SHANE JESSE CHRISTMASS / SIX COUNTS OF BEING NAKED IN THE SPA BATH
Tiny holes in the back of TwoDude’s head. The noon sun above ... sudden utter blackness ... a long silence ... radio signals sent from deep space. I am in the front yard and Two Dudes is about to put a venereal disease on me. He carries black candles in his backpack ... interprets interrogation techniques and then lays them upon me ... he has evil passions ... he is a long-drawn-out fuck.
I’ve made general progress with my health ... my rehabilitation. I am the correct copy of myself that I can be. I slap TwoDude with the end days ... with a diverse patch of crap. Moist cigarette in my mouth. Lamp shone on TwoDude’s savage face. Some physical damage to his hands. I am a mere shell ... some careless abandon ... just an anguish amongst a peaceful expedition ... an entire basket of short time and brawny damp.
An open pit of hash pipes and sick days ... a huge party with a makeshift altar and a saline bag. I eat my lunch meal ... the hospital food. A warm summer night. TwoDude has a pentagram medallion in his shirt pocket. Rigid arms on a large body ... mercurial colour in the eye socket ... nerve exhaustion all over me ... dead in an adjacent field ... no merciful god here to remind ... nor rescue me.
I take a deep breath. TwoDude’s listless hands. Thunder over Michigan. An asteroid belt over El Salvador. The interior circus of my employment. TwoDude’s angry glare ... his shadow ... his light smile ... cold water poured over me in complete darkness. We are a toy species. My eyes alight ... I fall asleep inside the restaurant.
I kick a cigarette butt down the street. Safety barriers at the medical station. All these itchy skin eruptions ... all these spiritual purposes inside a damp room. The debris is rain clouds. TwoDude’s fierce grip on my throat. We got engaged yesterday. His hands thrust upon me with a waxen quality. He has had a bad life. I have had a bad life. I need to return home ... sallow cheeks a symptom of sickness.
Grass underneath my bare feet ... the palm leaf of Los Angeles. TwoDude has that serious look. His pert face is pretty dry. A pox for the pretty days ... a pox on the frontal curve of your rib cage. My harsh voice ... the polar regions of my head ... no definite purpose for living ... grey clouds above Lower Manhattan.
My eyes are dirty grey ... all glassy with bitemarks on the lids. TwoDude with pearly white teeth. TwoDude is a handsome young man. I have a mild crush on him. The high eyeless walls of Los Angeles. A canvas-bound package of cold night. Fuck the hard way ... fuck in a dramatic fashion. I give TwoDude a swift glance ... swelling marks on his thighs.
TwoDude has shifty eyes ... he has high energy levels. Our relationship is a ghastly affair. He has a slim body ... insane passion ... a tasteless human nature. The sunless sea ... the massage machine ... illustrations of calm precedes me. TwoDude is a swift flame ... a silence ... a powerful influence ... an empty grate.
The rain mist ... hell ... scratch marks on my body. We fly from Chicago to Barcelona. We breath the indescribable air. TwoDude has a plastic headset on his head. He is a sensational character. I give TwoDude my phone number. He tells me I am a useless piece of ass. I’m drunk in a vacant place. There are palm trees around me. I am the resident servant.
There is no conversation ... just inflamed eyes on a riverbank ... an intense hush toward TwoDude’s mouth. I speak with a dim voice. I wear plastic overalls ... they are silver. TwoDude has fierce blue eyes. Unmusical voices throughout Manhattan. The air laden with long rope and superstitious respect. TwoDude tells me that the best part of his body is his legs. I tell him my best part is my head.
Shane Jesse Christmass is the author of the novels Xerox Over Manhattan (Apocalypse Party, 2019), Belfie Hell (Inside The Castle, 2018), Yeezus In Furs (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2018), Napalm Recipe: Volume One (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2017), Police Force As A Corrupt Breeze (Dostoyevsky Wannabe, 2016), and Acid Shottas (The Ledatape Organisation, 2014).
He was a member of the band Mattress Grave and is currently a member in Snake Milker. An archive of his writing/artwork/music can be found at www.shanejessechristmass.tumblr.com
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