comes from. The second photograph shows what the view is like from the fire-escape of an Advertiser's loft. Note that the view will change if you fall off the fire-escape. Be careful.
Peas, bros.
LATEST PROJECTS
PR Department
See Me In The Streets Bitch
- Brandon Gorrell 'one time thing' and from SEA
- BUY Menthol's "OMG Pleasure" 'perfect fit' tee shirt $55
- BUY Menthol's Erik Stinson (direct shipping from printer, early price $6)
- BUY Menthol's Kevin Akstin (writer E. Bay, PoMo Gothic)
- CAVE AGENCY
- David Fishkind (budding writer NYC)
- DIS (webzine NYC)
- Erik on Tumblr
- Erik on Twitter
- Erik on Vimeo
- HTML GIANT
- Jimmy Chen (writer SF)
- MARTIN LUTHER KING JR. WAY film microsite
- Miles Ross (writer NYC)
- pop serial
- Shannon and the Clams (band E. Bay)
- Stefan Moore (director/artist NYC/SEA)
- Street Carnage
- Tao Lin (inspirational, rejuvenating author, NYC)
- Tom Moody (blogger OG net artist NYC)
- Zachary German (writer NYC seems 'same as me' somehow)
Twitter Is Not Chill
1.31.2010
Fire Escape
This constitutes a short "photoblog" entry. The first photograph illustrates where advertising
comes from. The second photograph shows what the view is like from the fire-escape of an Advertiser's loft. Note that the view will change if you fall off the fire-escape. Be careful.
Peas, bros.
comes from. The second photograph shows what the view is like from the fire-escape of an Advertiser's loft. Note that the view will change if you fall off the fire-escape. Be careful.
Peas, bros.
1.27.2010
1.25.2010
1.19.2010
Some Things Change
UPDATE: 5:45 PM on a Tuesday (I still think of yesterday as Friday) and residual effects are certainly still present- constant bike crashes, loss of coordination, some degree of loss of self-control. Very high tenancy for me to lose personal objects (keys, wallet, cell-phone, assignments, papers) which almost never happens to be otherwise. I lost my keys today, biked three miles back to my apartment in the rain, kicked the door in (felt hella badass), got my keys, fixed the dorrframe good as new, came in 1hr 30min late to my two-hour class. Explained to the professor that I was late because I was doing "badass shit" which he seemed chill with. He's like a version of C Japp from Broklyn.
After class, was talking with a stunningly beautiful Catholic girl named Sarah. I was talking with another friend of mine about how we thought veganism/vegetarianism/etc. were silly. Sarah blushed and explained that she had been a vegan because some of her friends in highscholl did it “on a dare” and she kept it up (she is filthy rich, Kara-level, and went to a prep school where almost everyone goes to Stanford. There really isn't anything equivalent you would be familiar with; Lakeside is probably the closest thing.
She explained quickly that she wasn’t always vegetariam/vegan/.
“Sometimes I just go to Late Night when I’m drunk or high, and just order whatever,”
Sarah said. Late Night is basically an on-campus version of Taco Bell where poor intoxicated people give crappy good-tasting food to rich intoxicated people in the middle of the night. I gestured at her golden cross necklace and said “I see you’re catholic, I think we should take some Acid and catch Mass, see some of the stained glass.”
Sarah: “What?”
Me: “Take some LSD and go to MemChu” (Editor’s Note: Memorial Church is an absolutely splendid stained-glass cathedral at Stanford)
Sarah: “Okay.”
Me: “We should make sure to go to a Mass in the middle of the day when the light is coming through the stained glass. And one without Communion, since I’m not-“
Sarah: “It doesn’t matter about communion, you can just sit it out, I mean, lots of people do.”
Me: “Chill, lemme give you my number.”
Sarah took down my number and also handed me her Iphone for me put my number in, which was a bit of a fiasco seeing as I am not really up-to-date on the latest touch-screen technology an was coming down off the tail end of a benzodiazepine which lasted sixty-plus- fucking hours.
Sarah: “Someone in my dorm took LSD and he thought he was King Kong.”
Me: “Eh, I just thought I was Bruce Springsteen.”
She shrugged.
But, point is, should be a bit of an interesting weekend. Peas bros.
This was all in earshot of the professor who is a chill ass bro and was probably much more concerned with the quality of color reproduction he was getting on his overhead projector when showing Van Gogh paintings.
1.18.2010
1.15.2010
MENTHOL screenwriting contest is 'live'
DEADLINE: APRIL 1st
JUDGE: Erik
RULES:
- Write a ~10 min screenplay to be shot on digital HD by Erik and Eliseo ~Spring 2010 in Oakland.
- Retarded one-word titles like 'the Cash' or 'Brick' will be deleted from my inbox w/o being read.
- The winner will get a 'writing credit' for a Menthol-produced film. This is guaranteed to be impressive and possibly 'a deal-maker' in 5-10 years.
- Free to enter, just email ender_08@hotmail.com
- No formatting rules of any kind.
- Camera directions are optional and will probably be ignored.
scissor fest! yeah!
1.13.2010
RE EVERYONE WHO TRIED TO READ MY LAST BOOK
SORRY GUYS
I KNOW IT WAS REALLY HARD TO FOLLOW / AT
TIMES ADOLESCENT. THE NEXT BOOK 'I AM HAPPY
THAT YOU ARE GRAPPLING WITH MY LIFECHOICES'
IS WAY LESS OF A SHITBOMB. I'M READING IT
RIGHT NOW AND I FEEL LIKE PARTS OF IT ARE
OBJECTIVELY GOOD.
I KNOW IT WAS REALLY HARD TO FOLLOW / AT
TIMES ADOLESCENT. THE NEXT BOOK 'I AM HAPPY
THAT YOU ARE GRAPPLING WITH MY LIFECHOICES'
IS WAY LESS OF A SHITBOMB. I'M READING IT
RIGHT NOW AND I FEEL LIKE PARTS OF IT ARE
OBJECTIVELY GOOD.
1.11.2010
1.10.2010
NEW WAYS OF FEELING
i dreamed i had a tailored suit and new computer. i think i had a totally rejuvenated self w/ rays of powerful light coming out of my body. facebook updated my real life. i was connected to everything that mattered.
when woke up i was in my friend's bed. i think he slept over with a girl somewhere. in the living room, some people were drinking beer and listening to soul records. it was 11 am. i walked home and remembered the funny things we said like 'crackhead twister.'
now i'm watching new jack city alone in my apartment. i thought 'we saw two crackheads fighting last night' and then I remembered you told me a story about the time you were waiting for a bus in el cerrito and you saw a guy gunned down on his way to work. it would have been a good time to cry but instead i drank some cough syrup and thought about the way trees move in the blissed-out summertime.
when woke up i was in my friend's bed. i think he slept over with a girl somewhere. in the living room, some people were drinking beer and listening to soul records. it was 11 am. i walked home and remembered the funny things we said like 'crackhead twister.'
now i'm watching new jack city alone in my apartment. i thought 'we saw two crackheads fighting last night' and then I remembered you told me a story about the time you were waiting for a bus in el cerrito and you saw a guy gunned down on his way to work. it would have been a good time to cry but instead i drank some cough syrup and thought about the way trees move in the blissed-out summertime.
1.07.2010
Prompt: Script for Pornographic Film
Hello Erik, Bobby, and other writers. I have an assignment for you: write a script for a pornographic film based upon the prompt provided in the image above, a screenshot I took of Stanford’s website in early January of 2009.
In the event that you are using a browser that does not display images, the text in the image reads as follows: “Beyond History: Stanford students discover more than artifacts at an ancient Roman site in Northern England.”
In addition to being written in response to this prompt, scripts must:
I. Correspond to a pornographic film (i.e. a film depicting nonsimulated sexual intercourse) of between ten and thirty minutes in length.
II. Avoid the following:
1. Objectification of women.
2. Violence or abusive language of any kind, including in music used as a soundtrack.
3. Promotion of unrealistic body images of individuals of either sex.
4. Depiction of illegal acts, real or simulated.
5. Bros.
6. Hos.
7. Depiction of unusual body piercings, tattoos, or other modifications.
8. Sexual activities which are not “normal” or are contrived for the purpose of being easily filmable.
III. Include the following:
1. Discussion of academia (ex. graduate school; for the purposes of this prompt, professional post-bachelor’s programs such as Medical School, Law School, MBA, etc. WILL be considered academia.)
2. Discussion of religion.
3. Missionary.
4. Discussion of food preparation or consumption.
5. Discussion of personal transportation (ex. discussion of driving, riding bicycles, traveling on trains and airplanes, walking, walking funny, walking how Bobby walks, etc.; for the purposes of this prompt, transportation of goods through trucking and other means WILL NOT be considered discussion of personal transportation.)
6. Cuddling.
Ready, set, go.
1.05.2010
My Tax Returns Are Very Complicated (Incomplete; Sample)
“My Tax Returns Are Very Complicated”
***
On January 4th, 2010, shortly before my twenty-second birthday, I had my first day of work at what is my tenth job. This means I have worked ten different jobs in less than four years, since I was not first employed until eighteen.
The number isn’t important. I’m not filing notches into my bedpost- that wouldn’t be practical, since I’ve slept in nearly as many beds in the past four years, not all of which have included posts.
The following is a list of my jobs in chronological order from oldest to most recent. I am writing a short summary of my experiences at each workplace. Only one is complete.
***
1. Home Depot in Bellevue, Washington:
I worked as a cashier for $8.90 per hour and was subject to the fury of customers unable to find items they were looking for, a fury I myself have often felt in hardware stores. The angst of contractors searching for drywall screws is a force to be reckoned with.
When walking between the break room and my cash register, I took off my orange apron and hid it inside my coat so that I would be able to travel to and from my shift location without being accosted by customers searching for various products. Before I learned this, it often took me more than half an hour to walk two aisles from the back of the warehouse to the line of registers in front.
My co-workers included a flamboyantly gay and highly disgruntled sixty-year-old man named Daniel who worked in the Lumber Department and hated to assist customers in selecting and cutting products, preferring to hide in the break room playing Tetris on his cellular phone. He would not respond to my pages. Eventually, I started paging him over the intercom in increasingly embarrassing ways, broadcasting statements such as “Dan, Dan, the Lumber-Man, please assist a customer at Register 7”. This was somewhat more effective.
After I had been working for about one month, a boy named Michael was hired to assist customers in the lot (as a “Lot Boy” in Home Depot slang). He was eighteen and recently married. A week after his marriage (he had been showing everyone his wedding ring), I rang up a customer who left the store and returned to my register several minutes later, very upset that no one was available in the lot to help him lift his purchases into the bed of his pickup truck. I asked my supervisor to take over my register while I helped the customer myself. When I returned, my supervisor asked me if I had seen Michael. I told her that I had seen him sleeping in his car in the lot, which was true. She fired him on the spot.
One morning when I had no customers, I was standing five feet in front of my register as required so that customers would feel free to ask me questions about where items were. Since I never knew where such items were, I simply directed the customers as far away from myself as possible, in the hopes that they would take out their frustration on another Associate. A woman walked by me, looking very confused. “Can I help you?”, I asked her. She jumped into the air and screamed. I thought she had perhaps stepped on a screw or nail. “I thought you were a mannequin”, she said. I took it as a complement. She blushed and ran away down the nearest aisle.
A man paid me over forty-seven dollars in coins; fortunately, about half were quarters.
A customer, searching for a pen to write in his checkbook, saw a pen in my pants pocket. Without asking, he reached over the counter, grabbed it, wrote his check, and then replaced it.
Customers unable to speak English would often sign blank checks, hand them to me, and have me fill them out.
At the end of a shift, I closed my register and was taking care of my paperwork, which included counting several thousand dollars worth of cash. A man walked by and offered to help me count it. I told him to go away. He did.
My friend Chris, aware of my work schedule, came to the Home Depot and walked up to my register wearing a plastic horse mask which completely concealed his facial features. I rang up his purchases and we chatted for a minute. Shortly after he left the store, the Loss Prevention officer arrived at my register thinking I had been held up.
***
[To Be Completed]
2. Alexander Party Rentals in Southcenter, Washington:
3. Robinson-Nevada Copper Mine (operation of Quadra Ltd.) in Ely, Nevada:
4. Office of Dr. (Name Deleted), DDS. and Dr. (Name Deleted), DDS. in Seattle, Washington:
5. University Bookstore in Seattle, Washington
6. Lab/Cor Materials LLC. in Seattle, Washington:
7. RPI Printing in Tukwila, Washington:
8. Amgen, Inc. in Thousand Oaks, California:
9. Center for Turbulence Research (Part of the Stanford University Department of Fluid Mechanics) in Stanford, California:
10. Center for Gendered Innovation in Stanford, California:
***
On January 4th, 2010, shortly before my twenty-second birthday, I had my first day of work at what is my tenth job. This means I have worked ten different jobs in less than four years, since I was not first employed until eighteen.
The number isn’t important. I’m not filing notches into my bedpost- that wouldn’t be practical, since I’ve slept in nearly as many beds in the past four years, not all of which have included posts.
The following is a list of my jobs in chronological order from oldest to most recent. I am writing a short summary of my experiences at each workplace. Only one is complete.
***
1. Home Depot in Bellevue, Washington:
I worked as a cashier for $8.90 per hour and was subject to the fury of customers unable to find items they were looking for, a fury I myself have often felt in hardware stores. The angst of contractors searching for drywall screws is a force to be reckoned with.
When walking between the break room and my cash register, I took off my orange apron and hid it inside my coat so that I would be able to travel to and from my shift location without being accosted by customers searching for various products. Before I learned this, it often took me more than half an hour to walk two aisles from the back of the warehouse to the line of registers in front.
My co-workers included a flamboyantly gay and highly disgruntled sixty-year-old man named Daniel who worked in the Lumber Department and hated to assist customers in selecting and cutting products, preferring to hide in the break room playing Tetris on his cellular phone. He would not respond to my pages. Eventually, I started paging him over the intercom in increasingly embarrassing ways, broadcasting statements such as “Dan, Dan, the Lumber-Man, please assist a customer at Register 7”. This was somewhat more effective.
After I had been working for about one month, a boy named Michael was hired to assist customers in the lot (as a “Lot Boy” in Home Depot slang). He was eighteen and recently married. A week after his marriage (he had been showing everyone his wedding ring), I rang up a customer who left the store and returned to my register several minutes later, very upset that no one was available in the lot to help him lift his purchases into the bed of his pickup truck. I asked my supervisor to take over my register while I helped the customer myself. When I returned, my supervisor asked me if I had seen Michael. I told her that I had seen him sleeping in his car in the lot, which was true. She fired him on the spot.
One morning when I had no customers, I was standing five feet in front of my register as required so that customers would feel free to ask me questions about where items were. Since I never knew where such items were, I simply directed the customers as far away from myself as possible, in the hopes that they would take out their frustration on another Associate. A woman walked by me, looking very confused. “Can I help you?”, I asked her. She jumped into the air and screamed. I thought she had perhaps stepped on a screw or nail. “I thought you were a mannequin”, she said. I took it as a complement. She blushed and ran away down the nearest aisle.
A man paid me over forty-seven dollars in coins; fortunately, about half were quarters.
A customer, searching for a pen to write in his checkbook, saw a pen in my pants pocket. Without asking, he reached over the counter, grabbed it, wrote his check, and then replaced it.
Customers unable to speak English would often sign blank checks, hand them to me, and have me fill them out.
At the end of a shift, I closed my register and was taking care of my paperwork, which included counting several thousand dollars worth of cash. A man walked by and offered to help me count it. I told him to go away. He did.
My friend Chris, aware of my work schedule, came to the Home Depot and walked up to my register wearing a plastic horse mask which completely concealed his facial features. I rang up his purchases and we chatted for a minute. Shortly after he left the store, the Loss Prevention officer arrived at my register thinking I had been held up.
***
[To Be Completed]
2. Alexander Party Rentals in Southcenter, Washington:
3. Robinson-Nevada Copper Mine (operation of Quadra Ltd.) in Ely, Nevada:
4. Office of Dr. (Name Deleted), DDS. and Dr. (Name Deleted), DDS. in Seattle, Washington:
5. University Bookstore in Seattle, Washington
6. Lab/Cor Materials LLC. in Seattle, Washington:
7. RPI Printing in Tukwila, Washington:
8. Amgen, Inc. in Thousand Oaks, California:
9. Center for Turbulence Research (Part of the Stanford University Department of Fluid Mechanics) in Stanford, California:
10. Center for Gendered Innovation in Stanford, California:
1.04.2010
Antonio
"How ready were you to leave the U.W.?"
"Hundred percent ready."
"Well, then, how ready were you to leave Overlake?"
"Two hundred percent ready."
Do you suppose that is how it is when you die? Do you look back, and think:
"Mostly sucked, some chill times, though. Like that one time we got Thai food, phad thai, really good, from that one place in Seattle. And remember that hilarious guy who was over at Kevin's place that one night? Saw some decent shows, did a bit of driving, saw a couple of good movies. Avatar was good but kinda long. Mostly just spent my time working and learning shit. Pretty much done with all of it, glad it's over with. Don't really think I'll miss anyone, though. The whole life thing- I really shouldn't have done that, but when I was in it, just kind of kept going, you know? Totally over that shit, though. Hundred percent ready."
Then do you take your revolver (hella old-fashioned, hella retro, bro), "go down" on it?
"Is death gendered?"
"EFML."
Is that how it is? Taking a survey. Am a total lightweight with the whole "death" thing.
"Hundred percent ready."
"Well, then, how ready were you to leave Overlake?"
"Two hundred percent ready."
Do you suppose that is how it is when you die? Do you look back, and think:
"Mostly sucked, some chill times, though. Like that one time we got Thai food, phad thai, really good, from that one place in Seattle. And remember that hilarious guy who was over at Kevin's place that one night? Saw some decent shows, did a bit of driving, saw a couple of good movies. Avatar was good but kinda long. Mostly just spent my time working and learning shit. Pretty much done with all of it, glad it's over with. Don't really think I'll miss anyone, though. The whole life thing- I really shouldn't have done that, but when I was in it, just kind of kept going, you know? Totally over that shit, though. Hundred percent ready."
Then do you take your revolver (hella old-fashioned, hella retro, bro), "go down" on it?
"Is death gendered?"
"EFML."
Is that how it is? Taking a survey. Am a total lightweight with the whole "death" thing.
may come out soon
more readable / less experimental than my last book. a loosely-related collection of stories about sex, drugs, movies, bros, 'cloud-computing lifestyles,' oakland and seattle. will be available online.
1.03.2010
Pallor
Pallor
They walked slowly along a side street, heading away from downtown. His dark hair moved wetly in the night breeze. Her eyes flashed like those of a cat. Their hands were together and they tried to walk at the same speed.
They moved together, down long rows of parked cars, passed empty lots and boarded up buildings. Above them, a giant sickly moon.
"It's quieter here," he said carefully.
She took a moment to look around, and then focused on a figure moving, far off in the distance.
"I'm not sure we could keep doing this," she said.
"What part of it would slip us up?" he asked.
For a long moment she seemed to consider the distant figure, before it disappeared under a steel bridge.
She looked at him for the first time. "I just mean, I don't ever want to get caught."
"We agreed on that," he responded. He squeezed her hand tightly.
They slowed as they approached a large, run-down apartment building from early in the previous century. They drunkenly moved up the front stairs.
The apartment was three stories, red brick with large windows and an ornamented facade. The buildings around it were the same. Weather and decay had worn down the building, until it appeared to be uniformly unmemorable. It was difficult to tell if any of the rooms inside the building were occupied. No light could be seen filtering through the thick black curtains that covered most of the windows.
The man stood at front door and produced a plastic key-card which he passed across a gray box.
"It's good to be home," he said.
***
At a large wooden table the couple sat, drinking tea. Some hours had passed since they arrived at their residence. In the light of several white candles, they seemed subdued, content.
The woman opened a computer and began to do some online banking. She moved some money from a local account to a secretive bank on an obscure tropical island. Closing her computer, she turned and smiled at the man.
"It's done."
"So you're finished with the money part? We have it all?" he asked.
"Yes."
He sighed and picked up a European fashion magazine. He glanced at the ads on the first few pages. He put down the magazine.
"Do you think the one tonight was different?"
"No. Do you?" she countered.
"I'm not sure. There was something about him. It was less easy. He was charismatic, likable."
"That makes it better. Those are the ones that need to go." She got up and walked to a dim kitchen. "If we're trying to be big fish in this, we need to call shots, take heads."
"I know. It's just. I think we could have used him for something. Administrative maybe, for that part of down?"
"You mean like putting him on payroll? I thought we weren't going to do that kind of thing." She came back and sat down. In her hand was a partly-stripped semi-automatic handgun. She began putting it together.
"Yeah. I guess not." He picked up the fashion magazine again. He looked at a picture of woman draped in black velvet. "When I was cleaning up in the shower, I was thinking. If we leave on Friday and don't come back to this city, who is going to take over things?"
"You mean other than the people who are lined up?"
"The artistry of it will be gone with the next group that comes in."
"The Mexicans have shown that they are capable of running things from top to bottom, they just don't have our resources." She loaded the gun and put it on the wide table.
"But, darling, we have a real style, a tradition."
"Selling hexagons is a living. The other part is between you and me, and it will be completely gone from this city when we leave."
"We're leaving, but I feel wistful. It's been a ride. How many millions have we moved? Home many people have we lifted? The pallor is a new religion. It's a drug that changes the way people live." He took her in his arms lovingly.
"Hexagons make it possible."
They blew out the candles and climbed a staircase their their bedroom. Together they took sleeping pills and lay in the dark, waiting for the night to close in over them.
He held her close and they listened to gunshots echoing from a far corner of East Oakland.
***
They had violent dreams.
The people they had killed seemed to be everywhere.
In a massive, centerless cities, millions of people lived terrible lives.
Eventually a sea of skeletons rose up, walking down main streets and washing across the scared earth.
The couple surfed the awesome wave of death on long boards made of human skin. The couple were skeletons too.
The dreams were not remembered.
***
In the morning, the couple woke and made coffee. The man checked their elaborate security perimeter. The woman read the NY Times.
They decided to go to the gym. The man remembered he had left his work-out shoes in the basement. We walked down two flights of stairs.
Under the last flight of stairs was a refergerator that contained the remains of three men, each of them twisted into impossibly beautiful sculptures of death.
"These are the things we have made together," he said to himself.
They walked slowly along a side street, heading away from downtown. His dark hair moved wetly in the night breeze. Her eyes flashed like those of a cat. Their hands were together and they tried to walk at the same speed.
They moved together, down long rows of parked cars, passed empty lots and boarded up buildings. Above them, a giant sickly moon.
"It's quieter here," he said carefully.
She took a moment to look around, and then focused on a figure moving, far off in the distance.
"I'm not sure we could keep doing this," she said.
"What part of it would slip us up?" he asked.
For a long moment she seemed to consider the distant figure, before it disappeared under a steel bridge.
She looked at him for the first time. "I just mean, I don't ever want to get caught."
"We agreed on that," he responded. He squeezed her hand tightly.
They slowed as they approached a large, run-down apartment building from early in the previous century. They drunkenly moved up the front stairs.
The apartment was three stories, red brick with large windows and an ornamented facade. The buildings around it were the same. Weather and decay had worn down the building, until it appeared to be uniformly unmemorable. It was difficult to tell if any of the rooms inside the building were occupied. No light could be seen filtering through the thick black curtains that covered most of the windows.
The man stood at front door and produced a plastic key-card which he passed across a gray box.
"It's good to be home," he said.
***
At a large wooden table the couple sat, drinking tea. Some hours had passed since they arrived at their residence. In the light of several white candles, they seemed subdued, content.
The woman opened a computer and began to do some online banking. She moved some money from a local account to a secretive bank on an obscure tropical island. Closing her computer, she turned and smiled at the man.
"It's done."
"So you're finished with the money part? We have it all?" he asked.
"Yes."
He sighed and picked up a European fashion magazine. He glanced at the ads on the first few pages. He put down the magazine.
"Do you think the one tonight was different?"
"No. Do you?" she countered.
"I'm not sure. There was something about him. It was less easy. He was charismatic, likable."
"That makes it better. Those are the ones that need to go." She got up and walked to a dim kitchen. "If we're trying to be big fish in this, we need to call shots, take heads."
"I know. It's just. I think we could have used him for something. Administrative maybe, for that part of down?"
"You mean like putting him on payroll? I thought we weren't going to do that kind of thing." She came back and sat down. In her hand was a partly-stripped semi-automatic handgun. She began putting it together.
"Yeah. I guess not." He picked up the fashion magazine again. He looked at a picture of woman draped in black velvet. "When I was cleaning up in the shower, I was thinking. If we leave on Friday and don't come back to this city, who is going to take over things?"
"You mean other than the people who are lined up?"
"The artistry of it will be gone with the next group that comes in."
"The Mexicans have shown that they are capable of running things from top to bottom, they just don't have our resources." She loaded the gun and put it on the wide table.
"But, darling, we have a real style, a tradition."
"Selling hexagons is a living. The other part is between you and me, and it will be completely gone from this city when we leave."
"We're leaving, but I feel wistful. It's been a ride. How many millions have we moved? Home many people have we lifted? The pallor is a new religion. It's a drug that changes the way people live." He took her in his arms lovingly.
"Hexagons make it possible."
They blew out the candles and climbed a staircase their their bedroom. Together they took sleeping pills and lay in the dark, waiting for the night to close in over them.
He held her close and they listened to gunshots echoing from a far corner of East Oakland.
***
They had violent dreams.
The people they had killed seemed to be everywhere.
In a massive, centerless cities, millions of people lived terrible lives.
Eventually a sea of skeletons rose up, walking down main streets and washing across the scared earth.
The couple surfed the awesome wave of death on long boards made of human skin. The couple were skeletons too.
The dreams were not remembered.
***
In the morning, the couple woke and made coffee. The man checked their elaborate security perimeter. The woman read the NY Times.
They decided to go to the gym. The man remembered he had left his work-out shoes in the basement. We walked down two flights of stairs.
Under the last flight of stairs was a refergerator that contained the remains of three men, each of them twisted into impossibly beautiful sculptures of death.
"These are the things we have made together," he said to himself.
1.02.2010
Pull
"You been spending much time with any ladies lately?"
"No- you?"
"Why are you the one laughing?"
"Because sometimes that's the only thing I can really do."
"No- you?"
"Why are you the one laughing?"
"Because sometimes that's the only thing I can really do."
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