Movement: Two Weeks In The
© copyright 1996-2009 by Michael
In a walk-in closet, three naked men
with ties wrapped around their
necks play chess. Black to move, white to survey. The time is 2:07 p.m.
There are empty, stained, coffee mugs and peppered plates scattered
throughout the bedroom. If I were to leap from this window, would
anyone respond to the shattering of glass? There are feeble
intellectual midgets scampering about this electronic square. All sound
has been muted, the time has come. The pixilated screen and it's
trappings are thrown through the window. Silence is all that resumes.
"Checkmate!" is the cue that's heard. So, I venture downstairs and sit
on a blue plaid couch. Outside birds sing to the rhythm of time. A
gunshot is sounded. I open the front door to find a stereo at my feet.
"I watch you while you do your laundry. I see you while you sleep. I
know when you've been bad or good. So don't disappoint me."
The birds are no longer in existence. The tape is eaten. I close the
front door. Standing on the third step is a thin man with a 5 to 7 inch
erection and a white queen dangling from his clenched teeth. He bites
down on the piece. The queen is dead, he spits the rest of her out onto
the floor. He steps down to me and forces a kiss. I unlock and exit the
house. I spit out something foreign from my mouth. It is a tooth. After
a 5 minute cigarette, I peek in the living room window to find the
toothless executioner masturbating to a road-runner cartoon. As the
coyote is smashed by a boulder, a thick mucus is excreted from his
penis. While the smoke cleared, I began my pilgrimage to the back of
Over by a lawn chair that sits in the middle of the yard, I find an old
weathered radio. I flick the on switch. First is chatter. Rolling the
dial, is very tasteless music. I turn back to the chatter. Governmental
representatives regurgitate premature ejaculation, penal size and
economical monopoly. In the middle of this "conversation" one of the
panellists begins to, graphically, talk, uninterrupted, about a bowel
movement he had while vacationing, for two weeks, in the Bahamas.
To the left of me stands a T.V. tray with a glass of rain, bitter salty
it is. My eyes slowly glance upward. In the house directly behind
stands an old man in the sliding glass window. He looks downward, then
removes himself from view, leaving me to ponder the essence left
behind. I absorb this as it’s being filtered through the wind that has
begun to swirl around me. Sitting so still amidst a self-absorbed
tornado, the radio has died out and all is ricocheting from one antenna
to the next. I drift off to sleep.
lands of gray escape.
scissors cut the atmosphere revealing bright red skies from the
A children's choir wavers in and out.
Every object I catch
morph's like the changing of television stations.
The plug is pulled by
way of abrupt nudge and outer voice recognition.
My vision slowly adapts to the ambush
of light beaming from a small
cylinder. Dashiki, baseball pants and bowling shoes stand before me. He
also wears a fishing hat complete with dangling tackle. "Peanut butter
bagel?" I accept the offering. "Pink lemonade?" Again, I accept. After
attempting to digest, I become sick. I re-enter the house. Naked on the
couch, smoking a cigarette, surrounded by used tissues a man speaks
words un- recognizable as I modestly scurry to an upstairs bathroom.
On hands and feet, I bark like a dog. Relief in sight which has now
vanished by way of metal pipe and aqua pressure. I exit the bathroom
after wiping my mouth. Entering the guestroom, I find a book laying on
the dresser. Essays On Modern Masturbation. I remove all articles of
clothing. Then sit in the middle of the hallway. I begin to scream
wildly at the top of my lungs until all five inhabitants of the house
come to visit my excursion with madness. And when they finally arrived,
the only wisdom that I could impart was...