Sunday, November 21, 2010

William S. Bonnie & Mr.Moon (actual "story" circa 2007)

A televison humming over the sound of wu-tang clans enter the 36 chambers,put a delightful twist on this cozy studio apartment in down town of North richland hills; a suburb with no downtown. There were neumorous clothes strewn over the furniture and floor,shoes under the couch and by the door,porno mags and videos were all water damaged from spilt wine and whiskey bottles atop a brazillian oak coffee table,that if polished,would have a fine finish. The inhabitants were William Bonnie,a disillusioned cyclopse stripper (eye patch style) with an extreme obsession for the wild west(*so much so legally changed his name to that:seriously man?) and a taste for all thing dangerous…and/or symbolic. Though he dressed like a gentleman and preffered scotch when eating at sea side diners,he was human being that did not deserve a place in the rat race,but he had a neuce around it and was holding on for dear life. Then there was Mr.Moon. Imagine this perfect child;son of an Olympian and Professer. The brain to explain quaintum physics with the brawn to rip a small child in half.coupled withthe skin of an armadillo and teeth of a bull shark,he began writing poems in middle school that led to three suicides and numerous other attempts and in high school scored perfectly on an SAT while on three hits of acid. Hes like the gengis khan of drug use and learning.though by some grand mistake of society,or public school systems or god for that matter;these two prophets were destined to do what ever it is,somehow.It was night time in the loft,and the boys were watching travel channel.(theres a vibration on the table:William reachs for it and reads the following text message:I ve got the low,get henry.)

“How could it have been that obvious?”


Me and the moon man were on a world tour down in missisip. We had plenty of drugs and gin to get us threw the night,we had only come to see the jazz band.They were universally known as being cute and spunky,and we were already thrashed in that 1928 speeder,hugging the cliffs over the crocs lair. Scared and drunk we slowed down,and cussed at each other until we cried,but he was less scared then I,and coasted down that jagged edge. We arrived at Rimbys the jazz parlor to see the band,and immediately ordered a couple of kissers when we walked in,they weren’t strong enough to make us see straight so we sat down by the front. The band came to the stage,the lead pianist was tall and boney and high on some sort of upper,grinding his teeth as the melody of the sweet piano donged in. The bassist was clearly tired of the lead pianist act but respected the music so,that he was forced to stay.The rest of the band was less apparent thatn the bassist but more open about it as well. The moon man was pouring some cough syrup into a cola under the table and nudgeing my leg with his like I shoulda,but I didn’t. The entrancement of the notes slapped my tounge over my cavities to rest on my ulcer sored gums,the moon man slouched deeper into the chair until he made such a stir the woman besides us moved. I took the cola from him and proceeded to drink it myself.Slower than mr.moon did of course. The pianist drove his fingers threw the ivory creating a rough hole that cunt threw the tip of his cuticle,rubbing the skin off his prints.He smiled the while as he continued the destruction of his fist,blood now trickleing out over the keys and dripped down to his knees. His band slowly fated as the rumble of the piano broke the ear drum of every listener in tow,as he created a devilish symphony that made his pale skin glow. Mr moon was cheering wildly on the floor and I could hear my self standing on the table screaming,but everyone else was deaf or shocked. I even threw up on some patrons at the table behind us I was so exited,and they didn’t move,covered in vomit they still didn’t belive their ears. Mr moon staggered up now that the piece was over,the vomit couple now dabbing themselves dry,and like the others still whispering question marks as murmers to the lovers at their sides. I was thinking about fish and what had happened to the sea when the pianist grimmishly came up to me and began rambleing inncessiantly,and mr moon chimed in: “Hello pal! We liked your piano strokes,but we don’t want to know ya.” I knodded and crossed my arms behind my friend as if to back him up,the man left. We then got into the ’28 speeder,Senor moon chose a vinyl,and we hit the dirt high way.

Chapter 19876:
Highways came and the morning was slow,we had woken up drunk at this coffee shop,named mellow house or childs corner…There was a newspaper stand outside and a police man next to that. He was a nice fellow. We walked in and demanded to be seated where the other police were because of the encounter outside,luckily there were two in a booth caddy corner to the wall.”Gentleman” I said as I approached them with my arms wildly open.Perplexed the watched with curious intent.”How are you guys today” I said as I came to a stop and sat next to the one with a moustache. Then the one with the moustache replied:”who are you?” the one with a moustache knodded as if agreeing to the question. I stared for a second as if they should know,and then threw my hands on the table and yelled:”toms kid!”. They then proceeded to draw their weapons and pistol whipped the few remainng teeth I have out. Mr moon,taking offense to this,jumped behind the counter grabbing a hot skillet and spatchula and then proceeded to leap over the counter to where the blues stood and burned one on the top of his head while bashing the crown of his skull in and cut the iris on the other one with the spatchula and then proceded to jump on his chin. By this time Im on my feet making my way to the door spitting my teeth on the floor and I see police officer three coming in to assist me when I grabbed his gun and in a short struggle shot him in the knee and then called hima nancy for crying,I still haven’t decided which was worse. Back in the speedster we didn’t stop until Arizona.

In the devils playground sex is wildly overblown as something sensual and unique to spouses in general. Mr moon was a deviant for the woman,I mean I had known the man for years. An argentinan fellow with a taste for extreme expansion and dancing and consequently romancing. He taught me all I know about mechanics and the Olympics and he gave me a recipe for a mence pie to die for. He was a meantor to me as I was a sensai to him. We gave each other hope that one day the world would be fucked up with love. We ate strawberrys every afternoon in Arizona hoping to see planes fly by with scrolling letters,hoping one day we’d find wives with big enough breasts to fulfill are dreams.One summer day in the devils playground,we were in the back yard of this girls house over off I-5,making napalm when her boyfriend came home,and questioned who we were. Mr moon took offense to this and challenged him to a dance off while the man foolishly turned him down,the woman consequently had sex with mr moon after. While the two fucked I took a stroll threw her channels with her boyfriend crying on the couch next to me,clutching a pillow in his grips.”its over man” he constantly repeated “and this is my house,why couldent yall have left?” I continued to scroll and asked the guy for a beer.He was a nervous wreck but a generous host. Moon came out several hours later and announced that we were leaving,and that all would be right in the household,the man shook our hands,it was a strange scene.

1 comment:

Old 333 said...

I thought I was lost until: Mr moon took offense to this and challenged him to a dance off while the man foolishly turned him down,the woman consequently had sex with mr moon after.

Thanks for another great piece. Hunter thompson meets chandler brossard mates and copulates with mickey spillane. Actually, not so much that as an acid drawing by a man named lawrence Pope that I had in my possession for a long time, framed; it featured tired eyes becoming a road, among other ways. However, since no-one knows that picture here, which to this piece is like, i don't know, a picture, I'll stick to my hackneyed publicly available comparisons and just pay the license fees on them and accuracy art and good reporting be damned.

Another beer and the rest of my joint. This Bonnie, he could be a writer to contend with. I want more.