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The Eclectic Pen - catch phrase

By: ericjasongastelum   + 52 more  
Date Submitted: 7/28/2008
Words: 1,118

  i was at the end of the alley. it was not paved and there were no trash cans. it was a dirt road behind two different blocks of homes. where the back yards face each other. i walked down the dirt road, almost like a dried canal. my feet felt a dirt that my mind was not expecting to touch. the dirt was like powder and my feet and my ankles were covered with a beautiful layer of dust within ten steps. i heard dogs barking behind cedar fences. some fences were chain-link and other fences were made out of simple chicken wire and wooden posts.
i thought about the past. about a time when i was growing up and everyone seemed to get along. maybe it was me blind to the things going on, but i picked up on the importance of basic living skills. i was a kind child to most people, but knew and took advantage of the people i knew i could manipulate. there was no concentrating involved and my mouth would weave perfect scenarios that would woo others into doing just what i needed them to do. i told them things that made them think what i was stating was the truth, from my mouth. i deceived and i never knew who or where i got the trait.
it was in that dream of a thought that i came back to my senses and realized i had stepped on a nail. between everyone getting along and everyone believing, for the most parts, what i said was real when it was all false i had walked over a trap.
my mouth opened wide as my nervous system realized something was in my foot that should not have been. my throat opened up and air rushed passed my teeth. more oxygen was in my blood then before trying to sooth the pain. my cerebellum transfixed a numbing agent just long enough to endure the pain, and pull out the metal. such a complicated machine. my fingers wrap around the sweet slender metal body, delicate like i would touch any woman between the hips. delicate, like talking about religion to anyone these days, anymore. i give a tug, violent like flesh bulbs exploding from the rubbing. violent, like a bullet through the helmet. my skin and muscle kiss the nail tight. they embrace each other like conspiracy & lunacy. my eyes water, but i know what this means. i pull faster and hold tighter.
the nail comes free from my skin as i give a silent cry. the dogs feel the invisible of my anguish. as i kneel on one knee i notice an itch like pubic lice around the bleeding hole in my foot. a black dog runs back and forth, toward me and is stopped by a fence. then runs back to the middle of the yard then again runs toward me. barking, communicating, tongues of some sort that i cannot decipher. a hiding angel beneath all that heavy skin and fur. i see a cat in the kitchen window and suddenly want someone to sympathize with me. to tell me it's okay to want to explore without shoes on. but the syndicate in my head will not take my faults as a reasonable effort for an excuse as to why this has happened, no trading happening for self-remorse with me today.
i stand to my feet and continue to walk. thinking about how many diseases there are and how many more i have no ideas about. i see an unopened condom and think about the time i had sex with a broken condom, and the clinic i was forced to endure till the end of my seeds life.
was i wrong to think that i should of had a say in anything that went totally and completely wrong that day? i can imagine her, spread-legged in a chilly room, labia cold and shriveled, close to her body. just imagining all the gruesome details. all the sounds that she was not knowing. i can imagine for a brief moment in her head that maybe she was wrong. that maybe behind her eyes there was a moment or a glimpse of her soul dying a little bit more. as the ghost of what could have been a great thing was sucked fresh and limp out of her body. inside out and impatient i waited. as unsupportive to an action as i'll ever be, i still saw her walk out of that room holding her skin above her empty womb.
you can't say your sorry, but you can't say your not.
i should have left. i should've done a lot less then i did.
i hear a maintenance man talking to someone about the pH levels of their pool and how it is so very simple to check and balance those levels out on their own without having to call him every time. i listen and walk slower as i favor the heel and outer bottom of my injured foot to walk. i lean against the cinder wall as the pool man and home owner discuss chemicals and the proper kinds. i take a quick glimpse at the arch of my foot and see that dirt and and blood have made a glue of almost perfect viscosity and hold. my body continues to work it's wonders to fight it's fight.
i wonder about my body and about my ability to be able to live. was i made with everything that i needed, or is it like a car or anything else we produce? there is always more that can be done, there is always so much more that can be acquired. are the things that i have been taught and that i have found favor into believing the best choices? the birds sit on a wire as i continue my stroll. a choir making way for my entrance into the next twenty feet of my life, the next ten seconds. they introduce me and blast the air like trumpets. i stand as strait as i can and try not to feel insane, as i, the king are in their presence. they sing for me. as my delusions continue to rot my head i see a woman in a garden with a hat to protect her white skin from a burn. it's so typical that she would be trimming roses and so pathetic that she should wave when she notices me.
i see the exit to this hell of a place. where no one lives and no one visits. a whole block i have walked and there seems to be no signs of life anywhere. no real conversations, just bags and bags of myself.

The Eclectic Pen » All Stories by ericjasongastelum

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Comments 1 to 6 of 6
Dana W. - 7/28/2008 4:53 PM ET
Didn't flow very smoothly......
Eva L. (wearetrees) - 7/28/2008 6:41 PM ET
i've come to rely on your saturnine prose, jason, for a taste of beauty in morbidity.
Audrey S. (auddiemae) - - 7/28/2008 10:21 PM ET
One thing I learned in College is to use the word "I" very sparingly. It seems to ramble, but the section on the abortion was excellent, but try to eliminate more I's.
ericjasongastelum - 7/29/2008 12:37 AM ET
Dana, you're very right about this not panning out very smooth. As a free-write it will never be corrected. It is complete as it can be. The timer started and when the time ran out so did my synapses. Some people talk to a psychiatrist, some people talk with friends, some people hold it in and others find other ways to deliver hatred and hurt from their heads. This simply works best for me.-----------------------------------------Eva, you're simply too great. Words could not explain the meaning.----------------------------------------------------Audrey, we must have gone to the same college. : ]
Joyce M. (j3m) - 7/29/2008 9:32 AM ET
I like this one; it seems healthier...
Marta J. (booksnob) - 8/2/2008 8:52 PM ET
I think this has been your best thus far. I could feel that nail going into your foot! I know you're the master of free form (if you listen to jazz, I'd compare you to Ornette Coleman)--but I can't help but wish for a little more structure, ie. capitalizations where warranted. You're too talented to remain inaccessible.
Comments 1 to 6 of 6