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Please note that this piece contains broadly offensive language and scenarios.
This is not βgritβ as an affect.
All use is derived from reality and direct experience.
Depiction is not to be understood as endorsement.
I do not seek to sanitize that which is fundamentally insane.
We are the products of poison sick.
And I am a pen or a cursor or a scream.
Should you find yourself in any way confused or conflicted about any of this, or re: the role of artistic/literary expression in reproducing and commenting on offensive, uncomfortable, or transgressive topics; you would do well to steer wide and clear of this piece, and in all probability the totality of my output.
Now . . .
. . .
β. . .
. . .
ββββββββNEW WESTERN πΈβππ & πΈπ HππΌππCπ
ββββββββββββββββββββββββsα΄α΄α΄
Ιͺα΄Κα΄Ι΄α΄Κ
βββββββββββSAURIAN SKIES KINO (sα΄/α΄α΄ )
βββββββββββββππππππππππ π.π©.π.
βββββββββββββββββββ&
βββββββββββββego def/ILLUSION
ββββββββββββββββββpresent
ββββπππ’ππ‘ππ«π (πΈ ππππ£π) π
βββββββββββββββas realized by
βββββββββββββπππππ πππππππ ππππππ
ββββββββββββββββββββββββaka
ββββββββββββββπππππππππ . . .
βββββββββββββ. . . πππ ππππ π-ππππππ
βββββββββββπππ πππππππππ πππππππ . . .
ββββββββββββ. . . πππ ππππππππππππππ
βββββββββββββββββπ.π.π.
ββββββββββββββββββπβ
1.
FIRST PERIOD
His name was Richard Rope. He seldom spoke. He kept his head down in class. He seldom spoke. Flat when he did. He seldom spoke. Lips tight awkward same color as the skin surrounds. His name was Richard Rope.
Patty beat on him at home until he got too big, and then Patty didn't beat on him no more.
He didn't get big-big but Patty was five-feet even.
He got even.
βYouβre not my mom anyway.β
He didnβt know love, but he knew lust.
Nothing of stroke, all of thrust.
Heβd been staring at Latashaβs fat tits all period.
Zipped in cotton fleece.
(βAE|ROβ)
Metal teeth.
He knew the store in the mall, but heβd never gone in.
Heβd walk by it sometimes, wonder if she was browsing.
Maybe she was in the fitting room.
With a friend, giggling.
Just a little too narrow in there.
Tits touching.
Canβt but help it.
The thought disgusted him.
He wanted her for himself.
No type of lezzie could be trusted.
βLatashaβs not no lezzie.β
Self-assured.
Internal.
He scooted in the slick plastic of the schooldesk, bracing on his forearms.
Breathed heavily.
But he seldom spoke.
2.
YELLOW β5
Richard didnβt have any friends or anything like a friend but at lunch he sat with this other kid Wally who only came to school half the day.
Wallyβs parents got rich from suing a chemical company or something, βon account of Wally being born slow,β or so the story goes.
There was some disagreement among the other kids about whether or not Wally was βofficially a retardβ β most of them were nice to him, to his face at least, but they certainly werenβt volunteering to sit with him.
He didnβt participate in any of the conventional academic classes, but heβd be around for gym, or βFamily & Consumer Sciences,β or health class, or lunch.
Wally ate fruit snacks, more or less exclusively.
Heβd separate them by color on the beige laminate table.
Examine their shapes.
He offered:
βYou want yellow?β
Richard grunted, subvocal.
βYou want yellow?β
Another grunt, just audible.
βYellow?β
Just a puff of hollow air:
βOK.β
3.
SON OF A SON OF A SAILOR
After school Richardβd go on-line and buzz along with the modemβs rise.
Fire up the chat client and see who else had nothing better to do.
Friends Online (11/14)
And then a list.
Fourteen deep.
Eleven active.
Three greyed out.
Richard had only ever met one of them in person.
Alex, from the old neighborhood.
Before Richard and Patty had had to move out of the mold house.
With the bad landlord.
He didnβt see Alex anymore.
They went to different schools now.
Itβs easy to lose a friend across town.
They used to play with mismatched action figures in the dust side-yard of Alexβs familyβs haphazard apartment, guzzling off-brand βSunn-Deliteβ imitation orange juice that glowed atomic in plastic 2 Liters screaming of GREAT VALUE.
Alexβs dad was permanently drunk, installed laid low-pile flatback dampening the increasingly off-white carpeted floor with errant splashes of unknown clear-liquor mixed drinks, forever in short floral swim trunks and flip-flops, foggy sea of a head rest upon a puffy brown leatherette sofa, little canvas cap tucked over paperbag eyes.
He was βa Parrothead,β Alex said.
Richard never fully understood.
All the lamps in the apartment had seashell bases.
A two-foot tall sculpture of a seahorse playing a saxophone functioned as a centerpiece in the dim living room.
The boys werenβt allowed elsewhere in the apartment.
Though theyβd tried it, once.
That had been the first time Richard wasnβt allowed to hang out with Alex anymore.
Todayβd be the second.
Thereβd be a third.
WE MAY GET TO THAT . . .
βAlex, I gotta go to the store.β
Alexβs dad.
The boys couldnβt tell if he was awake.
Voice came out of his nose like a snore.
Again:
βAlex, I gotta go to the store.β
Chestier this time.
With a wheezing rasp on the back-end, like a cough that couldnβt.
It went on like that, for a while, but Alexβs dad β his name was Dan β Dan didnβt get up or move or anything, so the boys shrugged it off and decamped to the side-yard to playfight with barely-compatible action figures of varying scale.
They went til dusk, when Kim, Alexβs mom, got home from her shift.
She was βa Parrotheadβ too.
On her return, it turned out Dan needed to go to the hospital, needed to have gone to the hospital, so she beat the fuck out of Alex for βnot being responsible,β did it with Richard in the next room too, took Alex to the kitchen and lashed him with whichever left-out implements were available, spoons and spatulas in time to βPAY! A! TTEN! TION!β while Alex made every effort not to make a sound or respond in any way.
When sheβd had some satisfaction, she found Richard sitting on the cracked brown sofa, knock-kneed beneath a mounted marlinβs deep-sea snarl.
She spat her sentences as single syllables:
βAndyououghtaknowbettertoo! Nowgoonhome!β
Gave him the shoo.
Off with you.
Out the door with the stiffening of a second-hand beating in your spine.
So Richard didnβt see Alex for a bit.
A year or so.
Not in person.
But theyβd still talk online.
The rest of the list was composed of strangers.
4.
28.8 KILOBAUD
Alexβs message came in:
IM ON 56K NOW
HAHAHAA IM NEVER PAYIN FOR CDS AGAIN
THIS RULZ
abercrombie_surfer16 was his handle.
Alex was 14 landlocked and owned a single Abercrombie & Fitch T-shirt, but heβd recently decided to rebrand himself as a βprep,β taking up a new hairstyle, different outfits, and, perhaps, a new outlook.
His old handle had been aLEXELa because he liked palindromes.
The shift in interests and presentation had brought palpable tension to continuing a relationship with Richard, who wanted nothing to do with βpreps,β or much of anyone really.
Richard had seen enough films to know teens flock in factions.
South High Schoolβs 9th grade freshman roster numbered 200-strong with lunchroom cliches.
The classics continued to roll off the line:
Preps, or some broke-ass interpretation thereof.
Jocks and skaters, shadow inversions.
Stoners, nerds, freaks.
Misfits melded.
Everyone had their interests.
Sports.
Money, or its appearance.
Booze, drugs.
Information.
Success, advancement.
And Richard outside it all.
Silent and seethingsome.
Without place.
There were new models, as well:
Mallgoths roamed in roomy pants and tented tees, chased by rumors of theft and cigarette-smoking.
Self-proclaimed βjuggalosβ spoke anarchic patois through cracked grins.
Richard hated these novel variants.
Hated just about everyone, really.
Though a juggalo named Lloyd was occasionally kind to him, offering the occasional βSup Rich?β to him when theyβd pass in the hallway.
Richard hated this.
Though he said nothing.
Turning inward curses.
Fueled by enmity.
The ones Richard hated most were the Wanna-Beβs.
That was what heβd first heard them called.
Before they were less-politely taxonomized.
Theyβd come on the scene in sixth grade or so.
White sneakers and skinny little chain necklaces.
Improbable accents, fixations and occasional farfetched claims to involvement in reports of distant coastal gang warfare, swaggering gaits.
Could be a prep looking for gutter tourism.
Could be a nerd seeking tough new cover.
They hadnβt been around in elementary school.
It was like they emerged from cocoons.
Born again, after some catalyzing vacation or chance film viewing.
A summer spent in front of music videos and a trip to the mall for new gear.
By 9th grade theyβd become more popularly known as βwiggers,β but if the wrong teacher caught you saying that you might be in for a suspension, or at best a stern talking-to from the guidance counselor, Ms. Kraft.
That fucking lezzie.
Richard hated Ms. Kraft.
Sheβd tried to set up a meeting with him to βdiscuss his future career potentialβ once, and had the nerve to call Patty at home after he hadnβt shown up.
Heβd gotten to the answering machine first and she never tried again.
But Richard held a grudge.
Richard held a lot of grudges.
Though he never said the forbidden words out loud, seeing as he seldom spoke, he sure as hell thought them, and he wasnβt averse to typing them.
Richardβs messenger screenname was RoperMan β heβd made the account when he was 12 and hadnβt fully adapted the habitually depressive lowercase that later became his signature.
RoperMan typed a late response to the former aLEXELa:
paying for cds sux
i heard tommy and brad shoplift
i think all the wiggers at my school do
HAHAHAAHAAHA THERES SO MANY WIGGERS AT SOUTH
DIDNT TOMMY GET THAT ONE GIRL PREGNENT HAHA
YOU SHOULD TRANSGFER BACK TO NORTH THE GIRLS HERE R WAY HOTTER NE WAY
this school sux but patty is a fucking bitch she wont let me
i think your talking about misty anderson but she didnt get pregnant i think her dad sent her to one of those bad behavior camps or something gay
LOL SHE WAS ALWAYS GETTING UP TO SOME SHIT I HEARD SHE TOOK TOMMY AND BRAD AT THE SAME TIME IN BRADβS CELICA
iβd believe it
south girls are all whores
HAHAHA YEA U GOTTO INVITE ME TO SOME OF THE PARTIES!!!!!!!!!!!!
And the conversation dropped off.
5.
WHERE YOUR TREASURE IS, YOUR HEART WILL BE ALSO
βDo you want to see my wallet? Itβs Cincinnati Reds.β
Wally tried again:
βRichard, do you want to see my wallet? I got a new wallet. Itβs Cincinnati Reds.β
No response.
βRichard, hey, Richard? Richard. Do you want to see my wallet?β
6.
TOMMY
Tommy ran Pure Player Entertainment.
He was one of the only DJs in town.
Had a whole lighting set-up and everything.
His short bleached bangs would catch the light as he worked the decks.
Not that Richard had ever been invited to one of his parties.
Heβd heard that Latasha had been to one recently.
A sort of satellite event to the Homecoming dance.
It was βpimps and hoes theme,β
Annette had said.
Annette was always talking.
Latasha βacted like such a ho,β Annette said.
Annette was always talking.
Richard didnβt like Annette.
Didnβt trust her.
Bubblegum snap and viciousness.
She wore her hair in frizzy bangs.
Too many bracelets.
She had friends but Richard could tell β the moment school let out they were vipers on the telephone wires, backbiters, saboteuses.
Useless bitches.
He growled inside.
Latashaβs not like them.
I know it.
Tommyβd found Richard in the bathroom during third period, where he was avoiding βIndustrial Technology,β a shop class sort of thing.
The teacher, Mr. Dorn, was a stern Vietnam vet prone to screaming fits.
Richard wasnβt any good with the machinery.
It gave him nerves.
Tommy started in:
βYou look like that kid off Simpsons whoβs sick.β
Richard stared into nothing.
βThe one thatβs always throwing up, I think he got some type of disease.β
Tommy was talking shit.
βYou in here to throw up?β
Tommy laughed, reached into his carpenter jeans, withdrew a pack of Marlboro Golds.
βYou walk funny too.β
Didnβt light up, just snuck a smoke behind an ear.
A henchman appeared:
βWalk like a faggot.β
Brad. Tommyβs right-hand. Fresh from the stall.
βTrue,β Tommy sneered.
Raised:
βProbably talk like a faggot if heβd ever talk at all.β
They volleyed:
βDonβt talk at all.β
βAnd look at him!β
βLook at his ass.β
βOlβ bitch-ass.β
βThem stupid ass sweaters.β
βAnd canβt your mom afford you no sneakers?β
βWhy donβt you got no name-brand clothes? You buy them shits at Aldi? Olβ serial killer lookinβ ass. What you even lookinβ at? You always lookinβ at something.β
βI think heβs talking to god.β
βHe donβt talk at all.β
Richard spoke:
βThere is no god.β
A pin dropped, and with it angelsβ shattering.
Shouts hoots and jeers β
βOh now look whoβs talkinβ!β
βIf I was you I would kill myself.β
βBitchard.β
Brad feinted a punch.
Richard cringed.
Classic.
βSike!β
Jackal laughter and obviousness.
βHey Richard whatβs that?β
Brad poked his chest.
βYou got something on your shirt.β
Richard flinched.
Classic.
βGot you!β
One to the chin.
Bit-down tongue.
βOW!β
Roars and peals.
βFucking faggot . . . Youβre lucky Iβm a Christian.β
And Tommy was off.
βFucking baby-ass little bitch.β
And Brad as well, with a gob of spit at Richardβs Payless Hush Puppy knock-offs.
Neither washed their hands.
Richard spat fresh red tongueblood into the sink until he ran dry, thankfully maintaining sole occupancy of the bathroom.
Hung out in a stall until the bell rang.
Then it was time to change for gym.
7.
TOM
Tom Katsouris managed an apartment community in Cleveland Heights, βCOVENTRY CROSSING,β mid-century shoeboxes packed with graduate students and young professors who Tom had rather shamelessly selected as tenants.
Heβd invite them for tennis.
Drinks.
Tennis and drinks.
Nobodyβd take him up.
But heβd try.
Tom had met Richard in #ANGELBOMBER, an IRC chatroom that specialized in Japanese womenβs wrestling and tape trading but frequently spun off into discussions of all manner.
About 40 users were always online, peak capacity had been 150 or so when the channel had gotten into a war with an anime channel, #CUTIES_HUB, run by a hated former #ANGELBOMBER user named Utenachan.
Tom was 51 but heβd told Richard he was a 23 y/o grad student at Case Western Reserve University β β6β1β, 210 lbs., tousled hairβ β nope, nope, nope β All Bullshit, but Richard was so lonely theyβd talk for hours.
Tom went on-line as DevilRazer.
Richard represented himself on IRC as servo.
DevilRazer and servo could go all night.
Tom would be in the apartment he accepted as partial payment for his managerial services, blotto gone moonshot off whateverβd been on sale at the grocery store that week β he was fucked-up off cupcake-flavored vodka tonight.
Bottles on every surface.
Richard was similar in a sense.
Coke cans, stacked, some forgotten.
Half-full here half-empty there.
A third-full turned-over and drying sour flies on a particleboard nightstand.
It was the weekend, but it didnβt matter.
Nobody had any plans.
r any of the girls at your school hot
An early conversation.
Tomβs a charmer.
the girls here at case r all bulldykes lol
Richard pondered the near distance of college pussy and its promises.
most of them are bitches and sluts
or fat
or both
i guess they donβt all specialize
Tom took a swig straight from the bottle and fumbled.
lol
some time when their fat you justgotta hope no oneβs looking
so youβve got laid before?
Richard had not.
this girl latasha gave me a blowjob one time
But he could imagine.
whoa
she black?
Richard frowned.
no she looks like angelina jolie but 20% eliza dushku
She did not.
The conversation between people who didnβt exist about nothing that had ever happened went on until 3:30 A.M.,
AT WHICH TIME
Patty woke up to pee and busted Richard with his light on.
βRICHARD I CAN SEE YOU GOT YOUR LIGHT ON UNDER THE DOOR YOU KNOW YOU GOT SCHOOL TOMORROW.β
Richard was silent.
Breathless.
βYOU KNOW YOU GOT SCHOOL TOMORROW IβM NOT GOING IN THERE BUT YOU KNOW YOU GOT TO GO TO BED.β
He scowled, reached for the nearest can of Coke, downed it with the vigor any addict gives to the Last of the Night.
Wrong one.
That can was from last week.
Fingernail clippings in it, bit-off discarded ends.
He gagged.
βRICHARD ARE YOU ALRIGHT?β
He didnβt answer.
βRICHARD?β
He flipped the lights off and slid into bed clothed.
βRICHARD?β
He seldom spoke.
8.
DETENTION (Flash Forward I)
Back.
βRichard theyβre saying you said Godβs not real and you was gonna bring a gun to school and kill everyone.β
And forth.
βSon I need to ask if you have access to firearms or any other type of weapons?β
Back.
βRichard theyβre saying you said Godβs not real and you was gonna bring a gun to school and kill everyone.β
And forth.
βSon I need to ask if you have access to firearms or any other type of weapons?β
Back.
βRichard theyβre saying you said Godβs not real and you was gonna bring a gun to school and kill everyone.β
And forth.
βSon I need to ask if youββ
9.
RETENTION (Flash Forward II)
They kept him overnight.
Shoeless in a paper gown.
He had to shit but there was no door
So he held it.
10.
DICK I (Backward)
Dick Rope had been grandfather.
Richard was a Third.
The Second had been a Rick whoβd not stuck around.
Dickβd been in the ground before Richard was born.
In living-life Dick wore brown polyester suits, tan polyester-blend shirts and bronze polyester ties.
Kept candies in his pockets to give to children.
Heβd worked at the bank.
βIβm in charge of the money,β heβd joke.
It was his only joke.
Dickβd met Alva Ames on the veranda of an old hotel downtown.
Homeless shelter now.
Back then they used it for parties.
He was back from the war.
Heβd seen butchery in the Pacific.
Might have been involved in some as well.
βGuada-canal,β heβd say.
Swallowing the L.
When heβd say anything at all.
Didnβt really talk about it.
He seldom spoke.
