Tagged: Rust and Bone

Self Portrait with Four Cheese Pizza

Last night, walking home,

I sat on a pylon, one of those short ones that keep cars from running over pedestrians,

I had just drunk a beer and I was killing time. They say

a beer a day

extends your life by thirty minutes

I read that on the internet.

I’m abstemious by disposition and this piece of Yahoo News pleased me.

There was a pretty girl, all dressed up,

she had on an extravagant hat and two different high heeled shoes,

one was plaid and the other was red. She had packaged herself

like something from Laduree and

I thought that maybe she was my soul lover,

not really but I sat there watching her from my pylon anyway.

She got in line for a movie at the MK2,

an art cinema that screens movies for pussies

People often tell me that it’s an advantage of living

in my particular district,

but I never go there, I hate the movies they show. When I go to the movies I want to see

Evil or one of its avatars, something, in any case the sensitive character studies and

melancholic interior scenes of

difficult loves or the small dramas of everyday life

fill me with hatred, like the movie about the woman whose two legs were amputated

after a freak killer whale accident at Sea World

(I’m not making this up)

who gets her groove back when she meets a street fighter named Ali who has a little blond son

I wanted to burn something after seeing this movie even though the actress had large breasts

and showed them too

when she got her fuck on

After hesitating for a few minutes I followed the girl with the hat into the movies

Why not? I had a free pass and did I have anywhere better to be than right here? Right now? That is usually cited as an affirmation,

but note that it also functions as a negation of the vital principles of desire and circulation

As soon as I saw her sitting in the theater I lost a little enthusiasm

I don’t know why – that’s Life I guess

I sat far away, and the movie was not very good

It was called “Nous, Princesses de Cleves”

It was a movie for leftists. There was a lot of solidarity, the sentiments were all correct,

the poor blacks and Arabs in the movie all had souls. I left

the theater when it was over. The girl went to the bathroom and

I went back to my pylon, determined to stare at her as she left.

She probably knew that I had followed her into the movies,

girls can sense this kind of thing.

As I was sitting on my pylon, waiting for her to come out,

a bum approached me and asked me for money

I said NO

He wheedled…please, just one cent, mister…

I said NO again. He responded with manufactured incredulity

So you don’t even have one cent?

I manned up

looked him in the eyes and told him

that I certainly did have a cent, but it wasn’t for him!

Fuck his sanctimonious attitude –

fucking drug addicted piece of shit –

He gave me a whimpering look that was supposed to make me feel bad about myself and said:

Have a nice evening, then.”

He walked a few meters away to hustle another pylon sitter

He wasn’t even a real bum,

some young gay with clean clothes,

not even a black or an Arab,

who knows what the guy’s story was?

Meanwhile the girl was nowhere to be seen. She

was gone

I didn’t really care,

my mind was on another soul lover anyway,

that one was gone too.

Looking back at the bum, I decided to give him some money

He was pathetic but my God,

begging for change outside of a movie theater…

I took a euro fifty out of my right pocket –  

the left pocket is for the highlighter I use to underline salient passages in world literature and

for my cellphone as well, a Sony Ericsson – 

I was about to give the fruit his money

when I caught another glimpse of his face

He was importuning someone else and he looked like a coward, a failure, and a cheater

I changed my mind again

I decided to keep my money after all

I walked to the pizza-by-the-slice shop down the street from my house

where they just put entire slices of Leader Price ham –

that’s the cheap stuff –

directly on the pie, one per slice.

Why? Why not cut the pieces of ham up? Who are these people? Who had this bad idea?

I got two Slices and a canned Iced Tea. I could see

myself in the reflection of the plate glass window next to the trash can as I ate my Slices

I looked

ghastly and malevolent


April 6, 2011

Thanks to poet David Rowe for editorial suggestions. You can find him here: https://myspace.com/davidiotraw