Pastoral Genocide

The Kennedy Snuff
November 14, 2008, 7:41 pm
Filed under: Writing | Tags: ,

Richard Glascock was doing it. Really doing it. Everything felt right. He was laying the ball down on the ground and watching it roll and listening to the thundering crack of the pins as they burst out of formation. It felt right from his first roll and he was now on his eighth and he knew it, he knew that this was it.

Richard Gloscock had pursued this moment for his entire life. Well, most of his life. He’d been a bowler since he was seven years old. He went with his dad, at first. Then his dad went to the penitentiary and he went by himself. All in all, though, he’d been bowling for 58 years. 58 years is a long ass time. A whole lot of shit had happened in 58 years.

Richard lined up for the ninth frame. He dried the sweat from his palms. He took a swig of beer and a drag from his cigarette. He coughed, once. He exhaled and selected his ball from the return. He placed his right foot on the center most dot and his left foot two dots down. It felt right. He exhaled and took three steps forward. One. Two. Three. Release. It felt right. He watched his ball turn over and gently hook from right to left. The pins separated violently. The only thing that separated him from perfection was one frame and three rolls. He took the last drag from his smoldering cigarette and pressed it out in the ashtray. He parsed over his situation and took a deep sip from his beer. It was cold and good and it calmed him down.

He had to piss. He was nervous and his head was foggy and he took a short walk. He was bowling with three other people. Three guys he worked with. Bud, Chris, Joe Demmers. Joe Demmers was a real son of a bitch. He was the night mechanic and a lousy asshole.

Richard pushed open the restroom door and nearly knocked Morty Stevens to the floor. Morty was coming out and he was coming in. They looked at each other awkwardly and Richard said, I’m sorry Morty. And Morty looked at him and said, it’s no problem Dick. How you rolling them tonight? And Richard, afraid of the jinx, said not too bad, Mort, not too bad. He walked to the urinal and unzipped. His penis felt soft in his hands and he managed a slow, meaningless dribble onto the pink urinal cake. He waited for something, perhaps, more substantial to leak out. But nothing did. Pathetic. The damndest thing about getting old was that nothing worked right anymore.

On his way back to the lane, Richard thought about his ex-wife. Shirley. What a royal cunt. The mother of his children, nonetheless. If he rolled a 300 today, he made up his mind that he’d call that bitch and let her know a thing or two.

By the time he made his way back over to the guys, they were irritated. What the hell were you doing in there, Bud asked. Pulling your goddamn pud? We’ve been waiting here for ten goddamn minutes. Bud knew full well that Richard Glasock hadn’t had a feasible erection in over five years. He was a silly, stupid old man but right now he felt on top of the fucking world. He felt like he was 19 and ready to take the world by storm, like he felt before the war and like he felt again when walked off those docks and into New York City and threw his cap into the storm sewer. Life is really something.

He prepped. The overhead lights dappled the glossy, waxed lanes with bright orbs. He focused and blurred everything else out. This was it. He dried his hands. He took a deep breath. He grabbed his ball from the ball return and lined himself up. He threw the ball down the lane. He felt the strike before it was a strike. He had that feeling in his stomach, like he was on the precipice. A gentle pause before a great leap. He waited for the pins to be reset. He waited for his ball. He heard Joe Demmers say, don’t fuck this up now you old coot. He thought about what a fucking prick Joe Demmers was. Who says something like that? A fucking asshole, that’s who.

Richard Glascock dried his hands. He took a deep breath. He took the ball from the ball return. He lined up, his right foot on the center dot and his left foot two dots down. He took a deep breath and thought about his throw. He walked towards the fault line. One. Two. Three.He threw. The pins cracked and spun and fell down. He turned and looked at Bud and Chris and that cocksucking son of a bitch Joe Demmers. They said, atta boy, Dick, you did it. You fucking did it. Atta boy. Joe Demmers said, I knew you were going to do it. I just knew it.

Richard Glascock thought about what he had done. He basked in it, he felt proud. The alley was smoky and it rose to the ceiling and pooled like a cloud. To clouds and to tornados, he thought. He felt a knot tie and untie itself in his stomach. His chest cramped. He breathed out, exhaled hard. He balled his fists and tried to steady himself. He felt dizzy. He fell to the floor and felt whitecaps of static pour over him.


The Post Modern Debate: Everything to Everybody
November 6, 2008, 4:16 am
Filed under: Music | Tags:

Download The Post Modern Debate – Everything to Everyone

I received a voice mail from my mother, once. It went like this: You know I love you very much. You are a man now and despite that, you are still my little boy. You will always be that. You will always be eight years old and it will always be Christmas morning. You know that I love you very much. You live far away from me and I miss you. [NAME REDACTED] killed himself today. It is terrible and I don’t know what to do. He woke up early, before everyone else, and went behind the house. You know the house, you have been there. He woke up and went behind the house and sat beneath a big maple tree. He shot himself in the head and he sat underneath that tree. It was early in the morning and no one else was awake. They slept in and he sat underneath that tree. They found him when he was still alive but it was too late. [NAME REDACTED] is my best friend in the world and her husband sat beneath a maple tree and killed himself.

There is a pause.

I love you very much. Promise me that you will never do something like this. Even if I am gone, promise me that you will never do anything like this.