LAY LADY LAY

http://www.spaceportamerica.com/

The Open

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wAjItY7X0Yc
He slid a twenty across the vinyl top. "You don't have any smaller bills?" The cashier was a fat man with a red nose and bug eyes connected without neck to his shit stained uniform and name tag, Derin. The background continued to whirl with activity as the employees hurried to meet the ceaseless demand.

"sorry bud, nothin' doin'."

Derin had never taken guff from anybody back on the schoolyard, but sure enough he reached into the register and forfeited the owed allotment and what were some of his last bills. Bill pulled his wallet out and shoved the money in. He filled a cup with rootbeer and spit on the floor. No smoking and the bitch working the milkshake machine saw him spit.

"This ain't a barn we're runnin' sweetie.  I'm gettin' paid beans and don't need your help to make my day shit!"

"If this ain't a barn then why do I see so many jackasses in front of me."

The obese nuclear family in the corner of the restraunt felt the tension and half a baby started to cry. Bill was picturing her without her form fitting chinos or awful brown uniform. He liked what he saw.  She ruined her milkshake.

"We don't have to fuckin' serve you neither, now get the hell out of here!"

"No way, I paid four dollars fifty for a burger and fries and thats what I'm getting."

  "You ain't gettin' shit!"

"Then give me back my fucking money!"

"Get out of hear you fat fuck!"

"Fuck you!" He flung the rootbeer over the counter and into the kitchen as he stormed out to his '91 Prizm. It hit a rack above the grill then splashed rootbeer over 25 lbs of ground beef. Ted, the grill cook, dashed out after him and Derin farted. 

A kid who started that week asked what they should do with the spoiled meat.

She glared at him, "What the fuck do we care, flip em'."

ASSOCIATE

I GOT A REPRODUCTION OF THE LAST SUPPER IN AN OLD FRAME

BESIDE THAT NOTHING HAS HAPPENED, BESIDE OCCASIONAL CONVERSATION AND DRIVING AROUND.

'MENT EAT JACK.

I have been reading and sitting on my ass and shitting and riding on lawn mowers all very well, thanks. I forgot to water my plant over the weekend. My computer is the only light in the room while I write now. Zane M

the house 

They are building a house
half a block down
and I sit up here
with the shades down
listening to the sounds,
the hammers pounding in nails,
thack thack thack thack,
and then I hear birds,
and thack thack thack,
and I go to bed,
I pull the covers to my throat;
they have been building this house
for a month, and soon it will have
its people...sleeping, eating,
loving, moving around,
but somehow
now
it is not right,
there seems a madness,
men walk on top with nails
in their mouths
and I read about Castro and Cuba,
and at night I walk by
and the ribs of the house show
and inside I can see cats walking
the way cats walk,
and then a boy rides by on a bicycle
and still the house is not done
and in the morning the men
will be back
walking around on the house
with their hammers,
and it seems people should not build houses
anymore,
it seems people should not get married
anymore,
it seems people should stop working
and sit in small rooms
on 2nd floors
under electric lights without shades;
it seems there is a lot to forget
and a lot not to do,
and in drugstores, markets, bars,
the people are tired, they do not want
to move, and I stand there at night
and look through this house and the
house does not want to be built;
through its sides I can see the purple hills
and the first lights of evening,
and it is cold
and I button my coat
and I stand there looking through the house
and the cats stop and look at me
until I am embarrased
and move North up the sidewalk
where I will buy
cigarettes and beer
and return to my room.

from "All's Normal Here" - 1985
Ruddy Duck Press

Charles Bukowski

Tend to your

The Archive from Sean Dunne on Vimeo.

Martin the Tailor from Ed David on Vimeo.

Digital Faith