Posts Tagged ‘novel’

The world according to a junkie

Chapter one

The Part where I die

There I was, sitting in a club, 2079, people were around me, dancing, talking, blowing their mind, witness to the beginning of the end, razor blades slices up and down their arms.

“Polish fag!” A woman came screaming out from the bathroom, chasing some guy out into the street.

That’s how it was.

Nothing to see.

Move along.

Some shitty band played “disco is dying” up on stage.

I was dying, one second a time.

The screaming lady came back in, sat down next to me.

First time I met her, back when I first got here, to this city, I knew there was something different about her from the other ladies working the joint.

She was a guy, I could tell by her hands.

And the cock sticking out from under her short dress.

“You got any shit?” She asked, smiling.

“Up at my place…”

We both stood, leaving the place, for my dump up the street.

Cheryl was her name, a forty dollar whore, “lady” of the night.

But for some “candy” she was yours for a few hours.

I wasn’t gay, far from it, but all the girls, with cunts, all wanted more and later, as we laid in my stained bed, we would talk, about nothing.

It felt like a relationship.

“You ever think about…” Cheryl said, placing her head on my chest.

I could feel her cock near my leg, just there.

I shrugged.

“Future never comes, like someone else I know!” I laughed.

She pushed off from my chest, flicking my nipples with her hot red painted finger nails, laughing.

“I will come boy, I will come!”

I felt her hands wrap around my cock, beginning to stroke it back to full erection.

When I awoke, Cheryl, like always, was gone, back to her life uptown.

I once passed her in that life, straight man, working at a bank, as a teller.

“Hello sir, how can I help you today?” He smiled.

“Hi Jim!” I said reading his name tag, almost laughing.

It was an awkward moment, one I wouldn’t live down, three days later, my place.

“Don’t you EVER call me by my Slave name!” She growled at me.

“Jim?” I almost laughed, tears in my eyes.

“Yea! My mother, the bitch, named me that, after my grandfather, the same cock fucker who molested me from the time I was 11 years old till I sliced his dick off when I was 14 and ran away, to this place!”

I never called her Jim again.

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Now let us dance with the dead,
Wear our masks,
Till we cannot stand,
Our feet will bleed,
Our souls will cry out,
But in the end,
We shall all dance with the dead….AMEN!!!!

Can you see me standing there, alone, by the fire?

Can you hear me call,
Your name,
Feel me?

I was standing, waiting, thinking about the future, what could have been, if it hadn’t been for circumstances beyond our control, misery loves company, they keep telling me at these therapy sessions.

“Would you, you know, if you could go back in time?” Philip the wacko from Baltimore asked, to the group.

We shook our heads.

I might.

But only if I could spend a few moment longer alone with you, in that hotel room, to kiss you one last time, never let the scent of you go, that feeling of you against my skin, which now seems to be lost in faded memories.

We shall see each other again,
Behind that black curtain,
They call death….

 

I know I already posted this evening but I decided to skip merrily over to my other blog and started working on a short story about a man falling in love with a prostitute, a memoir, diary/journal entries, some based off of my life; though my soul mate wasn’t a prostitute but her family did hate me for my face.

(I kid. I still love my family-in-law, like I do my own family.)

The short story became a longer form story; almost 10 pages of writing.

I will admit it’s a bit of a trip, skipping off a side road, jumping ahead 15 years, like to that moment of death of the main character’s soul mate, live as it happens, then pushes ahead to his own son’s life and his dealings with events, then sliding back into the past to figure it all out, where it started.

It seems unconventional but it seems to work; like looking into my mind as a real person, then translating it to the character, an alcoholic traveler in this thing called life.

I thought I’d share it here, get a few more views.

It’s not my usual poetry, but, it fits into my writings over here as I base a lot if not all of my poems on my life; the good, the bad and the insane.

I hope you will enjoy —-THE MEMOIRS OF A DRUNK — A FEW CHAPTERS AS THEY ARE REMEMBERED

It’s very rough, as it was written straight to the screen.

I’ll work on it some more; add to it, hopefully finish it and released it onto the world as a finished, polished piece I’d be proud to show my kids; if I had kids!