I'll come up with something in a minute.

A few thoughts

So last night I went and passed out on the couch again at about 9 or so. I got up around 2 am and went to bed, where I slept another 6 hours until about 8am. Still feel sleepy though.

You know something strange? I stopped drinking coke like… a month ago and I haven’t really missed it. I’ve been mostly avoiding pop completely and it hasn’t bothered me. I thought it would, but it’s been an amazingly easy transition.

Been drinking lots of water with a bit of Orange Juice and this Minute Maid Pomegranate & Blueberry stuff. Claims it’s all healthy and anti-oxidanty, but I was just hoping for something that tasted good. Huh, just noticed that despite not drinking anymore coke I seem to still be giving money to the Coca-Cola company. Got some Bolthouse Smoothies on sale though, those are… from Michigan? Huh. Interesting. All the things the internet can teach us.

Got some other things to say, but they’ll have to wait a while. I’m going to take some sinus medication and cast my fate to the four winds.

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February 23, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Bad Poems (not a poem)

You know, I was just thinking…

I should gather the most notable poems I’ve written here and self-publish them in book form. Just go to one of the on-demand places that gives you a picture of a nickel every time you sell a book. I was thinking of “The Worst Poems I’ve Ever Written” as a title. Because I think a book should offer its reader a challenge. The challenge here, finish these poems.

February 22, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Tea (a poem)

I woud like to have high tea with The Queen.
If that’s not possible
I would like to have high tea with a queen.
Any queen really.
Drag Queen
Dairy Queen
Beauty Queen

I wonder if someone will ask why I rank Drag higher than Beauty in that list.
Two sugars please.

February 22, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | | 1 Comment

Mom was a practical woman

I remember when I was about nine or so, my mother gave me a very important piece of advice.

“Son,” She said to me, “A twenty-two is a very small bullet and if you want to make sure you’ve got the job done, you’ve got to get up close and put one in their head.”

Feared across the land my mother was.

February 21, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Jack & Jill (Part Seven)

Jack & Jill (A Love Story)

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

 

Read last week’s entry here.

 

 

Part Seven: Jill Sees Jack

 

            I first saw him after I’d been with Cole for about 2 weeks. I think it was two weeks, I’m not sure actually. I’ve kind of blocked everything about Cole, except when Jack was around. I can remember the first time I saw Jack exactly. It’s been crystallized in my mind, with every detail picked out like an HD camera.

 

            I was watching TV when Cole’s big truck came up the driveway. I turned off the TV and got up, waiting for him to have his way with me again. He’d already told me that if I ran away he’d kill my parents and make me wish I was dead. I suppose that some people would say that I should have run away anyway, but I was so far from home and I was scared of him.

 

            Cole didn’t hit me, didn’t make me undress, he just put me up stairs in my room. He pushed me onto the bed and told me to stay away from the window. He swore at me, told me that he’d kill me if I went to the window, and then slammed the door. I could hear his key clumsily work its way into the slot, proving he worked locks like he fucked. The dead bolt turned and the key was yanked out, then his heavy feet stomped and clomped away from the door and down the stairs.

 

            The curtains weren’t closed though, so I could have a look out the window if I wanted to. The only trick would be to avoid having Cole notice that I was stealing a glance at the outside world despite his admonitions. If I could see out there, I might know what he was worried about and even signal someone to help me. That would have to be done with exquisite care though. If Cole figured it out, he would tear me open from my groin to my neck and hang me upside down to let my guts spill into my face.

 

            I must admit to you though, that I was curious about what could have so worried him that he would run to lock me away and then run back downstairs. My curiosity wouldn’t have been so peeked had he not rushed me in so peremptorily. Because he had, I was desperately curious to see what had caused him to do this.

 

            I heard another truck pull up and then a very odd sounding engine. It wasn’t another truck, but it was a car with a lot of power. I got up from the floor where Cole had so rudely thrown me, skulking carefully towards the window. I saw the blue classic car just as he was getting out of it. I remember him perfectly, down to the last detail. He was wearing a brown suit, of an old fashioned cut and a blue shirt and black tie. He wore a brown fedora as well, which made him look like some sort of romantic hero from a by gone age.

 

            I was encapsulated by him. I knew he was the man who had come to save me. I stepped forward as he looked up at the windows and our eyes locked. It was like making love, not the dirty, filthy way Cole fucked, but a pure and wonderful love. It was lovemaking that needed no connection, no bodies, nothing dirty and unpure. It was love that made me feel a flutter deep inside me. I stepped back, away from the window for fear that my passion might cause me to throw myself through the glass at him.

 

            He looked down as I started to back away, he was probably only looking up at me for an instant, but it seemed to go on for a life time. I felt like I’d never felt before, like I’d been struck by cupid’s own bolt and that my life would never be the same. I’m not sure how, but I knew I was safe then. I knew it like I know my own name. I knew, without a singular doubt, that I would be saved before dawn broke the next day.

           

            I heard them talking from my window, and he was asking about the immigrant workers. What a clever ruse my darling, my love had made to come save me. I knew that he had come for me, but he was pretending to be here for someone else. It was that sort of brilliance that made me love him.

 

            I watched him as he spoke to the four of them, and I noticed that while he was listening he had a habit of tapping his front two teeth with his left thumbnail. That’s the kind of detail you notice about a person when you’re in love with them. He shook his head at something one of them said and started to laugh at one of their jokes. I could see in his eyes, he was already forming a plan to come save me.

 

            They walked around the side of the house, and my love left my sight. I could feel the pain of that leaving like a steel dagger pierced straight into my heart. I didn’t want him to leave my sight, because the panic started that maybe he wasn’t here to save me. Maybe he had come for some other reason. I had to hold myself back to avoid throwing myself through the window. I wanted to hold him, to reassure myself that he was real.

 

            I could feel my longing for him in the pit of my stomach, my toes ached over it. I’m not sure I actually breathed while waiting for them to return with him, I feared they would engage in some treachery which might result in him getting hurt. I can’t imagine I took in air the whole time, my heart may have stopped from the pain and fear.

 

            They were gone for an eternity. They were gone long enough for the stars to burn out, for the black holes to eat the planets, and for the entire thing to explode again. They were gone so long I almost wanted to cry, knowing that they had killed him.

 

            Then they came around from the other side of the house, and I saw him again. I had to step back when I saw the others. I was held by the fear that Cole might see me. I felt such a wave of relief that I sat on the floor and waited for my breath to come back to me. My head was spinning with relief and my knees would no longer hold me up.

 

            I heard a car door slam, an engine start and I knew he was leaving. I wanted to throw myself at the window, to beg him to take me with him now, but I knew that would be unsafe. I knew they’d kill us both if I did anything like that. I had to be smart, had to act like I hadn’t moved from the place where Cole had thrown me down. Had to wait until he came to save me.

 

            When they other car left, Cole came back. I forget what happened, but I’m sure he fucked me again. He always fucked me, whenever he came back he fucked me. I don’t say he raped me, because by then I’d stopped fighting him. I just let him fuck me because it was easier that way. I let him fuck me, and then he went downstairs to watch a game on TV. I lay on the floor for a long time, waiting for the disgust to go away. I hated him, but he was my owner.

 

            Cole had broken me, Cole had burned me with that hot iron brand, Cole owned me. He’d explained that he owned me and I could only be taken from him if someone killed him. Even if we were separated, he would own me forever until someone killed me and then I would be that person’s. I knew though, that Jack would kill him, and Jack would take me and Jack would be a kind owner. I knew that it was crazy, but the world had stopped making sense.

 

            I got up after a while though, and I went to the bathroom. I scrubbed myself good and hard, I cleaned myself for a long time, trying to wash Cole off of me. I wanted to be clean for Jack, I wanted to be pure for him. I didn’t even know his name yet, but I knew I loved him and I knew he would come and save me.

 

            I cleaned and cleaned, and then I found the whitest of the clothes Cole had given me to wear. I put on the plainest, the humblest, of the underwear. I put on white pants and a plain white shirt. I was going to look pure for him, I was going to look as virginal as I could. It would be important to meet the man I would be with forever while looking as pure as possible.

 

            I didn’t sleep, I barely moved, I just sat up and waited for my knight to come rescue me from this tower I had been ensconced into by the evil man called King. I knew that he was coming, I knew that he had come to rescue me, and I knew that he wouldn’t keep me waiting long.

 

February 18, 2010 Posted by | Fiction, Jack | | Leave a comment

Last words

I’ll always remember the last thing my Grandma ever said to me “If anyone asks, and they will, I spent all of last month and next month with you and we have no idea where Big Tony might have gone, alright? I might have to fake my own death, so look sad when your mother tells you about it.”

I only mention it because I got a postcard from Peru today and it looks like her hand writing.

February 16, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Four old Photos

DSC08913

DSC09016

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DSC02082

February 15, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | | Leave a comment

Pizza Goo!

Syd is playing New Super Mario Bros on the Wii.

You’d think by now someone would realize Princess Peach is a high risk target and get some security for her or something. Also, as much as I think he’s supposed to be saying “Let’s Go” at the start of every level, I keep thinking Mario is saying “Pizza Goo” which makes no damn sense at all! I have started calling her that “You died again Pizza Goo!” No word yet as to whether or not it bugs her.

February 14, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

What’s in that drink?

I saw an ad at the resturant where we ate dinner tonight. It was for a margarita made with something called Jaguar Vodka.

Why has vodka become the go to for every kind of drink lately? I’ve seen daiquiris advertised with vodka as well. Any day now I expect to hear someone talking about a whisky and soda made with vodka. When did vodka become the go-to replacement hooch, and more importantly… why? Is it because you want to get sloshed without the flavor? Drink grain alcohol then because vodka has flavors. Disappointment, resentment, evil and hate are flavors.

Just because I personally hate vodka (what with being a sensible person with working taste buds) doesn’t mean I’d be okay with a different liquor included. If someone offered me a gimlet made with Bushmill’s, I’d like to think I would still be complaining. If someone mixed rum and vermouth in a glass and told me it was a martini, I would still look at them as if they had just recently imported from Mars.

It’s just plain wrong kids, just plain wrong.

February 11, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Jack & Jill (Part Six)

Jack & Jill (A Love Story)

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

 

Read last week’s entry here.

 

Part Six: The Mexicans

 

            “Got ‘em for you.” Cole said, trying to sound more country than country could sound.

           

            “You guys better stay here.” I said walking down the steps from the porch. “They might not want to talk with you there.”

 

            “What the fuck for?” Joe demanded. “You gonna ask them about us?”

           

            “Joe.” Cole’s voice warned.

 

            “What’s he want to go asking about us fer?” Joe started to walk towards me, but Dave grabbed his arm and that seemed to snap him back.

 

            “It’s got nothing to do with us.” Dave said. “He’s here to help us, remember?”

           

            “I don’t like people talking about me.” He said.

 

            “I hadn’t planned on talking about you at all Joe.” I told him. “I only want to ask them a few things about how the INS people talk to them when they raid here.”

 

            “Well, don’t go talking about me!” Joe said.

 

            “He won’t.” Dave said and nodded his head to me.

 

            I turned and heard something that sounded like a hand clap across what sounded like the back of Joe’s head. I went towards the barn they had indicated the workers were waiting by. I walked around the side of the barn and was faced with a group of Mexicans workers. The guys had gotten them together and then left them here to wait. It suddenly occurred to me that making them stay at the house might not be a good idea because I took German in high school and I was crap at it.

 

            “Hi folks.” I looked into the sea of blank faces. “I’m looking for a young girl. She’s white blonde, about fourteen. Anyone here see anyone like that?”

 

            They looked dumbly at me, one or two of them flicked glances at each other. They were worried that if they said something, it might gain attention and attention was a bad thing in their world. Being noticed meant you were scrutinized and legal or not it could mean deportment. They looked at each other, and then blankly at me.

 

            “Don’t play the ‘I no speak English’ game with me.” I growled, not wanting to. “I don’t care about you people. I don’t have to call the INS. And if they ask me I can tell them that I just saw a bunch of good Americans along with some perfectly legal immigrants.”

 

            That got their attention, but I still didn’t have their trust. Pretending like you don’t understand is a tough game, but it’s better if English clearly isn’t your first language. You can always pretend not to understand as much as you really do that way. The problem is that I didn’t have time to screw around with these people.

 

            “Did any of you see the girl?” I took in a deep breath and let it out. “I know you guys don’t want trouble, but if someone doesn’t start telling me something soon I will make trouble and I can make a lot of trouble. I’m good at making trouble. I do it for a living. I am not going to just go away because I can tell by some of your faces that you do understand me and the dumb shit expression is just pissing me off when I’m looking for a little girl who has been kidnapped.”

 

            A few more eyes flicked back and forth, faces moved, there were mutters. They still didn’t say anything to me though. I was going to have to pull out my bastard card and I wasn’t too happy about it. I don’t like threatening people who are already scared and worried. I shook my head, looked down at the ground and back up at them.

 

            “Okay.” I allowed resentment roll into my voice. “By the time they figure out if you guys are legal or not it’ll be way past picking season anyway. Don’t know what you’ll do for money after that.”

 

            I turned around and started, knowing that one of them would say it. I wasn’t sure if I was really going to call INS or not. A threat is only good if you back it up, but none of them had kidnapped Jill Piper.

 

            “Wait.” One of them called out and I turned around trying not to look too smug.

 

            “Yes?” I asked.

 

            “Why are you talking about INS?” The man was young, and his English was too good. He was born with that voice “They never come here, King pays them off.”

 

            “There isn’t any problem with the Feds?” I asked the group.

 

            “No.” The kid said. “The problems these people have isn’t with the feds.”  

 

            “What’s your name?” I asked, and for a moment I wished I smoked so I could casually light a cigarette.

 

            “Tommy Tucker.” He said.

 

            “Not exactly the name for a migrant worker is it?”

 

            “I can work, just like anyone else.” He was defiant and I wondered if he’d start giving me a speech. “We need to stand together, my blood brothers and I. The people can’t be oppressed forever.”

 

            He was off to a good start, but I didn’t care about him and I didn’t have my Socialist Bingo Card. If I let him go on I would have been treated to how working people control production, and opiate of the masses and other such phrases. The problem was that I grew up in the Detroit area, and I’ve heard it all before from better speech writers. I’ve also learned from personal experience that anyone who thinks the proletariat are noble hasn’t spent much time around them.

 

            “Okay.” I said waving him away. Even though technically I didn’t care, I still asked my next question. “Not that I care, but did King get you guys here? Got you guys across the border?”

 

            “Yes.” He nodded. “Then he gets them to work here. Then he refuses to pay them. They get room and board, but it’s pretty shabby. They pay pennies on the dollar when it starts looking like people are going to leave. The beat and I think they’ve killed a few of the workers”

 

            “I see.” I nodded. “The problem is, what I’m after is the little girl.”

 

            “She was here the other day.” Tucker told me. “Then he took her to his house I guess.”

 

            “You don’t know where that is, do you?”

 

            The group started suddenly to disperse and I turned to see that Joe was approaching, his hand on the big pearl handle of his gun. He was fat and ungainly over the rough terrain of the fields. You’d think after this long he’d be better at it, but he wasn’t.

 

            “We got work to do.” He snapped at both me and the laborers. “Can’t stand around jawing all day.”

 

            “No.” I said. “I might find out where the little girl is if I did that.”

 

            “You got something to say to me?” He gave me a little shove, which actually caused him to move more than it did me.

 

            “If you shove me again, I’ll knock you on your ass.” I said flatly.

 

            “You trying to be tough with me?”

 

            “I don’t have to try to be tough. I was born tough.” I said putting one hand on his chest and giving him a healthy shove which sent him stumbling back and then landed him flat on his fanny. “I have to try real hard not to be too tough.”

 

            I reached down and smiled at him though. He looked up at me and took my hand and I helped him up. There would be something of an understanding between us now, unless I was totally wrong and he tried to swing for my head. He didn’t, he just brushed himself off a bit. He knew that he’d gone too far, that he’d pushed just a little too hard, and I think I knew why. Even if I didn’t know about the girl, I was way too close to uncovering their secret.

 

            “Look, I really don’t care if you hire illegals.” I told him. “I’m supposed to find a way to stop the bullshit, I’m not here to stir more of it up. I’m not just a detective, I’m a problem solver. I’m here to stop the problems.”

 

            He nodded, and I could see a hamster running on a wheel that turned other wheels in his head. He nodded slowly, but it was merely because the hamster was running, causing an autonomic reaction. He had a handle on me now, or thought he did. He knew that I was bent, and on the proper side of the ledger. I was one of them, and that made me okay. Also, it helped that he had seen something in my eyes that let him know that I was not to be trifled with. It was probably the Seven With One Blow story again. That one gets around and everyone asks me about it. I knew that his next question would he about that in fact.

 

            “You really pop a guy’s eye out of his head once?” He asked, proving once again I have no idea what I’m talking about.

 

            “Yeah.” I nodded. “Actually I popped it out, then I cut it off and then I threw it in a river. Ask me later about how I put his other eye out by shooting it through the back of his head.”

 

            “Goddamn.” He said with admiration and shook his head. “I mean Goddamn.”

 

            “Where do you take the Mexicans when you hear that a raid is coming?” I asked.

 

            “Up to Cole’s place.” Joe smiled a big smile at me. “How come?”

 

            “Maybe someone up there saw it and has been complaining.” I told him. “Might be that we need to shake somebody down.”

 

            “We can do that.” He said while grinning a wide friendly grin.

 

            We walked back to the house and I listened while Joe explained my little plan to Cole and his brothers. Cole’s face darkened and Daryl’s face twisted with confusion when Joe mentioned going to Cole’s place to have a look around. The problem was that Cole knew refusing to play along now would be too suspicious. There was also the fact that I was here to look around about the INS problem and probably would know nothing about Jill Piper, which was too insane to even be discussed. Even suggesting that I might have been hired weeks ago by the company, the girl took precedence. I was glad that I’d decided to clip the Marley thirty-eight onto the back of my pants.

 

            “Well.” Cole said adjusting his cowboy hat. “I’ll go on up there, you boys can follow me.”

 

            Cole walked quickly towards his truck, a brand new Dodge Durango, the kind that had the word HEMI stamped on the side just incase you wanted know what kind of engine it had. I walked to the Hudson and opened the door. Cole looked at the car from his rolling mountain.

 

            “How fast you go in that?” He asked.

 

            “Pretty fast.” I told him. “I’m not sure if the speedometer works right.”

 

            “What kind of engine it got?”

 

            “Whatever Hudson put in it.” I shrugged, not wanting to admit that I know exactly what kind of engine I have and exactly how fast it can travel when I want it to. “Not all Detroit boys know everything about their cars.”

 

            “Got a HEMI in here.” He reached and slapped the roof of his car. “Pretty damn fast.”

 

            “Probably outrun me by miles.” I said.

 

            “You just follow us.” Joe said climbing into a big Ford F150. “We won’t let you get lost.”

           

            “Sure thing.” I said, looking at the maps that I had to both this place and Cole’s place. Even if they tried to loose me, I wouldn’t get lost.

 

            They didn’t try to loose me though, they kept making sure I was right behind them for the fifteen minute drive, even though Cole must have made it in less than five if he kept up the speed he left with.

 

February 11, 2010 Posted by | Fiction, Jack | | Leave a comment