle porch, the channel selections.”
Our bud slept in the trunk while Fankay and I rested with the top down and
whatever scarce blankets we had recovered.
6 am. Snoring. The morning daily delivered and fresh coffees. America in a
housing crunch, industrial revolution, manufacturing bandaid, families in their
recreation vehicles and looking for cover. I pressed the hibernation button and
certain stillness brushed, the drainage grates blown, the weasels doing mocks,
finger pointing, ascending echoes. I didn’t know what headhunting meant, what
it implied, it probably telegraphed responses.
Back in Nice France. Gluing the door shut. Making three from a single divide. I
had no ankles, feet, hands. I moved like a shadow in their economy, an
insomniac, a ventriloquist on vacation, lotions, quotes, trivia, gloom. Bonk
Fendo crippled pretender. I browsed a health store and a stretcher sparked my
heart valves, I used a money order, paid, disappeared.
I started dating heavy. Actresses, real estate agents, comedy bookers. Lunch to
late night walks and they pushed my cart along, the wheels catching grooves,
expressions moods, the coral throat syndrome, the peril of mischief and sponges.
I was as absentminded as I could be, filling the atmosphere, saturating my love,
my targets, my goals in an absolute generation. Gaileo dropped me off at the
porch and I pressed the button so the legs crumpled and I avoided the goodbye.
Inside I added a tensor bandage, cooling gels, watched the news.
They were in demonstration relief. Showing me how tunnels member.
Organizations form, decompose. Oh well.
I bought a girrifish and sealed him in an airtight in my backpack, his beady claws
my teeth in a way. I noticed a Freddie Scootero wanted ad, his mask alluded to,
his shipping practice, aggressive loft, tinged nerves, suitable custom. He winked
and winked, gauged Mr. NiceHost, wouldn’t refund, dazzle, wreck codes.
Part of me slipped the animation into the salt, iodine drips, embalming fluid.
The painters guts in exhibit and flaunted, the jailandroid wannabe. He’d be a
Hollywood script, a canon in a watergun, stepping gawk, retribution analog… I
dug holes and buried myself, not in fact, circumstance, the visibility situation…
who’d get me now? who’d resuscitate momentum?
I got into a tropical pet store and browsed. Aisle after aisle of upbeats, lameness,
fashion blobs, mistakes and currents. Policy said I could fit the retroactive digital
but confront the challenges I’d face on eastern America, so take ‘joie de vivre’
and mosey. The clerk was happy that the windmill had wedged me and I’d take
care in the futurism, “alright sunny, I’ve seen plenty, heard it, intuition is candid,
chow.”
It made for a wetsuit, a surging exploration, a survey into formations, conquests.
Fast breaststrokes, cutting, less displacement and surfacing ripples, I’d be a twin
somewhere joined at the hip, pandemic, epic, or maybe my incentives were
partiality modest and dangerous. After all it was them that said once you cross
over and leave it’s impossible to tell jelly from shakes, movement from rays.
Conspiracy theorists love this, they spend and bulk, turn dials and let loose.
I wore the suit to Lorrieomons and was given an instruction manual to read, a
huskier fellow led me to a VIP room and a crinkled leather chair. Here I’d shed
and impulses carried transmissions, movies I’d viewed, skills I’d incorporated,
amenities acquired, liquid assets, wiser portfolios, graphic pies, slithering,
pontoons and stations. Whispers could go into here. Secrets. Foamy agents.
Disturbances. Abuse of privilege. Signatures. Soft paranoia. The lime hunter.
Swiss army knives and metal boots. You against the wall felt ill, felt cold and
cluttered. Solid scripts are developed this way occasionally, however. Yourself
against corners, running, jogging, freezing. There was always somebody else in,
devoted, a material fellow. ‘I know I’m born and I know that’ll die.’
The hostess winked and showed me to a roundabout countertop where I might
rest my ankles, disconnect from the hustle and bustle, ‘alleviate anxiety’ she said.
Magic sandals, I believed. I had a vodka and olives and she went to accompany
some guests. I discovered a record in case by Jarry Pholps Improved and I
scratched it on both sides, slid it under the table, waited.
Closing exits. File transfers. Discerning agents narrowing and inspecting their
own sufficed space. Don’t you hate farewells. I know I do so I often stay past
invitation and pull out top tens.
They gave me an umbrella as it was raining and the static will lead you home,
they said. I was alone. Bonk Fendo. Stripped as a hobo mastermind. The key
directly ahead. It seemed too easy. Erroneous. Silly. I flaunted disaster,
destruction, a coaxing scheme where I’d have to flush and improvise, tape stilts
on, tower, instigate and trouble would ensue.
I typed in my apartment code and took the stairs to room 7711. Accents and
heritage. Deep oaks, kerrywood, a machinist had been here, really insisted the
premises needed improvement, slept on its flooring, vowed tongue-tied silence.
I unpacked the luggage already provided and showered. Blueprints were
ringing my brain though, I decided to sit down for a bit and comb it, add
lighting, screens. I polished a Freddie Scootero original from South Italy, its
chocolate tannins and biting humor investing in handbags or something. I woke
up on the balcony with a strong breeze and October leaves, the early croissant
boys in their ovens, on an android computer, sniffling. I fit into a tight suit and
observed the news… a crushed ship at port spilling appliances, auto parts,
reporters scurrying to scene. I ground my own coffee and boiled water and let it
decant and then savored my ankles again, my feet, my sensational debut. I felt
like an American success.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Dew anyways.
Bonk Fendo.
Me in a cage, they wanted. I bought a Bensoni retriever and its home towed as
well, previous learners and demystify theory, essentially a contagious metaphor.
Rejection trailers. Serious introspection. Adamant truth. We were a promise, it
got said.
Nice France. 2021. The stranded rowboat, sugar, coffee, milk, paranoia,
initiatives. I tip-toed on a rope and absorbed fluidity languages, silk screen
glide, ambition. I stored the goods in a warehouse and immediately begun ‘the
ending’, ‘transponder’, ‘stay alert man!’ I stuffed lures and granules in and
breathed a sigh of agreement. You got it man!
I slept on the concrete tiling and noticed the wavering ceiling its allowances.
This was no game. No repetition. Harrowing Panthers, or were they? What
might I entrust? I sawed my arms off and concealed them in a locked drawer,
emailed Fankay to take the next plane and suppress compromises. Hey bud.
Hey auto-associate.
I found a lowly café at the trap of Erive and Soptr street, ordered an espresso and
read the daily. My waitress occupied space, memory, and equivalents. A
fugitive between us, impressed, slithery, a girrifish and foggymotor. A subtle
vibration and deleted paragraphs, excuses, porcelain dolls jumping for joy, the
recognitions surviving, swaying – the rattling deception.
The challenge was budging what didn’t stump. I’d use my evasive strategies to
appear absentminded, aloof, a lonely bill in the euro system. Not money.
Accounts, though. Who you relied on. What it endangered. Sympathy. Mere
trickery. Presentation. Smarts. I studied. Physics and psychology mainly. I
made sure to look aloof, deprived, suggestive.
Later on I broke. I hired Marthio Frenwick a model connected to the Americas
and Euroism. Her pay would come in increments like travelers checks, erratic
behaviour, screeching trains, annoyed conductors, imagery, silhouettes, drama,
tired institutions, grieving, harrowing enactments, me and another. Fankay?
No. Cloven’s brother? Chance.
I verified lung pressure, 90 over 60. A sure fact we had talked about plans,
needs, desires, finishing touches. The drowning, I believed. The shallow dive
into Freddie Scootero’s magic. The computer days. Dewe university. Poker.
Blackjack. Reindeer games. Henderson casino. Welding class. Brackets.
Instrumentation. Finer allegations, and no turning back, bluffing, bribing Lend
Fergus and that lazy morph was on the couch for weeks, elaborating, stiff.
Doctor dreams.
The greatest escape ever: a grooved floor tile at the exact second to none. ‘Here’s
the exam,’ we announced, me and the young associate.
Elevator shoot. Hollow self. The blinking following and the basin, yard, shelter,
and we conceptualized, made prints.
Who, what pursued, we’d figure and decipher.
Autumn. Paranoid season. Flags and worms. Citizenship modifying. I hadn’t
been in a treefort in forever, the winches we rigged, hurriedly went into
prevention mode and stocked cupboards with sugar, fifteen millimeter film.
Bluebears were growing envious or salvaging composite sketches, who done it
principles, tracking. I had my limbs again, full rotation, short extension, jacking
abilities. Excitement or its counterpart.
Young Cloven aired the mats on a clothes line, did the rest of the chores and had
a favorite’s nap on his hammock. He read Billy Bogo narrative about derbies,
their mess, their power, running away. Trampled upon the once upon story, “fee
fie foe dumb,” it got said. He analyzed recoveries, a class in second year school
and discharges, a few of them expelled or permanently removed. Okay hiatus.
When he was energized he yanked rock samples to level and I chipped in search
of deposits, the fool’s approach to engineering and mastering. It’d bog us down
and handbag imports were coming, coming to the sewing machine, canine
incisors, typing bandits. Basically I wrote the book and the hammock accepted it.
I liked the original computers they first made, they were heavy with a convex
screen and color bit dials, a fat keyboard with side speakers, the anomalies of
taste and dynamic advice. I added suspense pages over top of shape pages, then
crafted dwarfs and dwellings, hobbies, relatives, activities, a tight-knit
community. When mistakes bumped the undercover police stepped and
confiscated the goods, went their own way. Feedback loop. I observed mr.
Young clarifying a central database, stipulating demands, controversy, the little
by little scheme, his avenue de la rue and hybrid feathers. Skipping onto Fenway
Park into the outfield and catching a fly ball to save a triple play and the pitching
coach going berserk, flaying his arms, the crowd roaring, transfixed, tearing
themselves, buckled to their seats, the announcer pausing momentarily and
ordering that the game never end. Astroturf. A skydome. Concessions.
Homeplate diamonds. The umpire agitated, signaling, hunched and twitching.
He came to our place as an inebriated mannequin and rested on the hammock. I
covered him with a blanket and accessories, things I had purchased, valuables
belonging to proprietor, the chuckwagon without wheels, the tapes losing
control, scrunched and base priority, cigarette burns and stitches, plastering and
fix it jobs. Tell us. Educate us. He unraveled a better blueprint, one from Nice to
the Americas. Oh no.
Two young beasts, we figured. Ground coffee and a cherry croissant as a naked
sun crept horizon and shattered. Ladders were already constructed, in
metaphor, fashion, curbed enthusiasm, parking tickets, sills, disorderly giving,
legitimate exploration, expansions and divingboards. Pay worked. Calm enters
and oxygen lapses, chest pumps and ribs fracturing, a medical bill at my door.
I lit the bill with candle flames with Marthio Frenwick at a conspicuous diner
labeled after a genuine fall from grace. She knew this. Her old friends slapped
the playground silly, drew sandcastles and more. I sawed the waiter’s ankles off
and the trunk suddenly opened, the yellowcar arrived, we sped and took air,
pretty much disappeared.
A tactic I had learned at the van depot was ‘deflating returns’ and elements and
boiled limits. Thermometers gripped errors, machines overworked and still
chased, a compensation tally flattening rougher roads and the subway would be
here soon. Lava windows, perhaps. Rock climbing Clevoton Valley with no gear
but the trampoline below, placed in the windy belt, risks capitalized on, evidence
blowing. This associate called it ‘old country.’
Evening. Lone. Van Mocke’s ringing probably captivated whomever he’d
brought to the outdoor square, it’d be more difficult gluing and staying evasive,
he always said, said jumble it. So I figured he was tired of the coast and might
sell his condo and everything he had accumulated, sell his market shares,
mistresses, dandelion farm, spectacles. His emails were quite blunt and erratic,
as if the second draft was waiting, ready to snap your bravado, shelter mimicry,
elevations, prospects and a consequence that he shrieked, left the earjacks in.
I think he edited them in a payasyougetit parlor and tried boasting assurances.
After all the hazy want rhetorical sophistication, a seat on the space launch.
Tingles in the teleportation phone booth and map erasing. Bonk Fendo integral.
Gaileo was unique. An awkward grace, trapeze artist. She was a selfdepreciating logo magnet buzzing honey bees, flyhats, standoffish strolls in
wooded parks and that bog gaining ground, phase shifting, rapping knotted
willows, country dwellings, fugitives, Jonkensen? Fankay’s sister? Inside the
tree she took the stairs to the top and built a handrailing, edited her thoughts and
warped and buckled. Rollercoasters. The ticket clown. Her mindset flickering
and canned, leaking at the trim, already bounced and battered in gardens, pieces
susceptible in miseries tracks, audible equipment, and the exit door hinged.
They are pushed and commercialized, I thought. A stage of my imagination,
complications, success righted into lasers, equilibrium, sagas in a contract.
Urged into randomizations, irritability, customary VIP lounge, toppling veneer
showcasing, a weird auction, truth and dare descending, litigation snags, an
entertainment lawyer bumping shoulders and claw bones, a tiger torch used in
one of our heists. Maybe oxygen deprivation had gotten to us, ‘sillied the weeds’
and interrupted confidence, strength to bite the speeding bullet, activate silence
central. Drills and wires in her, spark plugs, formula oil we had leaving the
lakehouse. She slept in the hedges, elapsed.
Marthio Frenwick found this android, leaper, miscued runaway as if the vases
were lodged, taken at the intersection of Erive and Soptr street, the artificial fur
club, a model of sick behaviour and strewn topics. Fankay’s sister accepted
responsibility, the maptime machine. The Americas to here and vice versa.
Young Cloven met me when it was pitch black, when no one else realized the
weight within borders, the superhero status we had conjured. The guy’s brother
was poking holes in feathers and flapping grim off his handrailing, the spiral
abyss and darkness. Later on we checked mail and he sent classic rolls, soggy
1970’s and 1980’s. Consensus was we’d burn through it soon and store it on ‘the
envelope.’
We managed to sneak into some pretty prestigious mansions and stayed low. I
wore casuals, muttered news in rounded François and then removed the
banisters, the last step, piled it all in a storage room. My associate stripped all
the paint and poured it into the piping funneling their main kitchen.
In the morning I heard the coffee maker going, fifteen of them waiting, and
clattering ambience from the electronic smog of Garyio Dobble, the new
sensation. He was a pack rat hobo off commercial park surviving the ecoempire, his cousin’s estate properties doing well especially in inserting fishheads
with resin that’d circumvent the globe and rattle tattle, joy the restaurants along
the canal I once sketched, once insisted I developed.
>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>
Part two.
I deaden my awake.
Freddie Scootero.
If he really did build the concept computer in sophmore year than I doubted we
left at all. Their were reinforcement ties deep within chambers, ‘the harrowing’ I
wanted to call it. You could not go anywhere without a service on you, a sticker
in your pocket, house rules reverberating, croaking, knocking.
It’s almost hard telling them this but we had some late nights in room 75N, just
us and a metric ruler, graph paper, Jteven pencils, and a calculator. Everything
has a memory, can’t avoid its impressions, hamburger hands, severing methods.
Divide grazing from roaming and you locate ventilation shafts, plumbing, the
refugees underneath the floor. ‘Dig a hole and get to China’ they used to say. I
played victim and amused mr. Scootero, he had scattered value to infinity,
unfussy typed in the password and we escaped.
West coast Americas. Ten years forward. My friend was chunky, celebrated,
misfit rebel, a tidal foam gust intervening on nothing, “a mistaken identity
program,” he often laughed.