April 20, 2009
Part 6: Acceptance:
I sat down with the name tagged Timmys and when the cafeteria attendant came by I took a bar-b-que sandwich and some fries. Gus, the guy sitting next to me, told me that he had been here at Wolfie’s for four years and he had never seen a doorway out of this place, but the food was good and the people were nice and all of the nurses were cute. Why would any one want to leave a place like that? I had to agree that the accommodations did seem nice enough, but still it took me close to seven months before I gave up on the idea of finding my freedom. I looked through every room in the place and just as Gus had told me there wasn’t an exit to be found anywhere that I could see.
April 19, 2009
Part 5: Dr. Frank Stein:
About the time I had had it with the paper people a man walked in and introduced himself, “Hello, I am Doctor Frank Stein.” Dr. Stein was a little man — a little man and a little something else, (what I do not know). He had small beady eyes that had no iris; it went straight from the white of his eye to the black of his pupil. He also had a hooked nose that reminded me of a buzzard. That’s it, maybe he was part buzzard.
Dr. Stein politely asked me how I was doing, and if I had any questions or concerns about my treatment. When I told him I didn’t know that I needed treatment, and I didn’t know that I was receiving any he smiled and nodded. “Interesting,” was all that he would say. When I told him that I didn’t want to be here anymore and that he should let me the fuck out, he told me that I could leave whenever I wanted, but in his opinion it would be better if I stayed. I decided that I didn’t value his opinion very much, so I rushed past him out the door and into what was the dining hall. Long tables with attached benches lined the cafeteria style-dining hall. Most of the tables were filled with people. These weren’t the same people that I had seen at the party; these were a different sort of people. First off they were all guys, next, they were all wearing nametags, but the really weird part was that every one of them was named Timmy. I’d never met a grown up Timmy before, and now I was in a great hall with hundreds of them. I was about to freak out, when come to find out none of them were really named Timmy, somebody had just given them these nametags and told them to wear them. At least I hadn’t completely lost my mind; there still are no adult Timmys in the world.
April 18, 2009
Part 4: And the Fog Lifts:
I rub my eyes and stretch. I must have slept for a long time, but I don’t feel rested. The room is bright and cheery, but there is no furnishing except for the thin mat that I was sleeping on. I look around be there is no door, or windows, or any way to get out. After panicked pounding on the walls for about half an hour, a crack forms on the far wall and an opening appears from where there was just wall before. I was so relieved that there was a way out that I forget to be pissed that someone locked me up in the first place.
Three cardboard people came in to welcome me to a brand new day. I had never seen cardboard people before so it was quite a shock for me to be confronted with life sized and fully animated cardboard cutouts of people. They were painted fire engine red and had two big white dots were eyes should be, but no mouth at all. They bent at the same joints as humans, but walked a little stiff. I just wondered how they were able to talk. There was no mouth or tongue or voice box, but somehow they were able to talk, and boy could they talk.
It was a constant chatter. When one would stop another would start. Sometimes they would talk over each other, sometimes they would ask me questions and then another would answer for me. It didn’t appear that they needed me for any part of this conversation, but apparently thought that I should be included. Maybe it was just because I was in the room, or maybe they just enjoyed having a real human around. Whatever the case I became annoyed quickly.
April 17, 2009
Part 3: Party time:
The small white door opens up onto the biggest party I’m ever likely to see. One of the thin girls in the black tuxedos and bow ties comes to offer goodies off of the tray she’s carrying. There are red drinks in small shot glasses, small Hors d’Oeuvres made from slices of Portobello mushrooms, Brie on Triscuits, and small porcelain dishes filled with tiny pastel colored pills all with tiny smiley faces on them.
“Take all you want, there is plenty more,” the thin girls tempted. I politely take a shot and a few pills, and then push farther into the chaos.
At the center of the maelstrom is a buffet table loaded with all kinds of meat. A small balding man with a green turtleneck sweater is there to serve the meats. He doesn’t ask what I want, he just hands me a plate with some thinly sliced roast beef and shaved ham and tells me to move on. So I’m left standing there with a plate of meat and no utensils wondering what I should do now. I could see many people just go quietly to the side of the room and look for a place to get away from the ruckus. After contemplating inaction, I just grabbed the meat and ate it down and started to dance.
I must be getting old, because I am exhausted. Drowsiness is taking over and I’m starting to fall asleep.
He put up a fight, but it doesn’t matter. The sleep comes to all.
April 16, 2009
Part 2: A big reception:
A long white hallway with flickering florescent bulbs leads me to the reception desk, where I find Nurse White. Nurse White all dressed in white sitting behind the pressed white wood desk, never moving. Her long blonde hair is tied up tight underneath her plain white nurses hat and the words come quietly from behind her frigid smile, “Print you name here and write a short introductory paragraph telling us why you think we should let you into Wolfie’s.”
“What?”
“No one gets into Wolfie’s with out filling out the paperwork.”
Nurse White knows that I have no idea why I am here or what this place is. It is just a little game she plays to amuse herself since there really isn’t much else to do. Everyone who walks through those doors belongs at Wolfie’s even if they don’t seem to belong anywhere else. Nurse White watches as each new visitor tries to figure out what to write and get a little internal smirk as they wonder why they are writing in the first place.
After I have scribbled some nonsense on the form Nurse White says that I may enter and points me to the small white door behind her that somehow I never seemed to notice until she pointed it out.
April 15, 2009
Come as You Are, Open all Night
Insane-i-tarium and Bar-B-Que
Part I: At first sight:
Another Friday night looking for some party that a friend of mine told me might be happening somewhere around here. The directions were a little sketchy, but it was either look for the party, beer, and hopefully women, or stay at home and debate whether the Victoria’s Secret catalogue was publicity or porn. Lord knows I’ve had that debate far too many times. Bent glass tubes with blue glowing gas telling me that this was Wolfie’s. The sign for some reason brought me out of my mind and made me want to stop. I was surrounded by the chaos of flashing lights and neon — liquor stores, by the hour hotels, cigarettes and painted ladies. Out of all of this I notice Wolfie’s. The blue light tinted the two white doors of the entrance and I noticed in small black letters Come as You Are, Open All Night, Insane-i-tarium and Bar-B-Que. I had to check this out.
April 14, 2009
Meaning of Life
Yes, it is possible to have too much bacon.
April 13, 2009
The Start of Something
the early worm isn’t so lucky
as it is gobbled up at the crack of dawn
by the bird who shit on my windshield
what a way to start a day
bird shit on the windshield
and the wipers just streak the shit
all of which I find so fucking funny
that I laugh so hard that I blow booger snot
out my nose all over the steering wheel
it is not even 7 am and I’m not even out of my driveway
and the day is already bird shit and booger snot
the only thought worse than backing out of the driveway
and getting on with the day
is going back to bed
back to the bitch I married
my first love but not my only
April 12, 2009
Chicago Style Women
Bone white woman quietly wanting for sun
Brown born woman, fast Spanish, and a big smile
Bronze woman flirting, laughing, such a good time
Thick thighed woman layered, bundled, and ready
Pixie sticked woman showing capri ankles
Flared pant hipster in vintage thrift shop treasures
Dark curly
Long, brown, straight
and a razor cut
Some made up
Some pale faced
and some winter blushed
It’s good to be back
April 11, 2009
Excuses
My apologies for not writing sooner,
but, you see, my cat ate my poems.
She must have been hungry,
I can’t think of any other reason.
I bet they were delicious.
There were some real good ones in the bunch.
Maybe even prize winners.
Such a shame.
What’s that you say, I don’t own a cat, I don’t even like cats?
Well, now you know why.
