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The Hogs of Entropy 0501
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- Part 1, Chapter 1
Gnosis.
Physically relaxed, chemically collapsed, and psychically prostrate
before my own self, it came to me. Gnosis. Complete cognition.
Amazement. Thinking about it now, it seems like nothing, but these things
only hit us so often, so we tend to be amazed by them as they do. Total
understanding of all the mystical intricacies of myself, the world, God,
and everything. Gnosis. Catharsis.
I could never expect anyone to care, of course. And that's not an
accusatory statement, it's just factual. When I have a headache, I keep
my goddamned mouth shut about it, because I know nobody gives a rat's ass
how my head feels. Sure, they pretend to have sympathy for you, but
really all they're doing is thinking about how their own heads feel. It's
simple fact. Human nature. You can't blame men for being assholes.
There's too much tension in the world for all of us to be coping with
blame.
Anyway, that's just idle philosophy. It's not worth speaking
about. I have more important things to be writing about. No, I will not
attempt to explain or even describe the nature or form of my gnosis. I
know that would be nothing less than absurdly futile. What I am going to
describe is what I feel is the most interesting part: the circumstances
surrounding the gnosis. The story around it. The most useful way to
communicate something, after all, is through a story.
I should stop blabbering. I apologize, but we all know how a
psychicrevelation can turn a person into a blathering idiot for a few
days. We've all been through that embarrassment before. But on with the
story:
I was in a bar, on a Saturday night, numbing my mind out in a
little poorly lit booth in front of a bottle of rum which I had procured
from the bartender. About half of it had disappeared down my throat so far
that night. Things were working out quite well. A young couple with whom
I was not acquainted with was stuffed into the seat next to me, in this
booth, straddling each other, adjoined at the lips for at least half an
hour. Why they chose to express their passions for each other in such
close vicinity to my head in such an uncrowded bar, I do not know. I can
only assume that they got a kick out of it, somehow. I'm not too uptight
about that sort of thing, anyway. I was actually quite flattered that they
had selected me to rub up against. My only fear was that they would somehow
try to further involve me in their sinful play. That did not coincide with
my plans for the evening. My mind, as usual, was not in the right frame to
be thinking about passions or desire for any other person but myself.
These late nights alone in poorly-lit booths were certainly not
designated as possible preludes to sex. At least, not sex for me. I've
had an unfriendly relationship with humanity all my life, and have learned
not to take my chances with it. I loved once, and it was wonderful, but
for my own reasons, it is an experience which I will never attempt to
duplicate.
I reached out my left hand (the one not pinned down by the
passionate ones) and grabbed the neck of the bottle in front of me. My
next motion, of course, was the familiar pull of the vessel onto my lips
and its contents into my body. Down it went, and I don't know how much it
was, except that it was too much. Far too much. My eyes bulged as I
yanked the bottle away from my face, spilling a little (actually a lot) on
my shirt and then on the table as I slammed it down. I gagged and keeled
over a little as I felt the vomit start to boil inside my stomach. Much
too much. What was I doing drinking rum when I was this drunk, anyway?
Who was I trying to impress? Only myself, I suppose. Obviously not the
couple next tome, or the bartender, or God, or the dumb-faced waitress that
always bounced around this place, carrying expensive-looking cocktails to
expensive-looking people.
Jesus, was I going to puke? There's no way I could make it to the
bathroom, I'd be crawling on the floor, and crawling would just make me
puke faster. Had I really gone too far, even for myself? I had known
pain which dwarfed this wretched taste in my throat, but it had never
driven myself down to the level of a pathetic, vomiting drunk.
There were a bunch of thoughts that went through me, as I tried to
hold my stomach down. Those just mentioned were only a few of them. It's
always amazing to me how one can turn off his mind so effectively for so
long, and then, through a complete alcoholic haze and swarmed by such
chaos, have so many thoughts in his head, as if he were suddenly completely
sober. One would think that he would be reduced to raw instinct in such a
situation. And sometimes he is, but not always. Sometimes it's quite the
opposite. Very strange, I think. Alcohol is such a wonderful and
mysterious drug if it's applied in such a perfectly confused manner.
Anyway, that's when it happened. Gnosis. Ecstasy. The tragic
culmination of my evening. As the psychotic gagging subsided into mellow
burping, the usual revelatory swarm of thoughts left my head, and my mind
was annulled. The world glowed as it spun around my dizzy head. The
sinful couple was Adam and Eve, the bottle was the serpent, and I was God,
watching it all happen, unemotional, uninvolved, and yet responsible for it
all, like an uncaring father to an accidental son. My sick body and my
sick mind had dissolved into thin air. My veins conquered by rum and my
throat by bile, this moment was my sweet ecstasy. My gnosis.
And like that, I was changed. By alcohol, of all things. An
idiot's elixir. I was surprised, to say the least. But that was just a
peasant of a thought inside the kingdom my mind had become that night. I
stood up, slowly and wobbling, nodded goodbye to the bartender, and
walked/crawled out the door, down the sidewalk, and into my car. My
enlightened mind had decided to overrule my common sense, as it tends to
do sometimes, and my will to live wasn't speaking up, that's for sure. I
started the engine and drove, drunkenly, until I found myself driving by
some kind of forest. It looked like a good place to stop.
I parked the car in a little dirt clearing off the side of the road,
and walked home, to my clearing in the woods, and I started to dig myself
a hole in the ground. I didn't have a shovel so I just used my hands.
The dirt between my fingers felt soft, silky, amazing, my whole body still
in the shell of amazed ecstasy that the high dose of rum had strangely
brought me. Why was I digging myself a whole in the ground? It was my
grave. I had decided that I was going to lie in my own grave and die that
night, out there in the forest under the half-moon. It seemed like such a
beautiful thing to do. I would finally have done something worth being
proud of, and I would have died completely satisfied with my life.
Only, of course, I did not finish digging. I dug the grave about
11 feet deep, then passed out, face first in the dirt, prostrate before
the trees, the world, and God, who I was certainly not anything like.
Today is Sunday, and I cannot rest. This morning I woke up filled
with emotion, something I have not done in many months. And I'm sitting
in my own hand-dug grave, with a little notebook, writing, trying to make
sense of myself. Today, I feel things. I feel life. I feel human. I do
not like it, and I don't know how long it's going to last, but I do
believe that I am a better person because of it. This is the price I pay
to myself for wanting to believe in something, when I know that I should
not. This is the price of gnosis.
There is feeling now, but the ecstasy is gone. I've been living
inside a cold, uneasy afterglow of enlightenment. But all things
considered, I would say that it was a good experience. I wanted it, I
deserved it, and I am thankful for it. But it was an experience which I
will never attempt to duplicate.
[-----]
- Chapter 2
I feel that I've falsely implied that I've been enlightened,
somehow. I want to take that back.
Maybe I thought that I was finally enlightened, at some recent
moment, but that's just how it goes. That's just the aftershock of
tragedy. "Gnosis." It's inside my stupid head and I'll forget about the
whole thing pretty damned soon. Just as soon as I can scrape some money
together for another bottle tonight. No more bars, though. I'm promising
that to myself right now. Tonight, I'm drinking at home.
As my luck would have it, though, I don't really have a home. My
car, maybe, the El Camino with duct-tape over the window so the rain can't
leak and fall on my head at night. It's a place to sleep, and I'm usually
drunk enough to not mind the coldness. I wouldn't call myself a bum,
although I wouldn't mind being one. I'm just without a place to sleep for
a while. Three days ago, I was sleeping in my girlfriend's bed, curling
up close to her, being warm and loved. Three days ago, I could.
I forgot to mention that I pissed myself last night. Real fucking
genius, I know, real expert alcoholism from Mr. Tough Guy. Sitting in his
own fucking grave drenched in piss. The real tragedy about me pissing
myself is that I happen to be wearing my only set of clothes. I'm lucky
enough to be wearing black jeans, so the piss doesn't show all that much.
The T-shirt is white, but it didn't get too much piss on it, so I can get
by with it for a while. I feel that the underwear is totally soaked,
though, so I strip down, remove them, and throw them on the ground.
Before I put my jeans back on, I hold them up to my face to catch a whiff
and assess the damage.
Well, they reek. They fucking reek. I'm going to smell like piss
for a while until I figure out how to take care of this little mess I've
gotten myself into.
So this is the new me. The post-cognition me. I've got some
things to take care of today. First off, I have to stop smelling like
piss. Then, I need to start looking for a place to sleep and not freeze
to death. And after I fail at that, I need to score some alcohol for the
night. Time to take care of business. Get in fucking gear for Christ's
sake.
I don't think I like the new me very much so far. The new me just
spent the whole damned morning sitting in the dirt and philosophizing.
I use morning as a relative term, of course. It's probably
afternoon to most people. But I have no idea what time it is. I'm getting
the feeling I'm never going to know what time it is ever again.
I'm still philosophizing.
This perceived understanding of the world I've developed has brought
out some seriously unfortunate qualities. Things are going to be very bad
for me. I'm going to be unhappy. It's not going to work out.
[-----]
- Chapter 3
So I'm walking out of the woods, towards where I think I left my
car, the gray El Camino. I'm getting ready to make my way into town and
find a laundromat or something to clean the piss off of me. I'm setting
my life into motion, again, at last, and my eyes fall upon my greatest and
most recent tragedy.
The car is parked just off the side of the road, near a little dirt
clearing, and the lights are still on, but only the taillights. The front
lights are out because the entire front of the car is crumpled up against
a telephone pole. The driver's-side door is opened and there's vomit still
dripping out from the inside of the door onto the dirt beneath it. I get
in and try to start the engine. No luck.
The car might have moved if it had gas in it, but I seem to have
left the engine running overnight. It's dead now. I scan the car for any
possessions I might have left behind. Of course, there aren't any.
I knew that the car was really my only possession left, and
probably my best chance of getting myself back into respectable society,
but at the time, I was very paranoid. Maybe the cops had been here
overnight. _I could get into some serious shit for this_, I thought.
Probably an irrational train of thought, considering all the circumstances.
But, better safe than sorry. I decided to walk away casually and leave the
car behind. They'll send it back to the guy I stole it from, perhaps.
That had done it for me. My worldly possessions had been reduced
to nothing but piss-soaked clothes. Oh, yes, and in my pockets:
piss-soaked cigarettes, and a piss-soaked wallet. I didn't know how much
was in the wallet and I didn't feel like checking. It was time for
walking. I put my boots onto the road and started to walk back to where I
assumed the town would be: naturally, the direction opposite that which my
car seemed to be facing.
[-----]
- Chapter 4
I was right about that. It was about a two mile walk, I estimated,
before I started to notice stores and gas stations and sidewalks and all
the other signs of heightened population density.
The walk was good for thinking, I think, maybe. I don't remember
much of what I thought. A lot of cars drove down the road as I walked, and
I had to stay off the road most of the time and walk on the dirt. A lot of
people looked at me as they drove by, slowed down, passed me, turned their
heads back a little, checked me in their rear view. I wondered what it was
that was so interesting about me. Usually motorists are only interested in
seeing death on the side of the road. I hoped I wasn't disappointing them.
It was a nice town. I had been living there for about six months
previous to today, actually, but I didn't really know much about it. I
thought about this and realized, actually, that I didn't know what the
town's name was, and, I didn't know what state it was in. And, I didn't
know what month it was. The year I did know. It was 1994. And it was
Sunday.
Yes, okay, my life is unusual. I'm not very observant, I don't
know or care much about things like location, date, time. I had
sacrificed all of that knowledge, all of that caring. It was gone for me.
For the past six months, I've been pampered, taken care of, kept up
in a third-story apartment with a little laptop computer and a CD player
on the floor. I was alone a whole lot of the time. When I wanted to
relax, I listened to music. When I wanted to work, I wrote. I wrote, I
think, eight novels and probably about eighty short stories. I planned to
get them published some day, but I don't have the laptop anymore, so
there's no hope in that. All my stories are still sitting in that third
floor apartment underneath the bed.
Yeah, 1994 had been an unusual year for me. I was sure that I
would remember it for a long time, if I ever remembered anything ever
again. It was quite cold now, so I figured it must have been about
November. The place, I don't know. I knew it was America. Somewhere in
the Northeast part of it.
I was heavier than I had ever been in my life at the time. I
estimated that I weighed about 170 pounds. I was so well-fed up in that
apartment. Three meals a day were brought to me or cooked for me by the
girl I lived with for all that time.
it was nice. It's over now, though. Hopeless. Severed.
I finally found a laundromat. It was closed, though. The sign on
the door said that they opened at 1:00 PM on Sundays. That seemed to me
like a late time to open for a place of business that required no
employees present. Unfortunate for me, but no big deal. All the stores
seemed to be closed. Everyone in this town must go to Church. That made
me happy. At least I had been stranded in a town with some hope in it. I
didn't know what time it was, but I knew that it really didn't matter. I
had nowhere to go. There was a green bench on the sidewalk in front of
the store so I decided to sit down for a while and ponder things some
more.
The bench faced the sidewalk and the stores instead of the street
so people could sit on it and watch the people walking and shopping
instead of driving. There was nobody around, though. They were all
dressed nice and worshipping something. I fantasized about spending the
day begging for money so I could get some alcohol in me by nighttime. The
people in this town must be charitable. There was hope for me here.
A man walked down the sidewalk, up to the laundromat, jerked on the
locked door, squinted at the sign that had the hours posted on it, checked
his watch, grumbled, walked back in the direction from which he came.
Maybe he forgot it was Sunday. He was probably rushing off to Church now.
Or maybe he was Jewish. Yes, he looked a little Jewish, I think. I think
I remember him like that.
After that there was nobody on the sidewalk for a long while. A
few cars drove by, but they were behind me. I couldn't see them.
Non-religious people from another town, probably. Just passing through on
their way to work in a nearby city, maybe.
About an hour passed and more and more cars drove by and people
started to walk down the sidewalk. Eventually, a fat, sweaty bald man
walked up to the door of the laundromat, walked in, switched the lights
on, walked out, and walked away. At last, I could cleanse myself. This
man was my savior. Finally. Now I could get myself in gear. Set the day
into motion. I stood up and walked into the laundromat.
[-----]
- Chapter 5
There was nobody in the laundromat except me; I thought that was
great. I had become such a recluse from all the previous months of being
completely taken care of in that third-floor apartment. I've forgotten a
lot of things about living. My social skills haven't been tested much
since I've been on my own, but I have the feeling that they're not much in
tune. I preferred to be alone for the moment. Too many people around me,
too much motion, and. I don't know, I could just snap. Like a frightened
snake. I'm just trying to protect myself!
Time to wash up, then. For the first time since I could remember,
I pulled out my wallet and checked up on my money status.
Oh.
Shit.
Well, fuck that idea. Silly me. I guess this is an appropriate
demonstration of how my mental state has withered. Well, it's a free
lesson in responsibility, I guess. I'm still covered in piss. I put my
wallet back in my jeans.
That Jewish guy should be showing up soon, though. There's a
bathroom inside the laundromat and I decide to hide in it until someone
decides to get his laundry done. Then I pounce.
I couldn't find the light in the bathroom, so it was dark. No
matter; I would have turned it off eventually anyway. Light is another
thing I just seem to have problems. dealing with. I sat there for about
ten minutes. I think I was thinking about something; nothing responsible,
though. I had a lot of things to figure out, and I just wasn't figuring
them out. I was probably philosophizing about something (again, god damn
me). Anyway. ten minutes passed, and I heard the door to the laundromat
open, then five minutes later I heard one of the machines running. Two
minutes after that, I heard the door open again. I had to assume that
meant it was time for me to get my laundry done with.
I walked casually out of the bathroom and the laundromat was still
empty, as I had imagined. I walked hastily, but still casually, up to the
machine that was purring, opened the door to it, and emptied its contents
onto the dirty laundromat floor. Pants, socks, shirts. they looked like
the clothes of a Jewish man. He had plenty of quarters, I didn't.
Therefore, my petty thievery is justified. I didn't feel bad about it at
all.
I stripped down to my birthday suit, taking my boots off, then my
socks, then putting my boots back on. Then I threw my clothes into the
washing machine, then closed the door. Twenty-six minutes, it said.
Twenty-six minutes until my clothes would be piss-free.
And so I was naked in a laundromat in a town I didn't know the name
of yet. It was thrilling, as you probably could imagine. The walls that
stood against the street were glass so that everyone that walked by the
place could look in and see me. Plenty of people were walking the streets
at this point, and I tried to make eye contact with all of them, but I
don't think anybody looked back. I guess the people in this town have
their own washing machines. Everyone but that strange Jewish man whom I
just robbed of 50 cents. I walked casually, but more slowly this time,
back to the bathroom and sat there naked until I heard the machine stop.
I walked out of the bathroom and my boots went clomp clomp clomp
on the dirty tile floor as I made my way to the washing machine. There
were more people on the street now, and some of them were actually looking
at me. It made me a little nervous as I gathered my clothes and put them
back on, but I kept my cool. _Put on a show for these people, I told
myself. Entertain them. Make them love you._ I think I did entertain
some of them, but for the most part I just scared the hell out of them.
The people walked fast past the laundromat and tried to cover their
children's eyes.
The clothes were very hard to put on because they were so wet. They
were quite cold, too, but at least I was clean. I sniffed myself, trying
to detect any trace of a urine smell. There were only small traces. I
would do okay as long as I didn't stand too close to anyone. I stood there
in the laundromat in my heavy, waterlogged clothes, and I felt very clean.
[-----]
- Chapter 6
I was about to make my way out of the laundromat when a man walked
in. It was the Jew. He smiled at me, and I smiled at him, and just stood
there, while he figured out what had gone on in his absence.
"Hey! You ripped me off! _You_ stole my laundry!"
That wasn't very fair. How did he know it was me?
I just stood there.
"Fucking kid! Fucking. juvenile delinquent!"
I was 21, actually. Not a kid at all. This guy looked like he was
about 25. "I'm sorry," I mumbled in my most apologetic tone.
"_You_ just ruined my whole fucking day! Asshole!"
"There's no reason to be so aggressive."
"That's it. I'm calling the cops! _You_ stay right here while I
call the cops!"
It didn't make any sense to me. I was being put in a very awkward
position, and over what? Why did he have to bring the police into this?
He turned his back and walked toward the payphone at the back of the
laundromat. His expensive shoes went clomp clomp clomp on the tile floor
as he walked, and I followed him back to the phone, and I grabbed him by
the back of his neck, and I slammed his face right into the payphone before
he could pick it up.
The blood started flowing pretty quick. He let out a pathetic
whine, crying, "Help! Help me somebody please! My God!" but he didn't
get much volume out. I think he was too scared. Then, I noticed that he
had pissed his pants pretty good. That little man had quite a lot of piss
in him.
He kept staring at me and whining, trying to get some noise to come
out of his lungs. I was worried that someone would eventually hear him,
but nobody ever did. He had a pen in his breast pocket and I stabbed him
with it, right in the neck. He didn't die instantly but he definitely
stopped screaming. It was more like gurgling after that; after the blood
started really flowing. A lot of it got on my hands, so I went to the
bathroom one more time to wash myself off. It came off pretty easily.
I wasn't sure if the man had died at that point. I didn't look at
the body as I walked out into the street.
[-----]
- Chapter 7
I walked down on the street checking my clothes for bloodstains.
There weren't any. I was still really wet, though. People gave me funny
looks on the street and I felt ashamed of myself. I shrugged helplessly at
all of the staring eyes as they passed.
There was still no way for me to keep time, but I estimated that it
was somewhere around 3:00 PM. I decided to sit down for a moment and
recall my agenda for the day. Another green bench on the sidewalk, facing
the stores, not the street.
Eventually, I came to the realization that I had nothing left on my
agenda besides getting drunk. But I refused to let myself get started on
that task before sunset. I had to keep some sort of dignity! Sure, I was
homeless, but I wasn't at all a bum. I was clean, and my clothes were
clean, too.
I sat on the bench and thought about the Jews, and how they had
always been victimized. I thought about all the times that I could
remember Jews being victimized, and then I thought about Jesus. He was a
Jew and he loved to be victimized! It was all that he lived for. I had
never read the Bible before, but I was pretty sure that's how it was.
A lot of people walked down the sidewalk, but I didn't notice them
much. I was thinking a lot about a lot of stuff. After a while, though,
all I could think was, _Shit. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit shit shit
shit._ I had been sober for way too long.
I stood up and started walking. I needed to find a liquor store.
[-----]
- Part 2 -- Chapter 8
Well, I don't know how, but I woke up in a jail cell this morning.
It doesn't seem too hard to figure out some of the circumstances that got
me arrested last night: alcohol, poverty, some lack of cleanliness, some
lack of fear. This is all I need to know. No use trying to summon up
lost, irrelevant memories.
When I first opened my eyes and realized where I was, I went into a
state of complete panicked terror. I jumped out of bed screaming, and when
the warden came to the bars to see what was wrong, all I could think to say
was "WHAT TIME IS IT?!"
"Two O' Clock P.M."
Maybe I should have asked what month it was, or what town I was in.
Anyway, they let me out within an hour of my waking up. They were
nice people, really. I think on my way out they told me to watch myself
next time I decided to get drunk, or maybe they told me to get the hell out
of their town and never come back. I can't remember, really. I had a
hangover and I really wasn't listening. I was sure it didn't matter,
anyway, because I had decided, once and for all, I was going to stop
drinking.
I hate to be so nondescript, but I find it hard to care enough
about such trivial matters to talk about them. In and out, that's how my
night with. In and out. Okay?
[-----]
- Chapter 9
I'm moving on. Now is the time to think more about the... present?
Yes, the present. The present. Now is the time. I'm guessing,
about, well, 8:00 AM. I get up early nowadays, don't I? That's something
to be proud of! You get more out of your days when you wake up early, you
know.
I'm at the bench again. My old bench. Except, this time, I'm not
sitting on it. I'm sitting on the sidewalk, leaning up against the wall of
the laundromat, staring at the bench. I'm trying to be objective here, not
take on any roles, you know? I can't be sitting on the same bench two days
in a row. That's something that bums do. This morning, Monday I believe,
I am leaning against the wall of the laundromat.
The place looks surprisingly clean to me. I feel surprisingly
clean, too. It's very satisfying to be so self-sufficient and still so
perfectly clean.
As I was sitting there, leaned against the wall, someone walked by
and threw some change at me. A quarter and a nickel. Unbelievable! I
felt like screaming in his face: "What the hell is this? I don't need
your charity!" But, by the time I thought of it, he was way past me; I
would have been screaming at his back. And then, I didn't want to make a
scene. That was something that bums did. I took the thirty cents and put
it in my right jeans pocket. Cha-ching!
Wordly Possessions: Black jeans, a T-shirt, my humble, stylish
garb. 1 Leather wallet, empty.
Cash, $0.30
I took that money, looked up at the sky, and got a very familiar
sense. It felt very good and I pondered it for a moment. Then I realized
what it was... amazing! I wasn't looking at the sky, not at all. I was
looking at a third-story window. Very curious indeed. My eyes had
somehow, through some magic of coincidence fallen upon my forgotten former
abode. The place I had written all those stories, all those novels. The
place where
uhmmm
...she ... lived. Fuck! I couldn't remember her name. Well, that
would be a minor setback. Regardless, I was going back up there, no matter
what happened. Right now, too, right here, in this present.
Why?
Well, I... I would go up there and demand my stories. After all, an
artist is entitled to his own work, and that's what I am. I'm an artist!
She would have to attend to my rights as an artist. That was indisputable.
I ran across the street to her building and opened the front door.
[-----]
- Chapter 10
Now, I wasn't quite sure what her name was, but I did know that she
lived on the floor, which, according to the names scribbled next to the
doorbells, her name was either Katherine Johns or Elizabeth Moon. Or
David Crover, if she was living with a man, but that seemed impossible.
It hadn't been long enough for that to happen. It had hardly been
well, it hadn't been long enough. It wouldn't have made sense.
None of the names rung a bell with me. They were both too ordinary.
Too common; they almost seemed fake. But one of them had to be the girl I
was looking for, so, eeny meeny, et cetera, I rang the bell for Katherine
Johns.
"Who is it?"
"Kathy, this is your neighbor, David. I left my key in my
apartment, could you buzz me in please?"
Buzzzzzz. I opened the door and started to walk in.
"David, can you get into your apartment? If you locked your key
inside, you can stay in my room a while."
Well, I didn't expect that. Katherine must be a lonely girl. "Er,
no, that won't be necessary, I left my door unlocked, thanks, though!" I
tried to sound as pleasant as possible.
"Okay, well, if you change your mind, just knock. We could have a
drink."
I did not reply to that. I walked inside. On the first floor,
there was a little space underneath the stairs where it seemed no one would
be able to detect me. I needed to rest, so I curled up and hid for an hour
or two, dozing.
[-----]
- Chapter 11
A lot of time passed under the stairs. When I felt rested, I
climbed up three flights and saw the door to Katherine's apartment. I
crossed my fingers and knocked on the door.
I heard Katherine approach the door on the other side, then pause to
investigate me through the little peephole. Then she opened up and stared
at me, as if to say, Yes? She didn't seem to recognize my face.
Intrusively, I pushed past her into the apartment. There was no
laptop computer, no CD player. It was much less bare than my former place
of living: there were chairs, a rug, and the bed was much bigger. Nothing
was familiar. I did not seem to be at home. Katherine turned and just
stared at me, half-frightened, half-annoyed.
I stared right back, lost for words.
"Are you going to explain yourself?" She said it with quivering
bravado. Very admirable. She was a timid girl, it seemed.
I felt quite dumb at that moment. I had no idea what to say. I
just stared at her, examined her; she was a very good-looking girl, of
course, and of course, she was wearing only a bra and panties. They were
red, which didn't really seem to suit her, but they looked very nice.
Nothing too sexy, just humbly beautiful. I was frightened too, now. We
were two trapped animals. I had to be honest: "Oh, well. No, I don't.
That is, I can't explain myself. Or at least I don't know how I could.
I'm sorry."
At this point, I suppose it would have been appropriate to leave,
but I didn't. I told you, I was trapped. Between myself and the door,
there she stood, staring at me. "Who are you?"
"I feel I would be at a great loss if I told you that..."
"Are you here to rape me or do you just want to kill me?"
Well, she certainly had a dark sense of humor. At least she was
honest. And prepared. It was at about that point that I realized that she
was quite a bit drunk. I scanned the apartment again and found bottles,
half-empty, in every corner. I stood silent and I suppose she took that to
mean that I was not a hostile intruder.
"Care for a drink?"
"Yes."
She went into her kitchenette and grabbed a wine glass from above
the sink, then took a bottle of gin from the counter and poured it out
until the glass was full. She made no attempt to ask me what I wanted, or
to even provide a more social drink than straight gin. She was very
decisive and authoritative about these things. I appreciated that about
her.
She hobbled back over to me and handed me the drink. I sipped at
it for a minute or two until it was empty, then set it down on a nearby
coffee table. The room was silent all the while. I was very happy, of
course, to be a little drunk once again. It felt familiar. I liked that.
Katherine crawled into her bed, half-covered herself with her
blanket, and continued to stare at me. I walked over to the kitchenette
and poured myself another straight gin. I drank this one much quicker,
then walked back to Katherine and sat down in a chair several feet from the
bed. Our staring contest continued.
"You can join me if you want to."
"Okay."
I crawled into bed with her and curled up about a foot away from
her, facing her back. We were no longer staring at each other. Several
hours passed like this. It was very intense for me. Of course I felt
very sexually charged by this girl, and the alcohol in her and my own
bodies did not make it any easier. Over the course of two or three hours,
I found myself wrapped around her, my stomach pressed against her back,
our legs curled, one pair behind the other, in a double-fetus position. I
fell asleep like this. I'm not sure if she did. It did not matter,
though. The sleep did not make the time pass with any less intensity.
[-----]
- Chapter 12
When I woke up, it was night. The room, formerly lit only by the
sun, was much darker then. Katherine was awake. We were still locked in
the same embrace, but I felt cramped all over.
I'm not sure if she noticed that I was awake at first, so I made her
aware that I was. I grabbed the waistband of her panties, humbly,
beautifully, and slipped them off. She did not respond. Her eyes were
closed but I knew she was awake; she must have been. I removed my jeans,
once again remembering that I was not wearing underwear. In that same
locked embrace, I slipped myself inside of her. She opened her eyes. It
was very, very beautiful.
It felt very natural; very familiar. I held her hip in place as I
worked, thrusting myself into her, repeatedly, with an unchanging and
fluid motion. She was motionless; probably aware that in the position we
were in, it would have made it much more difficult for me if she had tried
to move along with me. I expected her to be completely silent. She was
not loud, but she communicated with me, certainly, she was uttering
something, some happy, pleasured sounds. The experience became more and
more intense. She spoke:
"Come inside me."
"Okay."
And I did. I was happy to receive this permission, as it is not
something a courteous man does to a woman without her permission. I did
not want to seem discourteous. We held still, and locked, but much tighter
than before, and with more intensity, for an indeterminable time. I could
not keep myself from smiling.
When I finally came to removing myself from her, I found that I was
covered in blood, and so were the sheets. She was menstruating. I didn't
notice that before. I was not repulsed at all by this, rather, I felt
lucky. To me, a woman's inability to conceive seemed more of a blessing
than something to be avoided.
She turned her head around and kissed me on the lips. Our embrace
had been unlocked. She was a very good kisser. I'm not sure that I was.
I fell asleep again on her bed.
[-----]
- Chapter 13
I've never been accused of being unrealistic or dishonest. I could
never accept such labels. I have, however, been accused many times of
being incommunicative and self-absorbed. I believe, therefore, that I am
a person who understands the truth, tells it, but cannot manage to fit it
to the needs of others.
Of course I acknowledge that there is something very wrong with me,
but why bother changing? I seem to be doing fine. I've made certain
sacrifices. Yes, I'm half-empty, but for what I've given, I must have
taken in certain wonderful talents. It wouldn't make sense any other way.
I woke up many times there in Katherine's bed; I had to move myself
periodically so that I would not become cramped. I tried not to wake
Katherine, but she would move with me, every time, half-asleep. Mostly
asleep. She kept saying "I love you" in her tired stupor.
When I woke up and saw the sun rising, I felt it was time to get out
of bed and face the next day. I slid away from Katherine, trying not to
wake her, but of course, as I got out of bed, she leaned up. She was
squinting at me, trying to figure things out, I suppose. We both had
hangovers, but we were well-rested.
As her squint turned to a wide-eyed, smiling stare, I asked her the
first thing that came to my mind: "What day is today?"
"It's Sunday."
I looked out the window. The streets outside were empty, just as
they had been the morning after I crashed my car. "Okay," I said as I was
putting my clothes back on, "I'm going to church."
"Okay."
I walked out the door.
[-----]
This story will be continued.
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[ (c) !LA HOE REVOLUCION PRESS! HOE #501 - WRITTEN BY: KREID - 3/8/99 ]
