LYING LIVE

TRUST ME. I'M YOUR BARISTA. - an echo from LYING LIVE

2007-12-05T02:56:47Z

[for Lou Cuba, my grandpa]

In ten seconds, you'll be seeing black.

This heart of darkness will flood the body and edge into the crema of your daily joy.

In just ten, nine, eight, seven... sadly, and surely: 7, 8, 9, even 10 grams of your personal bliss will be lost forever.

This single ounce of geography, this concentrated old man will curl up and imbibe its own flavorful dreams, those born from a far-off idealistic tree.

This shot glass will deliver its promise only in the memory or imagination of your senses.

Here: drink this juice, take it all in; sip or slurp, and do enjoy your break from the mundane.

But don't you take for granted these moments in their movement.

For everything will begin its steady fade to black.

The aroma of death is slinking toward us.

I know of what I speak.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

www.lulu.com/yhfiction

fictio.ning.com

CAREFUL MR. WINDSWEPT - a Special Issue of LYING LIVE

2006-07-19T19:17:22Z

[for all our friends who purchased the long-awaited hardcover.]

We go hand in hand. This is how we roll. We stroll through the village, pause at the view of gardens, childrens, injuns; the chattle and commerce amuses us and I squeeze your hand to remind you of all those profound feelings I have for you. Then...I pull you close and we run, baby. We run out of the square, dodging bicycles and old teachers' dirty looks and we run into the forest. There's always adventure in the forest and high drama pairs well with romance, so we run into the woods.

But, the wind wakes up, lifting the branches above us like wings, up and down all wavy-like. It's odd and disconcerting and so we run further into the depth of greens and browns.

But, that wind! Good God, that wind pulls till we stumble over ourselves and give in to the invisible river of oxygen and...something, something else. Something with a mind of its own.

You leap upon my back and wrap your arms around me and suddenly, with the soundtrack of "Fire, thrusters! Go!" blazing in my head, we fly, fly, fly! My cheeks feel paper clipped to my face and I can hear your tears. Oh God, this hurts soooo cool!

You scream, "How? How are we...how is this?"

"I...don't...know!" creaks through my gritted teeth.

This beast child of spirit and air decides to show off for us. Gusts from the right push us around the mighty oak and the pull from ahead sets us gliding over deadly branches. This, baby, this is a miracle adventure.

Only then do I see what's coming in our path, what's racing toward us: the cliff at the edge of the woods.

I try to dig my feet into the ground, but the wind lifts us higher still. Then, I try to cover your eyes. You push my hand away and whisper in my ear, "What if it wants to take us over?" The arms around me grab tighter. Between the embrace and the pull, my body feels yoga-alive. I think, but don't say, "...impossible."

My heart is an overworked and underpaid piston. My ears are con-men, 'cause I know I hear fire. But, I'm breathing like someone who finally enjoys life.

Stop. Then, suddenly: stop. The wind lets go completely; cutting ties with no pullback or sonic boom. We drop a few inches and land feet-first, two feet from the cliff.

It's a bit...anticlimactic. And I can't help but peak over the cliff, then quickly pull away. ("Yup. That's a drop. Yessssiree.")

I can feel you tug on my shirt, so I turn around to find all the greens and browns have found the glamour of red, yellow and orange. I can hear their makeover thundering in my ears, too familiar all along.

They go hand in hand. The forest fire before us, the deadly drop below. We look for the wind, crying tears that do not blow away. We look for a way out. Up and out, oh God, up and out...

WILL: It's beautiful. I love the tones you used for the fire.

JANE: You don't think they overpower the scene?

WILL: No, no, no. The couple, they capture your eyes immediately. The girl's expression totally grabbed my attention from first glance. It truly is a beautiful painting. (pause) I love you.

JANE: You don't think it's too depressing?

WILL: No. There's always a way out. (pause) The wind is tough, sure. But...he's loyal.

JANE: You're retarded.

WILL: You love me.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

www.lulu.com/yhfiction

EVA VROOME GIVES WARNING - "The Ides EP: Track 15" - LL .70

2006-03-22T08:54:02Z

[for Matt Chauta]

The wind is heavy, hot and filled with disaster. At least, that's how Eva Vroome reads it as she drives on a dead end course for San Fransisco. This has been a solo run for 200 miles now. There was simply not enough time for 35 people to pack up without questions that would only waste her time. There's no time left and each passing heartbeat reminds her of what could be lost.

"Eva will be here; don't you worry. If we were really in trouble, she'd let us know with more than enough time to escape."

She tried to explain her strange intuition once to a couple of her followers. But, Eva knew she was losing them every time the younger injected a "right" or a "yeah" into her monologue. They'd follow her anywhere; but their doubt would slow down the caravan by 15 miles an hour at the very least. Explanation is worthless to blind believers and word-repeaters.

"Her message could have meant anything. It was too garbled to make out, lovey. Don't you worry. If it's important, she'll call us back."

In front of the bungalow home belonging to her oldest and dearest childhood friend, Eva Vroome lept off her still-purring bike. She screamed at the top of her lungs as she ran up the exterior stairway. Two minutes later, four safe souls sat silently as Ms. Vroome told her tale from the passenger seat of a white Ford Escort. They sped out of town and called as many friends as the cell towers would allow before the quake shook the devil's snow-globe for the first time in a decade. Eva thanked God for strange premonitions. She whispered a prayer of thanks for a bike built with enough fortitude to arrive in SanFran in the nick of time; for a bike designed with enough courage to become a sacrificial lamb.

"Margie just called. She's fine, just some minor structural damage to her place. But, she said our second floor is sitting in our driveway."

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Send me your criticism.
Purchase SONS & DAUGHTERS - An Ambient Fiction Album.
Continue this micro-fiction in my comments…

(Click on "User Info" for more...yes...info on LYING LIVE. Thank you and good night from your friends at YellowHouseFiction.)

SCRUB THEM GOOD - "The Ides EP: Track 14" - LL .69

2006-03-16T07:03:04Z

[for Mark Missona]

Jordie’s father lives a complicated routine. When he leaves the mill, he skips “happy hour” with the boys and heads straight home. He always speeds – usually, 10 miles over – but, he slows down to 5 under once he turns down the gravel road that leads to the main house.

Jordie’s father strips down in the garage and throws the stink of his day into a pile in the corner. He sprays his head with water from the washing machine in mid cycle. Finally, he enters the house and greets his wife with a kiss. With an aware joy, he lives in that moment.

Jordie’s father eats three portions of potatoes and brownish greenbeans. He’s silent throughout dinner. His children laugh and fight while his wife hums a tune she heard earlier that day on the Christian radio.

Jordie’s father takes out the garbage and dries off the dishes his children dutifully washed and rinsed. He packs up his toothbrush, floss and razor. He almost forgot his blanket and pillow. After turning out all the lights, he kisses his wife’s forehead and whispers, “Sweet dreams.”

Jordie’s father starts the ignition and drives the three miles to his mother’s house. He uses the spare key hidden behind the garden gnome to unlock the back door. He walks carefully to the bedroom on the left; the one with the open door.

Jordie’s father leads his pillow and comforter into bed. He places his things on the nightstand. With his eyes tightly shut, he tries to fall asleep before dawn. He lays in this tiny bed and prays for the ache to abandon him.

Jordie’s father prays to be forgiven for killing his younger brother. He wishes to be 13 again, laughing and fighting with his dead brother. Tomorrow might turn out differently. But, he knows it probably won’t. He knows the ache has a very strong memory.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Send me your criticism.
Purchase SONS & DAUGHTERS - An Ambient Fiction Album.
Continue this micro-fiction in my comments…

THE ROOT - "The Ides EP: Track 12" - LL .67

2006-03-16T06:56:32Z

[for Jarrett Hoss]

A: But, ma’am… Please, consider your actions carefully.

B: I am, I am. Listen to me. I don’t want anything to do with it.

A: But, he specifically left it all to you. The estate is quite well defined.

B: Oh, so he wanted me to keep these?

A: That’s correct.

B: He desired for me to own these?

A: Exactly. Those were his wishes.

B: He wanted me to treasure his junk? For how long? Until the second coming? Until the dead rise again?

(Pause)

B: Let me tell you about my wishes, since he never once considered them. I want to be left alone, away from his memory and his legacy.

A: But, there’s not option here. This is what I’m trying to convey to you.

B: Well, there’s always a time capsule. Since when did those go out of fashion? Put the urn in there too. He can look care for his own posterity.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Send me your criticism.
Purchase SONS & DAUGHTERS - An Ambient Fiction Album.
Continue this micro-fiction in my comments…

THE TIRED COMEBACK - "The Ides EP: Track 11" - LL .66

2006-03-16T06:53:32Z

[for Jason Sowell]

I don’t right know why you’ve come around here, son. There’s nothing for you here, nothing for nobody; not even for me.

Sure, I could tell you some messy tales. Look around: everything’s a mess. Every story’s a tangle right now.

So, is that really what you need? Is that what you showed up on my stoop to gather; globs of flesh with which to craft yourself a future?

Pah!

Just look around and let your mind fill in the gaps then. You don’t need me to lay the truth out for you. Katrina did that for you, for all of us, baby.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Send me your criticism.
Purchase SONS & DAUGHTERS - An Ambient Fiction Album.
Continue this micro-fiction in my comments…

THEY'LL TRADE IT - "The Ides EP: Track 9" - LL .64

2006-03-16T06:49:54Z

[for Dan Khoury]

1: Is “Tom Strong” here yet?

2: Oh yeah, man. Number thirty-six came out this week and it totally bummed me out. End of an era.

1: You snag a copy for me?

2: You know it.

1: Yeah, let me pick that up and see what else has been lingering in my box.

2: Yeah, you might want to check out your sub list while you’re at it. Only thing I saw that was still coming out or hasn’t been cancelled yet is the next “League” graphic novel.

1: “Tomorrow Stories” came out too?

2: Yeah, it’s another wind-up. Not all written by Alan, so, you know, you end up skimming through half the thing and staring at the pretty Arthur Adams pictures.

1: They are pretty.

2: But, nothing tops “Promethea” and that crazy ending. That was mind-numbing.

1: Dude, I still haven’t stopped reading that issue. I took it apart at the staples and everything.

2: Yeah, I laid down for the full poster edition. Best thing I bought all year.

1: Wish I had your discount.

2: You don’t need it. There’s like two monthlies left on your list. You barely read anything anymore.

1: Yeah… Sucks that he’s finished.

2: Yeah, well there’s “V” opening this weekend. That should be chill.

1: Shhh! He’ll hear you. He’s magic.

2: So I hear.

1: Well, here’s my dramatically Alan Moore-less sub list.

2: You’re not ordering “League?”

1: Already read it at Borders. It was just alright, you know. No where near as good as the first two.

2: It’s not out yet, man. I don’t think it’s even been officially solicited yet!

1: Dude, I read the book two weeks ago.

2: That’s impossible.

1: Maybe, they get advanced copies or something.

2: Maybe, you are full of crapola.

1: You’re just jealous. I’m obviously a bigger Alan Moore fan than you.

2: So, what did you think of how he ended “Supreme?”

1: It was satisfying.

2: You are such a liar. Just man-up and order a copy. Alan will know if you don’t.

1: He’s magic.

###

Send me your criticism.
Purchase SONS & DAUGHTERS - An Ambient Fiction Album.
Continue this micro-fiction in my comments…

NOT EXACTLY AS PLANNED - "The Ides EP: Track 8" - LL .63

2006-03-16T06:44:55Z

[for Dev]

On the day I gave my heart away, the couple sitting at the table beside us ended their relationship with the force of an atom bomb.

We wouldn’t have paid any attention if we could have avoided it; for the keeper of my heart, with her deep green eyes, had matched my declaration with her own.

But, the table’s at our favorite Sunday eatery were placed so closely together that there was nary an inch in between; making strangers into neighbors and privacy all too public.

As I turned my words toward the desire of my life, this woman sitting across from me sipping her chai, the man to my right spilled his every complaint (and her every infraction) onto his future ex-wife.

The girl of my dreams grabbed my hand and squeezed it with a smile, then raised two soft fingers into the air for the waiter to bring our check.

We left a generous tip then started for the door as the belittled woman called everyone’s attention to the impotency and infidelity of her future ex-husband.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Send me your criticism.
Purchase SONS & DAUGHTERS - An Ambient Fiction Album.
Continue this micro-fiction in my comments…

EVA VROOME IS A TWIN - "The Ides EP: Track 7" - LL .62

2006-03-09T11:59:48Z

[for Brooke Daye]

When Eva throws a punch, the whole world pays attention. She's rarely at such odds with somebody, anybody so as to get, you know, violent. But, they grew up together; Eva and her adversary. They were two peas in a pod.

"Two peas in a placenta."

Yeah, that's right. The genes, you know, they were the same.

"The a-r-e the same."

As I was saying: These two, Eva and...what was her name again?

"Marcia. Do you want m-e to tell play newsie?"

No, I'm fine.

"You sure you can handle it?"

I said I got it.

"So, let's get on with the dancing."

Like, like I was saying; I was talking about sibling rivalry and how the closer you get the more you see each other as a dirty mirror. But see, but see, it all gets spun like a top and way more complicated when you're like Ms. Vroome and, and the other Ms. Vroome.

"Eva and Marcia."

I said that.

"And, actually, Marcia was married a while back..."

Really? I did not know that.

"Yeah and she kept her married name after the 'accident.'"

Oh...I don't want to know. Moving on.

"Good idea."

So, Eva and Marcia ran into each other in Wyoming last summer. Eva led her posse to farm that needed some help. Dad was sick, couldn't take care of the place. Wife with 4 small kids. You know the deal.

"It was a friggin' mess."

That's right. It was a mess. On top of that, or maybe propping up the problem (depending on which way you look at it), a fire had broken out at a barn nearby and just laid waste to most of the structure of the place.

"So, Eva is with a few crew mending fences..."

And there is Marcia, just standing there holding her side-sack. No explanation for why she's there: nothing. People are doing double-takes. If it wasn't for their drastically different tastes in hair and clothing, you could never tell them apart. And, Marcia, she just walks right up to Eva and says, "I'm sorry, baby."

"I'm so sorry."

You can see Eva's fists clench. But, we still don't see it coming, we still don't get it. I mean, we hear Eva say, "I already forgave you."

"I'll forgive you as many times as you want, too."

That's right. But, immediately after, right away, in sync with her last exhale of her last word: Pow!

"Zap! Bam! Boom!"

Now, that's some serious dysfunction. That is what you would call, like, resentment.

"Seriously."

So, it was like, back to work for us. Like, whistle while you work man and forget about the whole thing.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Send me your criticism.
Purchase SONS & DAUGHTERS - An Ambient Fiction Album.
Continue this micro-fiction in my comments…

THE BLACK HOLE - "The Ides EP: Track 6" - LL .61

2006-03-07T20:37:04Z

[for Shaney]

A: Are you enjoying your pudding? I really did ask for chocolate; but, the kitchen makes what it makes.

B: Eh...I've had better. One summer, when I was sailing off the coast of Turkey, the prince brought out a tray of marinated baby oysters.

A: I'm not sure I could stomach those.

B: Oh, no; we didn't eat them. We were too bubbly from the evening breeze and the reds and whites. The prince was given a veritable winery for our adventure.

A: Given by whom?

B: Each bottle was from the queen, of course.

A: Of course.

B: She tried to ruin me.

A: Of course.

B: Please, display some manners and take this tray from me. I'm finished.

A: Whatever you say.

B: It's a glorious day.

A: I suppose it would be.

B: Can you feel the earth beneath your toes?

A: Well, I can't say that I've had that pleasure today. I've been busy spending time with you and your friends. We've been having some wonderful discussions today, haven't we?

B: I have no friends! Original Goddess Ruler has no friends.

A: Yes, well. Why don't you tell me more about that sailing trip in the Mediterranean.

B: No friends. No friends, because know one can touch what I have touched.

A: I'm sure the prince was special.

B: They lie! They try...

A: They try to..."what?" What is it they try to do?

B: You try to ruin me; but, Original Goddess Ruler can not be fooled. I will melt into the earth and slide beside the worms under your toes. For your toes can not catch me!

A: John, I'm losing her.

B: You can not catch she who was never born. Original Goddess Ruler will seep into the molten core of the earth. For I was created! I was made.

A: I promise, I will try my best, to bring you chocolate tomorrow. I promise.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Send me your criticism.
Purchase SONS & DAUGHTERS - An Ambient Fiction Album.
Continue this micro-fiction in my comments…

MATH VS. ME (A PRAYER) - "The Ides EP: Track 5" - LL .60

2006-03-06T18:44:31Z

[for Greggo]

A life without the Text is a life void of understanding. Such is my life.

With no means or understanding, with no time to learn, I keep kicking the can down the ally of cool. From above, looking down from a plane or telescoping downward from outer space, anyone can place a bet on this ant. Seems I'm just another ant racing through a maze of blades, surrounded by green.

God, let me win. Rip up my marker and front me some more language. I have too many numbers to kill and I'm running out of ammo.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Send me your criticism.
Purchase SONS & DAUGHTERS - An Ambient Fiction Album.
Continue this micro-fiction in my comments…

GAMES - "The Ides EP: Track 4" - LL .59

2006-03-06T03:25:09Z

[for Garrett Smiley]

No, you'll listen for a second and you'll like it and you'll thank me afterward for bringing this news to your attention.

Thank you.

Hold on, I'd like to frame this in such a way, you won't be able to avoid the feelings you deserve to encounter.

You see, honey darling, I've found you out. I said, I've found you out; I know more than I want to know about the deep, the deep and dark and depressing pockets of your overcoat.

Baby, you tell me; explain where I should start when it comes to the truth and you. Is our relationship in another dimension, facing the truth but never touching it for more than a second?

May I have a minute? I'd like you to wait for the bang to blow, anyway. Have a drink and let this all sink in that big, beautiful head of yours.

Darling, today I found the truth in the glory of your laundry. I serve you everyday and I make you feel alive; you know better than... I found these dice in the pocket of your coat; the very pocket I stitched for you just last fall.

What are these? Positions; are these the things we're supposed to do together (because if not us, than who and you...) and if so, I'm having a hard time holding back my laughter? What? In between my propping up your ego and your treating me like a dog?

You devilishly handsome man, you drink up and I do hope you'll catch some of the truth we've been missing. Then, when you're good and drunk, we're going to have that overnight talk to which we've never given ourselves; and don't you be telling me these are for work!

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Send me your criticism.
Purchase SONS & DAUGHTERS - An Ambient Fiction Album.
Continue this micro-fiction in my comments…

EVA VROOME SAYS GOODBYE - "The Ides EP: Track 3" - LL .58

2006-03-05T04:27:24Z

[for Kevin Govin]

She's speeding. But, they're all speeding; so, she doesn't stand out. Well, that's a lie. How could this woman blend in? It's obvious to anyone with eyes to see, everyone can tell she's the leader of the pack. Not, that this pack..."fits." It's such an oddball arcade of types and ages. For sure though, she is w-a-y older than any of them. She's a grandma. Well, she's not a grandpa, not a real grandma. No real grandma would ride wish such fierce abandon.

"Eva? Eva's a goddess. She...opened my eyes."

Her helmet and goggles, jacket and boots hide her years. But, maybe her age doesn't need to be obscured. At every stop, she's seems stronger, more sure of herself and her mission. She stays up and maps out the next days travels as everyone else rests or says their goodbyes. No one sticks around too long. Some people join in for a day or two, pull out some inspiration and take it back as a souvenir. Eva says that's how it should be.

"Oh, Eva's not like a hog like that. I don't know... Friends? No... she's too chill to have friends. Friends would. Friends would slow. Well, if I was her friend, I know I would slow her down. I can barely keep up and I'm pulling up the rear."

Tonight, Eva's sitting with her youngest acolyte. She and Marty are drinking Typhoo at 3:33 a.m. He's exhausted, but a few words with Eva are worth any morning migraine. Marty's the youngest but still an envied elder of the group. He's been following Ms. Vroome for eight weeks now. The map's laid out before them. Blue highlighter points East with red sharpie due north. Eva draws a tiny smiley face in the top corner. Marty gives it devil horns and a goatee. They both laugh. Eva pats his hand gently and tells him to get lost.

"But, I don't know; how can I know where to go. Please, don't make me leave. This I can do! I can follow you. It's the one thing; it's the only thing I know how to do."

Gas up, take this map and look around! (She tells him all of this, then takes a deep sip of her tea.) Find something else to live for Marty. You do not want to follow me to the end of the road. The world is flat! Haven't you heard? (He laughs and lets out a few tears.) Drive away. That's what I'm going to do, after all; what I've been doing all along. It's the only thing I know how to do.

"Oh, y-e-a-h. Eva kicked Marty out. Told him to stick it and cut out. I heard he's been screwing around with her bike. Yeah, man. I got the inside track on that. She was pissed. I saw him crying, man. Seriously, I ran into him this morning and you could see, like, the tear stains around his...yeah, it was hilarious. She must have kicked his eyes open. Sorry suckup loser."

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Send me your criticism.
Purchase SONS & DAUGHTERS - An Ambient Fiction Album.
Continue this micro-fiction in my comments…

THE CYCLE OF HATE - "The Ides EP: Track 2" - LL .57

2006-03-03T18:26:04Z

[for Gwen (and Mia) Givens]

1: I'll take two of those...and...one, no, make that three of the blue model.

2: Uh, that'll be $24.62. Cash or credit?

1: Cash. Wait? How much?

2: Twenty-four dollars and sixty-two cents.

1: Okay, but, if I only bought the first two...? How much would that cost me?

2: Well, let's see. Mmm...then, you're looking at $14.87.

1: Cool. Thanks.

2: So...that'll be $14.87, please.

1: Actually, let me get the others. I changed my mind.

2: Okay. We can make that happen.

(Pause)

2: $24.62. One more time.

1: Cool, thank you so much. Um, if I got...just one of the blue?

2: SevenFortyNine.

1: What's your refund policy?

2: 'S on the back of the receipt. Will you be making a purchase?

1: Yes, sure. Thanks for all your help. You really are a great help, you know that?

2: Well...I appreciate the compliment. However, I'd like to be help to the line standing behind you too...

1: Right, of course. They're really going to love your customer service skills.

2: Thanks.

1: I know I do.

2: Thank you.

(Pause)

1: Could I ask just one more question?

2: What would you like to know?

1: What was the grand total again? If I bought all of them, what's the damage?

2: Forget it. It's on me.

1: Pardon?

2: Look me in the eyes as I'm bagging these up. Take them in your hand and walk out the door.

1: Wow. I'm...stunned. Thank you.

2: NeverFrequentThisEstablishmentAgain.

(Pause)

1: My mom is going to love these! And you, your name is going on the card!

2: Why are you still standing here?

1: Is there a Hallmark in this mall?

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Send me your criticism.
Purchase SONS & DAUGHTERS - An Ambient Fiction Album.
Continue this micro-fiction in my comments…

FLYING VIRGIN - "The Ides EP: Track 1" - LL .56

2006-03-02T18:04:59Z

[for Wes Grimes]

The ruckus in Terminal G amounts to nothing more than hysterical overreaction. I listen to three women mud wrestle for position as Most Moving Complainant. Their rants range from moral indignation to a mother’s obligation to protect the innocent eyes of her babies (13 year-olds, they may be) to violent consternation at my reluctance to expel a couple of college kids from JFK for the sin of kissing each other goodbye.

I shrug the prudish persuasion from my shoulders and remind young Adam and Eve that a full and proper farewell – especially one that may result in a cesarean nine months from now – would best take place in a room with not a view, but a lock.

The scratch on my walkie-talkie is ordering me to the newsstand. Nothing threatening, just a co-worker’s need of this month’s Maxim.

“Excuse me, sir. I can get your help? I can proposition you?”

This man sweats excitedly and pushes his way between me and the cash register. I raise an eyebrow, put down the trashy magazine and tell him I’ll do my best to help if he’ll be quick.

“Oh, sure. Oh, sure. You’ll come with me?”

I tell him to calm down and I’ll follow him. He waves me into the broad hallway, then abruptly turns around, reaches into his bag and shoves a beat-up camera into my hands.

“You’ll take my photo? You’ll take her photo?”

I ask who “her” is and he pops his head several times in the direction of a dark-skinned woman slouching in her chair. The man taps the camera.

“Our photo. Our marriage photo.”

I scan the area in vain for a priest or a monk or someone. With a sigh, I nod and he skips around some chairs, people and carry-ons. I watch him wipe the sweat from his forehead and sit opposite this woman who seems lifeless with boredom.

The clunky camera’s weight reminds me of my responsibility and I shuffle closer to the scene. I watch it unfold in the viewfinder. The man touches her hands and she smiles. He speaks to her, his hands moving in pattern with his words. She’s watching the movement, studying his fingers until he dips one hand into his jacket and pulls out a burgandy box.

He must be whispering now, since I can’t hear a...Maybe he’s just mouthing the words. She seems a bit startled, but she’s barely reacting. The box clicks and her eyes fly open. The echo of her falling jaw is my cue to snap the flash of the camera. They squeeze each other and peck awkwardly. She’s wiping away some tears with her left hand; the right hand flying into action; now both hands expressing...I’m not sure what exactly. Her fingers speak secrets and dreams no camera can translate; so I walk to the strange, perspiring man and return his treasure.

“You are a good man, sir! Yes, yes, yes…”

I tip my hat and say something-er-another to the strange, happy couple. Back at the newsstand, I silently purchase my colleague’s depressant/relaxant. The rest of my shift flies by with neither a third emergency of love nor my need to speak another word.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Send me your criticism.
Purchase SONS & DAUGHTERS - An Ambient Fiction Album.
Continue this micro-fiction in my comments…

outro - "LP" - LL .55

2005-12-31T23:45:03Z

CANONIZING THE MEME OF YOU

My earliest memory is of my sister screaming for "that little brat" to stop. Stop banging the pots. Stop trying to whistle. Stop slamming the doors. Please, Denny. You must learn to shut the music from your soul. It's just sooo annoying. Please, just die already. At first I would cry. Then I would bite. I pushed, shoved and kicked until I learned how to flip her off. Sis told me the world's problems revolved around my personality. She said that if I wasn't so wrapped up in the sound of the wind blowing through a reed – she said that if I couldn't see past my own cock (seriously, she said this to me) – she goes, "How can you take care of Mom and Dad's things? Everything will fall apart. Leave it to me. I can take care of what needs taking care of."

This was an either/or. Here I am, seventeen and my elders are either sick and in a home or a selfish, dyke bitch…with no sense of style or taste, let me point out right now. Either/Or. It was time to run away. I packed my sack with the top five albums personally tracked down by yours truly while I was supposed to be in gym class and I headed for the door. On the kitchen table, at the edge just beyond the pizza boxes and left-over Chinese, there was a ratty shoebox wrapped with thick blue ribbon. I picked up the heavy box and carefully opened my going-away present. Inside, I found an index card and a couple dozen cassette tapes. Some were in cases, none the originals. Most were hand labeled. The handwriting was clearly my Mother's. I flipped over the index card and stared for a moment at my sister's scratch, "I told Dad of your plans. He said you would need these. Then he passed out again. Hope you find what is not here." I dumped the tapes into my sack and hit the bricks.

WANTED: OLD FRIEND W/ GOOD TASTE, INITIALS "K.M.R."
Contact "The Dirk Jenny Show" c/o Biltmore Media Waves

The Fat House had the perfect view. For years, I could imagine I was independent and flying solo; yet, I never had to give up the Hallow's Eve pleasure of trashing my sister's place – my parent's place, whatever. I was three blocks away and on another continent at the same time. There were eight of us sharing two rooms and a bath. Over the course of my stint, I watched 26 roommates come and go. But, there were always eight in residence at any given time. It never really mattered who or what moved in, because the sounds stayed the same. I controlled the music and the music controlled the mood. I was a benevolent DJ and, as the girls came in and out, my soundtracks got everyone laid. So, my portion of the rent was adjusted accordingly for "other services rendered."

But, all good things breed their nemesis and mine showed up while I was away on The Big Interview. Marty the Head came in loaded and he started lighting bills on fire, then tossing them into the pool. Here I am, out of town, at an actual, viable interview for an actual, viable job that I would be actually, viably perfect for and Fat Head's lighting up everything not stapled to the walls. The pyro came to my equipment and my collection and stopped short of burning the vinyl – not out of any reverence for the Human League or the boss, but rather 'cuz he realized they would just melt.

Then he saw the mix tapes. By this time, his retarded chick was down the stairs with a plastic baggie filled with M-80s. Together, they stumbled to the driveway and blew up some of the cassettes, jamming fireworks into the holes, two at a time, cracking the plastic and snapping off the spokes as if, as if it was the bloody crown of thorns snapping into our lord and savior's skullcap. Some of the tapes, Dick Head just unraveled completely, lighting the long, thin strip ablaze.

The day before I moved out and finally, really, truly left home, I asked chica retardo why they did it. She looked down and sat silent, seemingly embarrassed and even ashamed; but, I think that was on account of Bloated Marty's ripping off her top and burning it on the front lawn as she laid out, sprawled on the front lawn for all the neighbors to view. Marty told me I wouldn't ever need tapes for the show anyway, that the station would have CD's right? I cleaned up what was left of the sacrifice they made of my parents' favorite melodies and I regretted never listening to them.

"City and State?"
"Hialeah. Hialeah, Florida. I think that's right."
"…Name?"
"Um. Kimberly Marie Reese."
"No such listing."

Kim was the engineer of the Death Squad Hour; although, she reasonably hated all the crap they played. When the guy who was assigned to my show balked at my playlist (something I would come across regularly) I asked Kim if she wanted to run the board on a real show. She just gave me this cackle of a laugh that shockingly showed her age. Then she smacked my shoulder as if she just got the joke. I don't know. I wasn't making a joke.

We worked hand in hand for two decades with a couple missing years in the middle on account of an argument over the ration of songs to call-ins (she wanted more songs and call-ins; I just wanted more ME.) Kim proved black was beautiful, yet she hated the blues. So, I would call her Cracker and she would turn off my mic. Our relationship grew from 12-3 a.m. each night from local to national syndication. I became king and she my favored concubine.

There was this night where I was particularly "on," spreading my seed of sound and making converts effortlessly; I thought I would take Kim out for a Red Bull, but she had left at 5 after 3. She had left a CD behind (I believe by accident). The only thing printed on the label was "K.M.R." I took it with me and gave it a listen on the drive home. Her voice was bejeweled. The songs could've used some work, but her voice was just lovely. I switched the discs out after track 6 and slipped it into the case closest to me. I meant to bring it in with me, but the exhaustion had already kicked in and I forgot all about it as it slipped between the seat and the parking break. I figure she forgot it too since she never did mention its existence or its absence.

I wouldn't let her go. Kim told me in so many ways that she was moving south to care for "Momma" and that she could still run the show by satellite and phone. She said there was no need for us to fight over this; technology would make it work. Technology was our friend. I snapped at her, "Tautology doesn't exist! The truth is all a lie! How can it help? How could you think that? The only reason we even tolerate the idea of The Truth is because it sounds so good." She looked at me with scorn and whispered, "You're not even listening to me. You're going deaf, you must be going deaf. Listen to yourself, Denny! You don't wanna make this work? Fine. I can find another show and you can buy another ho."

>>>>Login Here
hangthedeejay<<<<
>>>>Enter Password
******<<<<
>>>>Enter Search (Last, First)
Reese, Kimberly<<<<
>>>>Searching…
>>>>Searching…
>>>>1 Match Found…
>>>>Reese, Kevin
Shitty, shit, shit!

The retrospective was a terrible idea. I can't even remember who came up with it. They say I wanted to go out with a "glorious bang of light and send my career out on a wave of new music splashed with the craziness of yesterday." They say that's what I said. But, that doesn't sound like me at all. If there's anything I know, besides rock and roll, it's Dirk Jenny. I bet it was revolving engineer #66. Yeah, he probably devised this glorious gang bang as a way to make me look like a conceited blowhard (and make me work too). Remind me to make him cry.

So, I'm stuck spending precious hours downloading what purport themselves to be songs from this meandering webnet thingy. I'm not even sure if this is legal. Do the bands even know we can do this? But, I have no choice. I have to make this last show the strangest, most vivid 3 hours yet. It has to live on forever.

I abandoned my computer and turned back to my library – CD rack upon album rack of music only I can understand. I popped in maybe 3% by rote. No, that's crap. I played the songs just for the love of it. That's why. I was about to leave the plush listening booth I installed in the corner of my loft when I opened the case to U2's WAR and discovered a misplaced disc which I couldn't quite recognize. I placed it into the changer and slipped my on headphones.

When Kim hit the first note, I fell against the wall and slowly slid to the ground. This relic, this object of meaning made me melt. My last stab at musical evangelism was on account of Kimberly. I knew she was lost to me, just like everyone else. So, it was only appropriate that I chose to end my career on her final tones.

In my will (that letter of apology I gave my sturdy sister as my lungs began their last movements) I asked her to bequeath my collection, my library, the love of my life to "the children" – whoever they may be. But, Kim's disc… I asked my selfless caretaker of a sister to return it to its creator. I begged her to please, pretty please try to find Kim. Of course, I knew this request was impossible to fulfill. So, I left that last member (the best member) of my genetic clan a perfect way out. "Burn it. I don't care how. Set it free. Sacrifice the plastic. Make the memory of the songs live forever. Make them holy."

I knew big sis would not let me down. Wherever I am, it must be heaven. Because mixed in with the songs my mother and father loved to dance to, I hear the melodic stylings of one Ms. Kimberly Reese, a woman who knew the blues and despised them on account of her knowledge. They dance forever, my mother and father. Young and together, they sway in time to that voice I remember and I feel so lucky just to sit to the side and watch.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Happy End of the Year. See you in a few months time for more LYING LIVE.

NEW KICK/OLD GODS: The Author - LL .54

2005-12-25T04:20:01Z

[for John Bueno, Jr. who played G in POLAROID STORIES]

I can see you now. Tis true, I've always seen you. I've always been with you. But, now you can see me. Now. Everything is now. It's all happening. For real, this time...

No more misunderstanding. I've been so weary of all this...confusion. No time for misunderstanding; it's time for more, much more mystery. Mystery which draws you in and lets you know there's something to what all my messengers have been saying along. I've been moving towards you...forever. Now, I'll be moving among you.

Forever, I've been breathing. Now, to take my first breath.

There's nothing like life, really. Time to live like you. One day, you'll live like me. I am. I cause to be. Here I come...

Yeah, I know. The nonsense will continue. The story doesn't end here. But, here's where the story becomes...real. It's all happening. Now, for romance. Now, for truth. Now, for beauty. Now, for love!

Honestly, I've been waiting for this moment...since volume one, chapter one, page one, paragraph one. Time for you to see the real me, up close. Time for me to find you. There's no time like the present.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Part 10 (of 10) or Part 1 (of 10) of a New LL Experiment.

NEW KICK / OLD GODS: The Destitute - LL .53

2005-12-23T20:12:08Z

[for Curtis Belz who played SKINHEADboy in POLAROID STORIES]

Rough me up, will you? You pig. I'm not moving...

This bench is far too comfy. What with the streetlamp and my newspaper, this corner is my office. Yeah, that's right. I survey my home office. I can read last week's extras about the unemployment rate droppin' then cover my face with all the history of the metro section and drift away on my five-foot steel raft. Yeah...

You can't make me move. I'm happy here. I'm beer, I'm here and I'm proud. So, deal with it...buddy. Don't you have some donuts to eat?

Heh. Yeah...I'm serious. You got a donut for me? You got some bread, a roll? Can I have a steak and shrimp platter? Ha-HA!

Anybody got anything for me? Anyone have something for me? ...I'm here. Where am I supposed to go? Where's a kid to go to find some good will? Peace out, buddy. Go mess with some other kid. We're all around.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Part 9 (of 10) or Part 2 (of 10) of a New LL Experiment.

NEW KICK / OLD GODS: The Shield - LL .52

2005-12-22T18:31:06Z

[for Dina Alcin who played Echo in POLAROID STORIES]

I'm expected to carry out orders like these? You gotta be kidding me.

The pay ain't enough to bury my grief that far under. I know, I know. Swallow it up, chief. What do you know anyway? Follow orders and let the thinkers be bright. There's always a reason. There's gotta be a reason. No one in their right mind would pull something so brutal, so ever-loving drastic without concrete intelligence.

Right.

Wish I could wake up from this nightmare and take my boy fishing. Instead, there's just one building left. One building to scale. One last house to raid. It's more like a shed...but, this is the last one on my list.

Now, to hold down my vomit one last time. Never thought I'd be doing this for a living...thought I'd be an astronaut or something. Lock and load and...

Yeah.

I don't believe my eyes. It's the chalk-up...to a tee. This is the place. I'm gonna get a medal. I'm gonna go to hell. Lock and load and...

Wait out here. That baby's crying in there. He...she...it sounds like my boy did. Sounds like a new world breaking through.

Never.

I'll let them lock me away before I go in that house...for this load. Before I let anyone else storm in either.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Part 8 (of 10) or Part 3 (of 10) of a New LL Experiment.

NEW KICK / OLD GODS: The Powerful - LL .51

2005-12-21T20:22:12Z

[for Christopher Dominic who played Narcissus in POLAROID STORIES]

Bitter? I'm not bitter. Now is not the time to feel bitter.

Sure, they won't see it that way. They'll say I'm control-lusty...when everything I'm doing is for their own good. They wanted provision; I gave them prosperity. They asked for freedom; I tore down the borders. They...these people...they want security; I will keep them safe from myths, fables and nonsense masquerading as utopia.

This isn't personal. If there ever was a time for reasonable leadership, it's now...it's tonight. And, when I am presented with a threat like this...a terrorist threat, a family willing to turn our fair society upside-down...I respond with all the logic, providence and strength my citizens surely deserve. Crime does not pay. Is there any higher crime than treason?

Let me carve this point sharply: the birth of a new god, old wives' tale or postmodern fairy saga (whichever the case may be) will never change the way I or my citizens will choose to live. This terrorist can not win. You may call me bitter, but words are empty. Once again I'll remind you, my cautionary directives are for your own good, our own good.

Don't throw a word like that at me. What can a word do anyway?

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Part 7 (of 10) or Part 4 (of 10) of a New LL Experiment.

NEW KICK / OLD GODS: The Paparazzi - LL .50

2005-12-14T20:16:31Z

[for Jessica Baxter who played NEONgirl in POLAROID STORIES]

How is there a light like that in a room like this? I don’t know how I’m going to explain it or even describe it. My camera might catch it; probably not.

This soft brightness is propelling me. I could fly with this little yarn stringing behind, if I could graduate flight school.

I could sing this strange tale, if I wasn’t shy. Not that I’m shy, like gun shy or cowardly-lion shy; I wouldn’t be here to begin with if I couldn’t share the wonder clearly with whoever’ll listen.

But, look at them. How am I going to make anyone understand what it feels like to be 10-feet away from…I’m not yet sure what I’m this close to, but I’m close to something.

I’ve never been near a crime scene like this before. How can this be a crime? I don’t know.

I could hang my career on the wall for good—and gather good-natured reviews, if I could just paint a picture of this insignificant, ubiquitous birth.

That’s all it is, right? A birth, yeah. Yeah, I can start with that and find the juicy kicker by deadline. Yeah, I’ll tell everyone all I can with as few words as possible…in spite of myself, never mind the growing doubt. There’s this…light in this room. It’s getting brighter. It’s growing brighter too.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Part 6 (of 10) or Part 5 (of 10) of a New LL Experiment.

NEW KICK / OLD GODS: The Family - LL .49

2005-12-09T20:57:49Z

[for Stacy Rodriguez playing Philomel in POLAROID STORIES]

It’s too stinkin’ cold in here. How does anyone expect me to think when it’s this frigid? How is that young lady supposed to bump a calf in weather like this, as if nobody cared? How am I supposed to keep track of it all?

I think I would have settled for attending the baby shower. Being in the room? Honor schmonor.

But, there has to be some perks to being a godparent, sure; there has to be… Oh, bingo, yeah! The perks start with having god in your title. Plus, I can be a parent and go home at night without tucking anyone it…yeah. Yeah. Right.

What? Oh, what does this joker want? What? I’m supposed to hold her leg up? Come now, I did not agree to that—

Holy mother of god, he’s a coming, he’s a coming. Uh-huh, sure doc, whatever you say. Just…just wrap that child up before he catches some cold or something.

I always thought miracles were penny ante. Oh you better watch it or you’re gonna be the slimiest godparent ever, evah.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Part 5 (of 10) or Part 6 (of 10) of a New LL Experiment.

NEW KICK / OLD GODS: The Practitioner - LL .48

2005-12-08T21:03:33Z

[for Mike Smith playing Orpheus in POLAROID STORIES]

You know, it’s all going to happen very quickly. I can’t let myself think about 72 hours on my feet… Stop thinking about that. Pay attention, attention to detail like you were taught.

I can tell they’re in love. Love, for me, is like changing diapers. But, these two…they’re living it up. She’s in agony—yes. He’s confused as hell—absatively. But, the only person who could tear these two apart (what with their hands so interlocked they may as well still be procreating), ah, the only thing would be this kid—when he finally sprouts, that is…he’ll get all the attention.

And rightfully so. So I’m told.

I’m also told this whole building is out of Red Bull. I’m also told that my knees are buckling. Stay awake! You’ve done this 5,384 times. Make this one count.

Here we go. Here. We. Go. Push. Excellent. There you are, little buddy. Ah, she’s doing great; she’s gonna do just fine. Puuush. She’s a champ. And…I got you little buddy. I got you. I…got you.

Perfect, perfection. Ah, I’ll never get to sleep tonight.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Part 4 (of 10) or Part 7 (of 10) of a New LL Experiment.

NEW KICK / OLD GODS: The Role Model - LL .47

2005-12-08T20:19:20Z

[for Dahlia Legault playing Persephone in POLAROID STORIES]

Stiff upper lip, man. Stiff. Upper lip. Make her laugh or something, come on—don’t just stand here. You can’t let her experience this alone! She’s not alone, I’m here. So, get in the game already! We’re all here. We’ll all be here soon enough.

Oh, god. She’s got a grip. Alright. Hang tight, man. This has gotta be as surreal for her as it is for you, right?

I never expected things to happen like this, all outta order, all outta whack. But, this could work. You can be husband/dad or dad/husband. You can fix this. Or, maybe there’s nothing to fix. Maybe she’s not full of crap. Maybe you’re not a pushover.

Dad was good to me. Granddad was good to him. I can be good to this little guy—Oh, god. He’s pushing out. His head! She has got to see this. I can’t believe I’m seeing this.

Right, that’s right. I’m here and I can’t leave; I don’t want to leave. I have to see this kid. We’ll be good to him too. Maybe, 50 years out, when we’re collecting Social Security and she’s still as sexy as the day I met her, maybe then, he’ll return the favor.

I’m no pushover. Look at him! He could be my son…

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Part 3 (of 10) or Part 8 (of 10) of a New LL Experiment.

NEW KICK / OLD GODS: The Madonna - LL .46

2005-12-02T20:18:16Z

[for Amber C. Snider playing Eurydice in POLAROID STORIES]

He's holding my hand, my man, my man. I can't believe he's holding my hand. But, it doesn't matter if I believe it or not. He's so gentle, and I'm just crushing his. I know it. I don't know my own strength. Yet, I'm still too weak to get this whole thing over with quickly.

That man over there has been telling me to push for eons and my man, with his sweet, kind hands has stood beside with a dumb look on his face. He keeps saying how I'm beautiful, I'm beautiful, over and over. He's beautiful; beautiful and dumb. With all this sweat and smell on me, I'm sure I'm anything but... But he loves me, I think. And he'll love my baby, I think.

I shut my eyes so tight and I feel lost and levitating, out at sea when he does finally pull his hand from my grip. That noise, my baby's song - in harmony with my own cries over these eons - it brings me back around and to. I can feel my man's hands propping me up and holding my back for me to see. Everything aches and everything, everyone beams.

###

You are not alone,
J. Stephen Jorge

Part 2 (of 10) or Part 9 (of 10) of a New LL Experiment.