Tuesday, August 27, 2013

When the old beggar was a young girl and lived in circumstances no different than yours, she was the first one with a joke.

A girl with a backpack and tennis shoes. Hair short, ankles thin, can be no skinnier. She is at one second redfaced and close to tears, the next joking with a passerby. She is charmign and engaging. She was at one point the leader of a gang. The distributor of discipline. When a gang of older boys moved in the gang had left her. She grew out her hair and became a prostitute.

The girl's stages:
  Tomboy leader of a group of small children.
  Some of the children are taken to orphenages, come back.
  Most of them are gone at one point. She is kicked out of her place of sleeping.
  She begins to sleep in a place nearby a gang of young men. By and by she is domesticated by the boys. She meets joe in this stage.

Saturday, August 24, 2013

The cat, which may be the incarnation of a god who creates and destroys worlds, drags itself there against your leg. Its hair yokes at your skin.
Its tale betrays its mysterious nature. It whips at the air like a conductor's rod in the rhythm of its clockwork when measuring the possibilities of a room. It taps you on the shoulder as its owner sits on the windowsill, by all appearances distracted.
 As such things go, she has been violated by a mortal, and now carries his swelling brood until her kittens crawl out to repopulate the world with feline grace. Like when she dreamt the story of mankind, like when drops of her milk became the stars.

We love our cruel boys.

Thursday, August 22, 2013

Robert Matthews once was a suspect in a case that had gripped the nation in fear. It was a case of an intelligent, anti industrial and ant establishment vigilante anonymously sending things such as anthrax and explosive devices to public figures suspected of undermining individualistic freedoms. He'll show you his FBI file if you don't believe him.
 He speaks in that damn boring voice that makes you think he's speaking

Sunday, August 18, 2013

 The band actors live like gypsies. Among their ranks lifelong actors, men fallen on hard times, and truly strange vagabonds who are forced into such a life by irremediable flaws of character, the nature of which is not expected of you to understand. Beyond this they are all liars. The stories of their lives began in circumstances too shameful to admit and never ended up any place different. All along their journey, fantasy that made them equal to their destiny persisted, and the forbidden truth all but died in the retelling of it. The band of actors brought together by their proclivity for telling lies. Each submits to the myth of each with the same conviction that he spins his own yarn. One does not look in the eyes of another who does not hold his yarn. Such is the fabric that binds the group of wayward fantasists and degenerates.
 See them file out from their methods of travel in the golden hour of the prairie. See them emerge from the corn like children of the fields in the search for a place to start a fire. They had been looking for grounds all afternoon. They know from years of living such a life that which they necessitate. An animal called human making a house out of a forest. Disarranging that which was organized by a force ambivalent to them to suit them. Chopping the wood and boiling the water. Hunting and killing and preparing food to eat according to their will. On their way to the place they looked for farms to rob.
  See them arrange themselves according to hierarchy around the fire. See the food shared along the lines of alliances between them. So called friendship sustains them in times of lean and binds them in infighting against one another in times of plenty.
 One of the hierarchies denotes rank by degrees of deception. Two of the group bigger liars than the others. Their place in the group anchored by the woman who always plays the lead. They sailed on the same ship with her and he sisters to the east coast and made their way with her across the country into the southwest corner of it. The clowns have never said an honest word. One fat and the other old and thin. They pass a smoked sausage between them.
 A young girl in the business of entertaining the troupe of actors. Her skill with lyric and rhyme a practiced effort to distract. She is accompanied by a young boy on the guitar. The boys hands precise, his mind thoroughly occupied. They are encouraged by the old and the very young. The lead actress and others of her age sit in silence. A vein of dissent runs through the actors of marrying age.
 The old jester claps his hands. His beak casts a shadow across his face. His eyebrows make everything he says humorous. His fat partner's face aglow in the light of the flame. A gaping crescent where his teeth once were.

He smiles a toothless smile and has never been heard to speak a word except in the absence of the other clown. His partner older and very thin. His eyebrows thick and high on his forehead. His beak casts a shadow on half his face. His face

two clowns came on same boat as lead actress and her sisters

the group robs richards granparents with skirts and chickens etc.

richard and joe corner them. they are sisters of the actress.

they have sex with joe to be released. joe follows hem back to the camp. lives with the camp for a few days. has romance with the actress. comes back to dead father.

words exchanged over a fire. inconsequential ideas of rhythm and lyqic fill their heads that distract them from the circumstance of their lives.  men who never said an honest word in their lives. the story of their lives started out as too shameful to admit and never ended up any place different. in the telling of stories they forget their secrets. They do not look in the eye of anyone who doesnt believe their yarn and thusly is weaved the fabric of relations of the band of actors. doesnt hold their yarn

See the band of actors file out from their methods of travel and shelter in the orange evening. See them search for a suitable location and arrange a fire. They share food and affections according to alliances. their seating places dictated by the flow of trust among the group

____ lyric and rhyme occupy their minds against the circumstances of their lives. In the deep orange magic hour of the american southwest, adults at play as innocent children in the prairie. Innocent game of

the young and the old

Different types of liars in the group distinguished by degrees of deception. Two clowns in particular never said an honest word in their lives.

Book three.

In the faces of the people in the street human maladies and psychic diseases.
Betrayed souls. Out of hatred for whom do they become

Hatred for those who betrayed them diseases their souls.
Their souls diseased by hatred for those who betrayed them.

the actress with the boy: carry ___ on my tongue to you. are you ready?

The band of actors live like gypsies. See them filing out of their methods of travel and shelter in the orange magic our of the prairie. Their faces, which in their vocation play witness to imagined , now evoking the simple and honest relief at having found a suitable location. The necessities of a camp ground they know from the experience of living such a life: wood for a fire, shrubbery tall enough to hide them from the owners of the property, a source of water, and a farm to rob. Face aglow in the flame of the fire. The face of one jolly and round, a dark crescent where his teeth once were. His partner's beak a shadow across his face, he claps his hands to the rhythm of a boy playing his guitar. A young girl occupied with the business of entertaining the band. Her older sister, the lead actress, solemn in the shadows out of range of the fire. A vein of dissent runs through those of marrying age.
 The band of otherwise wayward misfits and vagabonds bound together by the proclivity for telling lies. Among their ranks lifelong actors, men fallen on hard times, and truly strange vagabonds forced into such a life by irremediable flaws of character, the nature of which is not expected of you to understand. Men whose stories began in circumstances too shameful to admit and never got any place better. In the invention of myth, tragedy and betrayal were put aside, and in the retelling of it, the forbidden truth was forgotten.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

The snow follows her in the murderous morning.
 The girl rushing past the other passengers, past the story of their faces and their bulky shoulders. The grey of the train station interrupted by squares of light. They glide across the shadows until, in a roar of vibrations, the train leaves the station and reveals her to him.
 On the way to the train station, the young man Young Jin lost himself in the mornings of others. He puts together their lives from the evidence they bring with them on the train. The boy's imagination examining things they have forgotten about themselves with loving attention to detail. Each time the train stopped was an event to him. He watched them take their stories home with them. The new arrivals seldom as interesting as their predecessors. Their stories come together in his mind like chromosomes before the old ones are forgotten.
 When he saw her it was a story he already knew. Her red skirt underneath the gray winter coat. It catches his eye as she makes her escape out the exit.
 He after all steps out onto the country road.
 Out there her figure walking beside others like ants it must be to the snow above. The snowflakes settle to the ground unhurried by any wind as if under their own will. Like fireflies, like faeries playing among the darkened wood low to the ground. One remains unmelted on the lens of his glasses and looks him in the eye. It finds the boy to be far away from the family that regards him as a scholar. It finds him to be underdressed and cold. It finds him to be small.
 A complex of four apartment buildings stands titanic and aloof in the fog of snow. The whole ant line of people ends there.
 An eyelash on the boy's finger tip. He squints at it until it turns translucent and mixes with his own eyelashes. Could be anybody's. She tried to kill him two days ago and now he is obsessed.
 Along the road, trees that stand silent and ethereal like the ghosts of soldiers. Beyond the trees a forest of pathways lightly warn. Inroads eroded by mushroom hunters or the adventurous inclinations of a gang of boys. In the heart of the forest a cabin and one well worn path way to the road known to only one family.
 Corruption and debauchery in a cabin faintly aglow with yellow candle light in the snow. Intrigue and politics of an animal called human. A family fallen from the grace of society and reduced to base inclinations. Murder as the snow melts. Days of spring spent in uninhibited lust, as much as a body could muster. New generations born, on their way in the ecstasy of youth, and dead again under the eye of the sun rising and falling. An elder who wields power over others watching the road in the red sunset. Watching the road and watching the people and waiting until the road was deserted to venture out and lay his hands on something. In his eye the animalistic seeing and plotting, seeing and plotting of a cat. He is the god of all that surrounds him and he doesn't speak your language.

A family fallen from the grace of the village. Forced out into the woods and

who met some misfortune or pathways warn by loggers a century ago and now overtaken by the forest's minions. In the ductile wood of the forest etched the evidence of human stories, of a variety and number that only a vast and porous wilderness can accommodate. Indeed over the centuries man has left his stench in the woods.
 A legend of the forest so old it is concealed from the consciousness of the townsfolk by time: they say that in the heart of the forest lives a family fallen to corruption. Descendants of an old clan pushed out of town by rumors of incest and cannibalism. The patriarch of which was a prominent business man until gambling and drink overtook him. Stories of his daughter, molested and corrupted from a young age, murdering a young boy in a ritual. Stories of the man leading a would be foreign business partner into the woods and killing him. His brother confessed to eating the man's flesh before his suicide in the same forest. The story forgotten until a mushroom picker stumbled upon a cabin. On encroachment he came upon a figure holding a long stick. When he came near enough to engage the man, he was frightened away by his appearance. He said the man wore homemade clothes and did not speak. He said there was something frightening in the man's gaze that he could not explain. He said he understood that he must leave or else face his undoing.
 The snowflakes settle to the ground unhurried by any wind as if under their own will. Like faeries playing among the darkened wood low to the ground. One remains unmelted on the lens of his glasses and looks him in the eye. It finds the boy to be far away from the family that regards him as a scholar. It finds him to be distracted from his studies. It finds him to be small.

the forest of trees that stand like ghosts of soldiers stinks of human flesh.

the boy waits for the girl in the forest after leaving drunk from the bar. she never walks by. he gets lost in the woods

[pathologists examining the boy's body. frank talk of food. what is best way to cook human meat. sear the tender loin.  brais the thigh. they say that sharks dont eat human flesh because it has too much sodium. that sounds delicious. yes it does. tender loin missing. one part of the leg missing. they found the body, didnt kill him. death by exposure.

look at the skin. were does is it best preserved.
on it's right side.
so what side was he laying on?
the left.
right. the side exposed to cold temperatures froze first. how else can i tell it was on its left side.
the right thigh was cut off?
correct. the cannibals do not like spoiled meat. therefore how did he die?
correct. they brought in a murder and leave with an accident.

tell me the story of how he died.

he walked home drunk from the bar. passed out on the road. was dragged into the forrest by an animal. when the temeratures froze the meat the animals left it alone. when the temperatures came back, the animal came back and ate what wasn't rotten. the thigh was eaten because, since its mass is significant it took a long time to defraust and was saved thusly from insects. but why was the tenderloin missing?
what does the lack of a tenderlioin emply?
I dont know.
A dog with good taste.
but what should I write.
write what you want but bring it to me to sign tomorrow noone. bring good beer saturday evening. i love good beer.
does mrs. like beer too?
she drinks it.

tenderloin recipe. are you ready? soy sauce brine, 30 minutes. like salmon. tuna is brined less because it is lean. star anis, black pepper. sear five minutes on each side.

 the boy and girl in train station
 by follows her to her building, sits in bar
  something goes wrong in the bar
  his inner mind, the atmosphere of the bar
 doctors examining the bodies of him and a homeless guy
  their conversation.
   bodies are frozen. frank conversation..