The Queen, Part 13 – Comfortable Violence

 

spiffynorthwest

The throbbing in my shoulder matched the muffled sounds from the headers of the car. Sweet liquid morphine and shots of Jack Daniels had their desired effect, easing my body and mind out the bowels of this craziness. It’s amazing how fast life can change, from dreary and boring to “What the fuck!” in a hot quick second. I noticed things were getting easier, surprises less surprising, and choices made by previous choices. Violence became a common thing, life and death, no longer fragile and precious, but cheap and forgotten. The only lives important were ours. It wasn’t the fight for life, because I had life and it never was this exciting or crazy, but it was the fight for survival. I know survival is life, but there’s something about staring at the wrong end of the gun on a regular basis that ingrained a grit, a hardness that’s comforting and that sedates the complacency experienced by the blue and white collared grunts, performing the same routine, longing after a little dough to buy a house or car, or the beautiful trophy wife. I imagine cavemen had this same excitement, and really, that what this was. Caveman style, fight for survival, kill and maim to push ahead and escape. Some men are born for this lifestyle, and for me? Well I didn’t know, but I knew that guns now felt comfortable, my aim was sure and not shaking, my stride confident with my queen by my side. I guess that even if I didn’t start in this “trade” it seemed that it grew on me. These thoughts eased me into another deep sleep, the lullaby of mufflers at 70 mph, and the comfort of cold steel pressed against my skin and delicious lips, parted slightly with just a little strain visible on her china face. Where this was going, I didn’t care and it seemed my career description was rapidly changing from my old mundane, back breaking job, but the goal was the same, that I might see her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside my Queen’s castle.

The Queen – Chapter 12

picture credit:mnginteractive

Leaving with my head still full of meds and wine, my lust still on her lips, we knew our next steps controlled the destiny of years. I didn’t care for what my life was before her. To be by her side, to feel her hair brush against me, to hear her voice call my name, these are what my life consisted of now. We waited on the corner for a ride she arranged while I was asleep. I nodded briefly, a victim of my hangover, and woke when I heard the muffled, “thump, thump, thump, thump” of its muffler.  The car reminded me of an older converted cop car. The hard seats were uncomfortable as I slid in, as my knees rubbed against the armored back of the front seat and I stared at the only eye I could see of the driver in the rear view mirror. Putting my finger through the holes in the security screen to pull myself forward and maintain my balance, I used this distraction to subtly adjust my gun. He deposited a short rubber burn on the road that left a wispy smoke reminder marking our departure from this nether world. I liked riding in this unmarked car, it was sufficiently close enough in appearance to standard issue PD vehicles that it garnered startled reactions from the ambling drunk zombie-like old men, twitching meth addicts, and keen-eyed dealers of illicit pleasures. I laughed at the antics of the riff-raff loud enough for the driver to give me a warning look through his one-eyed mirror. He took his job very serious, and I did as well, knowing that these paths took me through dire straights of exploit and malice. His eyes were cold, like looking down a deep sinkhole, the kind that scared me as a kid but provoked me to explore their dark depths. I loved and hated the feeling of danger. I wanted to both challenge any intimidation of my world, and run like a scared rabbit. She looked out the window, soft hair flowing over her shoulder, holding my arm with a vigorous grip, like a bear holding its prey. My emerging knighthood beckoned me to protect this vixen queen, facing the death-wish actions I had all my life. Thousands of insults and shame producing injustices added many logs to this bonfire of rage. Having held rejection as a lover, I didn’t really give a shit whether I died or lived. But now my anger and boldness met my fear and insecurity, and as I reached under my shirt to dig the gun’s hammer out of my side, I remembered that this is why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might see her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Undefined – Is being nothing defined, anything at all?

“Always be yourself, express yourself, have faith in yourself, do not go out and look for a successful personality and duplicate it.” – Bruce Lee

I read a script that’s not mine. I borrowed it from one of the many plays performed in front of me, in books, movies, and on the grand stage of the home of my youth. With a foreshortened future all hope was sterilized, leaving me with no inclination that tomorrow is a viable possibility. Desperate,  I grabbed dreams that weren’t my own. I didn’t possess the capability to birth those; but the dreams born by other souls, bestowed by fate to imagine another day. I took hold of the dream of a family. Years later, memories evade me with nothing but a handful of thoughts from all those moments. Next, a dream of religion. Another tragedy of errors. It seemed that I believed too much, a cultist obsession is the adopted child left after true faith leaves. What about belonging? To anything? I laughed as group after group, clique after clique, pushed me away. Finally I came to the end of my chasing. Self destruction, that calling accepted me, pulled me close and loved me with the hate I was accustomed to. That’s where I find myself, scraping back the detritus of conformity, aborted dreams, and superficial survival, playing in the puddle of tears, long ago cried, never again to grace my face with those salty trails. Forcing my mind to comprehend dreams, so difficult a process, full of discouragement with disappointing trivial drama, I breathe. Pushing forward, whatever direction that may be, is tough, going backwards offers a comforting alternative. I live in the present, scripting my dreams daily, then burning them at the alter of change every evening. Is being nothing that can be defined, anything at all?

Also published in Broowaha Magazine

Undefined – Is being nothing defined, anything at all?

“Always be yourself, express yourself, have faith in yourself, do not go out and look for a successful personality and duplicate it.” – Bruce Lee

I read a script that’s not mine. I borrowed it from one of the many plays performed in front of me, in books, movies, and on the grand stage of the home of my youth. With a foreshortened future all hope was sterilized, leaving me with no inclination that tomorrow is a viable possibility. Desperate,  I grabbed dreams that weren’t my own. I didn’t possess the capability to birth those; but the dreams born by other souls, bestowed by fate to imagine another day. I took hold of the dream of a family. Years later, memories evade me with nothing but a handful of thoughts from all those moments. Next, a dream of religion. Another tragedy of errors. It seemed that I believed too much, a cultist obsession is the adopted child left after true faith leaves. What about belonging? To anything? I laughed as group after group, clique after clique, pushed me away. Finally I came to the end of my chasing. Self destruction, that calling accepted me, pulled me close and loved me with the hate I was accustomed to. That’s where I find myself, scraping back the detritus of conformity, aborted dreams, and superficial survival, playing in the puddle of tears, long ago cried, never again to grace my face with those salty trails. Forcing my mind to comprehend dreams, so difficult a process, full of discouragement with disappointing trivial drama, I breathe. Pushing forward, whatever direction that may be, is tough, going backwards offers a comforting alternative. I live in the present, scripting my dreams daily, then burning them at the alter of change every evening. Is being nothing that can be defined, anything at all?

Also published in Broowaha Magazine

The Queen – Chapter 7 – A Risk for the Queen

Quickly we walked through the busy street. Transients stopped their mumbling and searching to see the passing of my queen, looking at her with what seemed like familiarity. I love the attention she brings, it makes me feel, important, necessary. Pressing our way through an ornate doorway, I found us in the company of a hardened contemptuous fellow, on his neck, a bold tattoo advertising his disdain for the law. He was tall, hair black and slick, a malevolent stare carved into his face that spoke things words could never say. I thought of the fight the night before, hoping I could avoid another confrontation. He grabbed her, roughly pressing an envelope into her shaking hand, then a locked backpack. She struggled with the weight initially, but with a pained look she flicked back her long hair to make a spot and threw it over her porcelain shoulder, not a word being exchanged in this well practiced role. We turned and immediately walked back out to the street. Stopping her around the next corner to ask my questions, the crowd murmuring at our midstream rendezvous, she patiently held her hand to my mouth again, no words should be spoken. Her soft fingers touching me gave me a rush, flooding me instantly with memories of passion past. Her eyes let me know, she knew what to do, I was merely a guest on this mysterious ride, my purpose being accomplished by my presence, not my words. Sensing my objection, my queen pulled me into an alley. Pushing me against the wall, her hands caressed me, demanding my full attention, dulling my reason. I sighed, with my body a willing ally for her, I fell quickly to her reasoning. After all, this is the reason why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might guard her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Related Posts: The Queen, 
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  

Picture Credit: images.wikia.com
                      

The Queen – Chapter 6 – Journey for the Queen


I woke from my sated slumber, a smile on my face. Turning to my queen, I see the same smile reflected in her eyes, barely open from her repose. As I looked at her, my mind replayed images of the night before, the sounds, amazing sights, and most of all, a feeling of being, different. Her words controlled many, soft yet powerful whips that always brought about her will, even when you thought it was your own. Now, it was more than her words. Her body brought a whole new element to my journey, creating a hunger, a thirst, both working together, driving me to feel her touch. Shaking myself from my dream within a dream, I stumbled up from our cramped niche in the room. The colors seemed dark in the light of day, muted through barred windows, way up high on the wall. Pulling her dress on as she stood up, she tossed her hair, even with no make up, she was captivating, skin smooth, like a sculpture. We walked through the halls of this inner city labyrinth, pushing out into the day onto a busy street, arrested by the smell of street vendors, plying their wares, using the aroma of their treats to lure their patrons. Landing them, landing us, with little effort, as our appetites pushed us to take our money, hard earned money, to provide for our satisfaction. As I watched this exchange, I began to see, my Queen was the same. Her aroma of sensuality worked its way through the crowd, men turning, drawn to her. Women even, seemingly full and content with their own palaces, were left panting after her bait. They, like me, are compelled to give out of their earnings, out of the riches of their heart, to give her things you would never offer to a stranger, all in an attempt to satisfy the desires ignited by their own lusts. I find myself doing the same, but, I am different to her, or am I? This is the reason why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might touch her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Related Posts: The Queen,  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  Part 11,, Part 12, Part 13

Also Published in: Broowaha

Picture Credit: desktopwallpaperhd.com

The Queen – Chapter 6 – Journey for the Queen


I woke from my sated slumber, a smile on my face. Turning to my queen, I see the same smile reflected in her eyes, barely open from her repose. As I looked at her, my mind replayed images of the night before, the sounds, amazing sights, and most of all, a feeling of being, different. Her words controlled many, soft yet powerful whips that always brought about her will, even when you thought it was your own. Now, it was more than her words. Her body brought a whole new element to my journey, creating a hunger, a thirst, both working together, driving me to feel her touch. Shaking myself from my dream within a dream, I stumbled up from our cramped niche in the room. The colors seemed dark in the light of day, muted through barred windows, way up high on the wall. Pulling her dress on as she stood up, she tossed her hair, even with no make up, she was captivating, skin smooth, like a sculpture. We walked through the halls of this inner city labyrinth, pushing out into the day onto a busy street, arrested by the smell of street vendors, plying their wares, using the aroma of their treats to lure their patrons. Landing them, landing us, with little effort, as our appetites pushed us to take our money, hard earned money, to provide for our satisfaction. As I watched this exchange, I began to see, my Queen was the same. Her aroma of sensuality worked its way through the crowd, men turning, drawn to her. Women even, seemingly full and content with their own palaces, were left panting after her bait. They, like me, are compelled to give out of their earnings, out of the riches of their heart, to give her things you would never offer to a stranger, all in an attempt to satisfy the desires ignited by their own lusts. I find myself doing the same, but, I am different to her, or am I? This is the reason why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might touch her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Related Posts: The Queen,  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  Part 11,, Part 12, Part 13

Also Published in: Broowaha

Picture Credit: desktopwallpaperhd.com