Epic Arrested: Don’t Fuck With Liberty

I haven’t updated my blog recently because I’ve been in prison. Now I know what you’re thinking: don’t they have internet access in the clink? Of course, but you only get an hour per day on good behavior. It’s a nightmare.

Sure they have magazines, conjugal trailers, and all the weights you can lift. Sure there’s the constant excitement of gang violence and rape (or is it the other way around?). Sure it’s the first time I’ve lived rent free with three square meals and full medical coverage since childhood. But come on, one hour of internet? And the server’s so slow you barely have time to watch Future Weapons highlights and a few porn clips, and bam! Game over.

Plus, who’s on good behavior in the crossbar hotel? Isn’t our lack thereof what gets us imprisoned in the first place? Let’s face it, you take one look at me — 5 foot 6, wiry like a weasel, pale as silk — I might as well have trouble tattooed on my forehead. Then it gets around the jail-yard that I’m the guy who took out Mecha Godzilla and suddenly everybody wants a piece.

That’s how this whole thing started, really. Remember how I tore out Mecha’s heart and had it recycled — pretty cool finisher by the way, you should learn it — well, the thing is, I was kind of drunk off rage and blood loss… and alcohol after the fight and I accidentally mistook the Statue of Liberty’s head for Chumpzilla’s heart. They’re both big, metal, and covered in spikes, how was I supposed to know?

The story goes they found me in a coma with the old lady’s giant head sitting outside my apartment covered in my blood and fingerprints. Kind of hard to alibi your way out of that one. No sooner had I snapped out of my coma than they were slapping the cuffs on me. I only had time for one epic blog entry then that mystery nerd started gaying things up again. One of these days I’ll make him pay for using my blog to express his feelings…

First thing’s first, though. I had to get out of statesville. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to miss Yoga Thursday, and I was actually starting to put some money away with their work program, but without my digital life I felt like only half a man. Nobody ever tells you about the dark side of prison… you just have to live it for yourself.

So I kicked prison’s proverbial neck — in this case being the actual neck of a nearby prison guard — grabbed some keys, took a few measly bullet wounds, and made good on my escape. Then, like every man fresh out of the cooler, I followed temptation and got inside the nearest, nastiest internet café I could find.

3

Pluck yours from the sky,
I’ll tear mine out of my chest—
Our hands full of love.

Definity

Memory cuts a jagged line
Ahead
Dragging with-
Out quite accuracy
Nor even desire.

Jokes skip by, skip over,
Pass by what could have been
Great commiseration.
Not action,
Hardly even consciousness

Of their definity—
The choking immortal
Lapses
For barely a breather,
Passed and past.

What passes in that span,
Between definities
Is new,
Short-lived,
And nearly unpredictable.

Traveling, as it will,
As it wills,
Arriving aged—
Never near enough,
But some where.

An Every Daydream

I see myself

Falling
Onto a cold tiled floor.
My head hits first,
But I don’t feel a thing.

I see my own blood

Spread
Even, thick, and slow.
It slicks the tiled floor
And shines darkly.

In the empty room

Alone
My blood is wild.
The deepest, richest color in the room,
It warms the cold floor.

Restaurant

Is this menu in English?
It’s meant to be a joke.
Her eyes flash twice, irritably.
Look, I’m sorry.

No one imagines him falling
Through two hundred layers of flaky crust
To land on rubbery egg-whites.

No one imagines him rising—
His arms reaching
As only a god-fearing man’s can,
Worrying through the thick oil
That rises to the top
Of old brown sauce.

They just look down—
Exchange words.
He has a warm dinner to eat alone.
She has two hours until the kitchens close.