THE MAP

The pen comes out

when the panic sets in.

Usually about 1 A.M.

 The given - 

the taken…

                                 the shiver   

the shaken

Not to be mistaken

for Inspiration

or interptretation.

rather the fear

driven

to heights

drawn 

of desperation

the map

of last escape,

remaining

 to be taken.

V

studio 241

s t u d i a   /   ' 1 1

__________________

V

THE WICKED ANACONDA

This is Fletcher. I have taken the fifth.

You can't just ring me up and tell me you've taken the entire top floor, just like that!

You know I can. It is written...

No heat! You do know that right?…which is why we had to shut her down. She’s been idle for years.

Don’t mind. It’s the space.

Exactly! What will we use for storage? We have valuable inventory...

Valuables? What valuables?

The piano, for one thing...the Queen Anne...the…

Whatever you think you have, please put them in the basement, as it was intended to Function - As Storage!

The basement? The basement is spoken for.

The speakeasy?

It's ‘A Lounge’. And These are some serious investors. Serious!...investors. A deal is already in the works...

Well do the unspeakable and un-speak the

speakeasy.

You cannot mandate two floors! It's not the way it's

written and certainly not the intent! If you wish...Or

come "to prefer" the basement, I am sure the

investors would take a giant leap at the top floor

which would be financially beneficial for everyone. If you'd let me do my job...I could…

I disagree, Chester, I suggest the catacombs below

provides them the perfect solution to their under-

ground operation. Besides, I find the older I get, the more claustrophobic I become. Must be fear of the grave...I can not survive underground. I need to see this sky, feel this light...before they shovel dirt on me I'd love to breathe-a-little…a lot.”

Oh come now, we're not 'on the way out' just

because mum and pops succumbed...you got death on the mind.

No, but it makes you think about it, doesn't it? You read about it everyday and one day that’s you in column two, section four.

What?

We're next. Who else is there? The four of us

...have been divided by two...

.

We've been Subtracted from...not divided. We have lost half the family to age and attrition, but we are not divided.

Thank you for that reassurance, and I share our

bond as well. Now, I'll need a crew up here to help

clear this away.

A crew? If it's a crew you need I suggest that's your

problem. The staff is busy with the basement, and

besides, how does one move the Grand piano and

those monstrous armoires. That freight lift hasn't

operated in eight years. It's still stuck near three, or four…

with furnishings aboard... Cost more to fix the damn

thing. Write it off !. Mother decreed...so that means the mess is yours to clean.

Very well. It'll have to be the balcony...

I'm not spending good money after bad. Are you suggesting A Crane?! Are you mad?

Will you at least have the decency to have staff

close off that back alley with ropes, signs,

roadblocks flashers..."watch out from above", Hard Hat, and all that.

What!?! You can't just toss things off the roof!

I can, and I will, if I must. This is my space cluttered

with eons of collected crap and I want it clear do you hear? It’s company property and this my private space. So when I yell "watch out below" , it better damn well be – CLEAR - below. You tell them that - I want no one hurt. We’re just dumping our junk, here, officer. Anybody wants ‘donations’ come on up and get it now! … just be prepared to bear the brunt of getting it down the stairs. So get on it.

Now?! Right now!? How is that going to happen? I’m in the middle of a deal! Let me get some things organized...

Three days is all I'll wait, then it's bombs away.

You always were a selfish prick.

Handle this like a man and stop being a little bitch.

You get to run the Empire, but not This Region, Brother. This is my region. I so declare.

As you shall BE declared as "Certifiable"!

By whom? Another quack? Sorry, jack, but I'm taking my life back.

Oh my...he's scats.

He just may, but he needs his space…

For what exactly?

To work ...to create...

That's a phase sure to last a few weeks at least, then what do we do with your cavernous 'Space'?…your Light?…your Air? Hmm? Then what?

If I flame out you can always turn it back into the

Ballroom, I suppose.

...yes...yes, I can, can't I? Let me call you back.

Why? Are we done with the conversation here? Did

we reach some agreement?

I need to clarify a few things. It won't take long.

I'm expecting a call from...the investors. I may be

tied up on the phone, so leave word with Helen if you need anything.

Damn fine woman....that Hellen...I should have hired her.

You might have, had you been working here all

those years. If you had, you just might have had her as your own by now.

In reality, She would possess me. Yes, I will leave word with the lovely Helen. Are those legs really that long?

What? That's a rather stupid question! You can see

for yourself, why ask me how long....?

When she wraps them around you, do they enfold

you?

Yes. Yes, they do. And they are oh so tight and

smooth, like some wicked anaconda she can

squeeze the life out of you, and laugh low and lusty

as she does so, and she says things no woman has ever dared tell a man. It's madness...the lust. If

only...she could be yours...er, could HAVE been...if

you'd been...HERE!

Thanks for the sexual reverie, brother… for my benefit no doubt, because in truth you are not capable of

complicit carnal debauchery. Haha...'wicked anaconda' –indeed, Ladyslayer! The Rogue CEO – the Devil, himself!

But you are ?! …There's my other line. I will be taking

this call and making all  the calls on this deal. Is that

clear?

Call away brother. I'll get in touch with Helen...

Do. Touch away…don’t burn your finger tips…(Click)

Ten minutes into his call, and after some formalities, Chester is feeling confident the deal is about to be sealed, when there's a knock on his Inner-office door. Helen opened quietly, gracefully cautious, expertly silent, and pointed to the window behind him. He was at first, puzzled, and annoyed at her interruption, but then Helen gestured 'telephone to ear' and pointed to the ceiling. Chester understood, but was determined to avoid Fletcher's call. Not, Now. Helen,  she stood so uncharacteristically anxious and wide-eyed, persistant, until Fletcher was forced to

turn and look out his window, and did so as the

grand piano flew past on its way to the grand

finale below.

Motherfucker! He screamed, as he strung a profoundly long strand of inelegant obscenities.

There was a long cold silence on the other end of the call… Chester sensed the menace, and

abruptly cut short his tirade coming back to the surface of his reality..." I…I apologize..I..."

Do we have a problem?

No, no. Something just fell from the roof…things need some cleaning up. It's being dealt with. It will not be a detraction, I assure you.

You want this detraction off your roof? I have

 "movers ".... strong men to do the job.

Chester, aware Helen was standing so still in the room, apparently still in a bit of shock, motioned that she was excused, and to shut the door behind her. She snapped out of her ‘state’, regrouped, and efficiently, exited.

"So? You need a mover? Two? ”

"I don't know. I..."

How big is the object?"

The “Object’?

Yes. Your problem. How big? Big like ‘piano – big’?

Funny choice of words…

It’s just a measurement. So how big?

About...my size."

Oh,…ha! One man should do. 

You know your crew...

And, if he does...?

The ballroom is available.

Chester, you are the Devil, you.

And WE have a deal.

v

s. s. III

s  u  m  i    s  t  o  n  e    #  3

V

IN THE OPEN

A blacker cat walked the block 

on the far side

It’s tail tall and straight

A periscope

Peering above 

it’s quick-fluid glide

a Flicker whips the air

Head swivels

nerves twitch

Out - in - the - open

Is not its

favorite

place

Alley cats are just that way

Give them a long, dark, dirty canyon

Any day

And the rats?

Upon which they prey?

You don’t see them

on the sidewalks

Comin' out to play

And a cat's gotta

Go with the rats

Deeper thoughts 

run down 

my dark alley

   They run away

  Like it or not

      They just run away

And I can’t call

because

I got no say,

Anyway
...and besides,

Out - in - the - open

Is not my

favorite

place

too

 V

THE FLASH FINI

Here’s what I know. It’s 8 o’clock and it’s Tuesday.

The sun is just about to set…three, two…one….flash….gone.

It must be…what?…August?…June?…that’s why we had almanacs. I sense it’s warm, as I grow cold.

I’ll tell you something else. Do not adulate my passing. Get a wooden boat – used and cheap, because you might decide to light the torch, and do so with my permission, if you need it, (and I suspect you won't). Then, set us afloat in no particular direction, and with no great excesses.

What would you call it? 
...'A flaming Viking funeral' ? 
I don’t know.
but, I'm curious

Set me adrift and

Then sit on the beach

and drink me

bon voyage

you'll all be 
entertaining me

if you sat 
loudly 
defaming me

with your

foul mouthed

declarations

Brilliance is

as long as it is…

a flash is just a flash,,,

it IS,

     yet, it is gone

in the same moment…

as the same flash

happens elsewhere
...and so on.

We can only aspire

To be that glint
for eternity
but that would depend 
on one's perspective
and we can't 
be everywhere 
at once...
             or 
                    can 
      we ?

√

BAD CHORIZO

His first words were "...bad chorizo..." which, given the legacy…looking back…well, it was quite a turning point in his life. I mean, without chorizo, why he…

But, wait…my thought processes have grown like weeds – here, there…often randomly out of the cracks in my head, so I get ahead of myself, and have grown so used to having a personal dialogue, well... I sometimes get involved to the point that I have them out loud. People hear, and they wonder...

My Apologies. Let me clear this up:

Bill would eat a can of stew at lunch each day, same stew, everyday, except for Fridays, when he’d slip away (sometimes the Springs, sometimes the Track...) Same blue can, with yellow circle…’Betty’?…’Susie-something-stew'?…’Ann’ something? 
He cooked right there in his old pan on a hotplate, then eat sitting at his cluttered desk, soda cracker crumbs and gravy-stained blotter....you could tell if Bill signed your check at lunch, as he often did, because there'd be ‘smears’. He didn’t mind the mess, and he wanted you to appreciate his thrift. He was ‘a grunt’ just like you, slavin' through lunch.

Of course us boys didn’t drive the same class of car, have a house on the lake, or a member in the Club...and none of us boys kept a little tootsie on the side, in a bungalow 4 miles from the studio, but Bill did. We knew. It wasn't the best kept, nor the worst sort of secret out there, and remember, it was his studio that employed us and half the town so who were we to cast stones at the mistress’s windows, or look down our noses at her talents?

She was a working girl and DID serve a stint as an ‘office temp’ but as short as that employ was, she was now his ‘bedroom steady’ on a regular schedule and payroll.

As Bill attended to his distractions, his attention, grew lacking, back at the lot. The work had grown mundane and tired..bored for his attention...and 'characters' became mere characterizations of themselves, with no personalities, no quirks, no surprises...bad jokes...
Hell, we all got tired… formulized… fat... and lazy…the work included.

That’s when Bill, in the midst of his excesses, took ill.  

He’d grown bored with it all - lost interest in his business, his wife, his children, even the mistress...in other words, the "all inclusive" of his Life. Found himself, aimless and stumbling under the load, and just decided to unburden himself.

He wandered. Restless. 

His first taste of Mexican sausage coinciding with a recent heat for Latin women, up in the neighborhoods, discovered in a small dark barrio bar. ‘Tamales’ he called them, and this was back then when you didn't mix...not in that section. But he devoured both like chips & guacamole. Never had Tequila or a burrito before, until the 'combo plato' colluded that fateful night with a bacterial infection - "salmon-something" - that sent him to the Emergency. 

I mean, we almost lost him right there...the coma came and went for weeks, and we worried about our jobs by that point. He'd have ‘the sweats’ and would mumble, babble in a heated argument, express an occasional gasp of excitement, or a bout of raucous laughter, as if he were sitting in the screening room of hallucination, as projected on the cranial wall.

That was ‘the miracle that was’ - born of the malaise from whence the iconic “Chizo, the Mad Squirrel” became the star of the New Empire and made us all a bunch of dough.

Yessir, ...bad sausage, and hot tamales.

And he never went back to the stew.

V