No\o^y Trusts [ Bl[]k M[gi]i[n

xTx

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2009
 5 Argentina Sunday
7 Saving the Meat
10 So Much of the Same
12 Losing the Pee Argument
16 Scrambled Egg House
18 While I’ m Sleeping
19 Christmas Eve
24 Black Friend
25 The Boy Who Could Go Home
27 When I Say When
31 Wiffle Ball
33 Chubby Kid on
Floating Board
34 And You Can Wear Your
Mirrored Sunglasses
When You are Scared
37 Tits and Whiskey
38 Afterhours
41 Too Bad it' s Opposite Day
42 A Movie Preview Story
45 Nobody Trusts a
Black Magician
 @rg_ntin[ Sun^[y

I got in a car with a skinny, pretty girl. She

drove us to the ghetto CVS, through a sketchy
neighborhood. She drove around the block. We
got scared. She said, “I want to buy that
mannequin.” I said, “Halloween.” She said, “I
suck ass at parallel parking.” I said, “Get your
suck on.” We got out and saw a black guy
walking. We walked a few steps. We walked
back to the car. We got in the car. She drove
down the street more. She parked again. We got
out ofthe car. We saw the same black guy
walking. Then we saw three black kids walking.
They were across the street. I said, “He has a
boom box on his shoulder.” She said, “You
should breakdance.” I said, “He has Homer
Simpson slippers on.” We walked up the street
wary and saw a door. We saw a small
Argentinean. She motioned us inside. Another
small Argentinean told us to sign a book.
Another pinned a large thing on my shirt, above
my left breast. Her touching me made me
uncomfortable. We found a seat, ate some chips.
We looked around. We ate some chips. We
talked about things. We looked around. There
was music playing. We ate some chips. We got
thirsty. We ate more chips for an hour and
finally got water. We were very thankful for the
water. Pretty girl ate a marshmallow. A girl
carried a guitar. A girl wore fishnet stockings.
Posters ofArgentina were on the wall in dirty
frames. A rotary fan sat on a shelf. The lights
went out. They went back on after we yelled
surprise! There was crying. We talked about
more things. We greeted a lady. We felt ‘in the
minority’. We were on camera a lot. We were
the first in line for food. There was Argentinean
food. Unrecognizable. Turkey maybe or pork. I
ate a small portion. I ate chips. I won a
centerpiece and left when Ericka showed up.
The only white guy walked us to our car. I said,
“We escaped.” She said, “I feel bad.”

6
 S[ving th_ M_[t

She’s the New Intern but not hot. She has hair
like fifth grade. Low-talker with no bass in her
voice. Jean skirt, lavender blouse gathered all up
to her neck. She must wear granny panties over
a bushel ofpubic hair.
Whatshername, not New Intern, brags
on and on during lunch about her two hours at
the gym every am—an hour spin class, then
weights and lower abs. Her abs are killing her. I
look at her upper arms exploding offher
shoulders like thighs. They have the diameter,
radius, and circumference ofthe liter bottles of
Collins mix I keep at home to feed my gin. I
telepathed to her that she ought to work on her
upper arms more...maybe give the ole up-n-
down-up-n-down to some five-pound weights.
The more she blathers on while shoving her face
full ofpasta bukkaked with cream sauce, the
more I don’t believe she spends more than thirty
minutes in the gym.
No, twenty.
New Intern eats a beefstir-fry sans rice
and talks about things and won’t be interrupted.
This annoys me. Her low tone is fucked.
Especially in a restaurant.
 And she’s by my bad ear.
Imagining I’m in a movie or a sitcom, I
eat my sandwich and drink a diet coke with
lemon.
I get a ribbon from the Clean Plate Club
as does Whatshername who thinks she works
out for two hours. New Intern, the bitch, eats all
her veggies and leaves the meat slices swimming
at the bottom ofher dish. There are five slices, I
counted them. They’re approximately one by
one-and-a-halfinches. She asks for a to-go
container. It's made ofclear plastic. She lifts the
slices one by one with her chopsticks,
carefully—like painting nails—and places
them—like Operation the board-game—into
the container. Insanity.
The slices sit alone in the middle,
huddling like prisoners against an anticipated
stoning. I feel sorry for them because I know
they felt more secure in their warm, brown,
sesame-seeded pool. I want to tell New Intern
she should just leave them there, that they were
not worth the plastic they were housed in.
Instead I let her take the meat away in
the plastic container and curse her imagined
8
granny panties and abundant pubic hair under
my breath. Who takes home five tiny meat
slices?
On the drive home, I make a silent plan
to save the slices. Come midnight, penlight in
mouth, I'll jump over the razor wire and come
courageous.
 So Mu]h of th_ S[m_

I want punch you in the face, make you cry. I

want you to punch me back before rape-fucking
me. Then I’ll cry too. A Stevie Wonder song will
play right then over the smell ofa hamster cage
and later on, realizing there is blood on the floor
and on our hands, we’ll laugh with washcloths
in the bathroom—cool-water-washing each
other and kissing the pain away so sweetly. I’ll
get you a glass ofwater from downstairs. Just for
your thirst because that's how much I love you.
I want to meet you in a strip bar
wearing a black and white wrap. You’ll buy me
expensive vodka, ask ifyou can watch me drink
it—smell my perfume and buy me a lap dance.
You won’t break the stare while she's grinding
ass and tits into me.
I want to lie next to you in a bed
covered in four-day-old sweat, male and female
cum, and wine. Lying there I want to fight over
the same breath with you. Eyes closed, lips so
close to touching. Sun rising then setting.
Getting lost. Drowning.
I want you to know when I want a
grilled cheese or bacon or a pumpkin pie
milkshake from Jack in the Box. To hold your
hand and walk down foreign cobbled streets
10
mocking the locals. We’ll drink dark beer and
pay for it with their monopoly dollars. I’ll know
your eyes so well I’ll be able to paint them in
dreams.
I want you to write every word about
me. Even fart, even puke. To make Christmas
cards and newspaper articles with these words;
dress yourselfup in them and visit me. Knock
on my window in the moonlight.
Deliver me.
 Losing th_ P__ @rgum_nt

I never take baths. Baths cost too much time

and water. You sit and fester like a chicken
breast. Plus, I don’t have a good tub. Note to
future self: get the jacuzzi tub the size ofa Mini
Cooper, you cheap fuck. My tub is an
embarrassment I lock in the basement and feed
through a small slot on the door.
I took a bath. I was going to take a
shower, but at the last minute I remembered
this show from the other day where some tard
told the doctor she had extremely painful anal
fissures. He said, “You’re brave to say that on
national television.” He said many people have
ass problems and nobody talks about them. I
thought: Why are you talking about your anal
fissures on TV with your face so prominent? He
recommended she soak her ass in a hot bath. As
I stood in the tub to take a shower, for some
reason, I remembered the anal fissure lady. A
bath sounded suddenly good.
I turned the water up to super hot and
plugged the drain.
At first I stood there and looked at my
feet. The water was slow. My toes weren’t
drowning very fast. This will take forever, I
thought. Maybe I should sit down so at least
12
some more ofmy body can get wet and I won’t
just be standing here naked, staring down my
feet, feeling foolish.
I sat with my knees against my chest and
my arms wrapped around my knees. I looked
like one ofthose magazine covers where the
famous star poses nude, but you can't see
anything because she’s cockblocking you with
her pose.
I thought, I should lie down. That is
how you take a bath.
I lay down in the tub. I had to bend my
legs. The water flowing from the faucet was all I
could hear. It grew higher and began to feel nice
and warm.
I relaxed as the water rose. I noticed the
hot water creep up and cover other dry spots. I
watched as it came up over my hips and
drenched my pubic hair, below my belly button,
and then over my belly and up to my breasts
until eventually I was just an island composed of
head, breasts, lower thighs and knees.
When I was just the island, I turned off
the water and grabbed the soap. I grabbed this
scrubber I never use and soaped it up and lifted
parts ofmy body out ofthe water to soap them.
I felt like one ofthose old fashioned ladies in the
westerns in a claw foot tub in the middle ofa
room with my hair piled above my head loosely,
right before the hard gunslinger with a soft heart
busts in and says he needs to dive in my tub to
hide because he’s being chased by some
Mexican lenders.
Then I soaked again, thinking ofthe
anal fissure lady. I reached down and spread my
butt cheeks and felt the hot water hit my anus.
This is what the doctor wanted the lady to do. I
might be healing my own anus this very minute.
Maybe the lady is taking a bath right now and is
spreading her asscheeks too. We are simpatico
in soaking our assholes.
Then I felt the onerous urge to pee.
You cannot pee right now, I told myself.
You will be soaking in your own piss. I told
myself: You’re right. I sat there. Everything so
hot, so soothing, so relaxing.
You cannot piss! I ordered. That is so
gross. But I couldn’t relax. If I peed, then I’d
just rinse off after. We’d just soap it off in the
shower. I got mad because I was losing my
14
argument to not pee. I was convincing myself.
And then, yes—I did. I peed in my bathwater.
It felt exquisite.
 S]r[m\l_^ Egg Hous_

Goodbye. I am going away. Look at me drive

my bacon car. I eat the steering wheel.
Oh darn.
This will be the fourth steering wheel
I’ve eaten this year.
Jump says I will never learn and hands
me a spare steering wheel. He says when we get
to where we’re going I am going to beat your
ass. I feel scared but also guilty because, well, it
is the fourth one I’ve eaten.
I am driving the bacon car away
somewhere silent. I hear static. It is the wind or
the fear.
Jump is no saint. I see him eat the
handle that rolls up the window. Slowly, like a
full hunter.
Like any worn-down woman, I make
excuses for him:
1. This is a long drive.
2. He didn’t eat a full breakfast.
3. IfI hadn’t eaten the steering wheel,
he wouldn’t feel the need to eat the handle.

16
 Jump has a goatee, plays Xbox Live,
and sleeps in tattoos.
We get to there and Jump pulls me by
the hair out ofthe passenger side. The car is old;
the seat is cracked vinyl. The lighter in the dash
is missing—I slide like a seal.
Jump says clean yourselfup and throws
me a tire iron.
The bacon car blows up and he dies.
(This doesn’t happen.)
Jump happens.
Hands on his knees, head down; his
stringy hair greasy with sweat, he moves side to
side like a car wash curtain. Panting from the
hard work on my face.
I take the tire iron and clean myself up.
 Whil_ I’m Sl__ping

Put your cock in my mouth

while I’m sleeping
I won’t wake up
You can hold my hair tightly
while fucking the hole in my face
it’s okay ifI choke a little
stuffyour balls in there too
I don’t care
I’m asleep

Whack me a few times with your meat stick

rub it on my closed eyes
glue them shut
I will never wake up
I will keep sleeping
because I am
really
really
very
so very tired
18
 Christm[s Ev_

It was Christmas Eve and cozy before the

crackling fireplace sat Tuck-Tuck and Wiggles.
Around them the house lay quiet and still—a
stark contrast to the day’s earlier hubbub. All
that could be heard was the soft sound ofsnow
falling on itself.
Is it safe? asked Tuck-Tuck. Can we open
presents now?
Wiggles gave a low bark indicating that
it was. Tuck-Tuck looked at him disapprovingly
which made Wiggles bury his head in his paws
apologetically. Wiggles always got barky when
excited. Usually it was cute and Tuck-Tuck
could handle it, but it was Christmas Eve, the
people had finally gone offto bed, and Tuck-
Tuck really wanted to give Wiggles his gift. He
would hate for the people to wake up and ruin
everything.
Sorry, Tuck-Tuck, said Wiggles.
It’s okay buddy. Let’s do it.
Can I go first? asked Wiggles.
Sure Wiggles, here you go.
Tuck-Tuck handed Wiggles a
rectangular box wrapped in gold and green.
 said Wiggles.
Aww, Tuck, it’s beautiful,
Open it, Wigg, Tuck instructed. Open it.
Carefully, like when he stole the meat
sticks from the small people, Wiggles
unwrapped the gift. A sweater! he said joyfully.
It’s beautiful!
He held it out. A red Christmas sweater
depicting the Bataan Death March. The
Filipinos were colored with green-gold yarn and
twisted down the sweater in a line that trailed
from one shoulder down to the waist and back
to the other. The dead bodies lay offto the side
sewn with reds, purples, and blues. The
Japanese stood strong and proud next to the
marching Filipinos, pointing their bayonet-
topped rifles threateningly at the marchers. The
Japanese were threaded black, but in festive
Christmas red and white there were Santa hats
atop each oftheir heads which brought a merry
flair to the scene.
After studying the sweater for a minute
or two Wiggles said, The Japanese were cruel and
brutal captors during World War II, weren’t they, Tuck-
Tuck?
Yes, Wiggles, they sure were.

20
 These Santa hats make them look more
cheery.
Yes, Wiggles, they sure do.
He put the sweater aside and handed
Tuck-Tuck a brightly wrapped box. Snowmen
and ornaments, that thick foil kind that burns
colored flames when thrown into a fire. Open it
Tuck! Open yours! Wiggles almost barked again.
Tuck-Tuck opened the package quickly,
like when he raced to chase the green balls the
people threw into the grass. Oh Wiggles! A sweater!
Tuck-Tuck exclaimed.
Tuck-Tuck held the sweater before him.
On it were so many eyes. So many shapes of
eyes, so many sizes and colors. The multitude of
threads were a rainbow.
Look Tuck! Look closer! Wiggles pointed.
Do you see? Do you see the ghosts?
Tuck-Tuck looked closer and saw tiny
ghosts within each ofthe different colored pupils
ofeach ofthe eyes. Little white ghosts, arms
outstretched—pained faces on the larger ones.
O–mouths moaning on the smaller ones.
Do you get it? Wiggles blurted. You get it
right?
Yes, Wiggles, I get it. Bruce Springsteen,
Tuck-Tuck answered.
Thunder Road! ‘The ghosts in the eyes ofall the
boys you sent away!’ Wiggles yelled. He repeated
the line three more times. You love that part! It’s
your favorite part, Tuck!
Yes, Wiggles—that’s my favorite part, Tuck-
Tuck confirmed.
Sorry it’s not a Christmas sweater.
Never mind that, Wiggles. It’s the best
present I’ve ever received.
Wiggles smiled shy and gladly. We are
best friends, Tuck-Tuck.
Yes, Wiggles, we are, agreed Tuck-Tuck.
Our friendship is like the same friendship that Riggs and
Murtaugh had in Lethal Weapon 3. Remember that part
when Murtaugh is drunk on his boat and Riggs starts
fighting with him and he cries because he will be alone
when Murtaugh retires in five days because Murtaugh is
all that he has? I feel like that about you, Wiggles.
Tuck-Tuck looked at Wiggles and
couldn’t ignore the tears welling up in his eyes.

22
 Wiggles sniffled and said, To me, our
friendship is like the true love Princess Buttercup had
with the farm boy, Westley, in The Princess Bride, but
not in a gay way, he added. I would walk through the
Fire Swamp for you. Tuck-Tuck. As you wish, Tuck-
Tuck.
said Tuck-Tuck.
Merry Christmas, Wiggles,
Merry Christmas, Tuck-Tuck, said Wiggles.
Tuck-Tuck and Wiggles walked round
and round in a circle before the fire and settled
down against one another in a shape that
resembled a yin-yang symbol. The warmth of
the fire was second to the warmth oftheir
hearts. The lullaby oftheir familiar breathing
sent them to a quick and peaceful slumber.
Hours later, Santa was careful not to
disturb them when placing gifts under the tree.
 Bl[]k Fri_n^

I have the blackest black friend. Compton black.

Real life black guy black. Not only in spirit, but
in color. A super black black; ultra black—black
to the fourth power. Ifthe blackest black fell into
a paint of blacker-black and then had a baby
with motherfucking-black, he would be blacker
than that black baby who was very, very black.
How black is he? He not only coaches a
basketball team but also plays semi-pro football.
A linebacker, so not only extra black in that
respect, he is also enormous. His head is
pumpkin-sized. His shoulders mock my face.
His hands gang rape my hands. He even has a
great black guy name. He is so black that I
might be his only white friend. In fact, I just
scanned all of his Facebook friends, and yes, I
am the one white face. I am his ‘token’. My
black friend likes me very much. So much that
he calls me long distance. Incurs roaming fees.
When he calls he talks for a long time until he
needs to go to practice and then he hangs up.
When we go out to dinner, he buys me shots of
Patron. If I put my black friend up against your
black friend, mine would win, hands down, thus
proving I am not a racist.

24
Th_ Boy Who Coul^ Go Hom_

You can go home now. You are done counting

to fifteen. Ofyour dreams (he’s had many) of
beaches and angels and educating the dead on
the ways oflife, you are through. You are done
with the smell you will never forget. Take the
smell and save it somewhere inside where it will
wait for its release on a day where a photograph
sparks a memory and endure as it fills your
nostrils like smoke.
You can go home now. You can put the
fires away with the sand and the knowledge of
what you have done. Everything you have
wondered will now become. The waiting is over.
This will be the first and the newest beginning
you’ve ever had. This will be starting over.
You can go home now. Put her behind
you along with the fires, the smell, the sand.
Forget it ever happened. Remember the
Spartan lifestyle and the 700. Remember bits of
his flesh in your pocket—your hair—and being
so long living inside your head.
You can go home now. I hope you have
delays. I hope the trip is uncomfortable. I hope
your back aches. I hope they lose your luggage.
I hope there is nobody to greet you on landing. I
hope these things because I know they will
drown in the face of the moment she opens that
door and sees you standing there.

26
 Wh_n I S[y Wh_n

When I talk to you I always remember that last

night—the street corner.
Your face—
That coat—
Your coat.
The bar was scary and weird and cool
and warm. We fed ourselves drinks and Dio.
Sixties porn on the tvs mocked us with pubic
hair and beehives and garters. We pretended it
wasn’t there until we caught each other looking
at it and revealed the guilt with a smile and a
laugh.
The bathrooms were unfuckable and all
the dark corners were taken up with ghetto
punks and tattoo freaks.
Safe.
The bartender knew we didn’t belong
but the gang was in full swing mode. We had
our corner staked out. Remember the coffin, the
red lanterns and Christmas lights, how I flitted
around from friend to friend like a butterfly on
crack?
I remember it all.
 I charmed each and every one of
them—your friends. You watched like a voyeur.
I felt your eyes, worked it for you. Worked each
ofthem with my drunken charm. Arm touches,
eye sparkle, cleavage stroking, witty banter.
Every so often catching your eye like I was
looking up from a hard wet
cock—purposeful—seeking your approval.
Your acknowledging nod and vacant
stare met my gaze. Go on, it said.
You gotta promise not to stop when I
say when—
They loved me that night and I loved
them. Under the crucifixes we drank and
danced. The ghetto punks took us in. The tattoo
freaks and the bartender. The porn was like art.
Your friends took you outside. They
could tell. Trouble.
Trouble was a friend ofmine.
The red lights harbored us until the
clock struck and it was understood. You put my
coat on and we just left. Trouble! their eyes all
yelled.
It was dark and you held my arm. The
28
quiet city walls threatened from all sides and we
didn’t know where we were, but we walked.
I could smell you on the frigid wind.
Your arm was strong. We were quiet. It was
fine. This was fine.
Then the street corner came. Decision
time.
See the hotel? It’s right over there. We could go
into that hotel. The 36 th floor had a room and a
view ofthe Empire State Building. A bed, a
floor, a bathtub, a couch. The real world was
3,000 miles away.
You gotta promise not to stop when I
say when—
You opened your coat and pulled me
inside. You were so tall and I loved that. I can
still feel myselfinside that coat; your smell, your
warmth, tasting me all over.
I kissed your neck. Your body tightened.
There was a small shudder. You pulled me
closer. I loved you right then. I kissed it some
more, trying to memorize its surface; the prickle
ofstubble on my tongue, the soft bump ofyour
Adam’s apple, sweet saltiness.
 The referee street corner kept us correct.
You pushed my chin up, found my mouth, my
tongue. It went like that. Just for a little while.
I could’ve sunk to my knees right then.
Just to see you enjoy it. Just so I could watch
your eyes while I sucked you off. I wanted to do
so many things.
Your coat ached when it finally closed.
You asked and I told you not to walk me there. I
was afraid. Afraid ifyou got too close I’d pull
you in.
That was the last time. You never said
when. And I've never stopped.

30
 Wiffl_ B[ll

When I talk to you I always remember that last

night—the street corner.
There are things I forget.
I remember being asked out to
dinner—friendly enough guy—visited me in my
booth where I was working. New York in
February was my usual.
I was alone, ofcourse. He saw
this—sniffed it on me somehow. Nice enough
guy—funny guy—youngish. Nice enough looks
to ensure you’d not be embarrassed about your
evening’s choices come the morning after.
I forget his name.
I remember he sold a wiffle ball game.
In my mind, I called him “Wiffle Ball Game
Guy.” Nothing overt. No undercurrents. But on
that third day, during his daily stop for casual
discourse, I told him what I had planned for the
evening. He had client dinners also. He asked
me what I had planned for the next evening. I
told him that I planned to be on an airplane
back to sunny California. His smile cut off like a
stem between scissors. He said, That’s too bad,
because I wanted to ask you to dinner. That’s when
the customers came into the booth and
made the awkward moment disappear. Go ahead,
he told me, motioning to the customers. I’ll see
you later.

32
 Chu\\y Ki^ on [
Flo[ting Bo[r^
You never gave me a chance to see you half-
naked, greasy, gunslinger. (Promises, promises.)
My asshole will never heal. Salves, creams,
powders, prayers. I am resigned. Let the rape
begin! It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. Red
sparkles. Stupid pantyhose. I am hiding the
following sentence within my other sentences so
you won’t detect it. Ifyou took me away for a
number ofhours, and filleted my skin,
promising me water for my wounds, all the
while privileging me with tender kisses, calling
me the worst names and then returned me,
broken, a box full ofblood, I think I would
continue loving you. Tape gun. Parking fees.
Guillotine. You have more friends. I have none.
I lost them in 1987, the summer my dad fuck-
you’d the family. When I am counting, I lay my
head on your chest. It’s always warmer than I
expect. It’s the best dream I can have while
awake. I don’t know where you are.
 @n^ You C[n W_[r Your
Mirror_^ Sungl[ss_s
Wh_n You @r_ S][r_^
Ten years from now when you are old and I am
older we will live together in a house you bought
offCraigslist in a suburb ofa city you are
familiar with and I am not. I will be looking
forward to new adventures and explorations in
this suburb and this city. I will be looking for
things to embrace, destroy, and mourn.
You will not be one ofthese things.
We will sleep on the third floor. We will
sit on the balcony that overlooks our neighbor’s
pool and have coffee while reading the
newspaper. Every other day I will do the Jumble
and you will do the crossword. You will ask me
what an eight-letter word for “fluffy round
breakfast food” is and I’ll say, “Pancakes,
stupid”. I will ask you to make sense of
“HTBEIRR” and you will say, “Rebirth,
stupid.” I will kiss your cheek and clear the
dishes.
The second floor ofthe house is where
we will watch movies and play board games like
Monopoly, Scrabble, and Mousetrap. Also
solitaire and gin rummy. Sometimes we will be
drunk because ofthe fully stocked bar and
perfectly square ice cubes that look like glass
and beg like whores for gin to be poured all over
34
them. All ofthe movies we watch will have
Dabney Coleman in them or will be based on
novels that are adapted into screenplays or have
Megan Fox in them or are porn. It is on the
couch in front ofthe television that we will
discover we both are big fans ofmutual
masturbation.
I will smell your fingers and you will
smell mine.
The first floor ofthe house is where we
will conduct business and where we will listen to
our music very loudly. This is where the
computers will be. I will blog and you will blog.
You will teach me about Greek mythology and I
will teach you how to make Spam fried rice.
Books will be read and discussed. Plants will be
watered and killed. You will make up dance
moves that are as stupid as they are wonderful. I
will videotape them for our internet fans.
We will yell “ fuck offwanker!” in our
meanest British accents to any solicitors. I’ll eat
the Copenhagen out ofyour lower lip. You will
knit an afghan from my stretch marks and never
stop telling me how great my boobs are. We’ll
fuck only when we’re sad and hold hands when
nobody’s looking and keep the bathroom door
open when we pee. At night, when one ofus
wakes up and the other isn’t there, we will know
that ifwe go out to the balcony that overlooks
the neighbor’s pool we’ll find the other, staring
at the night sky, searching for UFOs.

36
 Tits & Whisk_y

When I last left you, our heroine, was about to

spread food among the minions and rub herself
blind behind locked doors. Horny conversation
was the catalyst. Rabbit found the hole. Found
it good. Willing, able, ETC. Imagery as follows:
Rough shoving up against wall. Shirt ripping. Nipple
sucking. Cold fingers warmth finding. Head slam. Ow.
Oh yeah. Large feet in large boots. Kicking naked legs
apart. Insert hand here. and here. and here Kneeling men.
Underneath them. Rotate. Slut. Whore. Suck them—all
ofthem. Yeah. Just like that, fuckin’ whore. Orgasm
and concurrent scream swallowed by pressed
lips and intake ofheld breath. Pass out
imminent. Avoided tongue washed the
apparatus before hiding it away. Underneath
her bed in a Ziploc bag with other friends. It’s
wrapped in a pair ofsilver boardshorts. They
make an annoying swishy-sound whenever she
handles it. It’s like a tiny dog whine. And she
wants to kick that dog.
 @ft_rhours

It’s so late from a

fucked up day
Don’t stop now
My window reflects black
back at me
I’m playing your music so loud
in an empty office
It’s like those movies where all the cubicles are
empty
The floor, teeming with suits only hours earlier,
is now dark and quiet.
Stripped away and naked.
A wigless chemo patient.
The camera pans towards the music that
plays
Getting louder as a halo oflight is slowly
brought into frame

38
A desk lamp illuminates one
lone
desk
There I am.
Working intently.
Your music on repeat.
Like a funky hug.
I know you don’t smoke
But I picture you
bopping in the empty aisles
A groovy shuffle
Almost forgetful and half-hearted,
cigarette hanging from your lips
dangerously close to dropping any
second
Don’t worry, your dancing is totally
manly and cool.
not gay.
Very Tyler Durden.
Your shirt is off
Your jeans hang low
And you are completely captured
by the music
Ignoring why you came here.
From time to time
I look up from my computer
to watch you.
But there's only cigarette smoke
and the song that keeps playing

40
Too B[^ it’s Opposit_ D[y

Don’t you know I am a red Popsicle on a hot

summer day after the boy you liked smiled at
you while he said your name? I am a cool
breeze on that same summer day. Caressing
your cheek and it feels like your mom telling you
how much she loves you because you brought
her a crumpled dandelion flower in your five-
year-old fist. I am glass halffull. I am carefree,
dress stuck in the back ofyour pantyhose
casually plucked out with a chuckle and a spin,
hem ofdress twirling around princess-style. I am
the voice that makes you smile when you
reluctantly pick up the phone expecting boss or
customer, knot ofannoyance untying in your
gut. I am a rainbow in the sprinklers. A unique
cloud formation you point out to the stranger
sitting beside you. The song that brings you to
happy tears that get stuck in your throat so
badly it forces you to sing it out without shame.
I am a spoonful ofpeanut butter, the first fistful
ofbuttered popcorn, a half-price long sought
after something you’ve always wanted. I’m a
free round ofdrinks, a lower number on the
scale and the feeling you get the first time she
kneels before you, waist low.
I am all ofthese things.
 @ Movi_ Pr_vi_w Story

It was dark. The man put his penis in her vagina

and moved it in and out for approximately three
minutes and then took it out and put it in her
mouth.
She sucked on his penis for
approximately fifteen seconds before removing
it from her mouth and exclaiming, “Something
doesn’t taste right.”
The man responded with, “What do you
mean, ‘doesn’t taste right?’”
The woman said, “Can you please turn
the light on?” and the man complied.
Sure enough, his penis was covered in
her menstrual blood. It took her approximately
2 seconds to realize she pretty much just cleaned
his dick ofher very own period blood with her
very own mouth.
“I guess it came early,” was her only
response.
They finished fucking and when
cleaning up in the bathroom she saw a poker
chip sized dried smear ofblood at the corner of
her mouth, on her cheek. Like a birthmark.
She cleaned it offwith some water and a
42
towel.
†††
Lying in the dark, side by side in the
bed, the man talked about some movie previews
he had viewed earlier in the day. He talked
about each one, what they were about, who was
starring in them and ifhe wanted to go see it or
ifhe thought they would be good to see.
For example, the man said, “One of
them was a very dark film. Like, the color ofit
was dark, not the theme ofit. Not scary so
much, but like they were trying to be dramatic. I
forget the name but I think it was about this guy
who comes from this rural town to the big city,
and lives in some slummy apartment and runs
into some weird characters. I think that guy
from that one film we saw a couple weeks ago is
in it. He was blonde? Remember? Anyway, it
looked like it could be interesting.”He went on
and on like this for a long time.
The woman lay there while he talked
about movie previews. She was trying to sleep.
After many minutes ofthis the woman says, “I
saw a movie preview too. I saw it today. It was
about this couple who were fucking and the
man’s dick broke the dam that holds in her
period and his dick gets covered in her period
blood and they don’t know because it’s dark and
he sticks it in her mouth and she sucks on the
bloody dick and she thinks it tastes funny and so
they turn on the light and discover the bloody
dick. So then they finish fucking and clean up
and the woman sees that her cheek has dried
period blood on it and she cleans it offwith
water and a towel. And then they go to bed and
the man won’t stop talking about movie
previews even though the woman wants to
sleep.
“We should see that one. It looks good.”
The man said, “Oscar material.”
Then they went to sleep.

44
 No\o^y Trusts
[ Bl[]k M[gi]i[n
I want to fuck you. May we fuck? We should
fuck today. Tomorrow we could fuck. I could
fuck you yesterday. I could fuck your beard. We
could make cupcake fucking. I could fuck you
like ham. I want to fuck you like burned
pancakes with my panties in our mouths. Let’s
fuck like we met on the internet. I just want to
fuck and fuck. On stairs. On a porch. Let’s fuck
on a daybed. Let’s fuck next to a thesaurus.
Let’s fuck like your dick hates fags and my pussy
is totally gay. Let’s make fuck like I have huge
fake titties that you really enjoy playing with.
Let’s fuck like I don’t care what you drive. I
want to fuck you inside outer space. Let’s fuck to
JeffBuckley’s “Last Goodbye.” Let’s fuck to
Elvis’ heroin puke noises. Let’s fuck at your
grandma’s funeral dinner. Fuck me with your
cock hopped up on goofballs. We can make
things wet and fuck them. Let’s fuck shit
together, side by side. You can fuck me in my
ass, in my face. Dessert while we fuck, but only
ifwe finish our vegetables. We can fuck for a
week. We can fuck until I lose my job. I can
collect unemployment while we are fucking.
You can stick your hard private parts into my
tight, wet private parts which means we will be
fucking. Fuck me in front ofa black magician.
Fuck me like I’m twelve or thirteen. We can
fuck as long as you want—until you give
up—until you’re bored and feel like just
watching TV. I want to fuck you like you are
my best friend. I want to fuck you like I hate
everything you stand for. We can fuck infinity.
Fuck me into the Marines. Please let’s fuck. I’ve
been wanting to fuck you for a long time. You
can tie me to a log and fuck me. Fuck me like a
kiss on the mouth, like you want to piss offyour
girlfriend. Let’s fuck like we’re on vacation. Let’s
fuck like we’ve been staring at each other all
night and we’re both wasted. We can fuck like
I’m worth fighting for. Let’s 24-Hour-Fitness
fuck. I want to fuck you until you cum. I want to
fuck you until you forget your name. Let’s fuck
and shoot cum all over each other until we
drown. May we fuck? We could be fucking right
now. Let’s fuck, seriously.

46
xTx has curves in all
the right places. She
has been writing
anonymously via
NOTHING TO SAY
since 2004. She kept
another blog prior to
that.
nonpress is a collective
effort by the various
members of disproductions.
thank you so much for your
time. please forward your
commentary to
notes@disproductions.org