I.
GONE OUT (IN THE MANNER OF ALL LIGHTS)
Dead glamour in a city on the fritz.
Twisted sidewalks.
Tempting trips.
Living outside.
Living within.
Hello neighbor.
Take me for a spin.
II.
METRO BUS LINE 2 (STROKER ON โTHE TWOโ)
I guess Iโm just going to ignore you.
Jerking off, in a rolling office chair.
Cracked black pleather.
Public self-pleasure.
I donโt know how you got here.
Or the chair there.
How?
How did the chair get onto the bus?
Did you lift it up and in?
Were you helped?
Seated.
Front of the bus, beating your meat.
Sat.
Double-fisted beneath ragged sweatpants.
Slippery, slidery.
Casters jostling.
Dick jacking.
I suppose the driverโs ignoring you, too.
We could have nice things.
We wonโt.
Oh, you.
III.
HILLHURST HOUNDSLEY
Near-miss with a car.
Engine roar.
Dead-eyed stare.
Played matador.
Ducking, dodging.
Seeking refuge under awnings.
Sunโs rays and standards lower.
Sun-seared and creeping cover.
Bow infernal tower.
Head low.
Salute submission.
Honor the heat in glowing sweatgloss.
A power user on a grid grind.
The sky an open screen.
Sun beating.
Panting hound on a corded lead.
Nerves end at feelingless feet.
Fucked running.
Nerfed standing.
Unkindling.
Sticks stuck.
Figures.
Sun, sun.
And youโre stoned, writing a song.
Singing.
Notes to self.
Recording a voice memo.
Messages to sell.
As ever.
Tour allure.
Tour Allah.
WHEN โ
A girl in a coral flower-print cinched bra-top and jean shorts, proper seaside,
comes running up behind you, taps a shoulder:
โThereโs a guy over there and heโs attacking people!โ
Dearie-me.
Slow swivel in the haze.
โWhere is he?โ
A point.
โThat guy!โ
Lock in on the target.
A familiar face.
And filthy.
No idea his name.
Caked with shit and disgrace.
Bad News is his name.
Drug Use is his name.
Fuck You is his name.
Announced with fists wordless.
Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this.
Heโs punching at three people, could have been four?
Unreliable witnesses donโt keep good score.
โOh, yeah, that guy.โ
Clocked him the first time I saw him.
โHeโs been around . . .โ
I trail.
Tone cold.
What do you want me to do, sister?
โSomethingโ about โit?โ
Fuck that, fuck that, fuck that.
Iโd known he was a bomb.
On-sight, first time.
Throws fits in the street.
Breaks shit, screams.
Jabs accusatory fingers.
Bellowboxes god when heโs up.
Lays low lateral side-slump in streaked remains of his own shit when heโs down.
Litter, litter, litter.
Trash everywhere.
Not no mind for nothing.
And thereโs that urge to identify, to sympathize.
To extend.
And then . . .
Then!
The reality of vigilance, and of vengeance.
And its extent.
The unperson, depersonalized, lashes out.
There are โ of course! โ the sad-and-down.
โAlms for the poor.โ
AND THEN:
The demon army.
Ready for war.
Ill, sick in the head1 or otherwise, preferences neither in alignment or resolution with or within society.
Those who exist outside it all, those who are members of competing civilizations.
Irreconcilable.
Call them bums, vagrants, shitbirds, oogles.
Crust kids, try-hards, try-outs, tricks, burn-outs.
Call โem all kinds of shit.
Fact is:
Anti-social and helpless is a hell of a thing.
โWell, hope everyoneโs alright.โ
She seems aghast at the flat-casual.
But Iโm not the one.
I am neither brotherโs keeper nor captor.
Itโs some other sweeper youโre after.
Hostile, untouchable.
A shitter of streets and doorways.
A jack-off guy.
We lack the means for banishment, though weโve no shortage for candidates.
Who are you to volunteer me as vigilante?
So I let it alone.
And set on my way.
The dog needs his walk.
The girl follows.
A collective shrug.
IV.
PARADOX CITY
He looks like Jesus.
Not that I donโt.
Maybe we all do.
Heโs nude, fully.
Crouched behind the fence of an elementary school.
Itโs midnight, or round.
Iโm ambling the canyon with no mind.
Going up.
Iโll come back with less.
3 AM.
Coming down.
The nudeโs still there.
Now draped loosely in what appears to be a carpet remnant.
A poor cover for absent shame.
Donโt blink.
No-sell.
Any reactionโs a provocation.
โH-h-hey man,โ
He says, approaching.
And weโre off.
โI wasnโt sure if you told me to wait here for you . . .โ
I had not.
We talked.
We trade names.
โJames . . . James What?โ
A sinister air.
โDevine.โ
โDeVaughn?โ
And I think of gangster white-walls, TV antenna in the back.
Thankful for all I have.
โDevine.โ
I point to the sky.
He understands me, confirming:
โDevine . . .โ
Heโs Gary, apparently.
โYou live around here?โ
โIโm homeless . . .โ
โYeah, but you know what I mean โ you stay around here?โ
Tells me a nearby parking lotโs the rest stop for his nighttime wanderings.
Poses a question:
โIs . . . Is Axl Rose your father?โ
A polite denial.
โOh . . . Yeah . . . I remember now . . . I met you when you were a kid.โ
Sure you did.
โCould be!โ
โI remember your mother now . . .โ
And I should really be going.
So itโs well-wishes of safety and โIโm sure Iโll see you again.โ and Iโm sure I will, because Iโd seen him before, though weโd never met outside the confines of his imagining at my childhood.
Off I go on down the road and itโs not five minutes til a darker encounter.
Forever clocking shadows in the distance for menace in the silhouette.
Hadnโt liked this one โ knew better! โ but I didnโt feel like crossing the street.
Probably should have.
Tweaker tweaking.
Chewing face, eyes bulging.
Three-foot, four-foot length of metal pipe?
Unreliable witnesses stumble the night.
I can recall its exact sharpness.
The hand-hewn jailhouse quality of the object.
He made sure that I got a good look at his gear.
Raise and a rattle.
Here, here.
I made sure that he understood not to try.
That I operate under a spell of protection.
That I am a hologram from another world.
A floating figment, hallucinatory.
Unpuncturable, impenetrable.
Unbeatable.
Indefatigable.
Oh, me.
Power user of the city.
Miles a day.
Iโve got to get the fuck out of L.A.
Miles away.
Iโve got to get the fuck out of L.A.
Marks are made.
I am nothing other than.
Donโt come for me.
I am nothing other than.
Donโt come for me.
I am nothing other than.
Donโt come for me.
I am nothing other than.
Donโt come for me.
I am nothing other than.
Donโt come for me.
I am nothing other than.
Donโt come for me.
I am nothing other than.
Donโt come for me.
I am nothing other than.
Donโt come for me.
I am nothing other than.
Donโt come for me.
I am nothing other than.
Donโt come for me.
JQD
m.v.d.
๐