The Door

“Door? What door?” K. thought to himself. He waited until he was sure that the man’s light could no longer be seen, nor his footsteps heard. “I should find the woman, and retrace the mans directions. A door leads somewhere, and I’ll be happy if that someplace is out of here.” He walked towards’ the woman’s screams with his hands in front of his face. He was still afraid to turn on his lantern. Soon enough, he saw a faint light coming from the darkness. There were more squeaks and thuds coming from the direction of the woman.

“Oh no you don’t!” he heard a woman’s voice reply. “I’ll, why I’ll, I’ll kill you I will! I swear!” K. smiled as he realized that she had not yet noticed him and was instead talking to the rats. She screamed every time her foot successfully hit one. She looked up and screamed. “Shush, shush,” said K. calmly. He approached her to find that she was behind bars. He reached for her as to calm her. This startled her more so. Her fear of K. combined with the confusion of the rats, made the woman cry. K. realized that the woman was behind bars.

K. whispered to her, “Shush, it’s alright. Don’t cry. I’ll get you out of here, and we can escape together.”

“Who are you?” she sobbed. Her voice trembled though she tried to sound stern. The sound of fear was evident in her shaky voice. “Who are you, show yourself!”

“Shush, shush!” said K. “I will get you out of here, you can escape. I know how to get out of this labyrinth. That man mumbled a way out of here. I heard everything. Do you know where the man keeps the keys so that I can release you?”

“You, release me? Who are you? Are you a guard, an official? Who are you!” Her voice grew louder with her uncertainty.

“I am a friend.” replied K.

“What? A friend? More like a fellow prisoner. How do I know you are not responsible for your punishment? How did you escape? Talk to me! How did you escape? No, If you are what you say you are, you need to go back to your cell. They will know you are gone and come looking for you. They will find you! Go away! Leave! I will call the guards and distract them so that you can go back to your cell;  –guard! Guard!”

K. lit his lantern off of the one outside the woman’s cell. He realized that there was no use in trying to calm the woman, she was hysterical. In his fear, he made a run for it.

He ran, retracing the directions the guard had muttered. From a distance, K. saw a crack of light. As he got closer, he saw that this light outlined a door. K. dropped the lantern and ran as fast as he could towards the door. He turned the knob and slammed it behind him.

K. was blinded by the bright light. As his eyes adjusted to the change in light, he realized that he was familiar with his surroundings. K. was in the courthouse. K. turned around to look at the door he was now breathlessly standing in front of. On the door was a bronze inscription that read:

-Examining Magistrate-

K. slowly backed away from the ominous door, half expecting the man he saw to come bursting out of it. He needed to leave the courthouse. He buttoned his coat, wrapped his scarf around his face to deflect the anticipated cold, and put his gloves on his dry hands. He opened the door to outside, and did not look back until he returned home.

The Room

A slow, steady drip of water woke K. The droplets fell on his cheek, crawled behind his ear, and rested in a small puddle beneath his head. He sat up, moving his head from the dripping water’s path. As he shook off his unconsciousness, getting into a sitting position, he saw that his coat, hat, scarf, and gloves were all missing. His watch was also taken, as well as his shoes and socks. K. looked at his body and realized that he was in his under clothes, barely dressed at all.

K. looked about the room once again in an attempt to recognize his whereabouts. He was sure that he had never seen a room quite like it. He jumped up from his bed and stood on the cold floor. The bed was strange. It had belts and buckles and blood stained linens. K. felt his head where the bird had fallen to see if it were his own blood. He was surprised to find that there was hardly a bump, let alone any blood.

K. took a moment to fully survey the room in which he was. The place was extremely bright, on the boarder of blinding. Lights hung from the ceiling at each rounded corner of the room. K. had a clear view of his whereabouts, though he had no understanding of how he got there. There were no visible doors. The room had rounded edges. The floor became the wall, reaching up about four feet. From that point to the ceiling, there were glass walls. Other than the glass walls, everything was a luminous white.

There was no light on the other side of these glass structures, creating a blackened effect. “This reminds me of one of those cages they keep animals in,” said K. to himself. “Anyone can watch the animal, though the animal has no idea he’s being watched.”

Despite the cold floor and even colder atmosphere, the room was actually quite comfortable in temperature. K. recognized that the bed on which he had been lying was actually an examination table. K. felt his head again to examine where the bird had fallen on him. “Surely there was no need to operate. I don’t even have a bump on my head,” K said to himself. Just then, he heard a cough that seemed to be coming from the opposite side of the glass walls.

“Hello! Hello, can anybody hear me? Hello! I- I’m quite sure that I am not supposed to be here; that’s not to say I don’t appreciate your bringing me in from that cold wind, but I am sure there is no reason for my continued stay, now that I am well. Hello? Hello! Hello, is there anybody there? My name is Joseph K.!”

“We know who you are, Joseph K. We have known you for quite sometime now.” The voice was muffled and echoing, a distortion from what the true voice must have sounded like. K. had no way of recognizing it. The voice came from the ceiling somehow, and yet, seemed to completely surround him.

“Who is there? Please, where is that voice coming from?” K. looked around him trying to pinpoint the direction of the voice. “Please tell me where you are, so I will know in what direction to look. It is quite difficult to speak to someone when their location is unknown.”

“It is not necessary that you see us. We will see you no matter where you are speaking.” There was a soft click, and the voice disappeared.

“I am ready to go home now, hello? If you could just give me my shoes and clothing, I would appreciate it very much.” K. waited for a reply. His hope was in vain. K tried to regain contact again, “Hello!” he shouted, but there was still no answer. “Helloooo!” His voice bounced off the walls of the room, still, no voice replied.

The Silence

After waiting for a little longer, K. decided that he would search the room for some kind of a door. If he failed in finding a way out, at least he would attract the attention of the voice and regain communication. K. ran his fingers across the walls and glass to find a niche or crack to indicate a passageway of some kind. He was careful to run his hands from as high as he could reach, to where the wall and floor converged. K. could not find a niche where a mouse may have access to the room. K. had no luck in his efforts. After trying to establish communication with the voice once again, K made another attempt at escape by pulling on the light structures and pushing on the glass walls. Neither budged.

K’s next attempt was to see if he could find any means of escape through the ceiling. He stood on the examination table. With this added height, K. could reach the ceiling. He knocked on the ceiling to try and find weak spots. He knew that it would be useless to try and break through a solid beam. K. could hear that to the left of him, the sound was hollow. K. immediately got off of the examination table, and moved the table to where the sound was a bit more shallow. He stood on the table, banging at the ceiling in vain. It would not crack.

K. decided that the best thing to do would be to move the examination table back to it’s original spacing. That way, whomever was “constantly” watching him, would think he remained where he was when they last spoke to him. K. got off the table and tried to push it back, when that didn’t work, he stood at it’s side to pull it out of its locked position. He was about to pull it into position when his foot got caught. Did he get caught in a wire? He didn’t recall seeing a wire hanging from the table, perhaps he failed to recognize it.

K. looked at his foot and realized that it wasn’t caught, but rather stuck in a hole that existed under the examination table. He laughed aloud as he pushed the table away from himself to release his foot. To his surprise, the hole was only slightly smaller than the examination table itself. K. used all of his energy to move the table further and further from the hole. While moving the table, he learned that the hole was not merely a hole, but a staircase.

The Cave

K. descended the staircase, pulling the table over his head, placing it back in its original position as best he could. The table locked into position. At the same time, a light went on. Even with the light, K.’s eyes took a little while to adjust, it was such an extreme difference from the bright room he had just escaped from. When his eyes finally adjusted, he realized that the room was cave-like: dark, damp, and cold. There was a low ceiling from which a few lights hung. The lights were not strong like the ones in the examining room. The ground was made of dirt. The walls were poorly structured, curving over his head like a rabbit hole. There were many passages in the walls, each having one to three lanterns at the mouth. K. realized the extent of the cold in this room, but was relieved to find that his clothes were lying on a nearby table in an orderly manner.

K. quickly put his clothes on his shivering body. He wanted to get out of wherever “here” was and perhaps return to a place where he was familiar. Even if he ended up in somewhere outside, it would ha be to be better than the damp, dark place he was. K. ignited a lantern and journeyed down the passage which seemed to be most often used. He walked through the tunnel and noticed crevices that started on the left, slightly above the floor. They continued over head all the way to the right, stopping where it met the floor again. These crevices occurred in a somewhat regular pattern, suggesting to K. that this cave-like underground structure was man-made. K. walked down the path, staying on the part that seemed to be the most worn by footsteps.

From presumably nowhere, K. heard a woman’s scream. He was unsure whether he should stay on his path or follow the screams. He decided to walk on, but questioned whether or not to seek out the woman whose screams made the already dismal surroundings even more difficult to bear. K. strayed from his path to follow the shrieking cries. It sounded as though he was coming closer to the screaming. The screams began to echo throughout the passageway he was walking down.

K. then heard a man’s voice. Footsteps followed and seemed to be coming towards him. K. extinguished his lantern and held his breath while placing his back to an alcove in the wall along the passageway on which he was walking. This allowed him maximum vision of the man whose footsteps seemed to come closer and closer to K.’s hiding spot. There was a scuffle right next to him. The man couldn’t have been more than five meters away from him. K. prayed that he could hold his breath just a few moments longer. He was sure that the loud beating of his heart could be heard. K. took a breath as quickly as possible.

“What was that?” The man exclaimed. His resonant voice echoed throughout the passage lit only by his lantern. K. was sure that this was his final moment. Any moment no he would be caught. He remembered what had happened to the warden’s and feared a fate worse than theirs. He feared his escape was in vain. They had found him at last. K. took a shallow breath and held it once more.

“What was that!” The man said again. Just then, there was a squeak. “Damn rats!” K. then realized the scuffling sounds on the ground. Until that moment all he heard was his heart, his breath being held, and the man’s footsteps. There was another squeak followed by a thud. A rat’s body thudded against K.’s leg. The guard must have kicked it out of the way. “This place wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for all the damn rats! Now where was I going?” The man walked a few more steps and continued talking to himself, scorning and kicking the rats all the while. He scuffled to the left, and kicked another rat. “In through the door, fourth left, first right. Another right to the woman, now back down the corridor...” The man’s voice faded as he proceeded along the path disappearing with his light down the tunnel.

The WInd

Joseph K.’s plan for the day was to go to the courthouse and examine as many of the law books as possible. He felt that perhaps by doing so, he could learn why it was that he was interrogated. K. took the route he often had walked in order to get to the court-house. He made it a point not to look any passers-by in the eye. He didn’t want to be distracted by conversation, allowing him less time to research his case.

To his surprise, the streets were practically bare. K. paused for a moment to survey the area around him, confirming his initial thought that there were, in fact, no people in the streets. The wind seemed to whisper something in K.’s ear. He turned his head as if to catch the wind at a better angle. He noticed instead, a whirlwind whirring down the barren street.

K. slowly walked away from the whirlwind. He thought that it would be best to avoid it as much as possible. He turned the last corner without catching the whirlwind’s attention. The courthouse was in view. The wind whipped K.’s shoulder, nearly making him lose his footing. He turned around and saw that this gust of wind had become another whirlwind altogether. The wind was so strong. At first, K. thought a man had bumped his shoulder.

K. looked around and saw that there were a number of whirlwinds whirring in all directions. Before continuing on to the courthouse, K. paused for a moment to make sure there were no other whirlwinds nearby. The wind itself though, had increased in speed. The shrieking of the whirlwinds became so loud that K. was sure that the noise was piercing his eardrum. The wind seemed to be getting louder each time he turned his head in surveillance. Shrieks of wind whirled by. The strength of the wind made it difficult for K. to walk.

K. was forced to close his now watering eyes in an attempt to block the wind. The weather seemed to become hurricane like. K.’s face felt as though it would crack into pieces if he did not shield himself from the wind. He lifted his arm above his face and proceeded to the direction where he last remembered the courthouse door to be, peeking over his arm every now and then to see that he was headed in the right direction. He grabbed onto the railing of the huge staircase in order to balance himself against the wind.

“Please,” K. shivered. “You must let me in! I shall freeze.” K. banged repeatedly upon the locked door. “Let me in at once!” K. begged through chattering teeth. K. was sure that his fingers had bled by now through his gloves. His skin was so dry. He felt as though the skin on his knuckles would burst from his desperate banging on the large wooden door.

He began to speak to himself. “I am sure that my must be frozen by now. I am sure that someone must be in the courthouse. I was once there on a Sunday. Surely they are open now. The wind is so cold. I can hardly keep my eyes open enough to see that there is a door before me. It would be impossible to walk against this strong wind to return home, or my office for that matter.” Joseph K.’s frustrations were slowly being replaced by the need to crawl into the fetal position, so that the heat of his body could reach its full heating potential.

As K. crawled into this action, he heard a strange chirping. It was a sound similar to that of birds, but quite a bit distorted. As he looked above his head to see what was making this noise, he noticed a gaggle of birds, that looked much like geese, flying in an odd V formation. Suddenly, a bird fell dead upon K.’s head. K. fell unconscious into a position similar to that which he had been contemplating.

The Laughter

When he finally reached the door to his lodging, he noticed that the tomcat was meandering around his ankles. The cat was purring, looking up at K. admiringly. “What are you doing here?” K. said to the tomcat. K. thought of bringing the animal to Fraulein Burstner as a gift, but remembered what happened the last time a cat was brought into the lodging. Frau Grubach had terrible allergies, the most violent of all, allergies from cats.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in.” K. said to the tomcat. “If you stay here, I can bring you out some scraps of food.” K. put his hand down affectionately to pet the cat. The cat’s hair stood on end. It began to hiss and spit, screeching at K. The tomcat ran into the street before K. could react to pull back his hand.

K. fumbled for his key, and opened the door to find that the Captain was not on the couch where K. had expected to find him. K. thought this a good thing, whereas he didn’t know how much noise the cat had made in its fit. K’s relief was not entirely admirable, whereas he was partially relieved that the Captain had finally left. The Captain became such a distraction, that K. hardly spent any time with Fraulein Burstner. K. had enough on his mind. The interrogations and his work at the bank were consuming most of his time. He sat on the couch wondering if he should make himself some hot tea to ease his chill.

While sitting, K. heard soft voices coming from Fraulein Burstner’s room. Had the inspector come back to do a background check on him? K’s anger heightened as he approached Fraulein Burstner’s room. He was unsure of what it was that he would say to the inspector, but doubted he could remain calm in such a disrespectful situation. How could anyone be so inconsiderate as to come to the room of a woman at such an hour? Had they waited for her to return home? K. knew that Fraulein Burstner did not return until a late hour, though this hour was late even for her. K. clenched his fists in rage.

As K. approached Fraulein Burstner’s bedroom, he noticed that the voices were accompanied by laughter. It was the laughter of a woman and of a man, though K. could not figure out whose voices they were specifically. K. returned to the couch, forgetting completely about his wet clothes and cup of tea. Perhaps this would be good for his case. Perhaps Fraulein Burstner’s laughter was an inclination of how ridiculous she thought the entire interrogation had become. Still, K. wondered what the inspector could be saying to make her laugh so.

What could the two be doing? K. tried to force this thought out of his mind, he was sure that Fraulein Burstner was a respectable woman, and that he was being silly to expect otherwise. At that moment another thought struck him. Where was the Captain? He was not on the couch, and K. could not remember Frau Grubach saying anything about his leaving. The further K. began to contemplate the possibility of this idea, the louder the voices seemed to grow.

Where had the Captain gone? K. recalled seeing him only a day or two ago. He searched the living room for a trace of the Captain. K. could not find anything to distinguish whether or not the Captain was in fact still there. The room was poorly lit. Once again, the only light was coming through the window from a street lamp that flickered on and off and on again in an in-syncopated rhythm. The thought of the Captain with

Fraulein Burstner had begun to nauseate K. The more intently he listened, the more sure he became that the male voice coming from the bedroom was in fact that of the Captain. How could he be sure? The voice was familiar, but not recognizable through the door, besides, he had heard so many new voices recently.

K. pondered the idea that the voices were perhaps a result of his exhaustion. That thought was interrupted by more laughter. Perhaps the male voice belonged to a friend of Fraulein Burstner. With that thought to comfort him, K. went to bed. He changed into his bedclothes and turned down the sheets.

The Figure

In bed, K. lay wide-eyed. Sleep would not accompany him. The sheets were becoming more and more entangled as thoughts twisted and turned within his mind. The bed slowly became harder than a rock. K. decided to focus on silence. The more he concentrated on silence, the louder the voices and laughter had become. He gripped his hair until he couldn’t deal with what he understood to be flirtatious laughter any longer. He. jumped out of bed. He would knock politely on Fraulein Burstner’s door and ask them to kindly be quiet so that he could sleep. By doing this, he could be certain from the reply exactly who was in the room with Fraulein Burstner, as well as put an end to whatever was causing the laughter. As K. turned the handle of his door to exit his room, he realized that the voices had silenced.

K. opened the door in time to vaguely see a male figure slipping out of the entry way. The gentleman saw K. and tipped his hat. K. could not see the man’s face. With that, K. began to walk toward the front door. K. was infuriated and wanted to follow whomever this gentleman caller was. He took one step out the door and realized that it was now raining. His bedclothes became wet, and his feet felt as though they would surely freeze.

K. watched the man disappear into the rain. The male figure walked down the street. He appeared to be mocking K. with his confident strut. Just then, the figure was accompanied by what looked to be the old tom-cat K. had walked with earlier. As this figure put his hands to his ankles to attract the cat’s attention, K. noticed that the cat caressed the figure’s hands, jumping into his arms. Frustrated, K. returned to his bed. He knew he recognized the proportions of the body. The figure was somehow familiar to him. K. returned to his room, dried his feet, changed his bedclothes a final time, and went to bed. He pondered the familiarity of the figure until eight o-clock the next morning when he awoke for breakfast.

The Office

It was drizzling when Joseph K. awoke to a startling noise. Noticing the large pile of work on his desk, he slowly realized that he was, in fact, at the bank. K. could not immediately see what the cause of this noise was, since the only light in K.’s office was cast by a nearby streetlight. A dim beam illuminated the corner of his desk and most of the floor beside it.

As he drearily lifted his head from his desk, he noticed a shattered glass on the illuminated section of the floor. The water from the glass was still dripping from the remainder of the glass to the floor. K. was almost entranced by the formation the water was creating. It seemed as though the water was trying to spell something out to K. The water traveled along the cracks of the thickly waxed hard wood. The patterns were snake-like, and appeared to be more dramatically spread out than what could be expected from such a small glass of water. The glass particles seemed to have fallen into patterns. K. was sure that there was some kind of message left by the patterns of the water and haphazardly spread glass that split the snake-like pattern. K. immediately closed his eyes and shook his head in an attempt to shake off his hypnotic state, K. looked at his watch to find that it was already past the hour of two in the morning.

K. cleaned the shattered glass and wiped the spill in fear that one of his co-workers would realize his clumsiness; for he thought that it must have been he who accidentally dropped the glass of water from his desk. After what seemed to be forever, K. gathered his things and set off. By two-forty, K. was out of his office and a block away.

About two blocks away from his office, K. realized that he had forgotten his umbrella. He thought about going back to the bank to retrieve it, but realized that he was already damp and that by the time he got his umbrella, his travels would be in vain, he was already beginning to feel the wetness of the night against his skin.

K. walked down and up the streets, thinking about what the most efficient way of getting home would be. He walked up one street, only to realize he was heading in the wrong direction, so he turned around and walked back down it. In the long run, he ended up walking for longer than he had expected. His tired eyes almost convinced him that his shadow was doing something entirely different from his own definite movements. K. looked behind him, to see if he was hallucinating, or if in fact someone was following him.

K. heard noise coming from behind a garbage heap. “Who’s there? Hello, make yourself known.” K. felt quite silly as he discovered that the noise was the fault of an old tomcat whisking about in the melting snow-pile. K. snapped his fingers at his ankles to attract the cat’s attention. In return, the tomcat gave K.’s fingers a momentary stare, and continued its hunt in the snow.

A drop of water collected on the back of K.’s neck, causing a chill run down his spine. The wind picked up as the drizzle began to die out. K.’s already wet skin felt as though sharp instruments were hitting against it. He pulled his coat tighter to his chest and hid his nose beneath his damp scarf in an attempt to make him warmer. The closeness of his clothing did in fact help to prevent the wind from whipping it about. This helped keep the wind from biting at K.’s already chilled body. K. decided to return home in the manner he always had. The means by which he was trying only ended in a bitter cold pattern of dead ends and circles. K. needed as much sleep as he could get before returning to work only a few hours later.

The Trial: Foreward

Franz Kafka was in the process of writing his novella, “The Trial” when he died of tuberculosis. He requested that upon his death, all his transcripts be burned. To assure that this would occur, he began burning some transcripts while alive. Fortunately, he did not live long enough to burn all of his unedited work, and his living will was disregarded as something that he most likely meant to burn anyhow.

Many chapters of “The Trial” were salvaged and put together to form what is currently presented as the novella. The order of chapters was not definite, and an editorial agreement stated that the current publication was most likely conjoined in the intended order.

I have inherited some piecemeal remnants of these chapters and have contributed the best of my ability. My chapters are to reflect the physical appearance and structure of his translated work, while attempting to encompass the “Kafka-esque” quality of the story. There is no specific placing for these chapters, they are simply a personal supplementation of Kafka’s “The Trial.”

Six Sentence Challenge

If going to a bar meant that she was getting out of the house, it would also (technically) count as an excursion in discussion with her therapist.  Boggled in heart and by xenophobic exhaustion that battled intelligent knowledge that nothing truly held her back had forced her escape cabinets dry.  With no job, budget, income, or integrity, she decided to hide behind a black mop of red hair and an extra thirty pounds; nobody local noticed.  People introduced themselves to the new rag-doll she had become and even complimented her on the details that went unnoticed as a blonde vixen.  She became the nothing she felt herself to be, and was intent on avoiding camaraderie.  Rejected by the true love of her life's work, she withered into the alleyways of existence, and realized she was no longer alive.

Wunder

Staring into the obliteration of my mirror, wondering if the invasion was viral, chemical, neurological; not caring that it is exponential, dehydrating, consuming, and all.  Dr. Caligari!  Dr. Caligari!  Let me through the glass! I’m Pounding my wrists to get your damned attention!  Don't you see the raw-red gaping scream in my blank stare?  Don't you feel the firey pig-bath hatred used to pull at you as I give my best spider man/wonder woman, pulling/deflecting golem, the sharpness of reflection  my soul?  I hold it together with my web-sheild that holds neither description hostage, but gets me through my day.  The sharp bolt through my skull is momentary folding memory, overlapping melody, a backward record-gong.  Skin holds in screaming, no bugs -no reason.  So many reasons.  Damn you!  I hate you!  Cowardice!  Possibility! "Wonderland" is gone!

Auditor (incomplete)

Detlef the tax auditor startled awake, inhaling all the air from the room as he sat up from a dead sleep, He was soaking and soiled from a night he had trouble recollecting. 

He'd knocked on the artist's door to assess, his knuckles waking the termites; his rapping crushed their home and splintered their chance at winter survival (it was a damp March).  Reacting before acting, pulling from the eye-level sink-hole, he wiped miniscule white lives against his dark, official trouser lap.  The spores of mold caught him dead.  Mildly asphyxiated, he dropped to his knees, his smooth black-leather brief-case slapping the landing as he searched for his inhaler; it may as well have been pepper-spray for all the good it did.

"You've arrived." the door said.  He flushed in embarassment as he got off of the ground.  The artist was expecting him though his arrival was unannounced.  He breathed deep and steadily, his chest choking in an effort to speak. 

Rather than address Detlef, her voice (it was female, wasn't it?) directed him to a dim room that had clearly been layered in years of dampness.  He noticed squeaks, snags, snarles, but saw nothing save shadow and a light that would have formed a Jacob's Ladder anywhere other than there. 

The dimness revealed colors that would remain mysterious through the rods and cones of human optics. Shapes fell into shadow or cloth, and the concrete identification of any object was an inigma that could pull the mind's soul from embodiment. 

Before him was a table, a plank suspended, a fallen wall... he was meant to work on it, this make-shift auditing desk. Being abandoned there, he decided he should go straight to his work.  He opened his briefcase and

>>> Write more later

Marriage Bed (Graphic)

Cunt fucker ass hole
Piece of shit ass hole
so long as you get some pussy
who gives a fucking fuck.

The marriage map’s a paper
you dumb bitch, you raped her
I’m not yet numb, bitch
you hussy mother-fuck

Knocking off some lifetimes
Notching off your “nice-times”
blind bastard, look and see
what you really did to me

the ass blood you have spilled
in your hissy-fit anger;
you shove your cock inside me
truth won’t penetrate your reality –

You narcissistic solipsistic blind bastard piece of shit brain;
stoic little bitch drain;
guiltless, gutless,
gruesome in your guise.

Come on mother-fucker.
Punch my button.
Make me pop.
Make me bleed some more.

Why shake the blame you earned?
Your pride is in my demise
Your shadow grows
Engorging, pulsating

the cock that likes to cut me
sharp butchering machine
you likes so much to cut me
where no one else can see.

You leave a mess of me;
Can’t clean your own ass without me
I wipe the tears and smears
of your leftover rage

My anger,
screams,
tears…
Why do my ears hear the same?

The child has heard this
Wants to fix it
You locked her in
left for later in her room

Back in a rage
You douse my slashed body;
soaking what you have penetrated, torn
with your acidic fecal cum.

Light the match.
I’ll hold you tight
Just like you “beg of me”
Each and every night

With resolve,
tears dissolve
the wet gas in my eyes
burning my face in suffering deliverance,

I’m surprised you were
Never forced against-
or bent beyond
your will.

Make me burn
And I’ll hold you all night
You’ll gas me but I’ll clear it,
for the child I’ll bear it,

I’ll hold you ‘til you’re trapped
in bars,
split behind
your backside bloody

the narcissistic bastard plug
slicing your behind to drain
cutting off your cock; your brain
I will protect the child

Draped

What had happened since her face had been draped? And where did the screaming go, there was so much peace in their cries, peace that came with the noise of life.  Suffering, yes; but life still.  She felt a ground unmoisten and crackle nearby and against her skin felt the softened snowflakes that lacked temperature.  She dared not remove a garment, for the pillars of salt she knew surrounded her would no longer remember her face. http://www.flickr.com/photos/caseydavid/6182913122/

A limerick

As she stared off rethinking depression,
And sat through another long session;
Psycology proved,
that she should have moved,
away from her father's agression

Havoc

The "bumps" in my life would be nooses in yours

Fault-Heaves (unfinished)

After endless sweeping, re-sweeping, hosing, spraying, sweeping, my dad finally paved the driveway, so I had to use the sidewalk to draw-constellations of circles with a strong, seamless star, seemingly brighter as I retraced its outline and filled in the frost-heave fault-lines; so real I was shocked that it had disappeared when I went to retrace it after lunch; up, down, over-left, straight right, down/over left, up, down, over-left, straight right, down/over left, up, down, over-left, straight right, down/over left, up, down, over-left, straight right, down/over left, up, down, over-left, straight right, down/over left.

I drew a circle around its absence until my inch thick chalk was mindlessly bloody from my possessed fingers that circled, circled, circled, around the black-hole, through the constellations, as wide as my arm and as small as my palm, circling, circling, and caked-up raw knuckles, brown with blood, to the knuckle with blood, circling, circling, round and round -stop.

Dad started screaming.

The pavement was dry.  It was stickier than fly paper, not dry enough for hop-scotch-chalk or bicycle wheels, but dry enough for me to get away with cutting across to the front door without getting caught... just not dry enough for my dad to cross.  He only wanted to sweep my chalky footprint-cake away.  He didn't even yell at me, only gave me the swaying head with a smiling sigh as he walked onto the hot pavement with his clean bare-feet, a small brush and pan, and a brush thick with tar. 

He sank right down.  Down, down, down to his knees, but not on his knees, in less than an instant as a star -the star I had made -screaming through the road, trying to turn pentacle-sharp corner to edge, metallically piercing a drag and calling up sandy sub-particles, miniature-tornadoes, slashing glass particles, attacking his bare legs and drawing him into a pool of tar, legs encircled by sand heating to glass, ripping to bone

He was sunk in, glued and screaming.  From the pain?  The shock?  And the screeching gets louder, the star, closer.  I hear the screaming, and I had never heard dad scream before!  I ran around the long way to get mom, up the neighbor's hill, around the pool, the porch.

I could hear the TV through the back door.  Its locked door shouts louder than my wrist knocking, forearm pounding, backdoor screaming, "MOMMY!" I unwrap myself from the porch and double back to finish encircling the house to get to the front door, which I know is opened.

My mom comes out yelling at my dad, "The screen's fucked-up!  Hey, Hey!  The TV stopped working!"  She opens the door and stops, dead still; the pentacle draws in the rhythmic circle from the bloody sidewalk, along with...

Spade

$15 dollar virgin hooker waiting for someone's second hand

Truman

 I live so close to sea that I could choose to drown, drop an ankle-anchor and float beneath high-tide

I've seen my sister's flesh entangled in Winger-Sheek shards of slate-like  geologies

(It's how my mom pronounced it, then with sis, denounced it)
In life, I can't go to the Ocean,
I'm allergic to the sun, and the sun
(Being inescapable at sea)

I've nearly died from deer-flies, allergies, and sun-
Hospitalized, I vomit endlessly from its exposure with migraines since childhood
Hospitalized blisters ripping me spineless, bloody, worker's compensation beneath shady discretion
(Even childhood fell me into a Portugese Man-of-war)

When I was five, I dreamed of the "Greek Beach" on the Cape
I pulled the plug and watched the entire ocean suck all that I'd hate
At the time I hadn't understood why
-With ships and wrecks and dirt and death
My mother should drown down the suction of seduction

Since then, I've packed for the beach
Endlessly
NEVER allowed back
Traveled to the ocean only to be rejected

Distracted by seafood dives that never serve me
Flooded in timeshares
Pruned by private perverts

Crashing on jagged Cape beaches that sharply last until mutilation
Wave-pools for surfing; instead drowning children who get sucked into the filter until blood fills in

Packing.  Eternally.  Packing... Going nowhere, drowning on land; anchored by regret

Erste

High school, high school, must go back to high school, get my diploma, which I've never owned.  I finished  college, three majors, two masters' and one life-plan. But must go back to high school, high school, never finished high school I'm so late and now the building morphed. I don't know where to find my homeroom or if my locker is a dryer and if I should claim it with the name on my D1 uniform.  Somebody snarles, but does not move it, and now I need some shampoo.  I think I'm late, I know I never ate, I'm starving, dirty constipated. Terrified, tardy in the hallways cornered- stairs -no windows; no air.  I'm terrified and gasping, now to my bowels grasping, I'm lost and loster, lostest, molest, never finished high school, high school, geometric vestibule, holding cap and gown but no diploma still.  I've done my time, so get out of line and into the dorm with the allotted shelving that still has blankie but not my wardrobe so I double park to avoid the mark and go to college trying to find a dorm.  I move quickly in, but the semester has begun and I have children and no schedule but if I did it would be full time and I can't  'cause I'm a parent now, with two children and need to provide somehow.  I'm in high school still though paying college bills, now the dorm is bigger, room for my imagination to twitter, but there's a hole in the wall that's been sealed since my last visit and the car was moved to a lot that I can't find.  Have to live with my parents, patting, patronizing, spatting, brandishing me with a "told-you-so" smile.  Some other kids have beers but I don't belong there, I try a bar but don't belong there, I try the attic apartment, and something looms there, attacking me was fine but then my kids I said not fine with a billy-club-pen to the attic's den and was constantly hunted until the veins were shunted, so I try to visit private school for a little light instead.  I first taught at it and even bought a house across the hill, but the attick followed, and dry-mouth followed, so I sank into the pavement drive and borrowed another cap and gown, just to wake up and be back in high school, thought it was my school, but the bathrooms filled and clogged again.  No walls, no mirrors, with walls like speakers, absorbing up the muck overflow while booming, screaming, spraying, spaying, breaking, breaking, taking, taking.  I could belong but knew nobody for so long I had forgotten that I could make ends.  I must be a student but my age speaks mutant because I'm still in high school so move outside school to breathe and see where the girls attend.  Girls I grew up with are across the street in the big, white house eating frost-cupcakes.  None left for me, just shit to tend. I go back to high school, the dirty high school, the one I worked at first.  It's commencement day and it's now an array of plastic performances smiles, jokes, wireless abhorrances as though baby never smelled coke. I know their lines the lies the grind the taste of metal-blood and don't know how to sniff, blow or belong so move through the high school halls, and the smell of high-school, the dirty high school, the one with marble stairs.  The iron railing my nose got smashed on when my hair tangled on her hand.  I need a bathroom, they're all filled shitters, no seats, no doors, no flushing, all whores.  So I keep on looking, my shoes dripping, disgusting in a dark hall corner where no-one stares.  The kids are rushing, I feel disgusting, can't find my schedule, I've got nothing but I find my locker, still can't rip it open, unzip the token that can't help but split my ass.  Back to the bathroom don't care -boys or girls bathroom, and the locker room holds dirty looks from both.  I try the toilet, then the next three toilets, but all the cans are full and I'm going to burst.  Nowhere to sit, nowhere to shit, nowhere to puke or pray.  I'm trapped in high school feces, even past doctoral theses, and the nightmares somehow always stay.