"Home Movies," "Catholic Lust: A Million Mad Clocks," and "Probing Puppets and Peeping Toms"

Home Movies

“Roll the film back for a double exposure. C’mon show it to me.”
 
“Black Widow Nuns, like Perry Smith’s curse. He was one of the killers of that Clutter family. Can’t remember, you know the movie, ‘In Cold Blood.’ FUCK! Used to always watch it when it was on TV. Scared my mom. First time I saw it was around ‘75. Really creeped me out. But the killers were so cute and hot. Wanted to fuck them both. The idea that someone has committed murder makes me all aroused.”
 
“Nuns are hot too. Saw some of those Italian movies where the nuns fuck and kill people and worship the devil like Flavia Priestess of Violence - saw it at the dump on the Deuce, the Rialto. I like it all.”
 
“How will it end?”
 
V’s pupils were deep black holes now, drew me inside - deep, deeper, deepest until I had to scream but I didn’t - twisted stomach feeling. I could see us outside, a fractured scene in a melting lens.  Back then we sat in tiny rooms, wrote down words and fantasized about leaving. They wouldn't miss her and she would be content.
 
In high school she had secreted pornographic photos and 8 mm loops under the mattress. The entrance to the attic was through the ceiling of her bedroom closet. Went up there sometimes to masturbate in colors. Private photos she had hidden. She had to run away to New York City and become an actress.
 
“I love to walk around naked.”
 
Sometimes she heard them - those voices. Slow low growling from under the bed an amorphous black blob from the closet. They knew her.
 
They were peering into the window, surveying her body up & down licking their chapped lips.
 
“Do you want to watch? My first peep-show. Please come and watch me. Do you have a camera? I’ll be immortalized. Celluloid Canonization - just you and me.”
 
V started to weep.
 
“It’s not good, is it? Tell me, please tell me.”
 
Roll the film back. Double exposure.”

Catholic Lust: A Million Mad Clocks

slithering curse of undulating timepieces
 
Fragile. Vulnerable desire.
 
She clutched its cloak tightly around her. A secular cocoon.
She knew she carried a great beauty deep inside.
 
A time was gone.
The music had stopped.
Finality thrilled her. Always. Always.
Eurydice had abandoned him for a darker passage.
 
Timepieces whirring. No hands to point out the correct time.
She was hooked like clockwork to one more narcotic.
She was jonesing for no one in particular,
just random anonymous stealthy objects.
 
Flaming sex tales recounted in her now infamous diary.
Eurydice touched their lips together controlling each other.
 
They were adored by all:
soon their signatures were similar;
 
soon their labia burned,
as they played with the obscene pleasures that they had cultivated.
 
As the tongues touched, the landscape shifted.
 
Reversal shadows fucked in the sand.
They were enjoying each other’s fever.
her cunt was a whirlpool of white light,
as the waves burned.
 
A robotic chaotic Jupiter paid them a visit.
 
After committing murder, Eurydice dismissed the audience.
The songs had started.
Vampire children emerged near Canal Street Chinatown,
air heavy with the sting of July refuse,
ignored by the Sanitation Department.
 
No CBGB’s or Mudd Club this evening,
Addiction is a use of a legal disease for her pleasure,
She never came so hard
 
The hand print appeared rapidly in
the vault of the sky
God was talking to her again
the initial euphoria that she craved the cameras to catch
Had died.
 
Vicious and gorgeous,
pierced in two, charming and evil,
sucking on the pain of the purple Iris,
 
distilling the mirrors into ampoules of silence.
Enveloped in a happy pain
clutch yourself at 4 AM.
The time of the wolves.
 
Screeching in a lie, a trope only for her
 
Only she lived it
she heard them again (over/over) –
a slow low hiss in the walls
gentle water dropping
kissing the slate walls
caressing her pallid skin. fondling stone.
 
A tone.
 
Time.
 
No time need more time. Need more noise.
 
corpus delicti result
Upon realizing she was in a controlled experiment,
she laughed then tasted it:
bitter/salty
 
She thought, “It smells like summer outside. like
when I was a kid – just lost and in 2 dimensions.”
 
While laying behind the house, the dormant animals
would taste her. she needed some time to search and run away.
 
(“Some would say I was divine.”)
 
Discarding her wigs and corsets, 
discarding her straight costumes
 
she donned the tight leather skin
she had hidden in the alley
 
slipped between then and now
into a new version of herself
 
at last a part of something
no longer a ½ truth
 
Voodoo enchantment – slice up the photograph
she mouthed words of sympathetic magick
nihilism was a a preamble, as she frigged herself wildly
 
She knew what joy was like:
a frantic fuck to summon the missing ghosts of her ancestors
those who abandoned us
we’re alone in this building of random communications
 
Now:
She sported a bouffant - wry and amusing
patent leather stilettos and burning lace
studying the shadows of iron statues caught between
love and deceit as she fed the jukebox and
mimed future phallic tunes
 
“It’s time for another crucifixion: should we be happy?”
 
Listen. Listen.
 
Inside the clinics, the screams echoed.
 
You’re followed by her cravings for the Left Hand Path
Anguish of never knowing
Eliminate her parents from her consciousness
 
After assassinating the divine playboys
while waiting for the forensic team to arrive
 
She said, “Do you want to see my pictures?”

Probing Puppets and Peeping Toms

An inchoate schizoid female was on her way to purple insanity. Trapped in the dark suburban house. Coming home. She could see her thoughts throb and take shape at the horizon.  Random laughter. Sometimes, hands grabbed her.
 
“Go and pray. And sin no more.”
 
[A projector is running]
 
“I’ll watch my films,” she thought to herself. Not too many, a mini-festival.
I have those loops and that old super 8 projector.”
 
She met a friend later on. She gestured slowly and caught their attention.
 
“Look at my pale white legs. Gorgeous. Gorgeous. You’re trapped now. We’re trapped now. Outside the theater - we saw them earlier - that’s where the cruel people dwell. The fuckers who don’t like us.”
 
Her mute companion looked at her. Remained motionless. Frozen. Paint peeling from his face.
 
“I’ll start the first loop,” she said. My pick.
 
That Great Whatsit that no one could provide. Something that would make her complete. V the hollow woman. Nothing was helping. She wanted to run, to sit in the hot seat. One more fuse blown. Many eyes at the window. The curtain had gone up in the cubicle. The peepshow was open. Next door, couples were pretend-fucking at Show World.
 
That Great Whatsit. V, the Hot One - a new film that premiered yesterday. The woman with all the answers.
 
I’ll do it next time. Under the black moon. Next time.