Hurt Me Daddy, for I Have Blogged

Yana collapsed on her bed, a weight free from her shoulders. She felt emptied. Voided. Didn’t want drink or drug now. The camper was so utterly quiet. She was sadder at all the hard work they had put into the sister act to get here, only to lose it all.  “But that’s life,” she heard Aunt Lala say. Work so hard only so lose it. That was the life they had chosen, anyway. In the empty trailer, she wished for arms to hold her. No men fucking her, no cold-ass Jorge. She wanted Lala or Uncle. Maybe Mom or Dad. She knew Mara was gone, and they would never hug or sleep close again. Yana wondered at the abyss that Mara might’ve seen in her last moments. Was she free? Was she sad? No way to know. Was it Godless? Did she see the Virgin’s face, maybe? Drained, Yana finally met the shore of dreams. ** It was 4am. Jorge stumbled, with a small flashlight, finally finding the small, raised mound. The moon was a sliver, and it was too dark to see whether there was any blood nearby. He hadn...

The Tree of Evil is the habit, the compulsion, the auto-default, that which we were born with. It is that which tells us to sin against our higher self and our betterment. At the heart of it we have failure and pain. This is the Tiphareth, spelled backwards. Are we on our heads here? And thus my baptism began, my light into the shadow. My head was submerged, and upon it I saw red snakes; petrified ribbons of victory. No drug strong enough for me. And then the priest stated: “Do you renounce your will and all that made sense to it?” And then he gave me a taste of the opium as communion, and it smelled like chemicals. It was the gateway to other lives, other things. But my habit was the compulsion I was born with, the chemicals throughout my meridians. My hands trembled and I felt nausea. It was so easy to be stuck but so difficult to say no. Time had stymied me into wanting the same thing, day in, day out. Somewhere I heard an echo of a suicidal man’s song. I was a victim and t...

She had never visiting a Living inside a passageway. The health centers were located inside the underground passageways so that people from either side of the fence could get to them. The Masters and Collectors had one wing, and everyone else took the other. The other wing was hermetically sealed. But this was not just any visit to a Living. It was to the sealed side of the Center. She would need to wear a bubble suit, by mandate. Visits by Harvesters or any Infs were rarely permitted. They divested her of any tools. Incredibly thorough search, body scan and questionnaire. The fee was less for her, since she had her own fully functional Engine of Joy. --- He sat upright in bed. One of the many who had a gas mask welded on surgically around puberty; nebulizer over that. Their engines pulsed in time. It was frightening. She decided to speak to him in an ancient text called Binary. "Elder. Please excuse and forgive me. You must know why I was told to be watchful over you. F...

I walk by the sketchy-as-hell massage parlour that's always been open 24 hours. A Thai man in a fitted fedora wearing clothing the colors of the Thai flag is rocking out to a song blasting through his phone. Socks with sandals but his shoes are off. Is he waiting for a whore? He's engrossed in the music. I walk up to him and yell "Hey! Pachuco!" and he subsequently showers me with a slew of insults in Thai about how I am racist, in elaborate poetry. I thrust my hand out towards him and we begin a frantic Lindy Hop, him threading me over his shoulder in the East Coast Swing style. We begin to spit just inches from each others' face and make wild motorboat noises, eventually headbutting each other in a tribute to the International Cup soccer tournament. I wake up in my driver's seat. Snug in my car, no key anywhere to be found. I had been sleeping soundly. I look over and see the guy jerking it, facing one wall of the parking lot. I don't know what he...

Dalene picked up the phone. "Don't call people. Just don't call people." "Why?" "Because they're supposed to call us. I mean that's how it works." "Or we could just do this the easy way: hang out at Danny's Diner at all hours on weekends." "Our purpose isn't to sit there at Danny's Diner drinking milkshakes all the time to see if crime goes down." "It isn't?" "We're superheroes. I don't think we're supposed to be, you know, this fat." "You gotta problem with my weight, Gabe??" Dalene glared. "All I'm saying is that we spend a lot of time at Danny's Diner anyway." "Where else are we going to find people who are trippin' balls all the time??" "I dunno...Earth? The convenience store? Aren't we supposed to have a detector that goes off or something?" "What the fuck kind of money do you think we...

Dalene banged the door to Danny's Diner behind her and made accidental eye contact with the security guard. Something trailed from the bench-riding, passed-out homeless guy greeter's mouth. "Those are some glittery neon green shoes," said Gabe. "Thank you Captain Obvious," volunteered Dalene "Shh, don't spoil my cover." The two were seated and spent some time perusing the menu. Both eventually decided on milkshakes after what seemed like a time lapse of two hours. Things were moving especially slowly tonight. Dalene and Gabe chitchatted. About ten minutes later, the man sitting by himself at the table adjacent to the two got up and addressed them. "Hey, did you just see Morgan Spurlock walk out of here?" "Who?" "Morgan Spurlock. The guy who did Super Size Me , and that other documentary." "I don't even know who the hell you're talking about," counteracted Gabe. "I...I'...

So he sat again, around 1:30AM, getting his drone on. Sometimes he'd hear money drop into the case. He lived with a caretaker named Nanette. All she knew about her from her voice was that she was around his age and had once danced in a company directed by a man named Donald McKayle. Carolyn and Luis paused in front of him for several minutes. Carolyn gasped with delight. "He's playing 'Untitled' by The Cure from Disintegration!" She grabbed for Luis's hand. " Aye, mamacita," replied Luis. It was a reference to their joke that most of the Latinos they knew loved The Cure. Carolyn chuckled and snuggled her head into Luis's Joy Division tshirt. The album was one of Elias's favorites. He knew little time and place, or whether music was for young people or no. He had learned many of the songs by ear quite quickly. The drone soothed him. Occasionally he would be joined by an incredible cellist or some bucket players, both of whom love...