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blood red rose garden
different companion, different city. just coming from a satanic church, a bearded friend of mine arrives from the south, seething with discomfort, anger and confusion. instantly we stroll, like a couple of furtive guerilla junkies with ak-47s under their beds to the gas station for beer. we buy a 30pack of miller genuine draft and advance into the cyan miasma of melting and burst skyward clouds portentous and ominous in their vicissitudes. we stop to glare at them, amazed, and i notice the crazed look on my companions face.
"i know a crackhead who robbed a baptist church
"he used to live in a dumpster behind a mcdonalds. every day they would dump the leftover burgers into it and he would eat them. he said he felt like he was having breakfast in bed.
"i heard that in AA so dont tell anyone
i had recently been going to AA meetings, but still, drinking heavily. i was now on probation, and seething with fury because it was illegal for me to get high. we arrived home and began to throw back beer after beer. we watched tv on mute while dubbing in our own voices to the mouths of the people on tv. at length, we decided we wanted some wine. drunkenly, around midnight we walked back to the gas station again for two bottles of wine. we take them home, and i turn on some charlie manson
OH GARBAGE DUMP glug glug MY GARBAGE DUMP glug glug glug WHY ARE YOU CALLED, A GARBAGE DUMP
my companion paces back and forth in a fit, tearing at his hair as a reaction to the music. i smile and look at him and his face contorts.
"lets go dig up a grave
"ok, let me take my zyprexa first
he takes his pills and we grab two shovels and rush out the door, whacking car windows and trees with them as we go. we dump the shovels and buy three more bottles of cheap red wine, pick up the bottles, and go on a drunken death march 10 miles up a railroad track in pitch black. we maraud up the railroad swilling at the wine, cringing at the white and green bats flying above our heads, and the headless white slithering serpents crawling over our toes. bodies hang from the trees, ten, fifteen bodies to a tree, some hanging from their feet with their bowels hanging out, others hanging by their bowels, some hanging by their necks. they scream. the din overwhelms us and we begin to run, past the wire clad landscape where we catch glimpses of shadowy figures marching through the trees with bodies slung over their shoulders. we walk through a winding tunnel of black trees to the cemetery, where we search for the proper grave to dig up. we find one.
"mother mary thompson 1930"
a dead nun. we begin to dig, like oilwells we chop through the clay, for hours it seems, untill we hit something hard. the coffin is somewhat decomposed and i reach down and open it. a woman lays inside dressed in a habit with a ghastly grin on her face. we stare at her breathlessly for a moment, for we both have unhealthy obsessions with decayed human bodies, before her eyes slowly open, and she stands up, crying, and flies from the grave into the air. we stand there confused for a moment before the sky turns bright red and blood begins to rain down on us in sporadic droplets. we run, but notice behind us, the nun following, running, her habit and body glowing gold. we stand frozen for a moment when i hear my companions name whispered. we turn around to be face to face with the disinterred nun, when she throws her arms around my companion and kisses him passionately. she turns to a concrete statue. my companion screams, stumbles for all falls to the earth. he bursts into an explosion of red that travels along the earth making millions of roses to sprout as far as the eye can see. all the rest of the trees and obstacles were gone. i walked away from the statue, and have been wandering in this garden, evermore.
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