Sailor talked quickly, nervously…

Sailor talked quickly, nervously. “I want to heal him,” she said quietly, almost swallowing her words, “I want us to get better.  I want to heal him, heal us.  I want us to be healed.”



Cheat (The Second Touch)

And who loves the other more? 

No!  How could I have asked that?  …I just took the question for myself.  I’m so so sorry. I…

“It’s too late.  Look to yourself,” the cricket said,   “You know the answer.”

My heart sank.  A flood of images, memories, rushed through me, as they had in Sailor’s apartment in New York, just after we’d met.  But now they were not mine, they were hers.  Once again I was inside Sailor, and she was deep in the bowels of the theater, in the green room, in the half light, slung out on the sofa, books and newspapers piled all around, half naked, fucking….

With my eyes still open, the present moment now layered into my strange vision, I could see that Sailor was asleep, yet restless, uncomfortable.


(Back Door:  Enter Sideways, Their limbs twined together, Pea Green Easy Chair or Turbulence (The First Touch) into the search bar.)

Three Questions

Should I ask two questions, and you the one…or vice versa, I wondered.

I could hear Sailor’s voice inside my head.  You ask first; then we’ll know how the other two will go.

“How do I know…it’s true love?”

“Look to your beloved,” the cricket said.

Sailor placed her hand lightly on my forearm.  She had done this before, and yet I could not stop what was happening…  A soft tingling sensation washed over my skin, from my arm up to the crown of my head…then down into my genitals, my legs and feet.  My eyes wept…and yet I felt calm, rested.  I listened for Sailor’s voice inside my head.

She closed her eyes slowly, opened them again.  I watched as her eyelashes merged and separated; I saw the colors in her iris, like the colors of a wooden bowl filled with rainwater.

When your lover’s touch reveals your suffering to you, and at once washes it away…as if you’d spent lifetimes of struggle to reach her side, yet only realized your exhaustion at the moment of your arrival.  That is true love.

I brushed tears from my cheeks.

And one will always love the other more; that is the nature of this love.


(A Back Door: Enter Turbulence/The First Touch into the search bar.)

rated x, part six

Sailor ran a soft hand down the length of my spine…nestled it where my leg meets my body.  I touched her hair, letting it slip along my hand.  She kissed me, then wrapped my verge securely with her fingers.  Pulling herself toward me, she crawled onto my lap like an animal, facing me, placing my verge between us, relaxing her stomach into mine. I stroked her back softly, and put the palm of my hand over the crown of her head; the warmth  gathered there astonished me.  She kissed me on the lids of my eyes.  I touched my tongue to the under-surface of her upper lip.  She took the tip of my tongue inside her mouth.  We kissed; we sealed our lips together.

I let my hand fall to the back of her neck, and cradled her there.  She arched into my hand.  I kissed her throat.  She hummed with pleasure.  The vibrations of her throat poured into my mouth, my throat, exhilarating me.  She took long breaths; her chest rose and fell against mine.  She grasped my back with her hands.  Again our mouths met, her tongue sought mine.  We kissed in a series of bursts, connecting and letting go, our lips engorged, our eyes closed.

Later we slipped into each other; we fucked.  She glided on me softly, rose and fell steadily, facing me, rocking me, kissing me.

She took a breath in; she paused.  With eyes wide open, like pools of dark color, we stared at each other, as if something were pouring back and forth between us.

What? I asked…not breathing a word.

“Listen,” she said.

The sound of rainfall, hushed and light, gently filled our ears.  It was still raining outside the hollow where we had landed.

I rested, slowed my breathing, listened.  Then she giggled, glided down, contracted. I came, deep inside her; I could not believe how long the moment lasted. She smiled; it was what she had wanted.  Then there was a small, soft burst inside her; I felt its echo through my belly.  Her grip tightened.  She moaned.  I came again, this time with her. Her body turned hard, and then soft again.  Once again we felt that something was pouring back and forth between us.

We kissed again.  We listened to the rain.




Now I was inside Sailor.  I walked around the cabin, rail thin, a ragged T-shirt hanging from my bones, my eyes clouded and gaunt, flesh drawn back under my cheekbones.  Through Sailor’s eyes, I saw myself, also in a T-shirt, no underwear, wearing old sneakers, squatting on the back step of the cabin, huffing gas, fingernails long and dirty on the can.

Later I got cold and sick and took to hiding myself under a blanket on our dingy, battered sofa.  I lay in squalor; I didn’t get up to change rooms at bedtime.  Days and nights blurred together.  I only bathed occasionally.  Our hot water heater failed, but I didn’t care if the water was only luke warm.  Old food stank up the kitchen; dirty pots and pans that had been hidden away in cupboards lay untouched, undiscovered.  We didn’t care.  All we wanted to do was huff gas.

Sometimes Sailor would write notes and pass them to me, but the words she wrote were not words at all.  They barely even had discernible letters.  I would stare for hours at the little loops and jots, trying to understand nothing.  Sometimes we would share cigarettes after huffing…hotboxing and blowbacking until we passed out.  We had no idea how close we came to dying in a gas explosion.  We were oblivious, sleeping at all hours of day or night.  Sometimes we would wake up and have intercourse.  Our sex was carnal, mechanical.  We would eat each other until our private parts stank of gas…then we would squat down and connect, popping our crotches together crudely until one of us hunched up with a stiffening, genital orgasm.  Afterwards we would huff more gas.

We grew afraid to go outside, to feel the sun on our skin.  Even when we ran out of cigarettes, we could not bear to go down to the village anymore; we were afraid to show our faces.  We huddled inside.  My hair began to fall out in clumps.  Sailor’s teeth went bad; I could see them when we would try to talk, our mouths moving, our words coming out like sounds from underwater, far away, as if our lips were connected to some other remote brain in some other place…our consciousness witnessing but not comprehending…the words left meaningless, our bodies’ movements and need for more fumes the only thing we could truly feel.

We’d found a cache of gasoline in an old shed near the cabin…and we thought it would be enough for us…enough to last until we were dead.  But it wasn’t; it didn’t.  We ran out of money.  We thought we’d hid some someplace, our money from the time with Harlin Coke, cash we’d hid in the bed, or under the bed…

We took the bed apart, slowly, weakly, desperately, over the course of 8, 10, 12 hours.  No, maybe it was days.  Later we sat listlessly, strung-out, on the yellow grass outside the back door…in the middle of the day.  We didn’t know how we landed there, or whether it was warm or cold outside; we didn’t care.  Then we were walking down into the village…to steal gas, our self consciousness now gone.  We were numb, poisoned animals, walking skeletons.

We had not been able to steal.  We had run out.  We had failed. We had survived.


(Back Door: Enter Sicky, Skinny Haley, Haley Minwood, or Guilty Dirty Jesus into the search bar.)

We turned

We have to turn and look back.  We have to face it, I thought.

Sailor pulled on my arm, hard.  We lurched to a stop, whipped around.

The streams of light on either side of us poured down the corridor into the eye-holes of a face; the eyes were twin black holes, whirlpools, pulling everything in.  My body froze.  I tried to open my mouth, but no sound would come out.  My throat was paralyzed.  Sailor lifted her hand, pointing.  Her arm trembled.  I did not need to see her to know her terror, to know the courage it took to call out this face with a gesture of her tiny hand.  I forced a scream.  I looked into the wavering eyes and screamed into them until I poured out of my body and in through the eye holes of the ghoul.  Sailor whispered my name inside my head.  I had gone into the body of the ghoul.




The Trail

At first the trail was easy: a soft, narrow bed of humus and broken bark lead us upward.  Then, little by little, roots criss-crossed the trail, grew thicker and more twisted, as if giant, knotted coils of living hemp had slithered across the the forest floor and lain down to sleep, growing old, slowly bristling with bark and moss.  We lost sight of the sky as the trees nourished by these roots crowded out the sun.  The air grew cooler.  The roots grew closer together, with little levels and hollows between them, each hollow higher than the one before, so that the trail formed a sort of elaborate terrace.  We wound our way up the terrace slowly, still smoking our cigarettes, swirls and halos of pale blue smoke trailing behind us as we went.

Then Sailor’s cigarette went out.  I saw it go; it glowed slightly brighter in the gloom, then winked out, as if someone had turned up the power from a tiny battery before switching it off. Mine went out, too, as if someone had blown it out.  I looked around behind me, but saw no one.  I turned back to face the trail ahead.  Sailor looked back, holding out the stump of her cigarette.  I nodded, held out mine, and dropped it in one of the little hollows between the roots.

Realizing we should have brought another layer of clothing to protect us against the cool air, we drew closer, and made our way up side by side.  The sound of crickets filled the spaces between the trees.  Then the sound changed, warping and keening into strange, other-worldly music.  Nervously, we pressed on.


(Back Door: Enter “Anticipation” into the search bar.)