Malls of Plastic

I went to the mall, ditching my medical class again
for a night, we are aloud to miss a few
I had just gotten my tax returns; I was also very stoned
I needed some underwear and a hair cut, things I cant buy at thrift stores
with out the skid marks
I hated malls, but loved to stare at all the expressions
mostly the women with desperate faces, crying out for sex

not unlike my own goofy face on occasions
it must have been some sort of retard field trip at the mall
I have nothing against the disabled, I am disabled myself
in more ways then one
but for some reason they are called retards, like me
they were everywhere, I couldn't escape them……
one was sitting in a corner of the food court
trying to put her shoe back on, or maybe she was having…
a conversation with it, I wasn't quite sure….

the egg roll juice soy sauce ran down my black-
and a few new white hairs- goat tee chin of hunger
I looked around and saw a lady in beyond tight spandex shorts
the false spiritual guides of shadows……?
her fat rolls of cellulite were painted on to them, somewhat molded around
her outfit; she must have been the leader
of the field trip, she helped the girl get up
gave her some sort of warped hug, and then
they spoke in hand language, sign language

I turned my head around the food court
to see if the others were watching the show
I saw a table of more retards, men with suits on
with lap top computers, mean spirited eyes
discussing the latest Wall Street
stocks of gambling business trippers
money was their being

I looked at the girl who sold me my three egg rolls
she was combing her hair with a big brush…
she had big-feathered hair,
like the big hairy world around me,
she seemed to be rather proud of it,
its thick 80's style, maybe it made her feel safe…

I looked back over at the leader, and the girl with the missing shoe…
she now had her shoe back on, and about four other-
retards joined the group; they all had similar faces….

yet different expressions, they were all laughing,
and began to hold hands and dance around in a circle…. Magical retards…
they knew all….

one guy really intrigued me, I don't know if it was ;
his missing two front teeth
or the way he carried his
sluggish shoulders,
or his slobbery drool, or the way he made the others smile,
but I watched, it's all I could do, eating those egg rolls….

I glanced at another table, it was more retards
these retards had glasses, grandsons, and children who became drug addicts…
these retards had church going Sundays, bank accounts fully stuffed….
with cash, with nothing to spend it on , except occasional trips to their upper Michigan cottages, for phony fishing expeditions, the yearly trip to Florida, where they hoped to wither away in the hot sun,
for the last few years of breath, telling each other what good parents and grandparents they were, what good lives they tried to live, leave…. All- timers..

my egg rolls were almost all stuffed into my stoned belly of mal- nutrition

more retards gathered, I stood up, and walked down the
long mall hall of mutilated aggressive facials,
one had real long legs, a silly sports shirt on, another had,
bleached white puffy hair, another had
his tanning solon wife wrapped around his studly shoulder…
I couldn't escape them,
one had a burning look in his pissed off eyes,
in a chocolate chip cookie shop job, that he was some sort of minimum wage king…

more of them, with the latest clothes on, bags full of expensive things
I hurried past all the stores, looking for some decent underwear
and a haircut place with outs a long line of skinny
Wig- ger-
Guy- high school small town- baggy pant warring sickness.
looking for something that made me feel "OK"
then I saw the biggest retard of them all…
the one I wanted to fuck; till my ears spurted out splooge,
smoke filled whiskey 2-minute love cakes
moments gone; in needed thumper man,,, retard,,,

masturbating three times a day, egg rolls…

she was sitting in the middle of the mall
on some shiny bench, with her tan legs crossed, mini skirt, her eyes, her hair,
her tits, her….. "I know u want to fuck me look'
so I walked up to her, even though I wasn't drunk,
I decided to have some balls for a change

" I think u are the most beautiful retard I've seen all day" I said…
with a muttering syllable stuttering awkward presence about me…
I pictured our retard bodies in heat filled-
nakedness, with in sloppy bucket sounding pumping away stained sheets..,,
awe , if only…
I was a movie star…." Hiccups… but I am the boomerang man..

"Excuse me? My boyfriend will kick your loser head in!"
she said, heading over to his Marine hair cut- like- waiting in line for a slice of
pizza bald retarded head.
He was big,. I didn't want to confront him
Im a pussy, more then I get it, yes indeed, I like the few teeth I have left…
I walked real quickly into a fancy man's clothing store…

"u got any fucking underwear?" I asked
the gay doubled pierced earring fellow responded,
he was scared of me for no reason
called over his molded mantle, so called beauty, tan
big tittied girl manager, with smutty white teeth,
I admired her pearls…"I won't do your eyes…"
"Were gonna have to ask u to leave the store" she said,
I glanced at her special tools, and wondered for
a brief second with in my own a retarded soul… about my past…
I use to fuck women like her… of course, I was a part of the actor fed
world, of giving false smiles, to get that job, to get those
naked bodies of moaning seclusion euphoria…

I got pissed off, all I wanted was a haircut and some new underwear,
It wasn't going to happen, I tried on some 60 dollar Levi's
In Sears, or was it J.C. Penny's?…
I laughed at thinking I would ever
spend my time in those Levi fancy
store owned, cooperate smile barfed
greedy owner business lap top men creeps..
plus they were too expensive

finally, I really wanted to leave
wanted to be in my little room
my room of whiskey, my rooms of dirt weed,
my room of poetic message boarding diaries…
first I needed a few drinks,,
I walked in to some fancy place like bar restaurant
dreaming of booze. after my first 5 shots…
my shaky hands grew some confidence
I saw the molded bench girl
I so desperately wanted naked..

she was eating beef pork noodles, at a dinner table
with her retarded government paid boyfriend,,,,
she pointed at me, they were drinking expensive Wine
the marine stood up, he was pissed, so was I
time for a well needed fight,
skin smacking flesh slapping fisted aggression?
I was ready; for some starry invisible insect flying hardcore punches…..
to my hole in the head skull,
it had been building for years,

" My girlfriend said u disrespected her earlier!"He yelled, in my face…
I was the only retarded God for this moment,
I was the loser with the badge, …
"Is that so?" I said, lighting a cig;
"Yes, it is fucker!"
the brainwashed fool screamed, pumping up his beefcake veins

as waiters, and waitresses, bartenders, with curious looks gathered around us..
wanting to suck some sort of
amusement into their movie renting safe
no bloody lives…. dumb Bo excitement…
this was just another show,
but, I was going to be the smiling
hollywood ending…. for a change..
at the end of this retarded clip clit.
It was my time; the retards were on my side,
they danced around, outside the restaurant, grinning at me.
They were counting on me.

I flicked my cigarette in to his slit like eyes
got a good burn in his gym-sculptured body, his beady eyes…
he tried a wild roundhouse right, which I managed to duck
I then grabbed my whiskey glass, cracked it over the bar counter…
sliced it in to his retarded face, vital juices spurted….
out of some main vein I may have cut,

he was squirming like a slaughtered pig, I couldn't believe I was in control
the retards disappeared in the corner of my eye…
trying to survive this mall trip…
I didn't care, my work was done.. his girlfriend was in tears.

the bartender's twitching hand was on the phone
calling mall security,
"bring them on!", I thought
I'll slice them open as well, my white shirt- from the
8th grade, 20 sizes to small, covered in some
American fed army boy macho smile hemoglobin


It was time to make a quick exit, retards with their kids,
retards with there locked realities
they look scared of me
as I walked through the yuppie smelling
soccer moms, working off the fat,, speed walkers spandex….…

then it happened, the leader of all retards was behind me
she had concerned eyes, and the group she led,,,,
behind her, laughing in crazy oinks.
if I could only make it to my truck, I wished,
I was stuck in some 3d-shooter world
with only 4 percent life left
computer half -life game

the master of retards was close
missing front teeth caught up to me, skipping..
his slobber, his magic,
he grabbed my shoulders,
"Ive been there pal!
I seen the blood on the faces!, I seen the people who laugh!,
I eat burnt hot dogs , I eat your fucking secret:, I been there, I tell ya. Don't think I don't know about the voices!", he yelled at me, shaking my bloody shoulders.

This shit scared me, nothing much scared me after a few drinks, but this moment did. the leader quickly pulled him away from me,
"Stop that Sammy|!" she yelled at him,
I was out of breath,
all red and blotchy, the blood…
feeling like I'd seriously kill the next
magical retard who wanted
to enter my world, to lay their grubby fingers on me….

I made it to my battered truck, and noticed another depressed retard,
locking her car, she was about 27, she had sleepless eyes,
she had an old useless wedding ring on her finger
she gave me a forced smile,
looking scared…. as me
out of her wits
I wanted her, I wanted her to be the girl
on the bench, in my bed
I wanted her to be everything..

I smiled back at the retard, and said
"U don't want to go in that place,"
She giggled awkwardly
I asked her to go have a drink with me
I had nothing to lose or gain at that point
"Are u retarded? You are covered in blood."
the marine's blood dripped down my chin
"Isn't everybody?" I asked her….
the peanuts theme ran through my head

DEAD ANIMALS AND LOVING LESBIANS

     Leslie and Francis had an impassioned love for each other. They had molded a life together out of junkie fed addiction in San Francisco. Leslie was working as a dishwasher at a Chinese restaurant when she first met Francis. Leslie had her masters' degree in Psychology. She couldn't find a good job, so she turned to dishwashing, in an attempt to survive. They were both schizophrenic drug addicts. Francis was on welfare, but had dreams of becoming a well-known fiction writer. She spent most of her days with her window blinds shut, shooting heroin, and writing her novel.
     Francis had gone out to pick up some Chinese food one night. That's when she first laid eyes on Leslie, apprehensively asking if she would like to go out some time. They hit it off right away, and Leslie soon moved out of her parents basement, and into Francis' small apartment.
     They were both strict vegetarians, both in their late 20's, both slaves to the needle. Francis had big brown eyes, gigantic round butt, and long flowing yellowish- orange hair. Leslie had green eyes, muscles, short black hair, and glasses. Francis gave Leslie the warmth and love she had been yearning for. The love her Mother would never give her emotionally. Francis had been a lesbian for many years, but it was all rather new to Leslie.
     They explored each other's deepest thoughts. Every sexual fantasy they had ever imagined was lived out. Leslie was nervous at first; she had only been with one other woman. It was a one-night stand, while she was drunk, five years ago. She gradually fell in love with Francis. All that nervousness left. She gave herself completely to the relationship. They were best friends, soul mates, heroin buddies, and dreamers with mental images of a better life.
     Francis was putting her mystical touch to the last chapter of her novel one night. The sound of heavy rain hit the muggy streets outside. A transsexual crack addict on the corner climbed into a horny businessman's car, wanting money for a fix. Francis's fingers punched in some of her final poetic words, as she grinned at her prose, feeling a sense of accomplishment.
     Leslie had the night off of work. She was curled up on the couch looking for a job in the help wanted section of the San Francisco Examiner.
     "How's the book going darling?" Leslie asked.
     "Just about done, two years of work is almost finished."
     "That's wonderful, I sure 'hope' it gets published, after all that hard work," Leslie said.
     "Yes, well, I have sent many query letters out to publishers, and a few have shown some interest."
     "I don't understand why I went to school for all those years, and the only job I can find is washing dishes, dammit!" Leslie yelled.
     "Things are going to get better for both of us real soon, I can feel it," Francis said, pausing her fingers at her computer keyboard, and smiling at her lover.
           "I need to boot up, I'm starting to feel sick," Leslie said, tossing the newspaper to the ground in disgust.
     "Why don't you page the man? I have enough cash for a few packs to get us through the night," Francis said.
     Leslie grabbed the phone quickly and paged the dealer man. A few minutes later, he called back.
     "What ya need?" the man asked.
     "Just a couple of packs," Leslie said.
     "Fuck, that's all? I told you to quit wasting my time unless you have money for at least three or four packs."
     "Please man, me and Francis really need some tonight," Leslie said, twirling the phone cord around in her fingers.      "Shit, what else is fucking new? I'll be over in about half an hour," the man said, slamming the pay phone down.
     "Is he coming over?" Francis asked.
     "Yes, I hope so, bout half an hour I guess."
     "Hmm, half-hour in dealer time means were looking at an hour or two wait," Francis said, lighting up a hand rolled cigarette.
     The man showed up about two and a half hours later, as the girls were snuggled up in bed, dreaming of that elated feeling of plunging a needle into their dwindling veins.
     The man walked in like he owned the place, with his gut hanging out of his Lucky Lager t- shirt. His attitude was plastered on his sarcastic sneer, attaching to his red bloated face.
     "I gott'a take a dump," he said, heading to their miniature bathroom.
     Both girls jumped out of bed and began to get their utensils ready. Their shakes were as bad as the sick anticipation feeling.
     The man came out of the bathroom, pulling out a huge zip lock baggie stuffed with a wonderland full of narcotics.
     "Jezus, what did you eat? You stunk up our entire apartment?" Francis said.
     "I'm sure my shit smells better then your pussies," The man said, with a grin.
     " Good God, you are one of the most vulgar and repulsive men I have ever had the displeasure of meeting," Leslie said, bleaching out a dull needle.
     "Ya, ya, I'm a busy man, where's the fucking money?" the man asked, throwing two tightly wrapped packets of heroin onto their bed.
     Francis tossed him the cash, while quickly snatching up a pack in impatience-ridden greed.
     "You think you could front us a little, till I get my paycheck in a few days?" Leslie asked.
     "I don't front shit to anyone, at anytime, it's your choice to do this shit, so don't fucking ask me again. We've had this discussion before," he said, lifting his leg up and squeezing out a squirmy sounding fart.
     The loving lesbians quickly did their routine, as the man checked his pager, and flopped down in Francis's computer chair.
     "How come you have some of the best heroin in town, and you never do any?" Leslie asked the man, getting her fix in one of her last useable veins, after a few near misses.
     "Because I've seen what it does to people. I'm in this business to make money, and that's it. I'm satisfied smoking my herb. I don't want to end up some strung out scumbag. I have to deal with them everyday."
     Francis was busy trying to find a vein to hit, squeezing her ankle in search.
     "Honey, can you do my neck again? I can't find a dam vein," Francis said to Leslie, rubbing her lovers thigh.
     Leslie took Francis's blood filled needle and began squeezing her neck, waiting to see something to plunge it in to.
     "I can't watch this shit. I'm gonna go make some more money, see ya later, you rug munching fiends," the man said, quickly walking out the door, while laughing a twisted laugh.
     "He's such an asshole,"Leslie said, sticking the needle into what looked like a vein in Francis's neck.
     "Owww! fuck! He'll be in prison soon enough," Francis responded.
     They curled up in the bed sheets, listening to their favorite Tom Waits CD, talking a little about their dreams, and how they would get off the junk soon. They fell asleep in each other's bacteria filled arms, gently caressing the rainy murkiness away. Tom sang about.. "I'm full of bourbon, I can't stand up…"
     The next few weeks were rough between the lovers. Francis had been receiving hate filled rejection letters from publishers, telling her to keep her day job. Leslie had quit her job, after being accused of …
     "You no work hard enough, you lazy, you need wash dish quicker! Customa berry importint to business!"
     They hadn't had money for heroin in almost a week and a half now. The withdrawals were almost over, but the thought of a fix lingered on.
     "I'm so sick of life, sometimes I just want to spindle up and die." Francis said, as she was making some potato and carrot soup.
     "Don't say that, it depresses me." Leslie responded.
     "All I can think about is getting money for a fix."
     "Oh shit Francis, we have gone through the dam withdrawals, now we just need to get some money, and get out of this dam town," Leslie mumbled.
     "You're right."
     The next day Francis received a letter from a publisher, telling her they would be publishing her novel. She was ecstatically filled with joy and a sense of euphoria, as she read the letter to Leslie.
     "This is wonderful! Oh my, I'm so happy for you!" Leslie said, as they embraced, having a long sloppy kiss. They made love for the rest of the afternoon and ate deep fried zucchini's.
     With in the next week, they had gotten back on the junk. Leslie was working as a bartender at a local trendy club. Francis' novel had been getting some good reviews.
     After about 3 months, a slow growing buzz was building. The lesbian's novel was on the New York Times best seller list before long. It was a dream come true for both the lesbians.
Money and phone calls started rolling in. Movie directors, magazines wanting interviews, demented fans; all sorts of slime balls wanting a piece of this new unknown heroin addicted lesbian author.
     The lesbians decided to move away from San Francisco, so they could get away from the media, and the dealer man. Time to change their number back to the underground poverty known life style of few acquaintances. Only this time, they had money. They were accustomed to being loner outcasted societal rejects. The publicity of Francis's novel was an un-welcoming non-expected surprise in a two-sided way. It seemed wrapped in cash warped non-trustable moneymaking weasels. They weren't ready to have just anyone entering their life with in the troll cave. They didn't like being pestered all the time from people who wouldn't give them the time of day in the past.
     Leslie said Upper Michigan was a beautiful place, she had grown up there as a child. Francis didn't like the idea of the cold weather, the red necks, and trend following stupid college hippies, she had heard about. But, she realized that sometimes a move is in order to start rolling a fresh film over life's hardship repeats.
     They bought a large cabin style house in the woods, near Empire Michigan. Leslie's Mother had died a few weeks back, and left her a rather large chunk of money in her will. Leslie figured it was the least her Mother could have done, since she abused her mentally and physically, ever since she could remember. There wasn't much sympathy for her Mother's death. In fact, she wished it upon her many times, in her parent's basement, chanting spells, with different colored scented candles lit.
     With Francis's book money and Leslie's money, the two's financial troubles were finally over for a while. It was a relaxing time for both of them. Stress was thrown out the window, with this new security; their dreams coming true, after paying their self inflicted dues, and bills.
     Francis was kicking back one night, in their new Michigan luxurious log style cabin, reading a critics review on her novel…
     "Francis Steinmeyer thinks she is the Gen x lesbian generations voice for the lost rave ridden x-tacy taking slacker culture. Her novel dwells in repetitive assumptions based on seemingly drug induced randomly selected thoughts of nonsense……. She must have grew up on……, many of her words are misspelled, and don't form complete sentences, she has no respect for the rules of writing prose….. She furthermore sets a bad example for the upcoming youth of America with her profound lifestyle choices".. Etc…, the article went on and on with its judgmental accusations from some overpaid stuffy Republican journalist with no creativity, and a heart full of secret jealousy.
     Francis laughed at the article, r;ealizing the guy knew absolutely nothing about her. He was getting her fiction all mixed in to thinking he knows her reality.
     "Pathetic people everywhere, with a golden ticket to spout," Francis mumbled, sipping her wine, throwing the magazine away.
     Leslie came home from the local grocery market, with a kitten on her shoulder, and two bags of groceries.
     "Look what I got, a cute lil kitty cat, isn't she beautiful Francis?"
     "You had no right to get a fucking cat with out consulting me first, how could you? How could you do this to me? You bitch!" Francis yelled, running off into a bedroom, with tears pouring down her rosy red cheeks.
     Leslie was confused, she thought Francis loved animals.
     She went in to the room, flustered. Francis was curled up in a fetal position, sucking on her thumb, crying her eyes out.
     "Please explain this to me honey? I thought you loved animals?"
     "I do, it's just, uhh, umm, when I was 16 years old, my brother had a bad acid trip, and he killed Milo, that fucking asshole ripped that cat into chopped meat!" Francis squealed in agony, as the memories haunted her.
     "Oh my God, you never told me about this. If I only would have known." Leslie responded.
     "I had to go see a shrink after it happened, and my parents sent my brother to a mental institution. The shrink hypnotized me into blocking out the entire episode, for the most part."
     "I'm so sorry, I can get rid of the kitten if you wish Francis?"
     "No, it's time for me to deal with this pain again, please bring the kitty to me, and leave us be for a while." Francis said, while gulping back more tearful flashbacks.
     The gruesome scene haunted her memories, within her brain, as she stroked the kitties' head…
     The night she and her parents came home from going out to eat, her brother sitting on her father's favorite leather chair, grinning, like a demented possessed sicko, blood covered his body and clothes, like red butter spread on human toast.
     "What the hell happened here?" her father had questioned.
     "I killed the devil of rapture, that egg flavored cat was telling me to do things I didn't want to do." Her brother had answered. He stared at his shivering fingers, which to him, looked like little black poisonous snakes squirming around.
     Francis ran into the basement, looking for Milo, the cuddly cat she so adored. She only found more blood and fur, scribbled words on the walls, and the head of Milo stuck on the beer tap of her father's homemade basement bar.
     The two lesbians decided to call the new kitty 'Hope'. They spoiled that cat, like it were a newborn baby, a bond that made the love stronger, between two lovers. A few months went by, their thoughts of heroin were always there, but not as bad, with no dealers around, that they knew of. They both became quite attached to Hope. Hope loved going outside. She explored all the land of Michigan history, with in rebuilt woods. Hunting for mice, birds, and whatever tiny creature she could find with in the unlimited hands of Mother Nature.
     A gunshot rang out deep in the woods near the lesbian's home one afternoon. It wasn't the first time the Lesbians had heard the gun shots; after all, it was hunting season in Michigan. A Hillbilly pasttime, sport for the sports watching good ol country boy folk.
     "I hate the thought of those hicks, out there near our house, killing defenseless animals." Leslie said to Francis, as they cooked a veggie stir-fry dish in their kitchen.
     "I know, I hate them too, have you seen Hope today?"
     "Not since I let her out this morning."
     "If she doesn't come back by this evening, we should go for a walk in the woods, and look for her."
     "Ya, I hope she hasn't gotten lost," Leslie said, adding some soy sauce to the spicy sizzling stir-fry treats.
     It was getting near sun down, and still no sign of Hope. The lesbians bundled up in warm clothes, hoping to find Hope. They walked through the creepy silent woods. After about an hour of searching, they came across Hope's carcass. The cat's mouth was wide open, with a look of shock in its dead eyes. Hope had a huge bullet hole through her furry stomach.
     "The fucking hillbilly bastards!" They killed our baby!" Francis yelled.
     "Oh God, Hope?" Leslie whimpered, picking up the stinky carcass.
     Both lesbians were in hysterics and tears.
     "They won't get away with this. We must drink the blood of Hope and have our revenge upon these dumb hunting backwoods inbred fucks" Leslie said, with a psychotic twinkle in her eyes.
     Francis agreed.
     They carry the dead Hope back to their log built house. Candles lit, a skinned cat, the lesbians drilled a hole in its head, holding Hope's lifeless body over a thin wineglass. The dim light shined.
     They drank the blood of Hope's revenge, and buried Hope near an apple tree they had planted. The lesbians went to a pawnshop the next day. They bought 2 shotguns, floating the greasy owner some extra cash, so they wouldn't have to wait for gun licenses. The loving lesbians sawed the shotguns in half when they got home.
     They painted their faces green one afternoon. The lovers put on dark military swat team like clothing. They drank some hard liquor, while loading the shotguns. They had some rope and knives ready to take with them. Leslie pulled out some old Ritalin pills she had been saving for a special occasion. They chopped them up, snorting away. The booze and Ritalin intertwined with in their slithery buzz. The two lesbians set off into the vast somewhat privately owned woods to hunt for Hope's killers.
     They were as silent and paranoid as the hunted animals the hunters seek. They heard a gun shot blast in the distance, about 30 feet away.
     "Shhh, quiet, follow me," Leslie whispered to Francis, following the sound of the gunshot with in her animal like instincts.
     They came upon the two hunter's voices. The hunters were gutting a deer they had killed. The hunters seemed to be rather drunk, slurring their words, talking amongst themselves about the kill, with empty cans of beer all around them.
     "Bout time we gots a damz deer. We been sitting dam near out here all dayz, waitin," one of the hunters said to his slimey looking pal. The other doofis was cutting the deer's asshole open, as the intestines plopped out in to the wet multi colored leaves.
     The lesbians were like silent ghosts, moving in closer, darting between trees. They watched and listened to the dumb hicks, as the sun slowly went down.
     "Hell, we almost out of Budweiser anyway Billy. Lets git on da road. There's a dam Deeeetroit Lions game on tonight," the other hunter said, scratching his sweaty-kiddy molesting balls.
     "Yep, dang straight, least we gots ourselves somes good eatings for the night. Sheeeyaaat, last time we out here, all we got was dat frikin darn cat rodent."
     "Uh huh, yep, daaang stupeed useless cat," the other hunter said, laughing like a retard.
     Leslie was hiding behind a tree, behind the hunter's backs. Her heart racing from Ritalin lines. Francis, in the opposite direction, was behind a huge tree as well, facing the hunting Michigan boy's faces. The lesbians blended into the woods like Mother Nature herself; they were one with her. The magic of Hope on their side. The hunters were to drunk and stupid to be expecting anything. They were going to become the stunned prey they eat.
     Leslie signaled her mate, with a strange three-finger hand gesture. Francis knew it was time. She came running out of behind her tree, screaming like a wild woman, with her sawed off pointed at one of the hunters. The hillbilly drunks looked at each other, perplexed and stupefied. Seconds later, Leslie came running into the scene, screaming the same crazy sounding cat-like lion roar. Her gun was pointed at the other hunter's head.
     One of the hunters had a slow drunken reaction to grab his gun. It was laying about three feet away from him, right next to his pal's gun.
     Leslie quickly blew a huge hole into his desperate grubby hand.
     "Got daaaaaang sheeeeyaaat!" the hunter yelled, doubling over in pain, landing his fat beer belly on top of the dead deer. His blood mixed in to the warm deer blood leaves.
     "Put your fucking hands on top of your head, and get on your rotten knees!" Francis yelled, pointing her gun at the other hunter's balls.
     "Please, please, don't hurt me, I got a wife and kids," he whimpered. His hunting partner rolled around on the muddy Michigan secluded ground. He grabbed his half-life blown off blood spurting hand in agony.

Francis's hyper mind suddenly clips to a memory of excerpts from her novel. The words she wrote, flaunting through her messed up self-made reality. A second gone in time, played in slow motion feedback eaten black-outs, within her heroin twitching scars, and collapsed veins of expired brain cells. She realizes she forecasted this situation in a way, through her written words one night….. , Chapter 8, page 99, of the lesbians novel reads…

'The Sun was watching, going down sluggishly with elegance, as if it were waiting to see the conclusion to a longer then four-hour flop of a movie finish it's black and white un-plotted never before underground seen theme. The daystar was about to sleep off it's well paid day shift. An eerie whispering foggy- mist induced voice encircled the lesbian wooded - scenery. Mr. Moon was awaking, ready to take over his Sun sister's long lingering day of making the earth race: go to work, swim, live, laugh, have nervous breakdowns, drive, move, talk on cellular phones, men with glasses, building bombs.
So many earth people, monotonous faces mingled in the suburbia zillions, always taking things for granted, most of the planted crop eat the safe programmed rule. Never looking beyond their limited earth world thinking harvests, of punctuation. The properly trained ridiculous owned acre ethics. They cry for nothing, they eat hundred dollar plates of bullshit, throwing away the left over oxy moron dishes of un -warranted tears. They watch sports, they fall in love, they try and live a good church going family life. They die with wealthy bank accounts and dirty looks on their faces, taking to the grave, their hidden secrets.
They believe the media infested brainwashed government lies with in the cable TV channels of preachy uselessness. They tip you 50 cents if your lucky, and eat like Kings and Queens on top God like unoriginal thrones of safety stuffed plastic credit card ordering click like Internet rendering microwave fancy computer stocks. Maybe I'm just a un -happy person, who can only smile like them, through self-abuse, who knows? certainly not this lost diary.
With all that money, I'd be sky diving out of rented planes in nature colored lands; I have only scene pictures of. I'd be climbing unknown mountains with in the euphoria of self-induced substantial substance induced thoughts. I'd be swimming in the clearest oceans this earth has to offer. I'd even let myself fall in love again. This time, with a mermaid perfume scented -unforgettable vision of forever remembering attachment - sincerely blues antique filled soul mate - searching for the female train track to whistle some sanity in to my cave - being around the entire truth of this self served searching.
The years have aged me in more then one discernible trail -painting- mapped out path. Traveling to the other worlds, with in this early late night morning five a.m. ramble universe. The ones over the dreams of my poverty rode reality. I sit and wonder if my heart will still be beating for another awaking Sun ball. I flushed those cum down horrible pills- once upon- a - too many times before. After over doing self-prescribed chemical opiate fix's mixed in the blender of one's over indulgent cookie jar tequila lime button grief. I ain't supposed to be fiddling with them shadows to begin with. Scared to fall asleep forever, although, I pretend to welcome death's mystery. Those strange warnings from the eroding cardiac muscle. It's extraterrestrial looking blood circulating beat, under skin and bones, seeking more oxygen, needing the sleep therapy of ones own simple answers - ignored.
I write, cause it's one of my only living friends. Mixed in the downer upper days of my dull syringe- booger crusty cheap Ritalin degrading nose of never sleeping lesbian blues. How much can my body handle? mentality… The ant like society moved quickly to build towering electric businesses, pollute more air, and earn the safe money. Watching shows on who wants to be a millionaire? Renting the pathetic movies of hype filled special effects in a Hollywood norm worm secretion. They impregnate their soap opera watching tennis club secret vibrator chat wives. They go to bed at 9 p.m. To spawn a new generation of more upturned noses, which will follow the footsteps drilled in to their programmed skull. Like the never tipping future server, trying to crush the new Hope.
The quivering entity always close - isolated pulse pushes the limits with in your brainwashed dripping self formed conclusions, u could only think to fully comprehend -my addictions of cum-ing physical death. The Sun has its last thoughts, before it goes back into its tepid tool shed of depraved dreams. Such needed rest, the moon tucks her in the blithe scented sheets, up in her hidden water bed sky.
The face in the moon, the face in the Sun, exchanging telepathic words with each other, through Mother Nature's spacious speakerphone. Francis and Leslie.
The Sun tells her Mr. Moon she wants to know what happened in the morning, with the rolling film thingy. The hick hunters in the woods of Hope. "Dead animals, and loving lesbians". She titles it, for her Moon. Her drained fireball heat induced red eyes close even more. She is the sunset of certain breathing emotions.
The woods become darker, as Hope purrs, high up in a tree, her invisible radiant cat soul, watching the lesbians. Her melancholy green - director eyeballs - direct the actions of the two main characters. Hope scratches her claws on the 1000-year-old piss drenched oak tree. Filming her sudden deaths revenge with in the lesbian puppet show. Hope pulls the strings. Her blood in the tummies of lovers.
Mr. Moon pulls out his time card, dripping rain from his awaking indescribable solar system apparitions. The Moon faced man with the pocket full of narcotics decides to un-pause the flick. Hope meows the words, "Enough of this mumbo jumbo mind memory loaded aggression ridden crappy truth alone affection. No more.!"….. Action!" ' (The lesbian's chapter ends)

     "Quit your whimpering, you cat killing dumb fuck!" Francis yells at the hunter with the blown off hand."
     "You rotten cunt bag oh shit juice, daaang varmit mother fucka!" the hunter yells back.
     "You should really watch your mouth around ladies." Leslie says, blowing his brains out of his skull.
     His brain splatters particles of blood chunks. Gray matter flies all over his crying hunter partner.
     "Good God, u killed Billy! u psycho beeeyaaatches from hell!" he whimpers, and shivers.
     "You'll be next, if u don't shut your fucking mouth, you animal killing low-life scum!" Francis yells back at him.
     "Now dig your partner his grave," Leslie orders.
     "Sheeeeet, I ain't got no shovel bitch." He cries.
     "Your gonna use your hands, we got time. oh ya, we got all the time in the world, now get digging, dirtball," Francis demands.
     The two lesbians pull out a flashlight, light up smokes, and watch the hunter dig his friends grave for a good hour and a half, luckily for him, it had just rained a few days before, and the earth's ground was wet and moist.
     He finishes. They tie his hands behind his back, and lead him back to their cabin. He begs for his life some more. They slaughter him in their living room with knives. Leslie comes up with an idea. She had a flyer from the grocery store that said there was a local chili cook off in a few days.
     The loving lesbians make a huge pot of chili out of the hunter's dead flesh, and set up a stand at the chili contest. They win first place, as fellow hunters eat gigantic spoonfuls of their dead friend.
     "I ain't never tasted venison like this, it tastes deeeee licious!"
     "Got dang right, how u women make this? What dee hell kinda meat is this?"
     The lesbians just smile.
     "It's a secret recipe, enjoy."
     There are missing person flyers all over the chili cook off. The locals were very concerned about where their fellow hunting buddies had gone to.
     Little did they know; they'd be shitting one of them out later that evening.
     The lesbians decided to go live in the Bahamas before the heat caught up to them. They met some heroin connections and got back on the junk. Francis started her second novel soon after they settled in.
     Hope's ghost purred on in the heavy rain.

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