lyniks tale

(The beginning of )
a novel
by
e. bradford

Lynik’s Tale
“memories are shades of colors you, in any given moment, choose to recall them in….”

It’s as if it were liquid velvet were dribbling down my flabbergasted mulloot of a bourbon sponge, its sweet, hot goodness enough to make Aphrodite dance to the nectar of new gods in new times, gods who feigned no allegiance, gods who were, in and of them selves, sure, pure and haute couture.

I swiped the booze off my brow with my sleeve and we shimmied our way from the long, white, stretched out kitty caddy, the drizzle dusting the mohair of my jacket in a glisten-y shimmer; from arms length with a mental smile, Savanna’s mink stole bristled briskly at me in the mist’s moist and juicy opulence…so sweet it smelled, so fine the mist, it was as if you were meant only to inhale it’s pureness, its simple chemistry swooning you away into a time and a place where there is just a moment….and then, when its all perfect, just in that moment, you hear your name, you hear the sounds, feel the jeetering bodies swarming, surrounding, engulfing you in the bask of their glory…and you there, still recovering from the epiphanic brush with love, chaste, torture then nature that paints all problems a shade of solitude that you can cocoon into’s embrace, that you can actually dream of sleeping with yourself at night with, that engulfing and total comfort known only to infants and dopamine desperados…

Savanna’s dress, under her stole, was a platinum shimmer and all eyes stood tall before the walking mermaid, her aurora intoxicating, camping out in the olfactory that leads to that lovely pineal gland, eating away at all of the souls soles, making helter skelter swelter and wonder what was what, who was a cindy-loo-hoo-hoo, why stars twinkled…and why smelly cheese smells better than stinky socks…

Flutes of bubbles arrived immediately, Savanna giving me a flute and then that sweet, sweet double cheeked kiss meaning, “gonna go and check this place out my pet”…and me, carried off and away to the far away place that only champagne has the “way” of transporting folks, the warmly uplit room softening even the hardest and highest of the high-brows and I then wondered if Sven (Steven Stevensen, Sven for short…. had cruel, cruel parents) would bounce up as usual in a Egyptian cotton myriad of flowing elegance, his gay grace somehow undaunted and unabashed into wherever he may have meandered.
I noticed a very small clock, very high up, on a very tall wall, its time stuck on the hour of 5:05, I had no idea why it was insidious to me at the time, yet, to this very day I avoid the very moment at every given chance, to the point where I set an alarm at 5:04 and 17:04 so I may otherwise occupy my time, my mind or my end.

“anozzzer flute ovf zee vidow sir?” with mirth, this humble and well attired servant enquired.

hunh…

(I’m deaf in one ear and I was starting to feel pretty good by now, all Cheshire cat grinning and feeling like I had 9 lives…..)

“vould you kare fur anover glahss ov baubbles”

yes, I heard! So, careful those….they, well, they just might do you in! BEWARE!!!
I NEED more champagne?
Like the tux by the way…

“champagne revill ZZZeeeeeeeerrrrrrr” (with all the lilt at the end, the way a fruity little swiss chocolatier in a penguin suit would sound)

absolutely geeves.
shhhhhh, quite said xanax
ALL INBREDS! GET ME OUT OF HERE NOW SCREAMED anxiety
what eventually popped out was,
why not give me an extra flute in the event later you are too busy or I meet a lady in desperate need of zee baubles mein freund….

His disdain and contempt for me were either imagined or swollen by the flowing black sewage of long black gowns with matching gloves, men named Greco and Roman with Grecian formula hair-do’s doing their sing-song, and me wondering what the hell I was doing there in the first place……I put my tongue in check, recalling exactly why I was there and, albeit never enjoying the torture of a watch, somehow always knew what time it was at any given time.

It was not 5:05, yet in a home of this finesse, the clock should not lie, now should it….

As silent as a Chinese sonnet,
as errant
and fumbled
as a girl trying to figure out how to insert her first tampon,
her mother
a memory from years gone by,
her father,
reluctant to intrude,
a dark purple and blue flash of chaos began…and then, the handshaking, oh the handshaking, as if they were pumping my hand to keep my, (or their more likely), heart pumping the dark blue oil (it turns red upon contact with air they say from blue bloods) that runs the homo-supine machine, vampires apparently live in death on such juice, Hollywood, a meek at best attempt to really crucify the fables and lore of years gone by...
Suddenly I was the serendipitous Snuffalufagus, bigger than any 500 pound elephant could be right there at the beginning of a night of consensual, mutually and increasingly more flatulent, ugly, greasy shoe shining…and it was then that…
I was swarmed with the quickness of a swami, a mystic, a seeer who had just completed a trick of lights and mirrors, there they were, all of them, rushing, pushing like some tormented sea against its own desperate rocks, its creation and demises entirely wrought from eons of keeping up with the Moon’s turgid actions.
In my mind I envisioned them all running about, as if all their conversations had gone desperately wrong and that, whatever they said, no matter what it was, released all the skinny, secret skeletons in the closets yearning to skittle out of the over xanaxed on bubbles…..pure chaos, fluid, bluish into white and without a single body ever moving…
Whoooaaaa……I reeled a bit and got a grip, almost losing one of the flutes of bubbles, that sort of alcohol abuse being totally unacceptable in the world of the world of champagne….its as if to lose the bubbles, is to lose all the soul of the champagne, its creator, the soil in which the grapevines were spawned and grew and the toils it took to get to you flute…murder has been committed over less…
I felt as if I had just stood up too fast, a demon silently licking his saran wrapped chops leered in the not too far off distance…
Whoooa man….okokokokokok………Zeke, easy Zeke …..come Zeke, that’s it, easy buddy, good easy buddy come back here yeah Zeke c’mon man, yeah good good ……rubbing my eyes, hearing everything and all things until the total greatness of sound actually transcended into silence in only that way mixing Wild Turkey, a little high grade dope and champagne could do, had me on my heels…..
Ok
Ok
I can do this…….
Stand up straight
Get a soda water with lime….
Everything’ll be kosher as Ramadan with papadum man……
Nothings ever just that little bit easier when you need it to be, recalling my breakfast from that morning; cookies with milk for breakfast, the former of the two loaded with hash and ganja, that had kept me lofty all day, my writing turned to painting turned to my chess board to the quizzical sounding oboe...
oohhhh boy…..

I had to get outta there and quick…(the voice of Golam hissed dubiously loud but in inner minds wavelength to me….stupid cookiepuss forgot all about the gala this evening and has been immersed in a stoner’s worst nightmare), this one of the many that include brightly lit areas full of people who don’t give a shit about the answers to their polite, standing dinner conversations…hobbits one and all, with a few trolls thrown in for good measure)
This schnoodling and knoodling sent me from peace to piss then paranoia like passing a kidney stone, do not pass go, do not collect $200…
And that’s when the first hairdo (a very tightly swirled blonde bufont by the way) from the Black Sea of evening gowns with pearls and long gloves showed up at my side, virtually floating as one on the Balkan waterbody would suggest she would…
“daaaaaaaaaaahlingk, you look simply faaaaabulous tonight…… I am a sadistic, saffron headed, anorexic wearing an expensive evening gown and uncomfortable shoes” (she looks like eva gabor in her elder years, still regal, lacking the panache of youth, donning more pancake powder as a base to recreate her once possessed and now lost amazing graces, a snowboarders dream deeper and thicker than going deep powder tree skiing down her cheekbones, the steep drop off, board gripped and into the bowl that is the recessed jowl, launching off liposuction filled lips into infinity’s bliss of the moment)

hidey ho….

“my husband thinks I like the lesbian thing but actually I’m blowing Raul the water delivery man.”

yes, I agree, I do look fabulous

“I knew you would”

Of course you did (flat without disdain)

hows that whole gardener thing working out for you anyhow? Or was it the pool? Something with water I AM certain, no?

“Oh you are always the comedian aren’t you….what ever on earth are you talking about”

You know me, ever playful….off to the gents, it’s been a pleasure…

“The pleasure was all mine daaaaaaaaaaahlingk”

Of course it was…and it was then I realized that…..














…cow shit trumps horse shit…

…and in a flash, my mind wandered and I was laying in a sunlit field of green green grass that was licking and slaking its new found boon of human fleshes smaller, less noticeable delicacies, the lavish flauntings impressing me just enough to keep it to myself….it was as if the earth itself were giving me a full body massage and I wished I had been transported to Big Sur, I wished I was on mushrooms, eating them right off the patty’s on which they grew, the fodder of contemporary life a boring substitute for the over indulged and whelpishly wealthy, me, an observer, a veritable parasite, feeding off their bloated sense of importance which seemed to swell in size, a tide of penguins and expensive hairdo’s with pearls and long black gloves that looked like it would wash away my field of psychedelic indigence and indulgence, sharing many of the same letters, giving me a moment in time to reflect…
In the immediate distance I heard a Brit of a woman, sounding the part of an old British school marm, scold a small child, my guttural instinct to drink my potato made vodka martini until it was gone and shove it where it belonged, which was onto the tray of a waiter who was cordially doling out said martinis when it happened…
“Good Lord….”I thought to myself (and most likely said aloud), certainly falling upon the deaf ears of the continually inundated that are the supposed elite,
their worries,
of course,
being greater than those of the hapless poor,
the bestricken,
the ones who,
after losing it all,
left grace behind for a bottle,
a drug,
a prostitution of their id, ego or super-ego that,
had the callously and flatulently wealthy,
in their aberrance,
only taken time to shun their distinctions of grace
of feeling
the gutters they crave,
the fear they wish wickedly to taste,
but…
they don’t sleep in those alleys
they don’t sleep in those gutters of life,
they only find their sage-like haven is no more than a façade,
their dreams only dreams,
within which their possibilities were unlimited
and yet apathetically do nothing
this
their folley
the wealth that breeds superiority from stupidity
into their souls
the limited experience of privilege without knowledge,
regardless of their studies,
fancies or verbal flatulations,
their chapsticked ass kissing,
nose in the bum
nudging background into their purgatorial perineum laden
verbally banal vomitoriums,
my ears
an unwilling trough into which their casually flagrant disregard sloths through on guttural insecurities,
their tongues a forked feather opening the dams of their intoxicated and heinous smacked-ass’ed ness,
then, without warning,
my ears perked…
the beautifully sexy,
inviting
non-chalant jazz of Grant Green
light
sardonic
and a time lost only to those who are too ignorant to listen ,
the music wasted on the lecherous fiends with feigned charisma,
smiles
and worst of all,
bogusly admonishing their own, self serving benevolence that is the contemporary American clutching desperately to a dream that has died over the past 50 years,
baby boom kids now grown into
domineering narcissicists that could give a shit
about artist,
about county
about love
and yet are so seemingly self absorbed
forgetting all the aborted
demolished
that they must invent themselves through piracy,
greed
and,
the worst of all,
degradation and theft of original ideas
that they only pimp out to loose ended, inept shylocks,
shylocks whom refute golam for glam,
for substance over style,
for integration over integrity (is that so bad?).
and
what I see, here in this moment,
is their “always”
its overrunning what beauty before them lies,
be they not so selfish of time, whim nor moment.
Love, aspiration, desire and pain that they might even have taken time to read as opposed to hitting that switch on the idiot box….reading death of a salesman or the rosy crucifixion…sexus, nexus, plexus…..father and son to some of America’s most famed and timely literature, along with many others of course…to try and see just what other people really were or thought…and why did they not?
The topical, oral fodder of it all bounced me from goof to goon, from tool to cool, from padagonia to paranoia…and I, in my best dress of the day, could give a shit less at that moment, as Savanna was again by my side (she was a part of me and I loved her dearly) after making her rounds, and everything was Hollywood fabulous, and with that, just after five pm on this day was the first day that I first saw and came to know, looking beyond that scolding old woman and child, that..


















…Lynik….

…was not tall, not short, about 5’5”, 120 pounds, with a most deliciously amazing hip charm that old poets from all walks of life, men and women alike, wrote about. Figures like hers, the infinitely perfect and natural absence of lines, the supple, sure and sultry breasts, nipples perfect archers targets that said “want milk” to the lactose intolerant, pouty in that exclusive way known only to the bottoms of babies and the top of that white silk she this evening donned with such casual air, knowing that what it covers, it also covets, baits and immerses you in a pure moment of inexplicable lack of thought,
supple form taking the reigns from the mind
careening slow and fast,
lazy and rough,
long and hard
into her breasts embrace,
full immersion….
the only way…
scalding was to be in proximity
about to boil was to have her gaze
to boil, a man really had to be a man
to be the rooster plunged into her boiling water and keep his plume and
his cockscomb in tact was a difficult snow flower to pluck from China’s highest mountain..

Lynik
I do not know her name yet…
I do not know her…
I do not know her but I must…
That smile…ohhhhhhhh
That smile…
that increased the chances of global warming
that alluded in brightness
that heaven and hell just have different colored disco lights
that was ear to ear,
that was hand woven,
slowly nurtured,
hand crafted brilliance
embellishing silent sonnets
into the lushness
of blossoms ready to explode, of cannons ready to bloom

The pure, dark cocoa of her silken skin, caressing my eyes from across the room enticed me to melt bitter chocolate over a double boiler then drizzle it on her beautiful nipples,
Then
slow,
slow,
slow but firmly working my tongue around them
enjoying the thought that she could make chocolate milk
that was more transcendental than tasty….

I am officially staring when I hear my name from what seemed to be very far away

I am officially engorged….Jesus……

My wife’ll kill me

“She already has” says the demon

go fuck yourself

“hey man, you asked, I told, you don’t like it, that’s on you”

She’d eat me alive.

ahhhh, I had forgotten what that felt like…..
I yearned to know her name,
hear the riot of flowers* her smile whispers,
the soft, low moans of physical and spiritual love….

She was like an ice cube on the underside of my testicles, forcing me to stand tall and long at attention,
as if nothing else existed in the world but that…..

“And you know this’

And she’ll eat me alive

“Absolutely. Walk away my man, you are a fool to not, and if you pursue, you are a mental goon with no morals, self value, sense of what you already have and a narcissistic buffoon”

I silently agreed with my mind yet still had to, there were no choices, the air was rife with her scent, not a drop of perfume on her, nature using my nose against me and re-affirming my self indulgent manliness…

I could wait no longer and as I approached….

I felt the flute of bubbles melting in my hand as I approached her, my libido running on natures ether, testosterone and the intoxication of pure, raw heat, its rush burying, burning, buying my nervous system in a blush that turned my glass of the widow to Les Fleurs du mal** …the closer I got, the harder I got…it was like Viagra….
on crack…
and I was glad, really glad to feel the rush again…Lynik, a vaulted reality to which I naively believed I had the only key to, Savanna eyeing my saunter, a small pyre of jealousy’s smoke from across the room wafted my way in time to distract my gaze for just that moment that made me understand...



















…Why I love alligator shoe-smiles…

…more than I had loved any other type of shoe in the past. I mean, some say “a shoe’s a shoe” and other people say “ a shoe IS a shoe”. I loved that my alligator shoes, always slightly smiling up at me as good alligator shoes will after the getting to know you, grinned so. The shoes know they have been taken care of, as in that never neglected way, and I had a particular fondness for the white ones I wore this evening, the tiled white toothy ness a constant and sophomoric source of entertainment with each glance, like fart contests to ten year old kids in an odd, childhood fart battle.
Alligator shoes always had looked teeth-y to me since I was a kid in the 70’s, I was a great deal shorter then, loads of weirdness at hip leveled, short skirted Thanksgivings at my aunt and uncle’s house, so many of my cousins and their dates blooming teenagers reeking of testosterone and estrogen and the unknown and unknowable until they could break free, I, at eye level on their hips abyss of short skirts and tight polyester slacks, the latter worn by teenage guys where, once maybe, maybe at best a broken virgin before my time, I realized why I have always had an affinity since for short skirts, never did dig the slacks though...

Go figure..

For all of this, I am able to accept the kaleidoscopic lens of life’s myopic eye, of how an alligators jaws just open with seemingly no muscular agitation… and they always seem to smile at whatever it is they are about to consume, in only the way an alligator can…
Engulfing
Throttling veins coarsing just that much harder
Then,
rolling over and over over overoverovereeovaryoverand over again
until it slides gentle and quick into its watery hallow
where it may rest,
yeah,
I guess that’s why they smile so much…
They just are (a quality most humans lack I must add)

And as I watched the little black kid that shined them before I took the subway, the little black kid who had whiter teeth (which I complimented him on, keeping with good grooming and your teeth are important I told him, dental hygiene being as paramount and tantamount as washing the dishes to avoid dysentery), than my shoe-smile ever would have,
his smile was a gift in an otherwise glib situation and I was glad I stopped for the shoe shine, tipped the youngster more than necessary and, as he cracked a huge grin, I smiled back at him with the only kind of smile a white man in alligator shoes could give…
big and breezy

All of this running through my head, I was slowly gliding towards this spring breeze in female form, oblivious to my surroundings, my initial daze now had taken a slip to the left, my spirit caught in the rapture of crossing the room into her opiate gaze that was more an embrace than a glance or some mild flirt..it had me deeply enchanted.
She had no idea that she held this intoxication over me (hell, she didn’t even know me nor I her) and I began to do a little hob-knobbing and elbow rubbing through the Black Sea to make my way over to my new found enchantment…

I also never saw the bump in the proverbial road before me as the alligator tip of my left shoe smiled, then bit into the snag in the rug (were there even rugs in this place?), and I found myself being pushed by Sir Isaac Newton himself into the abyss, and all I could hear in my head was…..

Stop
Drop
N
Roll

So I did, sort of….stopping was not happening, gravity already changing my gait to stumbling…

Oh shit….and…

….into the chasm between her beautiful brown breasts I plunged, suddenly and only for a second, I teetered on the edge of a volcano, and quickly saw myself, finally breaking through it all and being “kink ov dee vorld” as we toppled prone and confused onto the wood floor
I rolled an alligator roll
and rolled
and rolled to roll and live…
OH what a feeling to have her under me,
her shoulders and ass pressed against the hardwood floor,
her back arched like a swan being teased from behind and craning its neck in such an arch that it defies imagination.

I was startled from my transcendent tangle when I was addressed in a gruff manor by a very large sounding homo erectus….

“what the fuck are you doing” (irate as a starved pit bull)

startled and confused I came up with “pandas!!!!... what?…..frnff?…..hunh?”

“get the hell off of her!”

My hard-on broke through the buttons of my batik slacks and buried his head smack dab in the middle of her honey pot, and in that quick second before I realized she wasn’t wearing any panties, it dawned on me that I was suddenly Winnie the Pooh and I had stuck more than my hand in someone else’s honey pot.
I turned my attention to her deep, almond eyes, supply encased in brown, high cheekbones, her dress, a shimmer out of eyes corner, her turquoise on leather strop around her neck calling out to me…..i couldn’t resist myself any longer, I had to know, was this really and truly love at first site…

I didn’t move a muscle, looked her deeply in the eye and asked her,

“do you want me to get off?”

and then it happened………….

she laughed
she laughed so hard it began to rain
she laughed so hard that hunger was no longer a world wide problem
she laughed so hard that I had fallen onto love and into it all at the same time
and then, something else happened….
she laughed so hard she came
she came so hard I came….and as just our hips were somehow soldered together, she felt it….
hard,
thick,
deep,
real

I backed up a bit, still well and deep inside her and he saw the glisten on my stiff, pink and quite beautiful prick (as I have been told) and I suddenly was very very aware that the bottom of my stomach was telling me something….

the gorilla was pissed off and hulk wanted to smash me to bits

all I could muster was…

the sum of two holes does not make it two equal halves!

Lynik, lying under me with an evil sort of whispered out her very first words to me…

“promise you won’t stop?”

I fell in love even deeper…

I didn’t even care what she didn’t want me to stop doing,
it could have been cannibalism,
it could have been murder
It could have been shooting smack…
I was smitten, a rare male quality

I wanted to sign up to not stop, no matter what the cost, repercussion or last glimpse of enlightenment…

I thought the ape was going to go berserk

And I was rolling like an alligator…

I really just wanted to put Woody Woodpecker away (woodpeckers have no conscience in the affairs of pecking I’ll have you know) and slink away to a corner far far away, with lots n lots of self validation…away from all scrutiny save my own….but….things don’t always work out in the fantasyland that is the human mind….

Her unsolicited confession of lascivious joy did nothing to quell his anger at my errant, accidental and fundamentally desired slide-in
she didn’t squirm to pip him out of that socket either…
she laid there and gave me a few staunch hip grinds until she came again,
losing her breath
and all other automatic functions in that same moment as I,
as I,
as I lost another hard rush,
the whole room going a bit darker,
the sound of nothing sweeping through our collected senses,
then lighter and lighter and more light until the moment had passed,
and there we lay,
her wedding gown a flutter,
my wet prick wearing an alligator shoe-smile sliding out of her…

I was transported, delighted, confused and confounded……
I had just accidentally fallen into someone’s wife

The irony of it all began to make me giggle again when the baboon grabbed me by the scruff as only someone who beats animals would, ejected me (head first of course) through the side fire exit doors by his own two, gruff, crusty, angry hands, and I then thought

“This is gonna hurt” and, as I had had no time to put the trunk back in the elephant, I came again, twice as hard and long, but this time like a donkey at a Tijuana “ancient cultural dance” show….loosing enough to sprattle the ground with millions upon millions of my unborn, much like the teat that has been waiting in vain for release…..my cum, on the stairs, the ground, my face and silk shirt as well sharing the dirty back alley digs fleur de odor……dry cleaners have yet to find a cure for this cum on the silk shirt with the exception in broken English from Cantonese dry cleaners “you go buy anudder one”

As I lay on the slimy gutter that was the back alley, I thought it odd how his shoes, looking like ice cream sandwiches, looked…

Then he approached and it then raced through my mind that I was about to have a super sized sundaes from this goons ice cream shoes…

how odd I thought as the first careened past my head…..

As I lay there, stunned and stupefied, I watched him slip…the big mamoon flipping up so hard on my slickery leftovers, his head, sounding like a hard, brown coconut being cracked with a big, ruddy, rusty cleaver as it struck the ground…hard….

I was speechless...

He was speechless…

then I realized

he was motionless…

“This can’t be good, my wife’s gonna kill me…”
All this seemed like a bad thing
I wanted to get out of there
Quickly

Wondering briefly just how much of this Savanna had been exposed to and if she was on the phone to the divorce lawyer, an ambulance, her travel agent or getting the limo driver….

I then passed out and into a dream (narcolepsy being my bain) and I, with my prick schlumped to the side, my elbow atop the nose of Lyniks fallen newly wed husband, was as content as a well painted portrait with a crooked Mona Lisa smile.

People began to gather and fuss about, my flaccid prick still flopping around like a bunny held by it’s back legs. I was attempting to make as dignified a “standing up” as I could, and I then too, unknowingly, stepped in some of the rivulets from the toss, lost my footing and fell onto my downed aggressor, his face an unfortunate landing ground for the elbow that was trying to protect my head from hitting the concrete.

But, I suppose that’s alligator shoe-smiles for you, they leave you….
…dazed and confused….

…from a tumultuous evening, in my narcoleptic slumber I heard the deep throated and raucous whisper of a laugh of the Cherokee in her and knew I would have to die at some point just for being with her….
and it was alright…
I was content to accept fate into my life…religion, politics, and advertising had all left me with an insatiate feeling of plump arrogance and diminished ego from my 70’s childhood, before people super-sized everything, before being a corporate whore was quickly becoming the worlds newest “oldest” profession, before my dog knew how to eat coconuts…and somehow I knew that the rollercoaster was now open for riding and I had the front seats AND the rear seats when and if I wanted. I love the deadly sins…..they make life so much more colorful by their innate subjugation over the watered weeds of our vested, encouraged and intimate greed that all institutions (especially family and parents) try to instill as early and easily as possible, while somewhere in my head I kept hearing resident mockery…..

“put that in yer hasenpfeffer n jump down the rabbit hole”
……and theme music, the fucking theme music…
it just kept playing over and over and over again,
the world a queered blur,
now recalling a conversation I overheard just before the debacle at the wedding reception.
I thought to myself
I must be coming out of a fit, ….
what the fu….
awww man, wha, ha, what the fu………

I was just realizing just how bad this must look when there was an explosion that raged into a huge fire at the tents under which they were doing sheesh kebab, shawarma and gyros in pita, the gas tanks ignited, each one blowing one by one, shredding people, the place and things in every direction. It was one of the most horrific things I have ever seen

(Stop drop n roll)
I don’t ever think
Nor did I ever think
I would live to see the day
That something so benign
Was just the first last reality
They would never acknowledge
(stop drop n roll)
I watched them burn
Real,
Real twitchy there for a bit
Then
Well,
Most of them hit the dirt in under twenty seconds,
still flailing out of fear more than pain….
(stop drop n roll)

I lifted my elbow from this guys face, got up from the ground, experiencing foggy, hungry urges and in desperate need of a shower…

Our long, white sleek kitty caddy pulled up and I was quickly whisked away from the scene, badly beaten and again, indebted to the diligence of my beautiful Savannah………..

We are finally gone, and we are now alone….
home…
very very dirty….so dirty
must shower…
very very clean….so clean, so clean, so clean,clean,cleanclean the clamouring in my head seemed ceaseless until I chose a rabbit for dinner and prepared him for cooking. I chose a nice, big, fat legged Coney I had been saving for a special occasion, this evening being just that special, the rabbit, my opiate of sorts,
used, unraveled saran wrap lying around casually…

With my left hand I picked him up out of the pen from the backyard, closed it, and swift and hard, slapped the Easter Bunny on the back of the head, its body immediately going limp, its brain no longer transmitting electrical impulses. I grabbed the bucket, bled him out upside down by the neck, took the pelt, eviscerated him, ran him under a goodly amount of water from the spigot and went to the kitchen. I stashed the Easter Bunny and certain parts of its innards away from the dogs reach and went about taking a shower.
My love Savannah understood my affinity for eating bunnies every full and no moon of each month and knew tonight would be a bit different, being betwixt moons and opted to join, as she will from time to time.

Initially she believed I just really liked eating rabbit, but over time, women being creatures that notice habit more strongly than men many times, brought her curiosity up over a nicely glazed saddle of rabbit, wrapped in bacon, the rear leg melting right off the bones and into a soft ragout of chanterelle, thyme gnocchi and swiss chard, the truffle aioli warming atop the rabbit, teasing the nostrils upon first whiff…

“Ahm, Ehzey, I couldn’t help notice how accomplished a chef you are”

just came with the turf I suppose…

















…“What turf might that be, darling?”….

Culinary arts, literature and painting all were introduced early in childhood, as were love, compassion, generosity and respect, all meted out without measure, a rather supple upbringing to say the least for Ezekiel to many. His mother, a young, handsomely beautiful Chilean woman named Seronata La Serena, who’s strands of hair seemed to wave both independently of themselves and yet harmoniously like the sea all at once, who’s eyes, dark as the moment before waking, eyes which wept honey for those less fortunate and who’s eyes glistened sunbeams into the hearts of the ill and tortured, who, having left the city of Santiago after the sudden death of her family in a bus accident (they had been traveling down coast when the bus lost control and went east of the highway) had yearned for a young boy to raise on the steppes of the Chilean Andes…
one who was nimble and quick
quick enough even to catch a rabbit..
a hare on free run with out traps in the woods…

And so it came to pass that Seronata La Serena, decided to bring dreams to life and prior to sharing a discreet yet wildly passionate evening with Pablo Escondito de la Villa Lobos, (a pseudonym due to some indiscretions during the Second World War lore tells us), began to prepare herself to have a child of her own, out of wedlock, with only a small purchase of land from her family and all that the woods and the steppes along the Andes provided to bring a truly noble man into an otherwise ignoble and crass outside world, into a country who’s motto brazenly informed all that lived or entered

Por la razón o la fuerza
"By reason or by force"

Por la razón o la fuerza
"By reason or by force" has a nicer ring to it, although more noble in intent, prone to be less successful…

Over time they both dreamed of world recognition for his feats as he caught the coneys daily, then nightly creating a new way in which to prepare them for his mother for dinner from what he had forayed, through which they developed their own motto:

Por la fuerza o la razón
"By force or by reason"

Things just aren’t always what they seem to be
(Who’s homes was razed in the Caravan of Death in 1973?),
rather they are believed
And she believed she knew pain from loss
She wanted to bring good into the world and would yet,
until the moment,

when she was giving birth
all I could hear was…

All I know, is that it was loud
Loud enough to wake me
Loud enough to wake the gods
Silent enough
Where they couldn’t see…..

The door opened, light peeking beyond the shape, intimidating my sleepy space, giving shadow vicious, leering eye lashed shadows, the dust meandering in the glow, the stench, the guilty glory of one who loves and embraces and wants no control over what is to come. Its dark ,deep, weeping and weak madness, a small monster in a real big closet, nestled in hollow shouldered lament with no affection or recourse…

And it came to pass that Ezekiel de la Seronata de Serena came into the world and, many moons later came one day to realize…

To be continued