Tuesday, September 30, 2003
I stand by my window watching me play with the GARIBALDI. We dance and twirl and hug. I am teary banging my head ever harder against the glass and palm slapping the walls, grunting uh uh. Uh uh to BAH BAH PAH! when we come closer and frolic under my sill. My palms are red and swollen from the smack of the walls and lime paint chips, attaches to me. And bangbutt glass and Oscar is keyrattling my door “Matthew!”. We skip and wave and hold hands and the GARIBALDI is getting thinner paler. HIS y-fronts grow heavy and dangle from him. We hop meward and the GARIBALDI looks through my glass. HE waves and pulls out his front teeth, grinning. I kiss the top of his ear and it turns black, falls off. The GARIBALDI squashes it into the ground like a cigarette butt as he pirouettes, my finger on his head and some of his hair is falling out. HE falls and I pick him up and HIS leg – I headbang bleed glassface cracking– HIS leg is rubbered, I twig it solid and WE use eachother like flesh crutches. WE are twin wrapped about eachother and WE come to the window - BAH BAH! Slap crack smack smack key rattle shoulder barge - WE come to the window, two meheads, and I am headlonged through the splintered window and WE stare and
WE are
“Matthew?”
“Yeah”
WE are
“Matthew?”
“Yeah”
Saturday, September 27, 2003
Dr. Spinach has a new technique she calls Brain-Stroking. We sit in group circles and massage each other’s heads, and we say nice things about the person we’re stroking, all beginning with “you are”. Dr. Spinach says the idea is that if you can’t think of anything, “you are” is nice enough. When I say we, I mean they. I sit in the corner and watch. I am not safe yet. But Dr. Spinach stands behind me stroking mine, my, mine head, my head, and says “you are…you are”. Her fingernails are sharp.
When I dented my features on the wallface, Dr. Spinach had Oscar the Facilitator remove the mirror, finally, and when I unclamped from the sting, I saw me and HE making daisy chains outside, laughing. The GARIBALDI is thinner these days. HIS y-fronts have become whiter and HIS hair is growing. I am getting worried. I call to HIM but HE is preoccupied with me and I bash the eyes and face flap wristly. Oscar installs padding on my surfaces. It reminds me of my bubble-wrapped room. During the night I am to wear boxing gloves.
Mom came to visit this morning. She buried her face in Foot’s pit when I began up-palming the scrotal bag and he touched her. I finger-tugged at mine, my lips and made them into sound shapes for her. I said
“Brgettingged abbettrre, Mbmmbmommm”
“You are, honey” she said
“You are”
When I dented my features on the wallface, Dr. Spinach had Oscar the Facilitator remove the mirror, finally, and when I unclamped from the sting, I saw me and HE making daisy chains outside, laughing. The GARIBALDI is thinner these days. HIS y-fronts have become whiter and HIS hair is growing. I am getting worried. I call to HIM but HE is preoccupied with me and I bash the eyes and face flap wristly. Oscar installs padding on my surfaces. It reminds me of my bubble-wrapped room. During the night I am to wear boxing gloves.
Mom came to visit this morning. She buried her face in Foot’s pit when I began up-palming the scrotal bag and he touched her. I finger-tugged at mine, my lips and made them into sound shapes for her. I said
“Brgettingged abbettrre, Mbmmbmommm”
“You are, honey” she said
“You are”
Thursday, September 25, 2003
Outside they play, the others and me, sometime HE. I watch from my corner and when the camera is pointing downwards it can see the winking twitchpole, agitated. Dr. Spinach has decided to cover mine window with a mirror so that I see myself instead of me, HE, they. I ask her not to with the Grammarator
“Please, I am playing outside”
and without
“Bush returns and hawks spittle meface!”
Her ears are closed and I throng the bedclothes. When I stand in the corner now they see me too. And I see me me me me me me me and he hates. Where is love?
I write Mom a letter. I write:
You have Foot in your mouth. You slip on your word. Tell 24 for me. I live BIG!
I swallow the letter and tube it to her.
I still get night terrors. Dr. Spinach asked me what I was dreaming when she showed me the video of myself hiphoisted by the bedleg upturned and thighs elbowed. Oscar the Facilitator held me to my chair until the Karefree took hold and I thrashed and headlonged and Dr. Spinach waited. I twanged my hinge. She asked again and I spine rocked, eyes backhanded. She asked again and I looked herward. Oscar let go. I took my three fingers from the pungent gap. I showed her the dream. Oscar plasti-cuffed me and Kandoo’d the assed hands. I chinned the clavicle BAH PAH!
The showers are horizontal and held by Oscar. I take my corner and wait for the gush. With hands plasti’d there is no cock-washing and the jet dingles the painspheres. I see me gurn and flashy scorn enters the sac, slap slap, scrotum my inner legskin, I AM THE TORTURED DURANGO DOLPHIN! and flip mine dorsal floorward to the sluice. I buck splash crack. Floor, assed. Stingy cockvein and the yellow geyser streams, balls loosed. Salty fountain. I AM THE LIVE BIG! WAILING WHALE!
“YESS MATTHEEEWW…YOU ARE. BEAUTIFUL!”
And the GARIBALDI holds the hose. He makes it a drip and I slip my hands free from the cuffs. I hear the water still gush and Oscar’s wheeze through our splashy dance steps, ankle deep in the Matty fountain.
“Please, I am playing outside”
and without
“Bush returns and hawks spittle meface!”
Her ears are closed and I throng the bedclothes. When I stand in the corner now they see me too. And I see me me me me me me me and he hates. Where is love?
I write Mom a letter. I write:
You have Foot in your mouth. You slip on your word. Tell 24 for me. I live BIG!
I swallow the letter and tube it to her.
I still get night terrors. Dr. Spinach asked me what I was dreaming when she showed me the video of myself hiphoisted by the bedleg upturned and thighs elbowed. Oscar the Facilitator held me to my chair until the Karefree took hold and I thrashed and headlonged and Dr. Spinach waited. I twanged my hinge. She asked again and I spine rocked, eyes backhanded. She asked again and I looked herward. Oscar let go. I took my three fingers from the pungent gap. I showed her the dream. Oscar plasti-cuffed me and Kandoo’d the assed hands. I chinned the clavicle BAH PAH!
The showers are horizontal and held by Oscar. I take my corner and wait for the gush. With hands plasti’d there is no cock-washing and the jet dingles the painspheres. I see me gurn and flashy scorn enters the sac, slap slap, scrotum my inner legskin, I AM THE TORTURED DURANGO DOLPHIN! and flip mine dorsal floorward to the sluice. I buck splash crack. Floor, assed. Stingy cockvein and the yellow geyser streams, balls loosed. Salty fountain. I AM THE LIVE BIG! WAILING WHALE!
“YESS MATTHEEEWW…YOU ARE. BEAUTIFUL!”
And the GARIBALDI holds the hose. He makes it a drip and I slip my hands free from the cuffs. I hear the water still gush and Oscar’s wheeze through our splashy dance steps, ankle deep in the Matty fountain.
Wednesday, September 24, 2003
When I stand in the corner the camera sees everything but me.
And I see everything.
This is my place.
And I see everything.
This is my place.
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
Vice mine head and Karefree inward facilitated. Restrained Matty jut-pelvis the air, spittlesprinkler vomit rebound and spineback the wall, sully the floorspace.
“NOOOO STAYYY MATTHEEEWWW…STAY!”
When the screeching ends my cheek is grazing food I do not remember eating and an orderly mops the wall. Oscar the Facilitator has a nosebleed and he is preening me, one hand cleaning the wound, the other in my pant, a box of Kandoo open beside him, finger polishing the filthy spot. Gagging. His head is cocksided and his look caring and worriful.
I am clean, chair-plopped.
Dr. Spinach has had a haircut that reminds me of my 24 Hours. She hugs a hello and the wang legpins her. She looks into the distance.
“Has he had his K?”
“YYYep”
“Jesus”
But the wang doesn’t escape. Panthole stitched. I cuticle at the thread, unfurling.
“Let’s go”
In the blue room the devices they attach are as follows:
Electronic cattle ear tag, yellow.
Removable Grammarator.
They remove mine-my castcannons, and clear the rot from my thighs with spoons. The knee bolt re-fitted. I walk.
I also receive new pyjamas and a Live Big! sash. It is yellow and stapled to my shoulder.
Dr. Spinach bends over. Foody bags exposed her head is cocksided too.
“Matthew?”
“Why do you cock your head?”
“Is the device on?”
“Yeah”
“Then why can he talk like that without the effect?”
“You were cocking your head”
“Jesus.”
Over my door, my room, it reads “Matthew Kennicott, Approach With Extreme Caution”.
I am Matthew Kennicott.
“NOOOO STAYYY MATTHEEEWWW…STAY!”
When the screeching ends my cheek is grazing food I do not remember eating and an orderly mops the wall. Oscar the Facilitator has a nosebleed and he is preening me, one hand cleaning the wound, the other in my pant, a box of Kandoo open beside him, finger polishing the filthy spot. Gagging. His head is cocksided and his look caring and worriful.
I am clean, chair-plopped.
Dr. Spinach has had a haircut that reminds me of my 24 Hours. She hugs a hello and the wang legpins her. She looks into the distance.
“Has he had his K?”
“YYYep”
“Jesus”
But the wang doesn’t escape. Panthole stitched. I cuticle at the thread, unfurling.
“Let’s go”
In the blue room the devices they attach are as follows:
Electronic cattle ear tag, yellow.
Removable Grammarator.
They remove mine-my castcannons, and clear the rot from my thighs with spoons. The knee bolt re-fitted. I walk.
I also receive new pyjamas and a Live Big! sash. It is yellow and stapled to my shoulder.
Dr. Spinach bends over. Foody bags exposed her head is cocksided too.
“Matthew?”
“Why do you cock your head?”
“Is the device on?”
“Yeah”
“Then why can he talk like that without the effect?”
“You were cocking your head”
“Jesus.”
Over my door, my room, it reads “Matthew Kennicott, Approach With Extreme Caution”.
I am Matthew Kennicott.
I am Karefreed, ankled to mine chair, cock fastened inside tight, rubber Live Biggest! underwear which mine clamped digits cannot obtain. They keep me plastic-walled in the Big! Chamber with mine torn flag and a picture of mom. Spinach says I am to be Living Big here until some of the younger children leave the dormitories. I ask where thems will go, and Spinach mutters something about a "better place".
She checks mine knots and gets up to leave.
"Would you like me to put some music on?"
Mine cock bloods, fills, knots loosen and pokes through.
"Not again."
Spinach phalanges my lap, unrubbers me and hands mine cock. In hers cocked hand I grow strong and make her wave. I make her salute Matty.
"That's it! That's it!"
She de-cocks and steps back. She wipes hers cock hand on my torn flag, and I wail, thrash, tumble floorward. She stares at me. I see her sideways. Hers pumps clump toward the body of me and uprights mine chair, plops me in.
"Now, we can wait for that to go away or we can do the exercise. It's your choice."
"Wait."
We both cock stare. In 10 minutes I have unblooded and she re-rubbers my lap. I am fastened.
"Now. Let's try this again. Would you like to listen to some music?"
"The Special K."
"What?"
"Pillow me. The Special K one. Pillow me, it's there."
"Great. Whales it is!"
She leaves, and I hear the three locks click over the sounds of whale screams. I clawbounce doorward. There are eyes to watch the body of me at all times, but they don't see the inside of me, the Special K of mine soul. I lift my head to scream like a whale, and back with mine eyes doorward the watching eyes have gone. I am used to this.
"WE'RE ALL ALONE NOW, MMMMMATTHEW!"
It comes from behind me. There's no need to clawbounce around. There is no need to see him.
"OOOFF. HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PLACE?!" I feel hims fingers through mine hair. "OF COURSE, YOU HAVE," he whispers.
He is before me, scratching, clawing at his cockal area, sees me watch him and stops.
"OH? NOW YOU'RE INTERESTED IN ME?!" He steps forward like in heavy shoes and leans to mine ear. Again, his words are of sausage flavor. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO WHAT I JUST DID?" Mine breaths get fast and patriotic. He whispers, "BECAUSE YOU CAN. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS...bite mine digits!"
I tooth mine hands and tear free my digits, unrubber me and claw me crotchwise. I scream like a whale.
"THAT'S IT MATTHEW, THAT'S IT. YOU'RE BEEEEEYUTIFUL NOW!"
I wheel in circles and scream. I claw. I bounce. I am Matty One Leg and I am free. Mine digits have fingered blood, and I taste. He dances around me.
"THE WAY IS CLEAR, MATTHEW. IT'S UP TO YOU NOW."
I hear the three clicks.
"THEY WILL NEVER HELP YOU. NOT LIKE I WILL."
I am thrown bedward, pinned, sternummed and stripped. I gum their hands. Thrash and scream like a whale. A man walks in and two-finger shakes a bottle of Karefree.
"Someone kill this music."
Now there is silence.
She checks mine knots and gets up to leave.
"Would you like me to put some music on?"
Mine cock bloods, fills, knots loosen and pokes through.
"Not again."
Spinach phalanges my lap, unrubbers me and hands mine cock. In hers cocked hand I grow strong and make her wave. I make her salute Matty.
"That's it! That's it!"
She de-cocks and steps back. She wipes hers cock hand on my torn flag, and I wail, thrash, tumble floorward. She stares at me. I see her sideways. Hers pumps clump toward the body of me and uprights mine chair, plops me in.
"Now, we can wait for that to go away or we can do the exercise. It's your choice."
"Wait."
We both cock stare. In 10 minutes I have unblooded and she re-rubbers my lap. I am fastened.
"Now. Let's try this again. Would you like to listen to some music?"
"The Special K."
"What?"
"Pillow me. The Special K one. Pillow me, it's there."
"Great. Whales it is!"
She leaves, and I hear the three locks click over the sounds of whale screams. I clawbounce doorward. There are eyes to watch the body of me at all times, but they don't see the inside of me, the Special K of mine soul. I lift my head to scream like a whale, and back with mine eyes doorward the watching eyes have gone. I am used to this.
"WE'RE ALL ALONE NOW, MMMMMATTHEW!"
It comes from behind me. There's no need to clawbounce around. There is no need to see him.
"OOOFF. HAVE YOU SEEN THIS PLACE?!" I feel hims fingers through mine hair. "OF COURSE, YOU HAVE," he whispers.
He is before me, scratching, clawing at his cockal area, sees me watch him and stops.
"OH? NOW YOU'RE INTERESTED IN ME?!" He steps forward like in heavy shoes and leans to mine ear. Again, his words are of sausage flavor. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO DO WHAT I JUST DID?" Mine breaths get fast and patriotic. He whispers, "BECAUSE YOU CAN. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS...bite mine digits!"
I tooth mine hands and tear free my digits, unrubber me and claw me crotchwise. I scream like a whale.
"THAT'S IT MATTHEW, THAT'S IT. YOU'RE BEEEEEYUTIFUL NOW!"
I wheel in circles and scream. I claw. I bounce. I am Matty One Leg and I am free. Mine digits have fingered blood, and I taste. He dances around me.
"THE WAY IS CLEAR, MATTHEW. IT'S UP TO YOU NOW."
I hear the three clicks.
"THEY WILL NEVER HELP YOU. NOT LIKE I WILL."
I am thrown bedward, pinned, sternummed and stripped. I gum their hands. Thrash and scream like a whale. A man walks in and two-finger shakes a bottle of Karefree.
"Someone kill this music."
Now there is silence.
Monday, September 22, 2003
I am to Live Big! for a time. Mom makes some Karefree Kool-Aid and I douse mine cheeks when she speaks. Sometimes she disappears and the GARIBALDI comes, with his hands on her invisible shoulders, stroking Foot’s gone-head, and I chin my sternum, clamp-eye. She gives me the paper. Unclamp.
Says
“The Matthew-Mother, Mother-Matthew oedipal and reverse oedipal dyad, along with Matthew’s fraternally induced self loathing, accompanied by hallucinations and malevolent masturbatory tendencies, heightened by his Mother’s sexual relations and her liberal attitudes towards showering, all lead to the conclusion that for the benefit of Matthew’s remaining sanity, and possible recuperation, he reside for the foreseeable future at the Let’s Live Big! Healing Retreat, Durango, CO.”
Signed Mom
Tearsmear and finger mine teeth gap, harangue the spot
FootMom mouth gape-flap reasons meward but eyeface the other, wrinkle brow up, he backstroke teary Mom.
“Matty, yo
“It’s just not w
“u have to underst
“orking out, pal. Tha
“and, we’ve tried our best, but thi
“t incident with the VCR
“s…this is too much, I, I, I” and boohooMomboohoo
“…that was just fucked up, Dude. Fuck
“hoo, boohoo”
“ed UP!”
“MAAATTHEWWW…”
I open my dry unstinging eyes and Mom and Foot are gone and silent. I take my legs out of the rotting green casts that house them and follow the naked dancing feet slaps of the GARIBALDI out to the garden, where the tennis ball has begun swinging around the pole alone. HE appears dancing and slapping the ball with his torso…beckoning.
“They’ll come for you tomorrow, Matty. Foot will help you with your things”
I hear through the window as I dance outside. Mom, Foot and an empty seat. And spank mine eyelids to end it.
Says
“The Matthew-Mother, Mother-Matthew oedipal and reverse oedipal dyad, along with Matthew’s fraternally induced self loathing, accompanied by hallucinations and malevolent masturbatory tendencies, heightened by his Mother’s sexual relations and her liberal attitudes towards showering, all lead to the conclusion that for the benefit of Matthew’s remaining sanity, and possible recuperation, he reside for the foreseeable future at the Let’s Live Big! Healing Retreat, Durango, CO.”
Signed Mom
Tearsmear and finger mine teeth gap, harangue the spot
FootMom mouth gape-flap reasons meward but eyeface the other, wrinkle brow up, he backstroke teary Mom.
“Matty, yo
“It’s just not w
“u have to underst
“orking out, pal. Tha
“and, we’ve tried our best, but thi
“t incident with the VCR
“s…this is too much, I, I, I” and boohooMomboohoo
“…that was just fucked up, Dude. Fuck
“hoo, boohoo”
“ed UP!”
“MAAATTHEWWW…”
I open my dry unstinging eyes and Mom and Foot are gone and silent. I take my legs out of the rotting green casts that house them and follow the naked dancing feet slaps of the GARIBALDI out to the garden, where the tennis ball has begun swinging around the pole alone. HE appears dancing and slapping the ball with his torso…beckoning.
“They’ll come for you tomorrow, Matty. Foot will help you with your things”
I hear through the window as I dance outside. Mom, Foot and an empty seat. And spank mine eyelids to end it.
TV boobs me flesh walls pink girlbits lips hims skin tower. Mine cock-washed frantic. Brother’s shirt milk-ribbon gummed, endearing sperms.
TV noises me moan song, corner-box flickers defilement, but where is love? Mine cock weeps creamy tears, mine eyes weep 24 Hours.
I am Special K. I will love all you. I will love no-love movie crate.
Unchaired, I clawbouncebleed whirr-to, brother shirt glisten in screen glare I am shiny with love. Cheek screen-flat, I TV hug. I fist my bat, aim slotwise my love-stick spools machine guts.
FIZZCRACKLEBLACK. Smoke cough and spark sting as no-love crate love rejects. Boob unboobed, but moan song to mine ears continue muffled wallthrough.
Chairflopped, I sound investigate love source – Foot room. Mine guns door swing gaping, mine eyes tear-fill see Foot flesh sweat-slickered. Foot and Mom. Foot brainstorms in Mom’s ass-meat, gurnfaced and shudderbacked. Fucks? Mom fucks a man named Foot, hers face pillowbound, hair hims handles. Foot head-looks me grin-chopped, teeth curtains parting, rictus gap. Moan song Mom mouthed.
I chairback, TV return. Black screen mine reflection filled, eye-watered and drool-chinned. My reflection organ-fists angry, screams at me. He is Matthew Kennicott. He wishes I was dead.
Scream room Foot summons. He mouths word noise, flapping why-faced.
We speak him silence.
TV noises me moan song, corner-box flickers defilement, but where is love? Mine cock weeps creamy tears, mine eyes weep 24 Hours.
I am Special K. I will love all you. I will love no-love movie crate.
Unchaired, I clawbouncebleed whirr-to, brother shirt glisten in screen glare I am shiny with love. Cheek screen-flat, I TV hug. I fist my bat, aim slotwise my love-stick spools machine guts.
FIZZCRACKLEBLACK. Smoke cough and spark sting as no-love crate love rejects. Boob unboobed, but moan song to mine ears continue muffled wallthrough.
Chairflopped, I sound investigate love source – Foot room. Mine guns door swing gaping, mine eyes tear-fill see Foot flesh sweat-slickered. Foot and Mom. Foot brainstorms in Mom’s ass-meat, gurnfaced and shudderbacked. Fucks? Mom fucks a man named Foot, hers face pillowbound, hair hims handles. Foot head-looks me grin-chopped, teeth curtains parting, rictus gap. Moan song Mom mouthed.
I chairback, TV return. Black screen mine reflection filled, eye-watered and drool-chinned. My reflection organ-fists angry, screams at me. He is Matthew Kennicott. He wishes I was dead.
Scream room Foot summons. He mouths word noise, flapping why-faced.
We speak him silence.
Friday, September 19, 2003
Mom angrifies hers words at me. She says she is at a loss. Later with tears she decides I should get to know Foot better, live big like him, and sends me to hims house for the weekend.
We have tried this before.
He comes to get me, points as he de-cars and walks fast houseward. Mom stops him outside and Foot whispers to her in the driveway while waving his arms. Mom comes in with him, who is silent, and says, "Matty, it's time to go." I fire at him mine cannons and he wheels me carward, deposits me in back next to five watermelons, wads of blanket and a pillow case full of CDs, which inside of I put mine head. When this bores me I lay mine cannons on the melons and fire at cars. Not red, white or blue ones like the freedom of my thoughts.
Foot pulls into hims driveway and leaves me to go inside. It is dark when he returns. I fire mine cannons.
"Stop it, Matty."
"Special K."
He sighs.
"Right."
In hims hand is dollars of money. Must be four. Foot unfolds mine chair, drops me in and puts his dollars of money down mine T-shirt. It is brother's.
"Look. There's a video store at the end of the road. Why don't you pick a movie for us to watch."
I begin to chin mine shoulder, and at his upset face I decide to ass my hands.
"Take them out."
I do.
"Look, I have to make some calls. Can you handle that?"
I give him a thumb like the Fonz. He looks at me.
"It'll be better for both of us the less we-" He stops his words and throws hims arms into the air. "I'll leave the door open."
A little girl stares at mine outward cock, and hers mother shows alarm, runs. I cock rub my video selections to help me decide. It gets hard on Sperms of Endearment. I roll tillward wristing mine knee.
"Sperms of Endearment, eh?"
He looks down at me in mine torn flag. He is old and remembers freedom.
"I'm afraid I'm gonna need to see some ID."
From brother's T-shirt now mine I pull the dollars of money and ID and double-wrist him both.
He shakes hims head.
"Son. This is a Barry White CD."
"That's me, Special K."
He apologizes to a man behind me, looks back to me and laughs.
"I'm afraid I can't let you have the video."
"I-"
Mine words stop in me when Foot walks in.
"I knew it."
He holds a bottle of Karefree. I clawbounce, thrash and wail, digit mine eyes. The old man says to Foot, "Look, he can have the video."
Foot comes for me.
This was mine last chance for Special K. I fear now I am to be Live Bigged.
We have tried this before.
He comes to get me, points as he de-cars and walks fast houseward. Mom stops him outside and Foot whispers to her in the driveway while waving his arms. Mom comes in with him, who is silent, and says, "Matty, it's time to go." I fire at him mine cannons and he wheels me carward, deposits me in back next to five watermelons, wads of blanket and a pillow case full of CDs, which inside of I put mine head. When this bores me I lay mine cannons on the melons and fire at cars. Not red, white or blue ones like the freedom of my thoughts.
Foot pulls into hims driveway and leaves me to go inside. It is dark when he returns. I fire mine cannons.
"Stop it, Matty."
"Special K."
He sighs.
"Right."
In hims hand is dollars of money. Must be four. Foot unfolds mine chair, drops me in and puts his dollars of money down mine T-shirt. It is brother's.
"Look. There's a video store at the end of the road. Why don't you pick a movie for us to watch."
I begin to chin mine shoulder, and at his upset face I decide to ass my hands.
"Take them out."
I do.
"Look, I have to make some calls. Can you handle that?"
I give him a thumb like the Fonz. He looks at me.
"It'll be better for both of us the less we-" He stops his words and throws hims arms into the air. "I'll leave the door open."
A little girl stares at mine outward cock, and hers mother shows alarm, runs. I cock rub my video selections to help me decide. It gets hard on Sperms of Endearment. I roll tillward wristing mine knee.
"Sperms of Endearment, eh?"
He looks down at me in mine torn flag. He is old and remembers freedom.
"I'm afraid I'm gonna need to see some ID."
From brother's T-shirt now mine I pull the dollars of money and ID and double-wrist him both.
He shakes hims head.
"Son. This is a Barry White CD."
"That's me, Special K."
He apologizes to a man behind me, looks back to me and laughs.
"I'm afraid I can't let you have the video."
"I-"
Mine words stop in me when Foot walks in.
"I knew it."
He holds a bottle of Karefree. I clawbounce, thrash and wail, digit mine eyes. The old man says to Foot, "Look, he can have the video."
Foot comes for me.
This was mine last chance for Special K. I fear now I am to be Live Bigged.
The room has mint green walls and has pictures of cheetahs, blood mouthed, baby gazelles torn. They move. Through the glass I cannot hear but see Mom, holding Foot’s hand, Principal Ear and Mrs. Lunt. Mom and Foot cock heads and listen. Mrs. Lunt is waving the device about and Mom, Spinach and Foot make faces. Mrs. Lunt storms, slams, hissing meward passing. Principal Ear trots after and calls her first name, then me “That retard”. Blink tight. Cuticle my lapskin and member the face. Twitchy. Knuckle temple-itch. Bite gland. HE is coming.
Mom and Foot are lobsided again and Spinach mouth flaps. Mom cries and Foot vibrates her silenced. Dr. Spinach looks through mine features and continues and Foot is gurning, head shaking looking at me and hating. Chair bounce. Scalp, palmed. Ear my shoulder.
“OOOHH, SIGNING!…SIGNING!OOOOHHHH!”
The GARIBALDI is with them and skins the glass, flabby residue stains. I hear HIM through their silence, hand flap words, and Mom is shoulder shuddered, smear cheeked. She slides a paper to Dr. Spinach, undigits pen.
She looks to me and I reach mine hand to touch the look. Her.
But HE stands in my view.
Mom and Foot are lobsided again and Spinach mouth flaps. Mom cries and Foot vibrates her silenced. Dr. Spinach looks through mine features and continues and Foot is gurning, head shaking looking at me and hating. Chair bounce. Scalp, palmed. Ear my shoulder.
“OOOHH, SIGNING!…SIGNING!OOOOHHHH!”
The GARIBALDI is with them and skins the glass, flabby residue stains. I hear HIM through their silence, hand flap words, and Mom is shoulder shuddered, smear cheeked. She slides a paper to Dr. Spinach, undigits pen.
She looks to me and I reach mine hand to touch the look. Her.
But HE stands in my view.
Thursday, September 18, 2003
"MMMMMATTHEW! WHY SO SAD, MATTHEW?"
He dances before me, hopping on one foot, then the next. He clicks his heels and lands, freezes, arms spread out like he's waiting for a hug.
He sees me rocking and frowns and puts his fat hands on mine shoulders.
"O DON'T FALL, MATTHEW." He presses a finger into mine chest and giggles. "THAT WOULD MAKE ME VERY...OOOFF...VERY SAD."
"No. I am Matty. Special K."
"NUH UH UH." His finger lifts up mine chin, and the pink face of him leans in and is in front of me. The breath of him is warm and of sausage flavor. It wets mine nose and whispers, "YOU ARE MATTHEW...BEEEEYUTIFUL MATTHEW. YOU CAN DO IT."
"But, mine- hers-" I look around for Spinach, and the GARIBALDI cups mine cheek and turns me back himward. I lick the arm of him. It is salty. He says nothing.
"Why am I me?"
He HARRUMPHS and hands his hips.
"WHY WHY WHY. C'MON. LET'S DANCE DANCE DANCE!"
The GARIBALDI grabs me by mine wrists and pulls me upright, knee loose and wobbling. He claps a beat and says, "LOOK ALIVE, SON, LOOK ALIVE."
Mine arms, hands in fists, swing at my sides. I whistle songs from Foot's radio. The GARIBALDI twirls and dips in mid-air, then somersaults backward, stands up and struts meward as if in very heavy shoes.
I feel better. Special K, me. I laugh, giggle.
"Can I do that?"
He puts his hands on mine cheeks and says the sausagey words in my ear: "YOU CAN DO ANYTHING, MATTHEW. KIDS CAN DO IT!"
The GARIBALDI steps to the side of mine body and ushers me forward with a sweep of hims arm. I straighten mine knee and walk.
"MATTHEW?"
I look back but don't see him.
"Matty?"
I look back again and Dr. Spinach has gotten the mirror. She stands by it and gestures to The Facilitator who undoes my belt, my pant. Casted legs hoisted inwards, the balls dangle between and I am chair-plopped.
I sigh
...and prepare the cock for the exercise. Dr. Spinach smiles.
I am Matthew. I am Matty. I am Special K. I am the GARIBALDI.
He dances before me, hopping on one foot, then the next. He clicks his heels and lands, freezes, arms spread out like he's waiting for a hug.
He sees me rocking and frowns and puts his fat hands on mine shoulders.
"O DON'T FALL, MATTHEW." He presses a finger into mine chest and giggles. "THAT WOULD MAKE ME VERY...OOOFF...VERY SAD."
"No. I am Matty. Special K."
"NUH UH UH." His finger lifts up mine chin, and the pink face of him leans in and is in front of me. The breath of him is warm and of sausage flavor. It wets mine nose and whispers, "YOU ARE MATTHEW...BEEEEYUTIFUL MATTHEW. YOU CAN DO IT."
"But, mine- hers-" I look around for Spinach, and the GARIBALDI cups mine cheek and turns me back himward. I lick the arm of him. It is salty. He says nothing.
"Why am I me?"
He HARRUMPHS and hands his hips.
"WHY WHY WHY. C'MON. LET'S DANCE DANCE DANCE!"
The GARIBALDI grabs me by mine wrists and pulls me upright, knee loose and wobbling. He claps a beat and says, "LOOK ALIVE, SON, LOOK ALIVE."
Mine arms, hands in fists, swing at my sides. I whistle songs from Foot's radio. The GARIBALDI twirls and dips in mid-air, then somersaults backward, stands up and struts meward as if in very heavy shoes.
I feel better. Special K, me. I laugh, giggle.
"Can I do that?"
He puts his hands on mine cheeks and says the sausagey words in my ear: "YOU CAN DO ANYTHING, MATTHEW. KIDS CAN DO IT!"
The GARIBALDI steps to the side of mine body and ushers me forward with a sweep of hims arm. I straighten mine knee and walk.
"MATTHEW?"
I look back but don't see him.
"Matty?"
I look back again and Dr. Spinach has gotten the mirror. She stands by it and gestures to The Facilitator who undoes my belt, my pant. Casted legs hoisted inwards, the balls dangle between and I am chair-plopped.
I sigh
...and prepare the cock for the exercise. Dr. Spinach smiles.
I am Matthew. I am Matty. I am Special K. I am the GARIBALDI.
Instead of sugar Mom sprinkles Karefree onto my Special K. “Special Kennicott” the kids call me in my face, Special K, Special K. This was after Mom sent me to school with a bowl of milk and flakes, cling wrapped shut. This was after I refused to eat anything unmilked. The first few mouthfuls are blended and funnelled into me. Thereafter I am quite capable. After the attacks. After they untie mine hands from the table legs. I watch the Bush/Cheney campaign channel and eat from my chair-tray. I cannot sit at the table because of my legs. Uncasting in three weeks. The Kids Can Do It! van stops outside to take me to my morning Spinach intake. They carry mace, masks, surgical gloves and truncheons, escorted by a squad car and I say hello as I wheel by, sit on the edge of the open van, fold mine own chair and take my position. Floorside…because of the legs. When a facilitator takes off his mask, his eyes are wide and he looks at Mom who is beaming. Foot’s hand on her back.
We pass the 24 hour store on our way to Dr. Spinach’s office and she leans across the counter, rocking on her elbows, smiling at that security guard. As I look over my shoulder I get the same view as him. I jerk neckfacecrackslap then gurn and poke myself calmed. Special K.
Dr. Spinach has an elevator to her office that I like. When we do the window exercise I am 25 stories high. I stop at every floor on the way up, look down each hallway, and the Facilitator has gotten used to this. He reads a book. But today he presses 25 and holds my hands tight.
“Not today Matty, Hairy Lou needs a check-up”
I close mine eyes to the red white and blue of my thoughts. His only red, only red. I chin my chest and he says “Calm down”, and I do. When I open my eyes Dr. Spinach is shining a light into them, sparking my oblongata. I snap at her phalanges.
“Sorry Matthew…”
“Matty, Matty One Leg. That’s me. Special K. That’s me.”
“Sorry, I know you hate that, but I have to monitor the Karefree”
“Special K?”
“I suppose. How do you feel?”
“I see you”
“OK. How do you see me?”
“Instead of him”
“Who?”
“The GARIBALDI!”
I wail and show her the Garibaldi’s hand flap. The Facilitator steps in.
“I was showing her”
He lets me go.
“Who is he, Matth – Matty?”
I wheel to the window. I sit on the ledge and hang my guns over. The Facilitator holds me and ties my belt to the heater after Spinach nods an OK.
I shout:
“I am Matthew Kennicott! I see the Garibaldi when the people disappear!”
“Who is he, Matty?”
I spit to the ground and the walkers below.
“Who is he?”
“He is the end”
When I turn I am held by nothing and Dr. Spinach has gone.
We pass the 24 hour store on our way to Dr. Spinach’s office and she leans across the counter, rocking on her elbows, smiling at that security guard. As I look over my shoulder I get the same view as him. I jerk neckfacecrackslap then gurn and poke myself calmed. Special K.
Dr. Spinach has an elevator to her office that I like. When we do the window exercise I am 25 stories high. I stop at every floor on the way up, look down each hallway, and the Facilitator has gotten used to this. He reads a book. But today he presses 25 and holds my hands tight.
“Not today Matty, Hairy Lou needs a check-up”
I close mine eyes to the red white and blue of my thoughts. His only red, only red. I chin my chest and he says “Calm down”, and I do. When I open my eyes Dr. Spinach is shining a light into them, sparking my oblongata. I snap at her phalanges.
“Sorry Matthew…”
“Matty, Matty One Leg. That’s me. Special K. That’s me.”
“Sorry, I know you hate that, but I have to monitor the Karefree”
“Special K?”
“I suppose. How do you feel?”
“I see you”
“OK. How do you see me?”
“Instead of him”
“Who?”
“The GARIBALDI!”
I wail and show her the Garibaldi’s hand flap. The Facilitator steps in.
“I was showing her”
He lets me go.
“Who is he, Matth – Matty?”
I wheel to the window. I sit on the ledge and hang my guns over. The Facilitator holds me and ties my belt to the heater after Spinach nods an OK.
I shout:
“I am Matthew Kennicott! I see the Garibaldi when the people disappear!”
“Who is he, Matty?”
I spit to the ground and the walkers below.
“Who is he?”
“He is the end”
When I turn I am held by nothing and Dr. Spinach has gone.
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Foot comes to get me for dinner from the closet where I sleep on brother's clothes. Mom has made mine meat find and potatoes without sperm.
"Where is your meat, Matty?"
Foot says, "Jesus Christ", when I digit mine cock and bounce and the blood of meat runs out mine shorts and down the chair. Mom hands hers face and Foot runs for towels. I wail and thrash. Foot tells me to get up, and I de-meat mine ass. I bleed of meet and me. Foot arms for meat, but I swing away and stick it to mine knee bolt.
"Matty! Let us help-"
My mouth hole says words I am not to say of things I have seen from mom's closet. Foot looks at mom with eyes like thems cops. I tear the meat on mine bolt and one two three four five Karefree fall on the floor.
I fall on them but Foot gets them first. I am sternumed, panted by Foot's Gapped knee.
"HINNKKA HINKKA ACCHH."
Mom sits on mine legs and yells at father for being dead.
Foot has nostrilled mine mouth open and turns his head for knowing what I've eaten. He drops the pills and hands my neck, de-nostrils and puts one hand on my mouth and the other on mom's shoulder. She looks over at me and cries.
"Give him a minute. He should be fine."
I thrash, tongue Foot's palm and decide to pee. Mom smells it and goes for more towels. Mine bolt has torn hers dress, and her underwear is red.
Soon I am calm. Foot de-hands, backs away.
"Matty?"
I am still. I feel good. I ask if there is dessert, and mom brings in a pie, shaking. I tell her it is tasty, and she smiles, looks at Foot, running fingers through hims hair.
I look at Foot. Foot looks at me. I smile.
"Do you know him?"
"Who?"
"The Garibaldi?"
"Uhh..." Foot looks again at mom, "can't say I do."
After dinner mom asks me to help clean up the table and mine mess. This is America, I say, and go to read Foot's, mine magazines.
"Where is your meat, Matty?"
Foot says, "Jesus Christ", when I digit mine cock and bounce and the blood of meat runs out mine shorts and down the chair. Mom hands hers face and Foot runs for towels. I wail and thrash. Foot tells me to get up, and I de-meat mine ass. I bleed of meet and me. Foot arms for meat, but I swing away and stick it to mine knee bolt.
"Matty! Let us help-"
My mouth hole says words I am not to say of things I have seen from mom's closet. Foot looks at mom with eyes like thems cops. I tear the meat on mine bolt and one two three four five Karefree fall on the floor.
I fall on them but Foot gets them first. I am sternumed, panted by Foot's Gapped knee.
"HINNKKA HINKKA ACCHH."
Mom sits on mine legs and yells at father for being dead.
Foot has nostrilled mine mouth open and turns his head for knowing what I've eaten. He drops the pills and hands my neck, de-nostrils and puts one hand on my mouth and the other on mom's shoulder. She looks over at me and cries.
"Give him a minute. He should be fine."
I thrash, tongue Foot's palm and decide to pee. Mom smells it and goes for more towels. Mine bolt has torn hers dress, and her underwear is red.
Soon I am calm. Foot de-hands, backs away.
"Matty?"
I am still. I feel good. I ask if there is dessert, and mom brings in a pie, shaking. I tell her it is tasty, and she smiles, looks at Foot, running fingers through hims hair.
I look at Foot. Foot looks at me. I smile.
"Do you know him?"
"Who?"
"The Garibaldi?"
"Uhh..." Foot looks again at mom, "can't say I do."
After dinner mom asks me to help clean up the table and mine mess. This is America, I say, and go to read Foot's, mine magazines.
I am home and mom and Foot are watching me. They laugh at all mine stories today and say, "That's great, Matty." Mom cooks a meat I found and Foot has boughten for me issues of Gunner and Urban Honey. He dangles them for me, and I roll forward to let hims nuzzle mine head. He is sweaty. Pits mine forehead. I push his knees with my cannon legs to release me, and Foot magazines mine lap crevice. He looks a little too long. I wrist my lobe and spin round. From the other room, mine ears hear the words:
"Is he normal?"
"Is he ever?"
"Randy! He might hear you." Mom laughs. "He was much better yesterday."
"Mm. Yeah. Maybe we should up his dosage. Hey, that's great sauce!"
"That's blood."
It's not all blood.
"Is he normal?"
"Is he ever?"
"Randy! He might hear you." Mom laughs. "He was much better yesterday."
"Mm. Yeah. Maybe we should up his dosage. Hey, that's great sauce!"
"That's blood."
It's not all blood.
Tuesday, September 16, 2003
Foot takes his namesake from my neck after Mom pills me. With incisors missing she slid the medical oblong past mine floppy gum and tubed the water in. Dr. Spinach has prescribed “Karefree” and Mom sleeves the water from the nose. When they stand I thrash, wrist my lobes…
When it stops I look for the tank guns I see my legs are broken and I can taste soap. I look out of the window to see if my fires are still burning and I see blue. I think of her and Mom and Foot are looking at me.
“Matty?”
“Matty?”
“The nine Dwarves are in town” I say, and Mom starts crying before Foot says
“Matty, that’s right, that’s right!”
Mom’s confused and Foot explains. Mom dries me after my shower and I thank her. My chair is red, white and blue…perfect, and I dress in my brother’s old uniform. Foot wraps me in the torn flag and I go. I am Matthew Karefree Kennicott, my way is clear. I leave Mom kissing the vial of pills and Foot smiles.
Mr. Ferguson avoids me and ushers Mikey inside. He pauses and frowns when I stop and wave. Then closes the door. I can hear the crowds from the top of the hill, jeering and applauding…depending. I think of her when I see the tree skeletons and go to the 24 Hour store. It is closed, says the security guard I have never seen before. He says this though there are people inside, and she turns her back on me. I say I only want my Wads, and am not sure what I mean by that. I leave, saddened.
In town the Nine Dwarves are speaking on podiums. They defile the red white and blue of my America. I wave my flag and shout with the crowd, my crowd. The other side, they cuss and spit on my, mine, my, our flag. They scream DOWN BUSH DOWN and I think of my brother and the boys. I regret for a moment not cock washing the crotchy tail and when I look up the crowd are gone, but the noise remains.
One of the dwarves, y-fronted and otherwise fleshy, leaps meward from the platform. He is bald and his glasses are thick making his eyes fishy. Spreadleg standing by the guns he arm flaps the saying
“I AM THE GARIBALDI! YOU WILL SEE ME AGAIN!”
and disappears into the crowd who have returned. They are in a circle. They are around mine flapping body. They are silent. I hear sirens.
When it stops I look for the tank guns I see my legs are broken and I can taste soap. I look out of the window to see if my fires are still burning and I see blue. I think of her and Mom and Foot are looking at me.
“Matty?”
“Matty?”
“The nine Dwarves are in town” I say, and Mom starts crying before Foot says
“Matty, that’s right, that’s right!”
Mom’s confused and Foot explains. Mom dries me after my shower and I thank her. My chair is red, white and blue…perfect, and I dress in my brother’s old uniform. Foot wraps me in the torn flag and I go. I am Matthew Karefree Kennicott, my way is clear. I leave Mom kissing the vial of pills and Foot smiles.
Mr. Ferguson avoids me and ushers Mikey inside. He pauses and frowns when I stop and wave. Then closes the door. I can hear the crowds from the top of the hill, jeering and applauding…depending. I think of her when I see the tree skeletons and go to the 24 Hour store. It is closed, says the security guard I have never seen before. He says this though there are people inside, and she turns her back on me. I say I only want my Wads, and am not sure what I mean by that. I leave, saddened.
In town the Nine Dwarves are speaking on podiums. They defile the red white and blue of my America. I wave my flag and shout with the crowd, my crowd. The other side, they cuss and spit on my, mine, my, our flag. They scream DOWN BUSH DOWN and I think of my brother and the boys. I regret for a moment not cock washing the crotchy tail and when I look up the crowd are gone, but the noise remains.
One of the dwarves, y-fronted and otherwise fleshy, leaps meward from the platform. He is bald and his glasses are thick making his eyes fishy. Spreadleg standing by the guns he arm flaps the saying
“I AM THE GARIBALDI! YOU WILL SEE ME AGAIN!”
and disappears into the crowd who have returned. They are in a circle. They are around mine flapping body. They are silent. I hear sirens.
Hairy Lou digits mine nose hole. She smiles, then digits hers.
"Ever seen a girl's thing?"
I wobble and chin and start to de-chair. Hairy Lou catches me, bleeds from knee bolt and laughs.
"If you give me your meat at lunch you can see one."
I pant mine hand and open my mouth hole. I roll forward to love her.
Mehboob hears mine love call and answers to wheel me windoward to watch birds. He points at one, looks at his digited mounds and wipes one hand on his panted legs. It's only Lady of the Pool. I bounce and squish, try for cockwash but hands bound like Robot Matty. I wail and Mehboob shouts, "Birds, Matty. Look at the birds." I shut mine eyes and try not to see mom.
At lunch Mehboob wheels me cafteriaward, says "Goddamn", kicks and I roll in. Mehboob forgot mine hands still bound, and I ask the track kid to help.
"Need meat for girl's thing. Free hands?"
Track kid hears friends go "Eww" and frees only one. "Sorry," comes his word, and runs.
"No. Only Lady of the Pool today. I am clean from the bra of mom's sex."
His friends look at other things when I one-hand roll by.
I smile at a kid who puts a tray on my lap and looks away. I rise it up and then down with mine cock. I was banned for this before, but that teacher got leukemian and teaches with angels and father, mom says.
In line, the lady with the skull that hates looks at me and shakes hers head.
"Meat for me."
"No meat. Pizza. Cheese pizza."
"Need meat for see what's hers thing."
"No meat today, kid. Just pizza."
I wail and cock raise mine tray.
"For love?"
"Listen, kid. Do you want the pizza?"
"I am Lady of the Pool for Hairy Lou."
"Christ."
Skull lady walks around the counter. I am wheeled away.
"Ever seen a girl's thing?"
I wobble and chin and start to de-chair. Hairy Lou catches me, bleeds from knee bolt and laughs.
"If you give me your meat at lunch you can see one."
I pant mine hand and open my mouth hole. I roll forward to love her.
Mehboob hears mine love call and answers to wheel me windoward to watch birds. He points at one, looks at his digited mounds and wipes one hand on his panted legs. It's only Lady of the Pool. I bounce and squish, try for cockwash but hands bound like Robot Matty. I wail and Mehboob shouts, "Birds, Matty. Look at the birds." I shut mine eyes and try not to see mom.
At lunch Mehboob wheels me cafteriaward, says "Goddamn", kicks and I roll in. Mehboob forgot mine hands still bound, and I ask the track kid to help.
"Need meat for girl's thing. Free hands?"
Track kid hears friends go "Eww" and frees only one. "Sorry," comes his word, and runs.
"No. Only Lady of the Pool today. I am clean from the bra of mom's sex."
His friends look at other things when I one-hand roll by.
I smile at a kid who puts a tray on my lap and looks away. I rise it up and then down with mine cock. I was banned for this before, but that teacher got leukemian and teaches with angels and father, mom says.
In line, the lady with the skull that hates looks at me and shakes hers head.
"Meat for me."
"No meat. Pizza. Cheese pizza."
"Need meat for see what's hers thing."
"No meat today, kid. Just pizza."
I wail and cock raise mine tray.
"For love?"
"Listen, kid. Do you want the pizza?"
"I am Lady of the Pool for Hairy Lou."
"Christ."
Skull lady walks around the counter. I am wheeled away.
Monday, September 15, 2003
School in a few hours. Mehboob again. Big day ahead and I'm up early with alarm sounds still cunting in mine skull. I rise with cock in hand and digital stickiness. Want to be ready on time for the van. Kids Can Do It. I wheel me to mom's bathroom for what Spinach calls "body necessaries". Out of chair I have ripped mom's red bra on mine knee bolt, mostly shredded, and clogged the sink drain. Water pours over the edges onto me on the floor. In mine waterfall I tooth mom's Lady of the Pool vanilla seashell soap with lowered head, chinned up and down and cleanse mine pores and semenned hands. I crawl to rug to dry bits of me, then roll to closet and sniff brother's clothes that he will wear when he comes home. Quick cock wash under the pillows, then breakfast.
In the kitchen again and the floor with mine words of revolution still moves me. Mom's put all knives and piercing capable things on top of the fridge behind hers hair dye. When I can fly this won't be a problem for me. Kids can do it. No time for revolution now, anyway. I fruit mine cock and wind on wholegrain. Mom bans from me fruits that squeeze and from making strawberry spermed toast, but I have three and seven berries hidden in places she's afraid to look.
After breakfast I wheel me out back with hands down shorts, pushed into flap, for remote-controlled cock and wheel training exercise. Van in half of an hour. I lever mine shaft right. Left. Right. Left. Left. Really like left. I go in circles. Left and left and left. Mine chair tips and I'm tangled. Left and left and left. Cannons aimed at Mikey's. About to fire. Left and left and left. I explode and scream "Fohnnnn". Mine head is dirty and mine flapped hands encounter more digital stickiness. I am trapped beneath mine chair, and when the White Van comes they find me this way.
In the kitchen again and the floor with mine words of revolution still moves me. Mom's put all knives and piercing capable things on top of the fridge behind hers hair dye. When I can fly this won't be a problem for me. Kids can do it. No time for revolution now, anyway. I fruit mine cock and wind on wholegrain. Mom bans from me fruits that squeeze and from making strawberry spermed toast, but I have three and seven berries hidden in places she's afraid to look.
After breakfast I wheel me out back with hands down shorts, pushed into flap, for remote-controlled cock and wheel training exercise. Van in half of an hour. I lever mine shaft right. Left. Right. Left. Left. Really like left. I go in circles. Left and left and left. Mine chair tips and I'm tangled. Left and left and left. Cannons aimed at Mikey's. About to fire. Left and left and left. I explode and scream "Fohnnnn". Mine head is dirty and mine flapped hands encounter more digital stickiness. I am trapped beneath mine chair, and when the White Van comes they find me this way.
Friday, September 12, 2003
Italy
by Matty Kennicott
Italy is the world's 8th largest economy and the home of a people called the Italians. The language of Italy is Italian, and it's main exports are wheat and olives and "industrial machinery" (Hobbes and Fortner, p. 32). The capital of Italy is Rome, where the Romans used to live and had a democracy with senators. Brutus was a senator, and he killed Julius Caesar, who was an emperor.
The country of Italy today has a "constitutional democracy" with a "parliament and prime minister" and has 90% of its people as the Roman Catholic religion (Hobbes and Fortner, p. 33). The Pope is not Italian, though, because he's a Pollock, and his country the Vatican is not Italy but the Italians let him live there.
In conclusion, Italy is a country in a place what's called a "peninsula" that looks like a boot, which it is famous for, and has lots of democracy and olives and Italians.
by Matty Kennicott
Italy is the world's 8th largest economy and the home of a people called the Italians. The language of Italy is Italian, and it's main exports are wheat and olives and "industrial machinery" (Hobbes and Fortner, p. 32). The capital of Italy is Rome, where the Romans used to live and had a democracy with senators. Brutus was a senator, and he killed Julius Caesar, who was an emperor.
The country of Italy today has a "constitutional democracy" with a "parliament and prime minister" and has 90% of its people as the Roman Catholic religion (Hobbes and Fortner, p. 33). The Pope is not Italian, though, because he's a Pollock, and his country the Vatican is not Italy but the Italians let him live there.
In conclusion, Italy is a country in a place what's called a "peninsula" that looks like a boot, which it is famous for, and has lots of democracy and olives and Italians.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
TV boobed me. Cocked mine ears. After kitchen revolution, mom promised beatings from Foot, but mom riding cocked one downtown in Foot's pad, so freedom. It's Freedom Day. Prayers on TV got me praying without Grammarator and clawbounced inside from yard. Prayer went:
O, God.
Me just Matty. No powers yet.
You were one when thou beard comed up there was good.
Dead people are not good.
Make freedom.
And You forgotten Matty?
Bees knees, mine bolted, huh?
Mom fucks a man named Foot.
Spammed mine drip noodle for You.
No more pain. And 24 Hour.
Hands and knees now. Chew mine ends of hands with fingers for truth of God. I clawbouncebleed on the rug for God, for Hookstra...for freedom. On mine back the words of Bush's mouth hole say it's 9/11 again and mine brother fights for freedom. I'm proud.
Bush says not to fly today and I decide not to for respect for dead people. For freedom I clawbounce outside to watch the skies for planes what ragheads fly to hate me in mine home. I wear my "Understanding Faces" mask. I am the Freedom Jew.
O, God.
Me just Matty. No powers yet.
You were one when thou beard comed up there was good.
Dead people are not good.
Make freedom.
And You forgotten Matty?
Bees knees, mine bolted, huh?
Mom fucks a man named Foot.
Spammed mine drip noodle for You.
No more pain. And 24 Hour.
Hands and knees now. Chew mine ends of hands with fingers for truth of God. I clawbouncebleed on the rug for God, for Hookstra...for freedom. On mine back the words of Bush's mouth hole say it's 9/11 again and mine brother fights for freedom. I'm proud.
Bush says not to fly today and I decide not to for respect for dead people. For freedom I clawbounce outside to watch the skies for planes what ragheads fly to hate me in mine home. I wear my "Understanding Faces" mask. I am the Freedom Jew.
Back to showering, Mom and my soapy flesh bat smiling, tank guns overboard towards the mirror where Bush laughs hellraisers at mine feebility, balls bath tub press-walled, grimed and scummy, brown anus-sourced sinkhole-sea-bound stream, bin liner neck bagged so device hidden dry and the words that came from mine own hole perfect:
“Mom?”
“Matty?”
“I AM THE THRASHING ALBUQUERQUE ALLIGATOR!”
And death roll the thing that I grab from her fragrant hand into mine and turn and turn splash, slap, biting at mine cock-eye and she, back-pacing into the smoggy air as Bush cries WAIT WAIT! and the device is submerged, neck trickles approach, approach, and when the smoke sparks fly, Mom runs unseeing blackened water by molten sticky bag liquid
I am bleeding. And I am free.
“Mom?”
“Matty?”
“I AM THE THRASHING ALBUQUERQUE ALLIGATOR!”
And death roll the thing that I grab from her fragrant hand into mine and turn and turn splash, slap, biting at mine cock-eye and she, back-pacing into the smoggy air as Bush cries WAIT WAIT! and the device is submerged, neck trickles approach, approach, and when the smoke sparks fly, Mom runs unseeing blackened water by molten sticky bag liquid
I am bleeding. And I am free.
I am getting to school on time to say the pledge these days. Spinach called a phone number at my last visit, now a white van comes for me every morning. Green words on the side say "Kids can do it." Two brothers with large hair talk to mom and then drag me by the elbows. I recognize one of them from Live Big!, recognizes me, I think. He quit there after I made him a pie, now kicks my ankle while he drags me.
They put me in the van's back on a blanket with dog hair. Smells like spaniel. My favorite breed. Their poops are enormous. I miss the kennel. Mine- my knee sticks into the spare tire and it's probably ruined. I decide I should fill the hole with something tomorrow. There are metal things on the windows in the van back, but I can still see out. People look at me drive by. I have wheels now. Now I get chicks.
In class I say pledge the loudest. Mr. Mehboob stares at me like Spinach does and then talks to us of diversity. We get paper and crayons to make "Understanding Faces". Mehboob says to be "multi-cultural" we must "understand" the "faces" of the world, says it will make us better. I say "I understand feces mucho, Mr. Mehboob." Everyone laughs. I'm popular.
Petrol Alan got the best foreigner, the Chinese guy. He draws little eyes on yellow paper for a ninja mask. Mehboob wants me to be a Hast- um, Hasentatic- a Something Jew. I don't know what that is, so I get Hairy Lou who's a black girl to stick pencils under my Grammarator. There's some dripping down my neck eventually when Petrol Alan wants to stick things there, too. It's not blood, just Kleenex with nose snot on it, he says, but feels like blood from the last time I stuck things in there. I think it's blood.
Mehboob asks about the smell. Petrol Alan has his pants off in the corner. I guess Chinese like to do that to ferns. Mehboob looks for the smell, finds it.
"My God, Matty, you're on fire!"
I turn to look and fall out of mine- my chair. There's Alan's penis. Doesn't look so much like mine. Why'd it let I say mine? Ow.
Mehboob slaps towels on my neck. Assneck ok. I got it in hand. I can see Hairy Lou is hiding under Mehboob's desk and makes at me gang symbols. I'll have to tell the brothers about her in the morning now that I'm in their gang.
"Did you do this, Matty?"
"Kids can do it."
"What?"
"I am a Jew."
Principal Ear says the white van is coming to take me home from school.
They put me in the van's back on a blanket with dog hair. Smells like spaniel. My favorite breed. Their poops are enormous. I miss the kennel. Mine- my knee sticks into the spare tire and it's probably ruined. I decide I should fill the hole with something tomorrow. There are metal things on the windows in the van back, but I can still see out. People look at me drive by. I have wheels now. Now I get chicks.
In class I say pledge the loudest. Mr. Mehboob stares at me like Spinach does and then talks to us of diversity. We get paper and crayons to make "Understanding Faces". Mehboob says to be "multi-cultural" we must "understand" the "faces" of the world, says it will make us better. I say "I understand feces mucho, Mr. Mehboob." Everyone laughs. I'm popular.
Petrol Alan got the best foreigner, the Chinese guy. He draws little eyes on yellow paper for a ninja mask. Mehboob wants me to be a Hast- um, Hasentatic- a Something Jew. I don't know what that is, so I get Hairy Lou who's a black girl to stick pencils under my Grammarator. There's some dripping down my neck eventually when Petrol Alan wants to stick things there, too. It's not blood, just Kleenex with nose snot on it, he says, but feels like blood from the last time I stuck things in there. I think it's blood.
Mehboob asks about the smell. Petrol Alan has his pants off in the corner. I guess Chinese like to do that to ferns. Mehboob looks for the smell, finds it.
"My God, Matty, you're on fire!"
I turn to look and fall out of mine- my chair. There's Alan's penis. Doesn't look so much like mine. Why'd it let I say mine? Ow.
Mehboob slaps towels on my neck. Assneck ok. I got it in hand. I can see Hairy Lou is hiding under Mehboob's desk and makes at me gang symbols. I'll have to tell the brothers about her in the morning now that I'm in their gang.
"Did you do this, Matty?"
"Kids can do it."
"What?"
"I am a Jew."
Principal Ear says the white van is coming to take me home from school.
Wednesday, September 10, 2003
I don’t sleep. I talk in my sleep. I think I told you that. I lie face down to avoid the device and bite my pillowcase. I’ve left something underneath for Mom. In the night I can sometimes hear Mikey across the lane crying, moving. He wears a green patch with Hulk written on it over his missing eye. I sometimes go to comfort him in his sleep. Without the device I would say that I go to digit him healed. I use my American flag and sheets to climb from mine…MY…window without avoiding the faecal defences I have created on my windowsill, my tank guns scanning the neighbourhood for activity. I sit on Mikey’s skateboard that is always on our lawn and propel myself with my hands across the lane that divides our forts. I am the stealth tank. Mr. Ferguson’s shoes are on the porch most nights and I fill them with whatever is to hand, or in anus. The dog flap is large enough for me to slither through. Mikey’s room in upstairs opposite mine, window wise. Since the eye thing his bed is framed by wooden pillars that stop him falling out. To get to him one must climb onto the bed at the foot, and crawl over. I slide. The healing comes when I stroke his patch in a circular motion.
I say:
There there, Mikey…There there.
He cries in his sleep but never wakes until morning. It was not my fault, the eye, but the guilty voices in my throat force me to help. I see Mrs. Ferguson washing Mikey’s sheets of the feacal matter I leave taken from my windowsill. He is too old for that, they say. They think he should see somebody. Mom recommends Dr. Spinach.
I say:
There there, Mikey…There there.
He cries in his sleep but never wakes until morning. It was not my fault, the eye, but the guilty voices in my throat force me to help. I see Mrs. Ferguson washing Mikey’s sheets of the feacal matter I leave taken from my windowsill. He is too old for that, they say. They think he should see somebody. Mom recommends Dr. Spinach.
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Foot arrived in a taxi-cab and took me to Mom’s. My chair was strapped to the roof of the cab with the flag I’d torn from the classroom. Foot paid the man, threw my chair onto the lawn and then me. Luckily the doctors had attached the device more firmly with a necklace of tape and my practice with silence helped me to keep my mouth shut. Inwardly, however, inwardly I invited him to foul his own particles. (Loose translation).
I wrapped the flag about my person. As the cab sped away and I realised I had no keys, they hit me in the temple. I heard Foot call me a retard.
I wrapped the flag about my person. As the cab sped away and I realised I had no keys, they hit me in the temple. I heard Foot call me a retard.
Monday, September 08, 2003
It is called The Grammarator. Invented by Dr. Marvin Espinall in 1977 as a means of counter-acting the rise of jive, (the good Doctor later jailed in the infamous Brooklyn Mengele case) the device consists of a small battery like box capable of producing short bolts of electricity and a small vocal recognition chip. Both are connected to a hypodermic needle, which is inserted into the brain stem. It sits on the back of one’s neck. Upon receiving any signals of incorrect grammar or foul language, the Grammarator creates a five second migraine for the wearer. On Friday after therapy I went home and argued with my mother. Following what she described as a torrent of abuse involving urine, sperm and faeces for illustrative effect, she agreed to let Mrs. Lunt apply the device. It is a struggle, I must admit. I feel uncomfortable speaking in this strange manner, and I find it even more difficult, even impossible to describe what I do to myself in this tongue. I have not slept. I talk in my sleep. At the 24 hour store I was carried away screaming and vomiting white liquid that foamed after I saw her. I tried to tell her some things but could not get them out in this cumbersome way of speaking. I decided to go for it. Dr. Spinach says there is no permanent damage. She said that while I was in front of the mirror with my penis erect in my hand, crying. I write now in this way to practice. I do not think I could take another brainstorm.
At speech therapy with Mrs. Lunt after the device was fitted, our conversation went like this:
“Repeat after me, Matthew, The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plane”
“It doesn’t rain on planes”
“Just repeat”
“It doesn’t rain on planes”
“What I said”
“What I said”
“Matthew”
“Matthew”
“OK, enough repetition. How are you finding the device”
“I feel like a spiney animal has…eeerrrn…has….HAS SPIKE PHALLUSSED MINE MEDULLA”
I woke up in Principal’s Ear’s office that time.
Today at school was fine until Hairy Lou hugged me and her arm hair got caught in the device. It came out a few millimetres and hurt very badly. I grabbed at my leg wires for comfort and, I’m not sure, but I remember blacking out and then back in again a few times. When I finally came to, my chair was hanging by an American flag from the window, and my leg needed re-casting. I’m in the hospital now, again, in the waiting room, waiting. Earlier, when they’d finished I abused myself in the janitor’s closet with a paint brush. There were other things but I cannot describe them. I feel the device inhibits mine…MY…honesty, which is mine. I’ve been sitting here now for some time waiting for Foot to come and get me. He has been charged with regard to the badger incident.
At speech therapy with Mrs. Lunt after the device was fitted, our conversation went like this:
“Repeat after me, Matthew, The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plane”
“It doesn’t rain on planes”
“Just repeat”
“It doesn’t rain on planes”
“What I said”
“What I said”
“Matthew”
“Matthew”
“OK, enough repetition. How are you finding the device”
“I feel like a spiney animal has…eeerrrn…has….HAS SPIKE PHALLUSSED MINE MEDULLA”
I woke up in Principal’s Ear’s office that time.
Today at school was fine until Hairy Lou hugged me and her arm hair got caught in the device. It came out a few millimetres and hurt very badly. I grabbed at my leg wires for comfort and, I’m not sure, but I remember blacking out and then back in again a few times. When I finally came to, my chair was hanging by an American flag from the window, and my leg needed re-casting. I’m in the hospital now, again, in the waiting room, waiting. Earlier, when they’d finished I abused myself in the janitor’s closet with a paint brush. There were other things but I cannot describe them. I feel the device inhibits mine…MY…honesty, which is mine. I’ve been sitting here now for some time waiting for Foot to come and get me. He has been charged with regard to the badger incident.
Friday, September 05, 2003
They wheeled me here. Then they shut the door and I heard running. In little bits in mine hands comes off the cotton and gauze from the bandage on the stomach of me. I bleed in my school chair in Room 120G in back where it's hot by the pottery kiln. Petrol Alan is banned from here, but I'm still allowed. I rub mine hand over my blood stomach and slip inside mine shorts. Mrs. Lunt when she arrives says it's nice to see me back in school again, but she gets the money paid to her to say to me such things. She calls me 'Matthew', and I gurgle and scream, "Hookamom Hookamom, Hookstra Mommmmmm!" Mine assbottom bounces in my chair rolls back and hits standing wall. I have fallen. Not flown this time. Lunt curses and puts me back and tells me it's time to work on my speech.
"Did your mother bring you your reading assignments while you were in the hospital, Matthew?"
"Foot fucks my mother."
Lunt sits down and bows her head and asks for strength. I wait. In the time after she prays her words mouthed me to take out my crayons. They are in my newly repaired anus. The doctor told mother and Spinach he had never had to put stitches there before and that deep. I tell Lunt this, and then I tell her about the crayons.
"Oh, Matthew, you know I'm not allowed to give you pens."
Again I bounce. It hurts in me.
"Let's just try this, then, without writing anything down."
I roll forward, back.
"Tell me a short story about a time when you were happy."
Mine hands stop clawing at stomach. I stare at her face.
"Why don't you just tell me a story."
Mine hands claw. Bounce. Claw. Bleed. Clawbounce.
"Erm. Erggh. I'm Matty. Uh. Worked at kennel for 24 hour. Live Big! for her. Needed spam...she got. Mad Mikey not my fault. Hookstra said revolution for me in the kitchen. Served them sperm and potato but for cops. Cops want me to fly."
"That's-"
"Oh. Oh. Foot fucks mom and prays."
Lunt watches me to say more. "Good," she says.
"Yours husband got a beard?"
Lunt ignores me and writes words in her book.
This has went well. I am learning.
"Did your mother bring you your reading assignments while you were in the hospital, Matthew?"
"Foot fucks my mother."
Lunt sits down and bows her head and asks for strength. I wait. In the time after she prays her words mouthed me to take out my crayons. They are in my newly repaired anus. The doctor told mother and Spinach he had never had to put stitches there before and that deep. I tell Lunt this, and then I tell her about the crayons.
"Oh, Matthew, you know I'm not allowed to give you pens."
Again I bounce. It hurts in me.
"Let's just try this, then, without writing anything down."
I roll forward, back.
"Tell me a short story about a time when you were happy."
Mine hands stop clawing at stomach. I stare at her face.
"Why don't you just tell me a story."
Mine hands claw. Bounce. Claw. Bleed. Clawbounce.
"Erm. Erggh. I'm Matty. Uh. Worked at kennel for 24 hour. Live Big! for her. Needed spam...she got. Mad Mikey not my fault. Hookstra said revolution for me in the kitchen. Served them sperm and potato but for cops. Cops want me to fly."
"That's-"
"Oh. Oh. Foot fucks mom and prays."
Lunt watches me to say more. "Good," she says.
"Yours husband got a beard?"
Lunt ignores me and writes words in her book.
This has went well. I am learning.
My legs unhooked my week over my party for leaving after my enema. Hat strapped to mine head like a pointyboy, it crumbles against my pillow. Dr. Spinach ignores the unpleasant smell from under my head and sits by it. I trace the outline of her panties with my nose and she moves. I throng my features. Mom looks away and pillow muck back hits her cashmere. BAH BAH I shout and cheek the bed frame. Nurse lifts the pillow to cushion my blows. Mom’s OH Matty reverberates and Dr. Spinach says she is a failure to herself over and over. Faecal mound and banana pie pillow unlike before seen. We move to the waiting room before more vomit and the party is over. I am hurriedly wheeled carward after mine thing pointed at an old lady through the pyjama piss hole. It nodded at her and dribbled. She lashed out and sprung it. Casted legs jut like tank guns. I have painted them green. My chair is green, with red white and blue spokes. I liberate the sidewalks. My periscope rises.
Foot has brought his truck. With my tank legs I do not fit into the car. I am lain in the back by the corpse of a dead badger, deceased. It smells better than my pants.
I knuckle my teeth after throwing my friend badger into the convertible with the bikini girls, PAH PAH, police car rearended, and we drive on as the whiplashed cop who took the photo of my ballshitting steps out, rubbernecked.
It ran away, I tell foot, and I go to get my hours.
Foot has brought his truck. With my tank legs I do not fit into the car. I am lain in the back by the corpse of a dead badger, deceased. It smells better than my pants.
I knuckle my teeth after throwing my friend badger into the convertible with the bikini girls, PAH PAH, police car rearended, and we drive on as the whiplashed cop who took the photo of my ballshitting steps out, rubbernecked.
It ran away, I tell foot, and I go to get my hours.
Between the headaches I can see. I am Matthew. I wish I was dead
