2002 Post Groundhogs 3-Day Only Special
We Design Web Sites $90.00 Special on February
3rd, 4th and 5th. Groundhog Pack comes with 30 hours of work, guaranteed. If you choose
a free host, such as The Lycos Group, this could be your total cost! Payment must be in
cash, in advance. After the 5th, the rates will be 5 times that. Here's "an open door"
for many of you who have wanted to have a professional Web presence. brindle@gmx.net
MADE WITH NOTEPAD, as usual... I like notepad; notepad has been my friend, Senator,
you are NO notepad...Drgoon Drop Wysywig...
Today's date is 08/28/2^1 // 03/02/2002
MOXIE, a novel
Book One: Off The Map
Chapter One
He descended from the life-size papier mache Mary she had set in the entrance to Hades.
Dante's Common Gateway Interface bin overhang hung over a seldom used ancillary door. On
a silver platter sacrificing Everyman, in hot red copper a face had fastened itself to
the center. He watched Thomas's disrespectful back of head sink downstairs for the 100th
time. Though Thomas Forester did, definitely, hear in his gut what it, the face would
have whispered, hollow, throatless, metallic, hissing hot.
On the way down, paintings of legendary incarnations of the horrors in things and places
unknown, but coming, spiraled with his sinking, pari pasu. They made a Fat Tuesday-like
procession of once imaginary foreshadowing, taken out of some book on early maps and
atlases she had come across, after tired for a spell of voudou and Santeria?s sequence
sewn icons, she sought some fresh fare to alter slightly and then sell, along with the
oeuvre of her metal sculptures. If this conceptual stacks stock was not exactly creative
then, at last resort, very ancient and obscure would have to do. By now, within the few
months of their living behind the same door, she hung it for him about the house in bas
relief; obscurity was the thing she cradled most of all, in all venues, during this time
of his first term at New Orleans.
The paintings. She had all of the Antichrist's servants, once believed to wait in terra
incognita, against Judgement Day. The Artibatirae, who walk on all fours; the
Cynocephali, having the heads of dogs; the Epiphagi, with their eyes on their shoulders;
the Maritimi, who have four eyes; the Sciopods, owning just one, giant, foot; and
finally, Troglodytes waited in their caves, strangely hued skies just within view setting
off even stranger grasping naked tree limbs. Each impressively sized painting, viewed;
was no less bizarre in repetition.
At the bottom of the stair flights, he mentally measured once again the duplex's tiny
entryway, and architectured it; in case he would ever need less to be more. This time, in
the oddly-shaped 40 sq. ft. [Might he dare dream of negotiating the upstairs landing too -
- (stairs space between[!]) -- with it's 5 foot plus Mary in the window (removed)? Single-
key locks all-around; she uses the safer, oh...very much safer rear entrance after
driving all the way to the back, safer...oh yes, almost car theft-proof enclosed rear
square yards -- and car bombs an occasional non-FX danger in these roving infidel-seeking
terrorist times -- "his" bathroom down the street at Snooker's [all-night] Bar, or the
Bartok Library, for daylight water or solid makings? Say, $275.00 a month -- a dollar a
square foot, with some easy reconfiguring of the top floor, toward the street; and an
immediate helping with the man at the Cot store who claimed he owed him $90.00, "That's
right NOW please, sir!" With all the enforced focus and clarity of monk-mind power to
accomplish:
The Things!...? Certainly, second egress via coiled (sturdy! hip!) rope-ladder throw at
her open Newark-Cuban veranda, in case of fire, or...claustrophobia.] before letting her
in with those omnipresent bags, he determined the AI work station might want to fit in
next to a convenience, hotel-type, refrigerator at the back -- his lonely secret dream,
an infinitesimally small finance-viable sub-nook study in the complete mystery sprawl,
the whole of New Jersey. A slim volume of Proust hidden among shelves upon shelves next
to shelves upon shelves of drugstore "novels" and Edgar Cayce bullshit. Before opening
the fron door, he sheathed a brand new .44 Special snub-nose into the codpiece clip-in
holster, front-center of his jeans; then untucked the shirt for personal data privacy's
sake.
Then: "Thomas...bags!"
Book Two: Seaside Heights
... When he lived on beach frontage at the corner of Bay Boulevard and Woodhaven Streets
in Seaside Heights, he shared a turn-of-the-century gray wooden structure, of immense but
characterless size, with a Vietnam veteran and his girl who, both of them, called
themselves by different names within the vagaries of time; though the veteran, most
often, referred to himself as Hawk.
Warren Marquette took a bottle of red out of the cupboard about 4:00 PM every day. Today
was no different. Hawker hadn't yet returned from some "appointment" he'd had the night
before. Looking into his room, this was immediately apparent: the Star Trek sheets were
still thrown over a brand new Harley Davidson, leaving the mattresses bare.
Warren, who "took to the bottle" about 4:00 PM every day, extricated a jug of red out of
the kitchen's liquor cupboard and, so equipped, began duty's diurnal inspection tour of
the premises.
Warren thought: 'Starkly there in black and white but whither mon frair -- Oh hawk in the
night...', while heading back to the opened house gallon of port; he passed a spare room
where his roommate's 'The Inneresting Condition' -- as Hawk privately called his
something- like- a- girlfriend, 'Tresh' -- was listening to the tuner of her $20,000,
sprawling, 9/10ths-of the law, media system, which took up one 12' ceilinged purple and
green wall; like a recording studio, and for which it qualified.
"Blue Soothes."
He walked up to one dirty bedroom window, his mug of wine in hand. She went on.
"When that Blueman play horn... It get me all straighten out."
Through the streaks he could see a tall-masted sailboat out early this morning. It was
green with orange sails, far out in Barnegat Bay. A thought came: '$80,000'.
"Go ahead, baby, axe me what happen next...how Blue do...when he so far out nobody listen
no more but me. That's why he gonna come an take me out a'here. I understanh...the manh.
Those other niggers can't listen the way I do. They - don't - hear - shit. War? I said
Blue gonna take me out..."
The coffee mug gestured out towards her. "I'm so sorry for them."
"What's that, honey?"
"Your friends, Treshina... I'm sorry they can't hear shit. It's such a joyous sound!" His
eyes weren't listening to him, a blonde figure in a white bikini was on deck now.
"What, baby?"
"It's such a joyful sound." A large man had joined the woman in the swimsuit.
"You damn straight!"
"...your 10:00 news and weather from KSNJ, 100.5 FM Stereo, and here's Dr. Susan with
that info-matic, gyro-matic, on the spot with what she's got, SUPER velvet-toned report-o-
matic, frantic-lookin'-fine ten o' clock news spot time, and your Saturday morning
weather. You're looking so good this morning Dr. Sue...Well thank you Morning Maniac,
KSNJ's own Michael - Atila the Honey - of New Jersey's only all- jazz station - Money!
Mr. Money, how was your big thing last night?..."Oh, Dr. Sue, I took Number One Woman to
the Mermaid Lounge, and we were actually able to get in to catch Blue Apple's last two
sets: man, he...
"They talkin 'bout Blue! hey Warn...on the radio!..."
There was a car pulling up in the deserted parking lot out front. He could look down from
this second story window and see the formerly empty, rubble-strewn lot, between him and
stunningly bright aquamarine waters of Barnegat Bay. He slipped his own over the mug's
lip.
Warren had his own Blue hopes and dreams, the fulfillment of which were now in those
hands, literally. The jazzman jaunted up ragged concrete steps to Warren's borderline
white trash neighborhood eye sore, if that distinction could be made, with an envelope
under short-sleeved arm. Inside was a way out of the near ghetto of Seaside Heights --
and out of the real ghetto of his immobility -- down South to the cultist but highly
reputed, sometimes lauded, painters and writers resort, P.A.C.T -- Pontchartrain Arts
Care-based Training.
The air in the room was thicker now with red-flared, high-instinct, hypothalamic
breathing. Blue applied his self to Warren and Treshina's doorbell...
Book One: Off The Map
She stood, in a high sun, casting no shadow, holding Italian bread and a plastic bag of
good cork-bottle wine. Her expression was elsewhere in one dimension or another; though,
thankfully, what was left made him relax. Probably, he thought, now more relieved, it
held promise too, for the evening food and wine ritual extravagance...and all the rest of
it.
"Did you get a job today, Thomas?"
"Well, I... talked to the man... but I didn't get my ID in the mail this morning so..."
"Why did you not go down to DMV Place Dr. and pick it up, like I..."
But he could not hear her. The noise of a paroxysm prevented it; and also turned every
head on the 5:00 PM block towards them.
(c) Wallace Darwen Brindle, 2001 - 2002
2002 Post Groundhogs 3-Day Only Special
We Design Web Sites $90.00 Special on February
3rd, 4th and 5th. Groundhog Pack comes with 30 hours of work, guaranteed. If you choose
a free host, such as The Lycos Group, this could be your total cost! Payment must be in
cash, in advance. After the 5th, the rates will be 5 times that. Here's "an open door"
for many of you who have wanted to have a professional Web presence.