Halfway There

Not a typo.

I’m back, folx.

Six months sober, older, wiser.

My writing hasn’t been nearly as prolific since I regained a few shreds of my sanity, but the freedom from my addiction is worth more than any arbitrary symbolic combination of mouth noises. I’d like to thank God and also Jesus.

I have seen more shades in the rainbow of life in the past six months than I ever had in the preceding 19 years.

I’ve moved to south Florida, relatively indefinitely. Turns out there’s an entire flippin’ industry down here making bank off of cups of grade A human excrement. That is, urinalysis cups, a.k.a piss cups. So I get to live in a 300sq foot apartment with six other women for free as long as I don’t get high. Sounds like a fair trade to me.

I actually love it. Not just living walking distance from the beach. But like, living with people who know, ya know? Like, yeah, there was that time I told some kid named Dan if he got me a gram of Molly we could do “whatever he wanted”. But some of my closest friends actually were backpage escorts, exotic dancers and amateur adult models. Most of them have been arrested before, half of them have done time or have pending cases. Three of my new friends are already dead: two of overdoses and one of ripping off or owing money to the wrong dealer or junkie.

Which makes me wonder, what are we grieving when someone dies? After all, when you really think about it, the death of loved ones is the most normal part of life. As people must be born so that they are considered alive, they must also die. So, being that we as humans are cognizant of our mortality, what are we actually experiencing when we mourn?

I was waxing philosophic on the beach at my friend Shay’s memorial when I realized that, as much as I loved and miss her, I was more upset that I didn’t get to know her better before she left on a heroin run, chasing the dragon in a circle until it finally caught her and swallowed her whole. I longed to experience more of her, to ingest her spirit, to pick her brain to the stem of her existence. But I realized that I never would be able to, at least in this life. And that’s what I grieved: what was, what could have been, and what, now, can never be.

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SHORT STORY: SUCCUBUS

SUCCUBUS (Alice)

In my mind I’m a butterfly, suckling sweet nectar from a delicate blossom. In reality I’m a demon, draining hot blood from lascivious men.

My tale is a tragedy. When I was alive, I was called Alice. My mortal existence felt incomplete. My only desire was to fill the void and find my better half. At age thirty three my self-pity ceased and I realized I had to be proactive if I ever wanted to find my soul mate. However, I was rash and took shortcuts out of childish impatience. In my hunt, I became the hunted. I was stalked and slaughtered, my soul consumed by Evil Incarnate. His bite condemned me to spend my afterlife a demon like him.

Nightmares foreshadowed my death. I dreamt I was drowning in a rainstorm. As the heavens fell around me I begged god for mercy. I spied a cliff jutting from the water. I swam over to it and climbed up the precipice to safety. When I reached dry land, flung myself prostrate, thanking god for my salvation. The sun drifted out from the clouds, and I realize I was in a lush garden. I felt hunger pangs in my stomach. “Some garden,“ I complained to myself, “where’s the fruit?” No sooner had I thought the words when a trunk sprouted from the dirt. Leaves and berries spit forth from the branches. I picked a berry and shoved it into my mouth. Juice dribbled out, staining my chin a deep red. In my haste I gaged on a seed. Suddenly, a boom echoed through the air. The lush foliage around me crumbled to ash and the garden became a desert. a woman with leathery skin appeared, watching me intently. “Where am I? What happened?” I asked her. “I am Lilith,” she said. “you were banished from the garden. I have been banished too.” “Why?” I began to ask, but I was too late.. Wings had grown out of lilith’s spine,, and I watched as she flew into the sun.

Every night I would wake from this dream shaking, drenched with sweat. But blinded by hubris, I ignored my premonitions and continued my reckless journey. Knowing I couldn’t resist affection, the demon baited me with love. He hoodwinked me by inhabiting the body of an alcoholic firefighter, promising the young man an eternity of carnal delights in exchange for the use of his body as a host. On the last night of my life I went to singles bars to pick up someone hollow like me to spend the night with. I sat at the bar nursing a daiquiri for a few hours before I felt it – like someone was watching me. I looked around and saw a stranger giving me the eye. He appeared benign from afar, so I downed my drink and strutted to his table. I got a better look of him as I approached his booth. An ugly specimen, He had gangly spider limbs and an Aryan complexion. His light green eyes smoldered and his nose looked like it had been broken more than once. When he spoke I noticed that both of his front teeth were chipped. I sensed that he was the violent type. I stood with my mouth hanging over, feeling awkward as I thought of something to break the ice. The man spoke first,

“Hey beautiful. My brand new convertible is parked right outside. How’d you like to go for a ride?” he cocked a wispy eyebrow and winked.

Feeling brave, I dared to let him do for real what he had done already with his eyes.

“Only if it shifts smoother than you” I replied.

In my last human memory I’m kneeling on the floor of his car, sucking on his manhood like a giant lollypop.

I woke up groggy and disoriented. I turned my head to check the clock and noticed I was in a stranger’s bed. Before I could wallow in shame something hit me on the head, and I was knocked out. When I came to, I was tied to two wooden planks, the man standing over me, chanting in gibberish. The demon revealed his true form with a flourish of his hand and a whispered incantation.

“please, please don’t hurt me,” I begged. “I’ll do anything, I swear, just please don’t hurt me!” I sobbed as the demon acted out his cruel intentions.

“Almost done”, he whispered right before he sunk his broken teeth into my throat.

I shrieked as crimson splattered across the demon’s face. He put his mouth over mine, biting my tongue. When he was satisfied, he threw my body into the gutter like a slain prostitute. The demon cackled and said, “I hope you like the taste of blood, whore. That’s all you’ll crave from now on.”

Hours or days later, I awoke in agony. It felt like there was an animal clawing its way out of my intestines.

“It hurts, oh, it hurts so much! What the hell did you do to me?” I cried.

“You’re one of my kinds now, sweetie,” the demon taunted.

He said, “You must be thirsty. Looks like it’s time for my bat to spread her wings and fly the cave”

He sat me down and begins explaining the details of my new immortality.

“You’re a succubus, my dear, a female vampire. You’re soulless, more spiritually empty than you were in your sorry life – that’s impressive,” he snorted with derision.

“Now you’re damned to spend eternity raining hell upon the world until our kind enslaves humanity and the earth becomes our paradise. “

He continued, “But if you wanna see it, you gotta keep yourself alive. You can’t do much on an empty tank. You’ll find your premium unleaded pumping through every sniveling, insignificant organism with a brain. Ironic, though, they’re still so foolish. It’s easy enough,” he chuckled. “Just follow the spiders. Spin yourself a web and lure, trap, kill.”

His lecture wound down, “You were already mostly dead when I took you out of your misery. You’ll have it easy enough adjusting to The Life.”

With the demon’s words in mind ,I set out to find my first victim. I returned to the dive bar where I met my fate. It was three PM, but the building was already packed with the regulars. It was like browsing the selections at a buffet. I finally settled on a tasty looking fellow. He stood out by his clothing, an ironed button down with color coordinated tie. How corporate, I thought. I drained my glass in a gulp and sauntered over to the businessman.

My first time feeding was choreographed like a dance. My meal and I performed our pas de deux behind a bed sheet. He climaxed so suddenly I thought he was having a seizure. I felt his pulse speed up, applauding my exceptional lovemaking. His beady eyes filled with dew as he stared at my mouth, hovering over his femoral artery. He moaned with pleasure, then with pain as I bit into his groin. Hot blood spurted out, tasting like rusty copper, burning the back of my throat like cheap whiskey.

I spent the next morning hacking the man’s body into chunks and made a bourgonion with his flesh. As I ate, I ruminated on the act I’d just committed. I realized the man was more than a piece of meat; he was a soul and a mind as I had once been. But jealousy flared as I thought about his life and people who loved him, his idle hopes and dreams. If I can’t be happy I thought, no one can. My mind wandered down other dark alleys. I got lost imagining my destiny, what challenges the afterlife held for me, and the implications of being immortal.

After some time, I grew wary of my carnal lifestyle. The creator whose abuse I’d grown to desire abandoned me to hunt down fresher blood. I felt like a dirty condom. I decided I needed some entertainment in my life, so I put on bizarre puppet shows with dead children tied to wooden crosses. After years of playing with my human marionettes. I found my own Lolita. She was a temptress like me with shiny mermaid hair and an ample bosom. I seduced her with the promise of eternal beauty. For the first time in my existence I thought I would be genuinely happy.

My doll offered me her soul the first time we made love. As she writhed from orgasm, I grabbed her pear-shaped breasts and bit into the tender flesh between them. But I was careless – I was too excited, and before I could stop myself, I’d swallowed every droplet of blood in her veins. I was in shock. My thirst destroyed the last chance for my salvation. Remorse puddled from my eyes as I watched her body twitch. her soul escaped my clutches; my happiness was dead, and my immortality meant there was no chance in heaven or hell of us being reunited. There was no escape from the pain. Tortured by time, beaten by remorse, raped by insanity, I shut down. I was reduced to a shell of my former being. In my crippled state I built a cocoon around myself to shield me from the horrors of existence. I resolved to spend eternity in hibernation, waiting for the rapture so my wings could flutter me away.

SAD POETRY: THE GAME

“Do you love me?”
With no regard for myself,
With no regard for anyone,
You were my sun and moon.

“Can you just take me home?”
I said i was feeling sick.
I said i was too high.
It was after my curfew and I was going to be in trouble.

“Can we do it?”
With you it wasn’t long.
With you it wasn’t painful.
I said yes before that night and after.

“Do we have to?”
I knew I couldn’t say no,
I knew I couldn’t stop you,
With your loud mouth and big hands.

“You don’t love me.”
Without using too many hard drugs.
Without using too many brain cells.
Do you realize what you’re trying to do?

“Just take me home, please.”
You were in the driver’s seat.
You were in the most control.
Can this just be over now?

“Just do it with me.”
Without any type of protection,
Without any type of remorse,
Can you please just shut up?

“We don’t have to.”
You don’t listen to my strong suggestion,
You don’t listen to anything I say,
Do I even have a choice in this?

Genesis

Infant in spring
We greet the Gerber baby sun
Suckle at Mother Nature’s tit,
Grow with the daylight hours

Adolescent in summer,
Fig leaves sprout between our legs,
Blood boils
As we leave innocence behind

Adult in autumn,
We’re crisp, ripe,
Free and multiple,
We harvest our fruits

Elder in winter,
Overcast skin creased with clouds
Our bones have turned to icicles,
We hibernate until we rise again.

What It’s Like To Be Manic

Thought Catalog

When I am manic, I can’t sleep.

That’s a pretty typical sign of mania. You feel too buzzed and bubbled over with thoughts and ideas to let your body fall asleep. When I’m manic, it means I haven’t slept in days, and it’s not that I’m not tired, because I am — very tired — but my eyes won’t close, my brain won’t relax, my body won’t turn off.

I’ll close my eyes and my mind is whirring, wheels going, wood burning. I think: I have to write this essay or read this book or clean my drawers out or oh god, what if I wrote a musical? What if I started a Tumblr with pictures of dolphins in sunglasses? Why don’t I have an article up on McSweeney’s? I could do that! Why don’t I have a new show at the comedy theater? I could make that happen! I…

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CONTEMPORARY POETRY: WORDPLAY

Psychotic and neurotic
alcoholism seems to be the only –ism I ascribe to consistently
what with other philosophies too highfalutin for my taste,
pedantic, pretentious and perfunctory
when all I want is perfection
and I find it in a bottle,
houses of wine or Whitney, epiphanies
inspiration, contemplation, elation, vacation
satiation in abuse
abuse of substance, the substantial body god has blessed me with
and I kiss life goodbye, a final blowjob for the road, not road head
a farewell to the arms I’ve taken up in order to exist.

HORROR POEM: SUCCUBUS

I swallow the life force like sugar
Suck the blood of the boys I treat like toys
No survivors, no surrender under the covers
They’re mine, all mine until there’s nothing left

How did a pretty young thing like me
Start feeding upon that negative energy
What’s the cause and effect, the catalyst?
It must have been that fateful tryst
Abuse that felt like bliss
Rape I have come to miss
And it all boils down to this:
I must destroy whomever I kiss

My little victim, this should be fun
A little monk fuckboy whose playtime is done
He’s a cheater, go to meet him, he’s a meter
Boy Peter, but I’m a sleeper so I feed him
He needs me, he’s mine so I find an artery
Ask politely to not fight me, rightful consent
Like a husband I’ve wed, oh boy he bled
He tastes like the bad intentions of an unmade bed

On the hunt tonight for some tonic for my gin
My win last night was one for the books,
Honestly I’ve been messy and tired, depressed and anxious
So play this playlist
I hate this stagnant existence, must find another victim
I need nourishment to flourish
Find the strength to feed, to bleed another
But then I remember these boys have mothers and sisters
Resemble a family, these brothers have others
Remorse in my memory that I have to smother
Suppress the emotion the best with devotion to the underworld

Here’s a girl, she’s got the world in the palm of her hand
Standing alone at the bar, lone star so far
I’ll show her a life like mine where blood is fine wine
She’s never felt the touch of a woman, take her to my bosom
Sink my teeth into her crimson, teach her the life, make her my wife
So we venture at night to find men whose blood is ready.