14 Feb 2008

Flowers in the Dirt

Shot flash pupils dilate… photographic hallucinations of faces that fade-in crystal clear in the mind and just as subtly simmer off… open eyes find a thousand technicolor insects crawling on toilet and shower curtain, heat up flashes in the pan and suddenly all stops, lucid daydreams collapse leave in their wake trembling hollow heart made of porcelain…
Nail trails off from himself in seedy Boston hotel room… he trips God as a colossal test tube plugged with a cork, yellow liquid fills the body and long glass pipes sprout from the sides with various animals and appendages attached to the outlets at the ends… a pig’s head, a bone-dry mushroom, a stigmataed hand, a translucent angel face… the[G]test[O]tube[D] gave off a loud, bassy hum tuned to sonic frequency of the heart…
“Met the kid last time,” Nail says. “Name’s Eric. Gonna weave us into the Boston narcotic cloth. Should already have a few things squared away for us by the time we see him.”
Everybody is an agent… walking through city all they can feel is a persistent vibration/cancels out all other senses/the streets the buildings are ocean-blue and ripple in soft waves as thus… passerby may swell into view then glide back into the flash-induced blind spot… “Think we shot too much? I don’t wanna blow this Nail”…“I told you kid flash don’t affect me anymore. Just have fun with it.”
They find themselves in an all-night diner with the connection:
“I was able to get that shit goin’,” he says. “The streets are already screaming for more. I hope you brought a lot.”
“Oh we did,” Nail says with an asphyxiated grin. “Shall we take a walk?”
They pick up the check and head down Mass Ave to Eric’s apartment. “Quit draggin’ your feet. What’d you, fix already?”
“What the hell do you mean? You fix anytime.”
“I don’t handle business on a full-blown trip. You kids are makin’ me nervous.”
“Take a euphotan and chill out. We almost there?”
“Just around the corner.”
They reach an apartment building with a black iron fence at the entrance. The room is three floors up. Eric turns a key in the lock and pushes open the faded maroon door –
“Make yourself comfortable. There’s a grillo in the living room if you want.”
Nail and Luis sit down in two armchairs and drag the grillo cage between them. A box of needles sits on a coffee table; they penetrate the grillo from both sides, holding it still from above, and withdraw two loaded syringes. Wipe the forearm clean and recharge…
The kid sits down with a cigarette and watches them shoot. “Let’s see ‘em.” Nail grabs a heavy plastic bag filled with euphotan and slings it on the coffee table.
“How many?”
“A thousand,” Luis answers. “Should keep you busy for awhile. What have you been sellin’ ‘em for?”
“Five a pop.” The kid lets smoke float out of his mouth and hang around his head like smog.
“Nice set-up you got here,” Nail says. “Very tidy for a junky –”
At that moment the door is thrown open and four cops stream in with guns drawn. “Don’t even move! Drop the syringe and put your hands in the fuckin’ air!”
Nail and Luis are too flash-shocked to react immediately and a young cup off to the side fires a warning shot that penetrates the wall and soars across the city lights…
“Come on, guys, no need to fuck up my house,” the connection says.
“Sorry Eric. Good work bringing these guys down.”
“It was easy. They’re pathetic. Came to the city already numb in the fuckin’ head. I’d say put ‘em in front of a squad, teach all their friends a lesson.”
“It don’t work like that anymore. I’m sure they got somethin’ tasty comin’, though.”
“What!” Nail says. “You fuckin’ kidding me? You’re with them?”
“It never would have worked out, kid. Two burnouts trying to go national – what a joke.”
“Alright, enough. Get up boys, we’re goin’ downtown.”
The cops stand Nail and Luis up and put cuffs on. In the cruiser Nail thanked the flash for giving him desensitized mind and making this experience more bearable. At least reality hasn’t kicked in yet, he thinks. Still stoned enough to think this is a dream.


Anonymous said...

i never got fed up!

cocaine jesus said...

you have an amazing talent and an incredible way with words forrest, you manage to 'torture' them into new shapes that give meanings other than the ones they were originally intended for. surreal but more.

Forrest Armstrong said...

Thanks a lot, Jesus. I could say the same about you and just about everyone else on this blog.

Still reading "Varese" over and over again!