Mothertongues

Mothertongues guarding christmass-rose beds
Heads struck songless, pictures without souls.
Birdbeaks, bird eyes; curious and alone.
Feed a fly watching the meat you carry,
Hurry, hurry along.

Flanders, Belgium

Flanders, Belgium

House in Baal, Belgium

Waitress, Flanders

Tuileries garden, Paris

Tuileries Garden, Paris

View from the MAS museum, Antwerp

Bastille apartment, Paris

Vacant store front, Paris

Hertzog street, South Africa

New Year's day, Baal, Belgium

Epigraph

The people who you want to change your life don’t come to you by overhearing what's playing on your earphones in an elevator. They are more likely to come to you as they are getting into a car and inevitably drive off as you stare from a window. If through the luck of circumstance they are summoned back, you wrack your brain for the right words, the right action to place yourself firmly in their path with the full-hearted wish that it be enough.

      A glass of milk? Collage. Ferdinand Andrew                                 

Funeral

Only I, me

not you

and words

alone

behind the door, he feels me up

then lets us go

Only me, not her

No

But I felt bad for her mom

and cried at her funeral

Now she's just a yardstick

in a senseless dream

but that was real

the girl in the back seat

who I won't appease

she annoys me

Only me, not her

No

Car wrecked, invisible

mother screaming

under the weight

in an empty landscape

Eulogy

All the good songs wait to be reborn,

while the stars wait in the wings of derailment.

Eulogy, a songbird, a picture in hell.

A trip around the world alone.

May all your dissolution turn to gold.

Your feigned heart, your laughter.

Follow the marigold.

Into the shadows, lie down in their roots

with the soil and the sun in your hair.

Follow the marigold, right till the end

Your feigned heart your laughter

follow the marigold, all the way home.

Morning view of Flanders

The white gold of light flooded and spread

on a stone swallowing river,

the morning lifts its head from a shadowy pillow.

Quickening shadows on greens and reds.

Veiled horses grazing in yards,

cyclists smelling the marsh on cycling paths.

Flanders towers stand tall

looking down on the people.

Days all set in cobblestones.

A ghost

A ghost, a boat, Italy.

The quickening heart,

the horse tripping over the runaway cart.

The gallery is empty, he comes to me.

I want to last forever.

The house is empty.

Ivy in the flower bed.

Family vacation

I tried to envision the point of view of others, re-framing things from their perspective : a new poster on the wall; a magazine on my bedside table, small things that I believed remarkable enough to elicit a response. Like a dog or a cat sniffing the air, I would gauge their impressions once they left the room. Sometimes on the pink leather coach, just a stretch away from the television, I'd wonder what they were thinking as if somehow I was complicit in what I was watching. Everything outside my line of view would fade soon enough, however. A nonresponsive chuckle;  a dismissive smile, a “goodnight” in fragmented unison - would send him on his way again. I'd sit up watching even after the doors were locked and lights turned off.

At Sunday school the excitement of “The paranormal” that was on the night before would not let us be quiet, the teacher would have to wait till the unholy things were spilled from our busy mouths before his lesson could begin. In class on Mondays too we would  discuss what we had seen: a mini-series about a wife beater, traces of blood glowing in the dark by luminal. A girl towards the back of the class said her dad watched blue movies at night. I had my own first glimps of that while skipping through the channels in the spare room at Zelda, my dad's girlfriend house. The video channel showed whatever played downstairs on the VHS player in the self-contained living quarter where my stepbrother would sleep on some weekends when he stayed over. The colors on the screen were lurid, the skin tones unnaturally warm; a man in a white vest with dark greased back hair was penetrating a slender woman. His dick seemed to me to miraculously contract and expand as his shaft slid back and forth inside her.

Zelda's previous partner shot himself in the bathroom that I shared with my step-sister, Michelle. She had an impressive collection of perfume bottles; luminous colorful soaps, some still in plastic wrappers, and a wide variety of mini shampoos and conditioners which were either sealed or in various conditions of use. I used the ones that were already open. Most of the plastic bottles proclaimed to be from Paris, but a few were from hotels, I felt less bad using those, but they didn’t smell as good.

The first time Zelda's sister came over for a BBQ she brought her two boys with. I mistook  a bowl of dark olives for chocolates and took a bitter handful. I refilled the women's tall wine glasses, half way with ice as requested. After lunch I overheard them talking about an incident involving a ghost on the stairs. My dad, they said had been terrified. When the guests had left in the late afternoon and everyone else had retired to their rooms I sat in silence in a deckchair with the black house cat in my lap.

The foyer of her parent's house was grand. Studio portraits of each family member hung against a feature wall. My stepbrother was handsome even as a mischievous grinning first grader. Zelda had told me that her father's wife was not her mother, her mom had died some years ago. The blond woman who welcomed us was slender, confident and precise in her posture. She spoke through a rigorous smile, her voice all “a's” and “o's;” frequently chuckling and yawping, with a laugh that made me feel silly. She led us into the peopled dining hall and to our seats among middle-aged strangers. I got introduced to her adopted son, a man in his late thirties with a brusque manner that almost concealed his mental disability. The table seemed to stretch the entire length of the room. Waiting staff  laid bowls of soup in front of us. An elderly man fussed with a napkin in my lap. After dinner, I watched TV alone in a small open room upstairs with a locked gate to a balcony.

Soon after meeting Zelda's parents we went on a family vacation. I hadn’t seen the sea before and the idea of its vastness was cause for me to wonder. Zelda wore a pair of white thick framed round sunglasses, and in a black full piece swimsuit that matched her dark copper hair, she read a thick paperback crime novel. My dad who was proud of wearing a Speedo resented her reading, had made a big display of them rubbing lotion on each other. He lived for simple things like the meticulous packing and unpacking of a picnic basket. “Why don’t you explore the hiking route?” one of them must have suggested.

On the way up the concrete steps that lead to where a sandy trail began up the hill, a gray haired middle aged man on his way down insisted on accompanying me. “I'll walk with you,” he said matter of factly. When we reached the wooded area he steered us off the main trail through the brush and into an area of densely populated trees. “I’m divorced,” he told me. We stood among the brittle orange and dark brown leaves on the black ground, surrounded by branches. In the distance further up the hill, we heard male voices, two or three guys maybe and a female among them laughing occasionally. “They're probably fucking her,“ the man said looking at me, fondling himself. “You get hard often?” He had his dick out and had started jerking off.  “Do you jerk off a lot?” he asked me. “Want to jerk off with me?”

In the car on our way home my stepsister challenged us to her version of an old car game. The first person to spot a white Audi could punch the other passengers and got to call out the next car. I looked at the drivers and passengers inside white Toyota's, beat up blue and maroon Ford's. To the passing trucks, I sang: “So long Man.”

The boy next door

The boy next door got the house uphill looks down on the neighbors.

He rattles the cables, he screams and you answer.

Come bring the car round, don't care if it's late now

and the lights are low and the record spins.

Tarpit

Nothing contains a void like a city
Nothing shows up the dead like the living
And the soul..
And the earth
And the heart
And the eye
an aberration

The body a shell, an amulet
My tongue a carpet
My breath a tarpit
And the stars irreverent

Shameless

Had they been serious? Brian wondered sitting alone on the park bench, the place where they had met, almost a year ago. It had lasted too long for them not to have been. He was seventeen, Sean thirty-four, a driving instructor. They met each other here in the park the first few times on a Saturday when he wasn’t instructing. They drove and fooled around in the late afternoon, their mutual attraction felt natural and even though they weren’t close, Brian believed that the intimacy between them would grow beyond the confines of a car and that soon they would spend their Friday nights together, Saturday would stretch into Sunday and they would remain inseparable.

Sean after a few weeks arranged for them to meet up once or twice on a weeknight. He would pull up nonchalantly without a word in a dark Mustang convertible, a few blocks away from where Brian lived, roll down his window; engine idling, a sudden smile breaking on his face. He enjoyed driving fast and with his cropped hair and the badges of insignia on his Jean jacket he reminded Brian of a drag car racer. He'd swerve into one of too many empty parking spots in the abandoned parking lot, with a rear view of the grocery store and the row of discount stores in the distance and an ugly brown wall in front of them. The orange glow of a halogen lamp was superimposed over Sean's face, the shadows emphasizing a strong jawline. With his cropped hair and the determination in his grey-eyed glances he seemed fearless. When their eyes met a third time Brian got pulled into his embrace.

It stung thinking about it here in broad daylight with families passing and children playing on the grass. It seemed impossible that they had met at this very spot. His parents too had met in public for the first time one afternoon when his mother lost sight of her date on the crowded sideline of a horse race track. Was it presumptuous of him to have thought it would last? The creeping distance between them was only an initial hurdle, he thought, part of the push and pull dynamic of getting to know Sean.

Despite the regular Sunday drive and the occasional sleepover when the frustrations of Sean's appointments had not spilled over into after hours, he remained as elusive as ever. There was no getting around it being inappropriate for them to be seen as a couple out in the open, he could lose the trust of the parents who's children he instructed. Keeping to schedules, he said required sacrifice. Last minute canceled plans were part of the working life of a driving instructor. Brian understood his high school status could get Sean into trouble and knew his private life was nobody's business but his own. He knew better than to sulk in front of this man who valued his time.

He thought about the one bright Sunday afternoon that they drove with the top off. They were smiling and recounting what each of them had been up to over the weekend. Brian was laughing over some personal remark Sean made when the wind upturned his cap and flung it onto the backseat. Before Brian could loosen his safety belt and grab it, another gust of wind swept up Sean's cap and threw it down in the middle of the road where it flopped again on the tar a few times upon impact.

"My favorite cap!" Sean smirked. "My only cap!"

“Stop! I will get it.” Brian insisted laughing but Sean merely smiled and skipped a yellow light before it turned red.

The exams came and went. He was in his final high school year. Spring was fast approaching and so too his birthday. They would take a getaway weekend to Madison Park beach to celebrate he thought. The time had come, he was sure, for them to catch a glimpse of what life would be like together unrestricted.

Sean was an hour and a half late picking Brian up that evening. It was a weeknight and he explained that there just wasn't enough time for dinner at his place and to drop Brian at home again, and did he mind if they just hung out in the car instead? Sure Brian answered undeterred, he wasn't going to let a hitch like this spoil the plans and by now he was fully aware that Sean had a thing for getting it on in his car, he got a huge thrill from the possibility of getting caught it seemed. He would bring up the weekend getaway afterward, that way there wouldn't be any tension.

He caressed Sean's thigh from the passenger seat. His jeans felt thin and taut. He sat in a vest blowing cigarette smoke out of the car window between stealing long glances at Brian. Didn't his eyes give all the reassurance he needed? They looked at each other undressing again in the quiet night. Sean had his eyes fixed on the young man who was removing his jeans and then his underwear. Brian returned the man's longing gaze and complied when Sean signaled with his head towards the back of the car, his eyes still fixed on Brian's. He waited till the boy had his back turned towards him, elbows resting on top of the headrest of the backseat, his knees parted and pressing into the seat. Sean climbed into the back, hunched over and pulled Brian's waist back, bending his smooth back forward. Brian's head pushed into backrest as Sean penetrated him from behind.

"You're not saying a word." Brian was staring out of the window. This was not the right moment he knew, the right moment would never come he realized. Not when you were just some boy -

“Look at me! Are you angry over dinner, is that what this is about?”

"No, of course, it's not about dinner."

"Would you mind informing me what this is about then?" Sean had raised his voice and was staring at Brian demanding an answer. They're eyes met.

“Nothing Sean! That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Absolutely nothing.”

The car's lights flashed on, the engine started and Sean pulled the gear into reverse. He looked in his rear-view mirror and then at Brian. He pushed down on the accelerator and lifted the brakes. They sped out of the miserable parking lot. Brian listened without interrupting as Sean spewed a defensive litany emphasized by his irate glances. Brian had almost felt sorry for him but as they neared the usual drop off point up the road from where Brian lived, the resentful look on Sean's face had turned to one of pity. Brian never mentioned the celebration plans. The next time he saw Sean and his Ford mustang, was on foot. He appeared as if summoned as Brian walked up the street, not far from the elementary school on the corner. Sean passing, leaned out of the window looking over his shoulder. He didn't stop but merely waved then turned the corner and was gone. 

Diaphanous head

Ever had that feeling of utter disappointment when finally meeting someone you had been crushing on from afar? An experience equal to an almost "instant death" because of the huge misgivings you had over that person. That's what college was like for me, an instant death. By the end of the first semester, I hadn't made a single friend. In that last week I did, however, notice a chunky effeminate guy in the photography department wearing the same white and pink t-shirt with some punk Dada motif that I had admired in the shops, one of those shirts I could never wear because I can't pull off white. I decided I would approach him after the holiday.

Neil was an eternal cynic and rebuffed anything under the sun in a chronic and illogical way. He bored me senselessly, more than anyone ever had, but I took on his Asperger personality and stumpy face and I stuck around. He introduced me to some of his friends including two feisty girls, the one a fast-talking black photographer and the other a white girl with short strawberry blond hair and glasses named Candida. Neil said he had no idea why her parents named her after a yeast infection but warned me before hand not to mention it. Even if I had wanted to I would have been hard pressed for the chance as Candida had a flaming personality and talked non-stop in an authoritative tone verging on oppressive. As part of her audience who merely agreed or begged to differ in a tame cautious way, I don't think I ever said anything at their table in the cafeteria except maybe laugh when I was supposed to or objected affably to encourage her ready explanations.

So this was it, art school, the place where bandmates met and revolutions were formed, only here nobody was cool or cute and there was no art. Hair Metal had made a comeback, but without the thrash guitar and threatening stance, Nu-Metal instead was slick, poppy and cartoony. Its victims were like surfers with dyed black hair and bright neon shoe laces. Pop music was ruled by super trashy bitches and their high energy celebration of smut blasted from cell phones on campus, on buses, and most unbearably, in my mom's car. Nu-rave was the alternative to this, still shiny but with down tempo jangly guitar and bass grooves combined with an introspective and sometimes flippant air. For all its posturing it really was the only relatable thing going on at the time.

One day I went with Neil to his dorm and got introduced to his roommate Paul on the bus. He had long shiny dark brown hair, light daring eyes, and an arrogant smile. He had a copy of Wad magazine in his hands, the huge magazine was an auspicious red balloon with the gay smiling bodybuilder on the cover in an exaggerated pose, macho but submissive.

"It's for an art project."

"Nice speedo he's wearing," I said.

“Hot pink. Not anyone can pull those off,” Paul answered smiling.

"I'm sure you would." Neil speculated in his roommate's direction.

"I'm sick of prancing around in flashy underwear."

"His b.f is always buying him," Neil explained.

"He bought me a pair of Pringle's recently. It's a nice gift but so much pressure."

Their dorm room was divided by a large wall unit and had dark wooden flooring. Neil's bed was against the same wall as the entrance door, and his bed faced the small kitchen. It was obvious who had the better half. We wondered over to Paul's side which was illuminated by a large window with a view over the grounds below. Against his wall was a rudimentary self-portrait with the following inscription at the bottom repeated over and over in a childish scroll: "How can I not be myself when I'm not being myself?"

“It reminds me of Hockney,” I lied. I had to say something.

“Hockney?” he asked.

"David Hockney," I replied, incredulous.

I sat down on his single bed and flipped through a cd wallet, reading the names scrawled in green marker pen over the blank discs inside. "I've always felt alone, listening to post-punk," I once remarked to a vinyl junky ten years my senior while looking at the selection of interesting records he had laid out by his stereo for us to play. "You don't have to feel alone," he had replied smiling. “Can I play this one? I asked holding out a record, the artwork of which looked impressively modern but retro.I slipped the record out of its sleeve and laid the packaging on top of one of the small stacks of records and with both hands, I transferred the vinyl onto the platter of the record player. That's when my acquaintance struck me on the knuckles. "Never touch the inside of a record! Your fingertips transfer oil onto the vinyl which may damage the recording." I nodded. I had played my own records on my player till a loose wire in the speaker broke off and I trashed the whole system, and later my records. I hunched awkwardly over the man's stereo and as he watched I lifted the fragile arm by its little handle and the record began to spin. I held the needle there for a second as if holding my breath, then I let it drop.

'I have to be on my way. Soccer practice.'

Paul put on some blue shorts and a clean white shirt. I had caught a glance of his stupid Sci-Fi tattoo in the middle of his chest. What a mess.

'He only goes because it's as close he's going to get to any action.'

'With a straight guy!'

' You should have majored in economics instead of art, then you'd be around those jocks all day.'

' What you guys going to be up to? '

Neil pressed his lips to the left in a faux grimace. 'We'll see if Alex is home.'

'No doubt. He's always home. Tripping.'

'Who's Alex?' I asked.

'Alex is Neil's supplier. The only thing he can't supply our friend with, unfortunately, is a bone.'

Neil made a mock howling sound.

Alex was home. The door was unlocked. He didn't get up as we entered facing him where he sat on the coach unplugging the earphones and freeing the sound from his laptop. Against the wall in front of him was a kaleidoscopic projection of unrecognizable material and entities that had been magnified by the help of microscopes, fluorescent dyes, and electromagnetic rays. We stood there a moment watching the colourful moving micro-graphics. The confusion of what we were looking at was like the momentary shock of spotting someone in the crowd with a missing arm, you shouldn't look but you're compelled to make sure. The director of this catastrophic assemblage looked back to his laptop where he made it all come together: intercepting these terrifying textured imagery and fusing it with sound. His head illuminated by his screen resembled a moon orbiting some unseen planet in space where light flickered in its myriad spectrum. We sat down. Our eyes locked to the large illuminated square where creation had been spawned and was mutating. Cell chromosomes were merging, expanding and multiplying. Red Worm-like shapes burst from their hosting capsules; swarming; attacking, enveloping. As this erratic red army obscured the screen, a humming sound escalated in a high pitch. A long shadow fell across the wall. The light flashed on and the small barren room emerged as if from a dark pool. The young man had shortly cropped ash blonde hair; pronounced cheekbones and a strong jawline descending into a pointy chin.

'Are you going somewhere?' Neil asked, drawing our attention to the tall piles of brown boxes in the corner .

'My parents are serious about not paying my final term of studies if I don't pay the last instalment for this place.”

We were in one of the bottom units, one of the few in the student resident building with a living room area and a private bathroom. He looked vaguely at the boxes then turned his back, looking for something on the kitchen counter strewn with various items. He proceeded to talk to us over his shoulder.

'They want me to prove I'm responsible. I told them its impossible. I don't have time for a job!'

'Well, you are a responsible dealer.'

'I'm not using my dealing money to pay for this place. Fuck that! They proposed I sell the stereo system. Then came back later and dropped off those boxes.'

'In case you need to pack?'

'Was there anything you guys wanted Neil? I'm heading out over to the guys now, to stock up.'

'Just a gram.' Neil got up and handed him the money.

I sat in the back seat listening involuntarily as Neil jabbered on to his friend Elliot behind the steering wheel who had his long hair tied back and wore a dark corduroy jacket. He thumped the steering wheel while miming dementedly along to the female cabaret singer over the car stereo and responded to Neil with the raising and lowering of his eyebrows. He handed Neil a CD case, upon which he cut two short stumpy white lines. Hunching over it, he snorted one of them up in a swooping movement and threw his head back. He then carefully held the case for Elliot who lunged down at it like some reptile at its prey.

'Where's the husband tonight? Taking one for the team again? Did you know Paul is only attracted to guys who play with balls outside of the bedroom?'

Neil turned around holding the tiny baggy up between his fingers and shook it at me petitely.

'No thank you,' I said.

'That's exactly what Paul said!' Elliot exclaimed, laughing.

'Neil doesn't want a boyfriend anyway,' I offered.

'No, he doesn't. But he does want to fuck his roommate!'

'He just wants a regular.'

'When it comes down to it, I regret not having the time and others, not the patience.'

' Do you play pool?' Elliot asked me.

The walls of the bar were covered with black and white stage shots of various musicians like Led Zeppelin and Queen. At the bottom left corner was plastered the logo of the beer company they now endorsed posthumously. This student joint played only rock music and touted sporadic live acoustic performances. I hadn't heard of anyone who had actually seen a live act here.

Outside on the terrace, a short enthusiastic waitress freshly out of high school took our order. We sat smoking cigarettes and eyed the loud students full of deceptive feelings of freedom and excessive energy.

'Shall we go have an enhancement?' Neil asked looking at Elliot opposite him.

'Not here,' he answered disapprovingly.'We just had one on the way over.'

'Andrew will come with me,' Neil said smiling at me.

The men's room was cramped and lurid red like the inside of some animals stomach. The only toilet stall, to the left as you entered was out of order and never in use, the closed door behind which we hid was a clear sign that we were up to no good. I had my back turned to the toilet, facing Neil and behind him the door. I took the rolled up bill in my hand, inserted it into my right nostril, closed my left one and snorted up the line from the CD case that Neil held up for me.

'Ahhhh!' I protested. 'It hurts.'

'Good sign that it's working. Here,' he handed me the case, 'my turn.'

He leapt it up and looked at me, his eyes widening.

'One more,' he said dividing the residue powder into two short thin lines.

He swooped down again, snorting, then through his head back. He handed me the bill. Someone banged against the door three times, then let the bathroom door slam shut behind them. I looked at Neil with widening eyes then laughed and snorted the last line.

'Let's go,' I said nervously, my nose stinging.

Neil put everything back inside his pockets, including the CD case in his Jean jacket, then opened the door.

I could feel his eyes on me as I sat down, could see him lowering his eyes as I looked up. His long tied back hair did nothing to obscure the roundness of his pallid face with the big solemn eyes, always watching peevishly like a cat. I picked up the cider in front of me, eyeing the yellow liquid and its bubbling traces of fermentation. Neil took up the conversation between him and his friend.

In what large droves these kids gathered I thought, looking at the group of about fifteen students occupying the corner table like a chain gang. I wondered the same thing sometimes at restaurants when someone had the honor of taking up a large table full of friends for their birthday dinner. How do they know so many people? Maybe they also sat at home, the phone in their hand for an hour at a time or longer, sending messages all to the same end to multiple people with the exact same imploring friendliness. Did they also know how it felt like to be ignored? I glanced through the window behind which a group of guys played pool. It was the couple who caught my attention. They stood there stoically, the women's hands were intercepted and her futile arms dangled against her dark skirt which hung sadly all the way to the ground. How pathetic they seemed just standing there passively by the green table which absorbed the attention of everyone in the room, like a coffin.

Neil's voice got louder and his bursting laughter, which intercepted his anecdotes took on the unmistakable pitch of a Chihuahua barking incessantly. 'Enough!' I would have liked to yell banging my hand on the table. 'Enough' I'd repeat once more; towering over them; turning to the cat leering at me, baring his teeth. 'Shoo! Shoo, cat!'

'Another round?' asked the waitress.

'His husband is waiting.' We laughed as Elliot handed her the bill.

'My husband. Hmm. I almost forgot about him.'

'Do you think he might oppose a little after party?' Elliot continued in his exaggerated tone.

'We'll have to see, won't we?'

I woke alone in Neil's bed not remembering the rest of that night. The other side of the room was bright but empty of presence. The bed was made. Not a thing out of place. I looked out through the large window over the grounds till my eyes caught the figure in the distance. Was that Paul? - by the pool, naked? The figure seemed to have a big gash in the middle of his chest. He turned around. Was it Paul? He jumped into the pool. I turned from the window, found my keys on Neil's table and closed the door behind me and ran down the stairs. I hurried up the path in the garden, past the tufts of Aspidistras pointing accusingly in all directions. The sun had not fully reached its midday position or intensity, too cold for a swim I thought. The grounds were quiet and empty. I felt a pang of guilt rising like heartburn. I should have been in class. I felt the urgency to be appeased, to have this sudden pang relieved. I stood by the pool looking through the mass of water. I looked at the naked body making its way silently towards me as the sun glistened on the surface of the swimming pool. I took a few steps back in anticipation. His head emerged triumphantly as streams of water poured over his gasping face. He brushed his dark brown hair back over his head. He looked straight through me. 'Paul' I called out. His two hands pressed down onto the deck and with his defined arms he pulled himself up out of the pool. I faced him head on as he stood in front of me naked, water dripping from his body. His sleeked back hair glinted in the sun. I wanted him to look at me. His face gleamed then radiated a blinding white light. When I opened my eyes again his head was diaphanous, like a light bulb attached to his shoulders. A glass-like shimmer spread like a stream from his neck, rendering transparent his arms; his chest; down to his stomach and spreading till all that was left was a vague outline, which when I reached for it, left only air to the touch. I turned away running, down the path that I had come from, towards the building, passing below the window where I had stared from but now found myself looking up. There I saw them waving, I heard them laughing.

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