everybody suspects it's just mild platonism

... but no... it's real love... is like that time when people... people were all in a line, waiting to exit the real swanks' protected enclosure... they were waiting for the iron door to open, so that now that it was a sunny morning they could get to the business district... to... to operate...

not one of them saying a word of rebuke... to the fucker... the fucker who kept on ramming Elzi...

I went behind him and... started strangling him... hard, hard, the nails of my right hand boring into his windpipe...

and he was smiling, the fucker... and I was smiling... and the people on the line... no effect whatsoever... just looking bored...

who probably was not smiling was Elzi... Elzi... under the straining body of the massive fucker...

... the smiling... his and mine... the smilings going on forever... the queue not moving at all... Elzi under his hardening hard-on... the extreme monstrous hard-on of a dying smiling brute...

the struggle... the struggle...

everybody who cared to think other stuff besides the business at hand... thinking probably what a mild pantomime... a harmless little bit of "happening" theater... a silly prank?

we had... we had entered the rich folk's compound under false pretextes... we had... we had gotten hold of an amphora... we had pissed in it... Elzi and I laughing all the time... nice white wine... and perfumed... n'est ce pas?

there was a fat important-looking burgher trying to enter then... we two fast behind him... pink as him if not pinker... and the doorguards mum... we showing... making a show of... the amphora and the very expensive wine inside... entering on behalf of the impressive bejewelled burgher... probably having a party tonight... needing such expensive select assorted wine... as that... that one we carried... our piss... sacred stuff, shit.

once inside... the burgher's feeling sick... he excuses himself... wraps himself with a blanket... starts... with scaring wheezings... on the lintel... dozing... while there appears who... his son...?

a muscle man... he tries the wine...


... calls us whores... that's not a proper wine for a... such a rich exquisite family as...

... he slaps me... the amphora breaks... it cracks, really... lets the sacred wine leak off... and...

he takes Elzi from behind... pierces her asshole...

... he's a jolly good fellow... he laughs and smiles while slapping the whores or buggering them... you get slapped or buggered willy-nilly... in spite of the poor protests...

... cruelly... cruelly, he was taking Elzi from the rear...

I went behind him and I started strangling him... he was retching... but smiling... and pumping... pumping in his death throes... pumping Elzi's asshole...

to our dingy whereabouts we retreated afterwards... two more insensitive money-grabbers added to the exiting queue... the brute's jizzm getting stale in Elzi's rectum...

hiking, she and I, down the creek, toward the bullet-riddled walls, the burning mattresses, the flee-ridden clothes, the... vice suburbs... home... where we hid for a while

applying remedies... I was... soft creams... to Elzi's rere... so tender... bleeding... I was smiling... as when the strangling had taken place... such a rewarding image now in my mind.



 

when did it happen?

ah, yes, I remember now... It happened when me and Elzi were in the bathtub and we were cavorting and enjoying ourselves, splashing and frolicking... when, unbeknownst to us, he had entered the room... like a bloody psycho...



the shouts... the fright...



he said, the fucker, said, sorry, I didn't mean...



but since that day my heart sputters, the patterns of its spitting and its bizarre pitter-patters are worrisome, and my brain... my brain has quit functioning as per regular...



and Elzi... Elzi had it worse... now and then me and the fucker go visit her in the crazies' asylum... but I've never allowed the fucker to be seen by her again...



his monstruos pate, imagine...



I only hope that someday Elzi's as well as me - who, pretty bad as I am, at least I'm better off that her, brain-wise, I mean...



so, I was going to add something, I had intended to say something deep, but explaining the reason of my slow going, neurons-wise, I've forgotten what... the... hell... I...



ah, yes, the shower and the great fright...



no, it wasn't that...



it was something else... else... Elzi... the commotion... the bathtub... the fucker excusing himself like the shit he is...



no... not there....

37. aboard - abort - aboard

from dusty platforms onto the shabby railway cars







my trips getting shorter

hardly begun

and done




my baggage as soon

nonexistent

not even a magazine at hand




can death

– ever the destination –

be too far now?