mordicai caeli (mordicai) wrote,
mordicai caeli

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claudio, the literal dog of war! bristling, shaggy, fierce! he is our charge for three days; the cerberus at our gates! or rather, someone else's gates, for we pack up our teepee & camp upon another's sacred land, high up upon the island, in the upper eastern section. we drink their liquor, we watch their pornography. we are the locust tribe! everything that you possess, we will consume! we will leave your hearts as black as charcoal, we'll rip the lips off your face with our teeth. we leave only ruin in our wake. my trip upon that great iron beast "green-4" is long & at times muddled with delays. while the steam engine waits, i read a tale of blind angels & small men. somewhere, someone strikes sparks & lights a fire, between the cars. & once to our new home, the continuation of my mate's falafal binge. this is our life, rich with cocktails & strange visions! this is our dwelling for three days & three nights; when they come to an end we release a crow to see if it is time to go home. when it doesn't return, we haurispect a dove. spreading its entrails upon the floor, steam rising off in waves.

on friday it is my day of rest, my anti-sabbath. i will flick all the light switches i fucking want! that is how i roll. i pull on my spy jacket, slip a garrote of pearls into my pocket, a white noise generator, a pistol & a cyanide capsule, & meet her at the library on 53rd street. i'm searched extensively by the suspicious guard, but my concealment tactics out-class his sleuthing. i'm practically the new spy smasher. we meet, that femme fatale & me, exchange some banter, & go to the drop point. the hand-off is ridiculously complicated, going into & out of rooms, swapping packages & items for nearly identical copies. eventually our time is up, the clock has played its sad toll, & she is off to her cover-story once more. i head south; i go down to the villian's debut, to see the inaugeral film of ekaterina.

i watch movies about suicide (prevented by puppies?), a film about religions, another about bed-stuy. a good one about a pointless controversy, ending with a camera shot of the offending material, aproximately the size of a quarter. then katja's film! including such snippits of my dialouge as "here we have chick on chick," "this is a picasso-fuck," "here is zombies eating each other's cocks;" that sort of thing. it is good! hooray. i feast on rewarding chipotle & accompany katja to her reception, along with jamey. i am then sad to have eaten, since the event is well catered. we drink glass after glass of free wine & eat motzarella stick after chicken finger after small sandwich. afterwords, when the catering people kick us out, we go with her professors to another bar, drink a couple martinis, jamey vanishes into the night, & then i too evaporate.

then again we come to saturn's day! oh reaver, oh kronos! you stand on that lonely street cornor & brandish your switchblade! i hold down the fort, i lurk around my store for the required eight hours. i crawl in the ceilings, i stomp on bookshelves to terrorize mices. my morning was a blur of vomit, lured in by a bad head & a bad stomach, but i keep drinking ginger beer like a trooper. the fluttering in the back office? that is in no way an insectoid angel spreading its wings, its arms, beckoning me into an embrace. screw you, telepaths! eventually after enough browsers, enough patois translation, i close up shop, feed audrey two a little blood, & go home. where it is the night of mischievious jenny! we fight about the wine, she gives me a wet willy while i take a nap, she gets on in return, i tickle her taint, we laugh & roll around & she bitches about her job. a swoop & a save!

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