The Prodigal Daughter

S. I don’t want to ever be in love again.
Q. You don’t want to feel the greatest pain you ever could?
A. No.

S. I don’t have sex any more
Q. Why is that?
A. Because it doesn’t mean anything.

S. Sex doesn’t ever mean anything
R. That’s not true

S. It’s not what you think, it’s purely physical.
Q. What do you want me to do?
A. Scratches, cuts, hits, strangulation
R. I would love to but i’m fucked up.

Q. So have you had that?
A. No.
R. Well you could if you wanted to.
A. I know.
R. Just as long as you know.

To Have and Have Not

“Somebody had to loose and only suckers worried.”

“Take us to Key West,” Harrison said.

“Yes, sir,” said Captain Willie. “later on. But listen, sailfish is just as good eating as kingfish. When we used to sell them to Rios for the Havana market we got ten cents a pound same as kings.”

“Oh, shut, up,” said Frederick Harrison.

“I thought you’d be interested in these things as a government man. Ain’t you mixed up in the prices of things that we eat or something? Ain’t that it? Making them more costly or something. Making the grits cost more and the grunts less?”

“Oh, shut up,” said Harrison.

—
To Have and Have Not
Ernest Hemingway

been working on the transmission series. been sleeping on my friend kim’s couch. i think my life is actually kind of awesome considering the circumstances. hmmmm. i don’t have much to write now. i am too am too busy living in flux. we shall see.

Drty Txt 1
skin cancer oil
deep into pores
fuck

Drty Txt 2
thighs apart like
tides ocean
roars

rough working of The Box:

she told us not to open the box until 20 years after death.
“it was a stipulation in her will”
a lawyer with tight dry lips told us in an overwarm office too dusty;
a film had accumulated and made a blanket that trapped sound inside of itself
i was 10 and knock kneed sitting on an over upholstered chair
that lifted my feet off the ground which were the
recipient of a glazed stare while his soothing
voice got trapped and muffled.

now we are standing in this bank cold marble flooring where
a sterile looking young man shows us the bank vault.
the box was too large to keep in a locked box
and she must have lived under the idea that its contents were too
valuable or perhaps this was a sham, it was an
elaborate joke for her to look upon in eternity.
whatever the case cancer had taken my father 8 years previous.
cancer or something like giving up.
after the rest of us left the house, me being the last to leave;
scattered about the country, my two brothers
living at separate ends and i somewhere in between.

the one with the most years over all of us
took over the property that the old man left behind.
the dust in the carpets had
made the house very quiet like a small town covered
by snow on a february dawn. my brother
came down from the stairs descending as a patriarch, i smiled
when really i despised him and his thin mustache.
i hated that the house was a poorly kempt wax museum.
my father’s relics from hunting taxidermied long ago
and my mother’s poor choices in wallpaper, now covered
in dust and stained by years of indoor smoking. david was
also a collector of useless paper items, as if he
was responsible for the periodicals section of a library.

i spent a lot of time being angry, hurt, sad, and confused.
                                     now i am just fuck!ng
                                                   amused.

i caught myself looking at a picture of you. wondering what was next. knowing there most likely wasn’t going to be anything. and then coming to terms with that.

it is finished. e-mail me if you would like a copy. they are 2 dollars.