ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
I reside in Northern California. I wouldn't classify anything I've written as anything more than scraps of emotional outburst and occasional artistic inspiration scrawled on scraps of paper. I've been into some sort of artistic delusion since the age of 11 and it's drive won't quit. It's kind of a sickness. So I try to share it with the world. I have one collection so far, "Chaos Derangements Vol. 1", consisting of poems and stories. It's still being revised as always. Still looking for a publisher as usual, ha ha. ---9/30/00 [September 2000]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (3) Chaos Derangements Vol. 1 (Poetry) An excerpt. These are 3 poems from my first collection of poems and stories. [1,048 words] [Drama] The Widower (Short Stories) An elderly man, bored with life so much to the point where his own filthy socks are intriguing, takes some pills he receives in the mail in hopes to spice his husk of a life up...an underage girl sex... [1,990 words] [Literary Fiction] Ugly Love Poems (Poetry) exactly what the title say, my friend. [914 words] [Drama]
Wormshither Tony Seljuk
Sure sure, he always told himself, seeing her as she walked across the street from his
school, he'd go up to her and talk for hours, but it would never happen, no. Instead it was
always 'go home, eat and sleep, fuck homework.' Of course there would be other things to
do in between, but we won't get into that will we.
She always stood with a caucasian dignity, the kind he admired all his life. He'd jerk himself
madly to her image. Clusters of the stuff were in his blankets. Well, what do you do in your room
all day? Well, I draw all the time, typical response. See the A's last night? No. I don't like
baseball. They really fucked those fellas in the ass last night. Well, that's nice to know,
Billy.
So what's eating him? Charlie asked Billy the next day. Well, I dunno Charlie, he doesn't call
me anymore. I always call him. He's always home but his mom always answers the phone for
him, I don't know what he does when he's off school. I hear he's been gazing at that Stephanie
chick who's with him in gym class. You think he jerks off to her? Probably. Nasty, Charlie says,
lighting up a Lucky Strike.
The next day was grey and there he was, as grey as the sky, obviously needing more sun on
his dry flesh. His hair was a mess as usual, it was always dry as a rat's nest, rarely cut and
never styled. He smelled of cheap cologne and deodorant, but with his personaltiy and presence,
it really didn't seem to matter all that much.
In the gym class he stared at her as she wore her purple gym shorts, her brown hair flowing
down her back, her blue diamond eyes shooting at him with disgust. Billy went up to him and
gave him a stick of Winterfresh gum. What's new? He asked. Nothing, really. Just daydreams
of ass-fuck and polygamy.
Oh, okay, that's nice.
Tastes like chicken, said the barber as she shorned off layers of his matted hair.
Why would you wanna eat a bunny, he asked her.
Well, wouldn't you if you had to?
No!
She continued to clean up the job on his head, which was now not only in a crew cut, but with
masses of pimples hanging off his cheeks. Prime prom material for sure, he thought, as he
went home to watch reruns of Growing Pains and Hitler speeches on the History channel. The
Fuhrer's gaze was upon him as he watched him rant and scream of German superiority.
More fresh silver clusters were shot into the blanket that night.
It wasn't good. But it was all he had. He never spoke to her. But he daydreamed, all the way.
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