Musette is dancing in the middle of the room with pieces of toilet paper hanging from her nipples and one piece dangling in her bush.
"I got this in France." she says, referencing the dress. "Special order for tonight. Angel Soft, just like me."
"I don't want to kill you." I say. "I am dying though. My confidence faltering."
"Appropos, the biblature, I chose you for a reason. You are my beautiful boy. You don't need to accomplish anything. You make me so proud of you. Always. Just to see your face. I want to have that face with me wherever I go. I want to have a child with you. A little boy. Wearing your face. With your glasses. Doing things that you like to do but also his own things. I want to name him Alexandre, just like your best friend."
"Ruth, I am ripped apart. Torn to shreds..."
"Take time for yourself, baby. You're going to make it if you just keep walking."
Nothing helps. She keeps dancing. I've seen this before. Is this where the plane crashed? A cabin in the woods. A Long House. John of God. A creative writing course with a blonde haired, big boobed beauty. Marijuana behind the bar stage. Tarot cards with the short blonde black kidded. Weston taken out back and shot. Walkie-talkies all Halloween night. Happy Birthday, Bibles Boy! See me in my office!
The head in the fridge. The heads in the fridge. The clock hands dissected from their hours. Blood in the bathtub sloshing with each step I take. Incan patterns in the ceiling. Nein! Nein! Nein! Archways in the park. From place to place. Alexandre telling me that he doesn't want to leave me. Jack and I playing nude chess.
"Kings to me." he says, on my birthday, just so shortly after losing the race from coming down the mountsaints.
"But guys, it's cause I got lost, just like my mother's genes always told me I would. Feet wading through the River Styx, the sun setting over the trees. I've got a tent in my backpack but all the scouts are gone. Cairn Stones save my life tonight.
There they were, waiting for me at The Coffee Break, drinks in hand and girls on arms.
"What took you so long, Brucey Boy?"
"We traveled all the way from Columbus to be with you today, taking soon the form of your Concurrent Enrollment English teacher whom will throw you into the pits of an ello barbecue for the ways you are becoming The Appropouture.
"I am scattered all over." My wife says "Look for clues."
"Don't look at the reviews. It's gotten to that point. Can you believe it? You're famous! You are an art god! You and @budnitz are on the same level! What's next!? This was what I sent you to New York for!"
Inertia, the enemy as the mother of Musette. Dominating persistent prevalence of passive agression, the enemy as her father. Life sucking nag betraying, constantly, with soul mate actuality, perfection with best friend, the enemy as my wife. Needs for going into uncomfortable situations while constantly costing money for the reperations of and short life as, the enemy as my dog. Ugly dominance with raised spot head, fat skin pig tags popping around arm hair, tyranical conquistador, the enemy as my father. Taking it stupid with a horrible knack for directions and a trembling smile of dumb bliss, silver vibrator beneath the bathroom sink, the enemy as my mother. Fat, pregnant, Utah continuer, going into family parties with wet panties, mole somewhere there labia located, the recycled jokes of my parents, the enemy as my sister. All of these things and the hatred I hold for them, murder on the brow, Cain marked, The Magic of Mahan, the enemy as myself. The video games from dusk till dawn in the living room, Destiny, domininating, the enemy as her father, taking it as she takes it from me, next door of the room without a door, peeking in to further breaking of his heart, throwing beer from the granparents in law into the trash. Lazy days in bed, always, dogs shitting in the laundry room. Shit on your clean towels, the enemy as her mother. Gina. Mole somewhere labia located. Hard penis tapping against her sleeping face. Gina. Those fantasies make for good tinglings in my hard-on. Gina and Victoria whom we are all supposed to call Lavendar now. Under eighteen and taking literature lessons in her bedroom.
"I know the most about your grampa!"
"Keep this door open!" said her father, raging beyond his passive agression straight at his son in law.
"How many of your daughters do you think I can fuck?" I ask in the place where he's hearing me all the time, behind that screen door. The demon in the basement. From one parent to the next. Hope you've got the excorcist on speed dial. Violin tunes in the living room. Sleeping at her mothers. "I have to leave sweetheart, bedcause I love you too much." New Years break-up and a blow job on the bed. Leather tassles dangling against the sheets.
Thank you my plump secratary. I can't remember if you swallow. Purple vibrator. God, you remind me of my mother.
Leora is never in the living room anymore because I have seen all of the videos of her masturbating or sucking it from Paul. It is always dark on the camera feed, the occasional post slipping through come needing some place to put it while in transition to a higher plane, like the tildes, come that guy accepting my reference from Lilli, the best of twitter friends, she whom I see in my mind while in the shower, my dick in each hand, and in her mouth, and in her freckled vagina, sometimes even in her pink butthole when my brain becomes brave enough to imagine pooooooop sticking to it, like that time I fucked my redheaded girlfriend and for whatever reason she had poop sticking to her butthole the whole time and it really made it hard for me to continue, and I had to think of Penelope all the time from that point on even though Penelope is probably just as likely as any of us to have poop sticking to her butthole at some point.
I tried it with Musette but just ended up ripping her anus red, dripping the seal of fate over the declination we made upon her health insurance forms.
"You might get better coverage through your work, the union."
All of those cigarettes almost gone. Four left. That's enough, maybe, for one night at the bar. Depending upon who's bumming. Depends upon if we ever go to the bar again with her friends, or if I ever make any friends of my own.