Sonate of the Wondering Circus

The Month of June  

A cold night strutting by my window , calling me to rest

my fatigued body. The tree outside , banging at a

sound and beat. I sat my wine glass down , that dawned on

my poor hand. I flexed senselessly like this very morning’s,

waking ritual. The mundane movement of tiredness’ and

in-properness. A fist located conveniently on my face casually.

“I love seeing all those deaths, on the news” Sometimes nature’s

forces or people , have to perform God’s works earnestly. With

no regrets or trepidations –felons and serial killers , with martyrs

titles. School shooting villains categorized and neatly filed, as

troubled loners or hopeless reclusive people . Those people,

probably needed to be alone and stay there! Like dogs in chains

and whenever a neighbor comes “Don’t touch him! He bites!”

And we wonder why they do bad things. Love ,affection or just

attention would seemingly , die down any antipathy those persons

might had , in their hearts! But…I don’t know much about that subject,

so I won’t try anymore. Four AM was a special hour , for solitary tenants

like me. I’m not a crazy cat lady. If I find some normally ,crazy man I’ll

indulge him for the night. A cat lacks the equipment, to perform

anyhow , not a zoophile. They have great fur, to lay , your naked body –

without judgment from anyone or guilt!! Guilt and remorse from

a man , can be the most vile emotion , in a man’s life –they’re just

wired that way. They want their woman , like I want my wine:

cheap , unsophisticated and also not too old or bitter.

This Is For No One

A while back. I have constructed an insane theory about life. Can I stress

this enough that I am simply un-content, with the world today? If I can

surpass a Jungian introduction I can merely quote absent mindedly

. I am not a weapon in which I intend to use –I am merely the reflection,

sub-shadow of myself and non-other. I can only hope to instill, in hearts

far away from my own. The mechanism –that his likelihood,

is un-seemly at its –Best of time.

The Scent

The scent… that o so peculiar “die!!, die!!!” the apartment resonated with

the festering rage of a man that doesn’t have anything left to say.

September 21 1988: My coffee wasn’t done yet, the hot coffee,

a fix of caffeine was almost ready to channel through old veins

and systems of physically dead cells vibrant, continuous, a flood.

It’s done now I’m about  to pick it up, now just now, almost now …

“ring…ring…” I fucking knew it!!! , can’t I catch a break?! “Samrson!”

the telephone floated onto my ear no finger tips led it in my line of

vision, none that I have seen. “get here quick! we have another one!”

the fuck he meant another what? “alright, ill just finish my coffee

real quick”, please… please, just a cup of motherfucking coffee!!! ,

“we don’t have time for that! get one on the way here!” he might

not have time, but I sure do! “alright chief” the telephone hit the

ground no fingers to lay it there, comes with the job, you start to

lose track of the most basic things, but one the next guy the next.

crook to still your daughter’s virginity, the next one to dump your wife in a lake the next

one to grab you by the nuts and yank em out.The coffee was done.I had no stove to slay

my morning meal of sanity, fresh…maybe the best one I ever made “I hate that motherfucker!”

I slanted and yelled at my door no coffee was there … in my Hands, fingers of deathly virtue,

I never fired my gun for thirteen years now!!! , thirteen! some guys used to kill for “fun”

shooting drug dealers and what have you, the door came towards me hasting its necessity

of access, the innards of the sieged wood, laced in gold a quote from the bible “If we confess

our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.

” Stupidity probably some kids trying some vo-doo shtick on me. The electricity was down,

darkness incased the entirety of the floor, level not floor. My lighter, like a dungeon dweller

I delved deep, deep into the neath of the chasm, last floor, a lady came brutally shoving me

away from the door, “hi! watch it!” no reply.

My childhood –at the side of GOD –”A taste Of Truth”

I’ve tried … I really really tried, but I can’t seem to do it. Well its suicide that’s what

I’ve been trying to accomplish. People walking talking …life has never been so wholesome

and productive. My life, was consumed thoroughly, by my job, as an acolyte teach supporter,

at a local draught of a business. One branch toke me into their loving embrace “Sarah teach”

founded by Sarah Gallows … alas a minute detail I could easily scratch ff. I was born death,

I am death and everybody around me is death and contributes to my own demise. And the

wheel of souls goes around and around, an imaginary hamster keeps at it, the swirling and

twirling of the wheel of souls, the next one to drop. I’m a girl, maybe not the most normal;

it is a normal thing to drop out of university. I argue, that living is a way to keep ourselves

busy, before death and the only thing that really matters, is weather were remembered by

as much people as possible.

I’m Coney, 23 years old, living in a bunk bed with my two roommates, we don’t talk much,

just stare at one another, suspiciously unengaged in each other’s affairs. I eat too much and

exercise too little, but remarkably, I manage to maintain my skinny, thin figure. Life or rather

the meaning of life, for, me is a constant confrontation. The being that produced us, gave us

some simple rules; eat, sleep, drink and procreate, but I’ll also give you a twist! You can do

whatever you want, within those limitations. My initial premise is simply that this force conceals

him, as to not make us kill each other and do whatever we want. Maybe he is a cowered whenever

someone gets too close, he flicks that peon off the chess board; it’s an experiment or torture,

maybe by mistake? But once we know, it will be the end of all of us!

I danced around checking people’s products and electric appliances. A young dude snickered

at me with his head-phones he’s just purchased “Do you have these in Orange?” he slammed

them on the counter “Yeah…check on aisle five” , “What a douche bag” I thought…but it’s

not his fault, nobody told him ant differently. My name tag dangled incessantly on the verge

of falling , my glasses fogged up every nine seconds , and I had to wipe them clean , I undid

my pony-tail and straighten my back into a perfect line. “Wake up Connie, we have work!”

Rick the floor manager urged me to focus, and I obliged. “ok, sorry Rick ” he was a handsome

man, one that many women would find “RIPE FOR COUPLING” , but his job description , would

hinder him in finding a right mate. Rick’s , long-broad shoulders , lovely matching cheek bones

and general “niceness” would have granted him “immediate access” to many more potential

partners , than the average John. “I couldn’t sleep last night…”

I started mine’s and Rick’s usual chit chat.

We discussed the weather – and talked about another war that’s spreading around,

(“there’s always one somewhere” I thought) a stupid, senseless, unfair war of:

“WHO’S GOT THE BIGGER” that befalls non-combatants, but maybe just maybe

they might have contributed to the outburst of the CONFLICT. We also discussed the

weather “Good!” we both said together at the same time, feeling we both prevailed

the dialogue. Life slammed into me, faster, now that the sun lowered and lowered.

I went for a smoke, after Ten Hours of non-stop, clerical work! The dim light of the

backroom, shone brighter: artificial lighting, which was a tad bit stronger than before

(the start of the day). The cigarette fumes averted the un-necessary brightness, of the

elongated –fluorescent oblongs. Marnie was a friend; I believe she was my only one.

The dim light of the backroom, shone brighter: artificial lighting, which was a tad bit

stronger than before (the start of the day).

The cigarette fumes averted the un-necessary  brightness, of the elongated –

fluorescent oblongs. Marnie was a friend; I believe she was my only one.

We were always nicknamed the: “DREAM TEAM!!” She was “Marnie the brave” and I,

“Connie the strong”. I stand now , with my cigarette , spreading the ashes on my past ,

Marnie was a true superhero , she would climb up the “Main Administration Office”- in our

Home-Town School , jumping off the rectangle , grey , lonely – building. When word got

around –like wild fire, in a dense forest, everybody gathered round, to enjoy the marvelosity –

of the spectacle. “I’m SUPERMAN!!!… not a bird or a plane” she would scream, before jumping.

One day, I got dressed and had put my “Pesticide” –concert T-shirt, black jeans

and sport-snickers.

I met Marnie half-way to Docker’s valley –”The dead play –park, for dead children…

and perverted old sods!!!” our parents would heed us, with this warning. We gathered

up some wood to light a fire, I had stolen some beer from my daddy’s garage –to maybe,

ease the pains of Day-to-Day life!? Marnie raised her hands in a “V” and shouted my name,

so beautifully in tune with the emptied surroundings “Connie, you beautiful old bloke!” …she

always said, I kind a look like a sissy dude. Marnie’s face magnified clearly now, so I didn’t

miss one detail of her countenance. The fresh cement –unsanctified grounds and hollow iron

structures that stood like roman soldiers; stretched at grade-à-vous  , eager to be touched,

craving for love –but still, maintaining their initial formation –of justice, seeking evil in their

midst, purge this land, purify any transient that might, just might want the seclusion that

comes with being a soldier of GOD.

We picked up the heavy blocks of wood, altering their initial purpose of future building

materials, to our ceremonial camp –bond fire. We basked in the pivotal –glory, the moment

of ignite; the one spark, the mischievous one…that sets the whole flame of exultance, to our

dimensional plain. We –together as one –strong ,tall and beautiful as “HE” ( GOD) , rise from

our chairs of nature –the sacred ground of “GAYA” –the evil step daughter of GOD .We danced

around , not knowing how –something , must have mobilized and enabled our movement –

‘WE ARE SWANS , OF AN UNFROZEN LAKE! BIRDS OF PREY , COMPLETE , HARMONIZED

BEINGS OF CREATION’ me and Marnie shouted , in a state of transiency –getting a tad bit

closer , to the heavenly throne of GOD. It was starting to get late and we sought practicality.

“We have to put out the fire” Marnie said after a bit of silence times. We talked about embarrassing

things; while under the magic of liquor-GOD, the power couple toke over our minds and bodies…

some of the stuff that I would never dare to utter, in front of my Mom and Dad.Rick

toke his smoke break as we went on a small –narrow collision course , “Hi, we have about

an hour left , you can go home I don’t think we’ll have anymore costumers coming… I think”

the only thing that I liked about his words, was his little laugh –smile at their end. “Okay…

fine, but you should know that I don’t have anything to do at home”. I said to his blank half –

interested face. “you can stay , maybe there will be some business to take care of” I got inside ,

and before I closed the magnetic doors , I saw a glimpse of Rick’s face , weboth turned our

heads, to look at each other’s beings. After four and a half minutes Rick joined me , we were

both on auto –pilot mode , each of us with their own reasons , I blushed a little –not

knowing why , I did blush? .

Out of the emptied street(somewhat empty) , out of the cold came in a single costumer

accompanied by no one and didn’t carry a bag , as most costumers would –crawling out

the neighboring “MAGIC FREAK” ; a shop that sold fiction goods and distributed every major

franchise in the market. He was a tall and very handsome man –as Rick was, wearing a plaid

leather shirt (probably handmade at a far off –boutique, an antiquity, not many could afford)

a Fancy Dépêche-Mode Coat and long hand-tailored jeans. The tall clear figure , was rarely

vague , his body language did not suggest a holding –of non untapped secret ; for the people

he would encounter in life , wouldn’t seek any wrong doing or suspicious activity –taking place

in his mind. He talked like a white suburban news anchor, trying to not unintentionally be

misconstrued. “Hello I’m looking for an aux cable and a gift for a thirteen year olds birthday

” he said, in a firm and trustworthy voiceand metaphorically –I was sole , alone and

abandoned even with the vitality –of three throbbing heart beats –I foolishly mistook myself ,

as the four greats of the Renaissance There were three people inside that unholy chasm ,

alas I felt alone , was blocked , literally :Raphael; the somewhat cheery- lonely PERSONA,

Michelangelo; the perfectionist ,Da Vinci ;the strange gifted bird and Donatello; the professional

imitator of life. I stormed at the man “well…what does he like?” I smiled at the beautiful man,

and clasped my hands in disdain “a bit of an outcast, but he might enjoy a surprise!” the news

reporter man was changing into human form; a regular banshee –seeking to destroy society’s

perception of him, by injecting an emotional reaction, to a fleeting thought –he scrounged for

solid ground, grounded and easily defined PURPOSE –as rest of us humans.

Rick soon followed … and uttered “May I suggest a fun and practical appliance; a scribbling

pad for a developing creative mind” Rick read to the man –scripture –from the box that held

the prized ‘PAD’. I suddenly coveted that pad. I wanted to be that pad –to be taken away from

this miserable –dream shattering place: finding a purpose to my life span. Each and every waking

day, I would be used by the thirteen old boy. He would scribble and his proud parents will watch –

in complete reverence. I would be proud of the boy, myself and bask in his discoveries of fresh

new doodling ideas. The man had thanked Rick for his “quick assistance” and “intelligence” –

words that very few people would use, scarcely, to conjure up when thinking of Rick.

Marnie and I headed back to home base. We barked at the harrowing moon, surprised

we had managed to elongate the beer’s life. “Did you see Ted today? He was so cute!” I nodded

yes as Marnie launched at me and hugged me tightly and fiercely “I love you Connie, I hope you

know that” The liquor dictated her words and made them more pure, child –like. The last foothill

to my house was vague and blurred like a Picasso or a Dali –hard to pin point. I nearly stepped

on to Mrs. Grover’s front lawn, and by pure luck managed to locate my frontporch. I leaned back,

shut my eyes –rocking our old chair, lit a cigarette –waited until two AM: ‘THE DEAD HOUR’ a

curfew my dad decreed, in our silent agreement.

Rick held my hand for a while; after the costumer had left, Rick pulled a “Brew ski” from

his homestead stash (his job, was almost a home). I didn’t object him holding my hand;

we were both pretty ‘BUZZED’. It was a soothing sentiment –like a cold ‘sink shower’ in the

summer. I never felt such joyous momentums, in my life –for I had, virtually, no such enjoyments…

only ordeals or fleeting phases of ‘happiness’. “What kind of music do you listen to?” Rick proclaimed

with his assertive, Briton voice. Rick intruded with his voice ,and made me think back , as I unlocked

my grip on his hand and obliged “I generally listen to rock, but when I feel sad , I listen to my dad’s

old records” He laughed at me , with his un-becoming tone . He patted my hand –at that backroom,

abruptly he crossed my hand in his (the hand that did not hold the beer). I felt whole again as he

did that , I seemed to have flown away , to a land ,that did not contain my daily : psychological,

social , financial –problems. “Why are you doing this?” I asked him, with a true want, to know why

he is being so nice, so –human, towards me.

I blushed a little but stated my ground to convey theseverity of our ‘UNION’.

“I think I like you … I don’t know ” He spat on the floor but I needn’t mind now , suddenly

he barked at the moon –the one that was blocked , by the shady fluorescent lighting , just as

Marnie did that very night! I stepped into my house, passing our two feet, wooden –oak door,

only to find my Father; on the couch with a beer in his hand. This appalling sight –my dad slouched

over, like a dog in summer, was a very, very bad sign for me. He probably found out I had stolen

from him –after doing his routinely ‘Touch Ups’ on his new Chevrolet –Monte Carlo 74′ –and taking

a break …reaching for the fridge, one hole was left , the one beer I stole –I just had to take it from

the front !!! After a lot of calculation … two plus two, always, always!!! Ends up equating four. He sat

there, for two whole minutes, before engaging me in conversation. “Connie!!!” He screamed, now

I will be inflicted, with a befitting justice –to my deeds!

Still sited on his chair he squealed “What the fuck did you do?” He hasted fast –as he got up

and throw his beer on the carpeted floor, smashing it to tiny –molecule sized pieces. “I did

nothing!” I stood still –I now know, I only made the beast angrier! In the midst of my cryonic –

polarizing fear… I collapsed, remembering my Father’s wrinkled face, salivating mouth and a

smacking odor of moon –shine Southern Carolina beer. I remember my dad’s unshaven chin

follicles –pressed up against my cheek. The incessant shouting, of a mal-nourished animal, an

inhuman voice; a wild animal’s call –like a deranged wolf pleading and hollering, at the fresh

moon. Rick was rediscovered to me –I had already done, a complete and full assessment of Rick –

once before, his: behaviors, ticks, taste in women, the gang he hangs out with, and the tuna

sandwich he devours, every single morning! But this Rick shined his inner light; brighter and

brighter now that he had shown me –his rarely seen ‘WILD SIDE’.

“What do you like to do?” I said to him , trying to make this Rick stay for a little while longer

“I’m a painter and sometimes I write –for myself , for pleasure” A child’s occupation not

necessarily for adults “what do you like about it ?” I continued to pay special interest, in this line

of questioning “Well… after a long day, painting is relaxing and calming –if your brain still functions

properly” He smiled and brushed his hair –like a beloved ANIME character. “Wow, you’re also

a philosopher” I said, knowing he doesn’t know anything, about mid 19^th century, European

existentialist philosophers. Rick tapped my hip and patted it lightly, like an expensive cloth, and

I didn’t mind him doing that either. “We both know, you are the real philosopher amongst the

two of us” He lowered his grin, and laughed …I laughed too.

“You’re absolutely right, turf for brains!” I pushed his shoulder and laughed, out of true

infatuation … I think. We giggled, at the absurdity of our potential mating. I looked at him,

as he sipped from his beer, already half full and wanted to kiss him, so badly!!! To be carefree …

but I was afraid; I didn’t want to ruin our relationship, as employer-employee. I grinded my teeth.

I struggled to live with the notion –of un-realized love. I can’t help, but entertaining this thought :

‘If we were to date , both of us we’ll have to lose our jobs’ I loathed my job, my fiery boiling hate

for my life and social stature , was more real than before I woke up. The smell of my human-self

was disgusting and nauseating.

My rotten teeth, squeamish and putrid body, my dried up hair and the hole, the hole!!! I am

always trying to fill was generally plugged up with rubbish –food, television, insomnia, writing

and cup noodles. The hole was ‘HAPPINESS’ It only manages to expand every day …never

shrinking never lessening –growing larger and larger, into a gigantic pus, that no one knows

how to destroy. I focused my brain , and did , what my brain always does –calculate , ‘the probability

, of me and Rick going out together , as a couple was estimated at –TEN PERCENT –end compute’.

I could easily lose my job –dragging Rick with me, to the pit of joblessness=homelessness. I winded

up in my own pool of tears, despair and detached myself from reality –once again I was a desolate-

barren desert, encompassed by a handful of trees, of my own creation –design. “I can’t do this…Rick,

you’ll lose your job and I will too”

Rick broke off, his constrained shackle of a hand and got up. “Don’t go, stay!!! I want you

next to me “I pleaded to his back, but the body didn’t sway, and his face was not revealed

to me –once again. I sat alone in that backroom, fluorescent lighting overhead, thinking of

Rick’s loving eyes and rosy cheeks. I held his figure, captive in my mind knowing I would live

(or not) to see it again. Never will I see ‘THAT’ Rick the one I saw that night –this event,

is now lost to me, a speck of dust in my –grayish brain cells.

My dad wasn’t always a bashing spouse, to my pubescent Mother. Once he was a true

soul –mate to my Mother. I remember clearly, that in my youth: dad used to play ‘CHESS’

with me. When Marnie came over, dad would duel us, against one another. Sometimes, we

both played, and my dad played as the –rival, but never managed to beat him. I myself could

never beat my Father in chess … not one measly time!!! Marnie played him once, alone, and

almost won…just almost. He would levitate the pieces into their , befitting designated spots –

not blinking , or making a fatale-costly mistake , like I had done almost every time I walked

on to the board , blindly , without a “win” plan. My dad must have possessed some sort of

telekinesis forces. Like a magician, he played me for a fool, with a simple idiocy. A shadow war –

was always commenced when playing my dad, his next moves were his own, and non other’s.

The chess-pieces and peons would dance and sway together in total harmony, at my dad’s will.

Every turn, he would fiddle with my brain, trying to foresee my moves, ensuring his win. The

magician had turned into a conductor of the chess-pieces, ironically he loved the classical music –

whenever his ‘QUEEN’ heard a thin humming sound, and she would crush another one of my peons.

The melody, of dead throats, ears not living to hear themselves on vinyl; ARTIST NON-GRATA,

replaced by the beats and hops of another dead century.

He used it!!! He used my beautiful serene tunes –as weapons of mass destruction!!! Has he no heart. Has he no faith in GOD –maybe he prays to a different GOD. “Warum kann man sehen, mein Gott, Vater?” I cried to myself –in my daddy’s native-“Why can’t you see my god father?” Rick’s last words to me, before departure was “Lock up when you go out!” His back –not his face or hand commanded me, and I stared at the ground –And back at the door. Only the man’s cologne was left of Rick. Only the touch of my hip and holding hands sustained his leaving. Tears began falling. It seems as if, they were dripping from the fluorescent lighting. I renounced, every inch of my personhood. I gave into the, maddening seclusion of “Failed Mating”. God accepted me, into his loving arms that night.

Even though he might have been there, all of the time. And even maybe, before the

concept of time was formulated and encapsulated into human science and human consent.

Rick was death for me, that night. As many other people who contributed to mine. Sometimes,

I can be death to others. For I recall instances where I have deadened their will –The most

primal one, of existent. The will to live! I sat aside the nothing, newly focusing on my hurting.

The scorning of my human spirit and suppressed sensuality. I did, I craved Rick’s GOD-like

embrace and “niceness” to nurture my possible future. I had hoped, to narrow my psychosis

gap, to a minimal by coupling with Rick. For he was, for me the ultimate “American Golden Boy”.

Subconsciously, I detained Rick in the breaches of my mind. As I incarcerated Marnie

searing her, in my memory compartments. Whenever the feeling of; lost, hopelessness

or despair have tried, to form a mutiny in my brain. I would unlock these lavish rooms

where Marnie and I seclude us from society. We would discuss about life. Living. Wanting

to live! To not leave this earth, but LIVE THIS EARTH! I felt unimportant. I delved into the

darkest corners of my mind. I still cried for sanity. I peeled layer, upon layers reaching the

core of the onion –It still made me cry, even the notion that life, was worth living …somehow.

Life’s narrowness and decadence was upon me, this time for good I thought.

The sanctions society condemned me to, are my final frontier. I played with a small puddle,

on the concrete. I always pondered on such puddles, how would they form? I reached to the

ground beneath the waters, playing with the little cobble stones. They disintegrated, beautifully,

at my finger’s twiddling. They became grains of truth. They were…my only friends –as Marnie

was. On my 18^th birthday. Father and I, sat, down at the table playing chess. “Ready. birthday

girl?” With his polo shirt and jeans, that he had always worn. He managed to craft a creepy

yucky smile on his plastic countenance. “Yes…” I said. As much expected, he won, but gave

me a round of applause…for a well fought duel and “Great Sportsmanship”.

I hugged father unengaged in him or concerned. I walked outside and smoked a cigarette, on

our three step staircase. Father didn’t mind, as he sat on HIS rocking chair, gulping his beer

effortlessly and brutishly. I passed the old hill, where we used to race box cars, in times my

dad loved my young mother. She never came to any of my races. She stayed home; making

sure my sister was getting her homework done. After we had dinner, father used to slap my

mother around –one time, he hit her, so bad she had forgotten who she was. She sat down on

the kitchen chair, as dad rushed to apologize, giving her a glass of water.

(c) 2015  All rights reserved to Guy Dazin