Endless Nameless

The solid concrete exterior consumptive, pornographic. I wake up in a neon blur, dirty city , bright dirty city. The taste in my mouth is sour from chain-smoked cigarettes, nothing special just Marlboro's, and weak coffee. Its too late for the bus to be full, but three people accompany me. For some innane reason we have formed a relatively small rectangle. I am feeling claustrophobic. I count the stops with incrementing despair. Not that I loathe going home. I just really don't care to go anywhere. Stop, get off, no goodbyes, not even a glance in your direction. The unity of the rectangle broken by a proclivity. It doesn't matter, not really, the excessively tan girl to my right smelled of vodka and semen, and I was feeling claustrophobic anyway. From here I could close my eyes and walk to my flat, but I keep them open to maintain form. We all need to maintain form. Maybe you could live a simple life maintaining form.I doubt it.



It's really very simple, ten steps across the parkway, a brick wall red and rustic crumbling and decaying, turn left, take 4 steps, turn right ( the tenants never close the door), I never close the door, walk up 11 steps, then three long strides to the front of a antique green door turn left once again, then I am Home. You are home. It's really not such a torturous task but everyone hates going home, everyone hates going anywhere. I live alone as a matter of convenience. Usually the flat is empty, spare the spartan desultory array of furniture. Of course it wasn't empty anymore, but to my surprise, if you had to call it something, it wasn't empty before. Tea is on the table, earl grey, why earl grey? The tea set is black and sterile, holy even. God greets you with tea. But why earl grey? The tea strainer is sitting pristinely over the cup, I feel like I am in an Ingmar Bergman film. Where are you death, rook to B5? Everything is too perfect. How did she find me? Her lips in front of mine thin, perfectly shaped, pale and thirsty. I kiss her really as a matter of convenience. It probably doesn't mean anything else. I sit across from her breathing slightly heavier than usual, she had gripped me quite firmly. Her black hair frozen and perfect reflects the dim light from the naked bulb in the kitchen. "Did you miss me?" Casually maybe without meaning it, I respond " Sure." I probably did. She smiles like a puppy sated with its morning meal, she was always so easy to please. Her eyes one purple and one blue would shrink slightly as her face widened into a grin, I wonder, is she really happy. " Do you love me?" she always asked me this upon her returns. I always hate to let people down. "I'm not really sure, I mean I haven't given it much thought" Her smile only widened " you really haven't changed thats why I love you." "Everywhere I go people are striving for something waiting for something to change gorging themselves on dreams and depriving themselves of life.""Really you know the secret of life. Life in its simplest form, never goes anywhere." It really seemed like misology to me, but I didn't want to disappoint her. She continued, " When I was In England I slept with this crazy hipster and you wouldn't believe how incomplete sex with him was, 100% in his head and 0% in his cock; Living in your head is dangerous." We went into bed that night. Afterwards I asked her the ratio of cock to head. She thought it over biting her thin lips and letting her hair fall away exposing her delicate ears, then she responded," 50:50 is like falling in a dream only to wake up and realize you are firmly planted on your bed, constantly exhilarating and comforting." She fell asleep shortly after, her breathing was so smooth and tranquil I wanted to puncture her lungs. NOt in a violent manner, but just to maintain form. Nothing should be so serene . Maybe living in your head really is dangerous.




I don't sleep well when she is home. I can't dream. After laying long enough to see the coercive red of the sun light the ground directly beneath the the sour green curtains, I get up and make a cup of tea. Across the hall some one is going to work. I walk out onto the veranda, and take out a cigarette. She wakes up, if you want to know her name it is Stormy. She walks onto the veranda naked and happy, then she kisses me passionately. Really it just makes me feel uncomfortable, but I don't want to disappoint her.




She left shortly after that, clothed this time. Maybe she was going to another lover or off to central America in search of yolteotl, but I didn't want to bother her with the superfluities, questions pregnant with the lack of reason for asking. I am not sure whether I cared or not anyway.




Back inside I see a pack of cloves she left behind. I open the box and look to see how many are left, 3, and everyone has a stained with a faint trace a lipstick (she had always held cigarettes in her mouth to signify distress.) I didn't matter, I was happy I had a smoke. As I lit up and poured myself a class of mineral water. I tried to remember where my pack of marlboros had gone. The only image I could conjure was Stormy's coquettish smile and her falsetto goodbye.
Outside it was growing warmer, and I could hear cicadas beginning their symphonie de cacophony starting at adagio and subtly evolving into allegro. I shut the windows and the shades, isolating myself. Comforting myself. Television held no specific appeal to me at the time but then neither did a revolution. So, I turned the television on simply out of convenience or perhaps to preserve form. Are convenience and form really all that different? As the picture appeared there she was, miraculous in her simplicity, her hair pulled back only slightly, but that was enough to showcase her stunning ears perfectly shaped and pristinely delicate, yet so luminescent they ordered obeisance. I had told her my thoughts on this once, or maybe it was a thousand times, I can't really be sure. She had just laughed it off, and spoke of Helen of Troy. Her mouth, perpetually in limbo between a smile of contentment and a smile of excitement slowly moved and the words registered only a few moments later. The color white is one that signifys purity, yet white is a paradox, in the west it symbolizes weddings in the east it symoblizes funerals and mourning. It has been said that the Memphisto, the perpetrators of countless revoltionary acts deemed heretical in the new northern democratic republic of America, require new recruits to sit for 4 days in a room completely of white. Her mouth striking and poised continued. " In the early 21 century the military conducted tests somewhat like the ritual of the Memphisto, using prisoners of war as their subjects. Many of the prisoners suffered acute schizophrenia and became increasingly violent, as a result. Shortly after the collapse of the the militaristic regime. The prisoners subjected to this treatment were sent to a mental institute from which they were never released. Some eyewitness reports tell horror stories of fanatical ravings and disturbing jerky movements during the attacks. Her soft brown eyes arresting with the slightest hint of blue blinked once then twice. That is it all from New Haven back to you at the studio. Then she was gone. My dead wife here then gone, in the blink of an eye. As if on cue the phone rang. I waited for three more rings, for no particular reason. Then picked up the phone. My wife, my dead wife's voice the one I had heard only a few moments ago spoke."Hello, Andrew it has been so long." Maybe I should have just let the phone ring walked away a never let anything happen. "Hi, Mary is that really you?" I didn't really need to ask. "Yes I have a note for you, may I come home?" For the slightest moment the question didn't make sense . Where was home? "Sure, I guess." A slight pause and then a question "Will you please make the drink you used to make for me the one with vodka and grapefruit juice." " A salty Dog " I asked. "Yes that's the one" The line went dead. I sat down. My head hurt, and my stomach felt unsettled. Then a few moments later I was making a salty dog for my dead wife. I didn't want to disappoint her.