Thursday, 16 February 2012

Degrading Haystack With Red Moons Printed Across Part 7

He had his hair back tomorrow along with the everlasting smile which peeked out from time to time convincing that it was going to last just like everything was supposed to once upon a time with the big carriages, blonde princes and fat pumpkins on the doorsteps not just on Halloween, but on Christmas, Thanksgiving and your regular Thursdays with the butter
on top, because the cherries are sold out.

With the freshly squeezed love from a soul.

I never tried it.

Neither did Macy.

But Jaidem did.

I asked him how it was, he made a face.


No, he said, it was sweet.

Gagging sweet.

So why did you stop?

Because she was the one with the sweet tooth. And humans aren’t supposed to share and give the best before thinking of themselves, so I found myself a sour one and she found the sweet.

Where is she now?


Because she likes sour?


Jaidem began to play with his pearls his gaze avoiding a pink one. Did he kill her as well? He shook his head? Suicide? Fuck off Devyn.

I stopped and pressed myself into Macy’s shoulder in the couch wanting it to swallow me so that no ground would divide us and that we wouldn’t have to wait to become whole after death, watching everything pass in the life in front of our eyes with our fingers laced believing that we are already together without the use of canned love and other chemicals floating in the air waiting to be breathed in and out to ruin the handmade lace and kisses, the freshly squeezed ones, without the lying flashy stickers, but the paints in the blood, invisible tattoos upon the tongues intertwined more than once a day, but the fingers forever laced even at a distance.

Like now when my hand is searching for the tips of her fingers to kiss and lay back and as said before lace to watch the end of the world because everybody broke into the canned factory and drank it all up to become cheap whores and we’ll laugh Macy, we’ll laugh at them peeking through the laced fingers closing our eyes to prevent us from watching that inhumanity and watch our own, laced with moons everywhere where no ladder of yours will be able to lead.

Because we’re already there, Macy with the fingers and bodies laced.

Sometimes I’d get over obsessed over Jaidem, how come he never called anyone, neither did Macy up to a point when I saw that the phone cord was cut off. The only numbers on my mobile were theirs with a bunch of locked if somebody managed to find my number or ask for nobody known to me in particular.


I stared at the sign, feeling an urge to break it but I bought a new one explaining that I needed one with a big space for numbers to block.
Macy said she wasn’t better. She was afraid somebody would steal her ladder. I told her I could buy her a new one. So can I, but what point is that buying something you lost?


Jaidem kept going outside for a second to return with the groceries to scrub dust of walls afraid to get dust inside. I saw him staring as dust fell on his finger burning a hole thought it. His hair stopped changing and he looked younger but once he shook it off everything was gone. He’d close windows, but Macy would open them saying that she still could escape and with a locked window it would take more.

It wasn’t about the locked window.

I smiled as she sat beside me, not glancing at the ladder but rather at something in front.

Jaidem continued scrubbing the dust ignoring how it seemed to bleach his skin and hair.

“Do you die, Jaidem?” Macy asked once as we had our food ordered due to a rainstorm which seemed to flood the mind of sane people leaking onto the street in pink goo. Jaidem nodded his mouth full, swallowed, took a sip noticed my curious and Macy’s as well gaze. He hesitated a while, looking down, down behind the table onto his feet, wiggling his toes and looking up.

“Yeah, everything dies.” And he took the dishes now empty and stuffed them inside to hurl and while as he picked on the dust on his fingertips. He noticed me staring and gave a wary smile closing the door to the kitchen, pressing himself against the half transparent door and putting himself into his warm embrace, lulling himself by soothing thoughts which had the lack of dust, death and long lost love he seemed to go on when drunk, sober or just in a nasty mood from watching me and Macy spring into the room with cheeks flushed, clothes messed up as if we were back in the teenage days, but then they never ended for Macy.

“I love telling about myself in interviews.” I say all of a sudden as I flip through the menu glancing at the girl with her black lace hair. She raises her head with an automatic slow ‘hmm’ coming from her mouth, as I repeat my sentence to her. I do not require a reply and certainly not a question as this seems more like a statement, like a death sentence where I always imagine a glance to the sky to see if there is a leak of approval, like tears. “But then I regret it.”

“I love opening myself like a corpus in the autopsy where nothing is held from the doctor the human doesn’t refuse. If it would, it would have done something. Like the human head when biting the stair only the thought and determination different.”I thought about it for a while, watching her, feeling a light attraction. “But then there’s the afterlife to regret.”

“If you get one.” Jaidem said once throwing the plates into the sink so rough that I could hear them break. He took off the dust off his fingers which was returning him to his younger years and glued them back and lit a cigarette. Macy took one, did she smoke?

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