LA FLEUR DU MAL CH THREE: CLEAR ROSE

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Hey, time to get your head in the game. Where the hell have you been anyways?


Let us lubricate our mental gears for the work ahead. This calls for a DRINK! of what you may find in your own domicile/ flat/ duplex/ studio/ cave/ treetop.


Me? I like the dark things under my rock. They drip black ooze. I write with this black liquid in my veins.


3… 2… 1… DRINK!



If you play this whole album while reading the following words, then you must be a modern day punk.





Joey and I sat there at the table, and the rush kicked in. ZID.


It overwhelmed our intoxication with the lovely Miss Ethyl. So we drank more.


And then the fucking telephone rang.


It echoed in our minds, in our shitty apartment, in our hellhole. We had nothing left at all.


The Devil wanted us to answer her call.



Joey looked at me, his eyebrows all high, and his eyes bright.


I shrugged. I didn’t think that we would be doing anything at all today. Not my problem.


He hopped up and this made me jump up as well. I ran into the living room and looked around at the broken furniture, trying to figure out what to do.


Joey went to wash the dishes in the sink.


Then the telephone rang even louder. It rang with the sound of fire, and explosions, each time.


I turned around and saw Joey toss a glass full of water at it.

It would not extinguish!

He growled and then he dove at it and both of them fell to the floor.


In the crisp, clear silence of our height, we could both hear someone screaming.


The angry voice said, “Hey! Fucktards! Get your shit together! She wants to meet you!”



Holy shit.


Joey crawled underneath the kitchen table and grabbed the long cord to bring it closer, like he was pulling in a giant togue. The voice kept screaming.



It was the Biker. He was screaming this: “Say something! Say anything!”



Joey finally got the phone and he put the mouth part up to his ear and spoke into the ear piece.


He said, “Why hello there. May I inquire as to whom I am speaking?” He had good manners like that.


The Biker’s screaming got even louder. He said, “Joseph! Stop fucking around! I just left her. She wants to meet you! You two assholes just moved a shit load of snow last night, and you paid her back!”



Joey said, “Well, yeah, we always pay our dues.”


The Biker said, “Yeah, but word got out about the paper envelopes! What the fuck were you thinking?!”



Joey said, “We wanted to make a name for ourselves.”


The Biker said, “I guess you did! Holy shit. Now you have to meet her. I’ll call back in a little bit to tell you where to go.”




*CLICK*



I staggered over there and fell to my knees, and then I crawled under the table. I found joey. He was curled up into a ball. Like a fetus, not ready for birth.




I said, “Hey there, buddy. How ya doing?”

He whimpered. He said, “I don’t think I can do this. I’m too nervous. I’m too wasted! I can’t do this.”



Holy fuck.



This thing, this idea of his, well, it was his chosen career, and now he was driving 100 MPH on a mountain path, careening off a cliff.



I had never seen this sort of thing form him before. It gave me the willies. Did he think that I could take his place? He probably was hoping that I would. Of course, I couldn’t do such a thing. I was not a lion man. This was not my thing. I was simply along for the ride.



I patted him on the shoulder.

I said, “hey buddy, it’ll all be OK. Would you like some pancakes and maple syrup? A tall glass of milk to go with it?”

He whimpered. He said, “Yeah. That would be very nice right now.”









I said, “THEN WAKE THE FUCK UP AND COOK IT!!!”


He threw the heavy phone at my face.




Whydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirlwhydidseanrunoffwiththeblackgirl







It was my idea to have a bit more of that ZID.


That is always the best idea, isn’t it? Climb each stone in that road to the top of Perdition. Did you know that Perdition is a mountain? You have to climb really high in order to dive very far down. It takes a lot of gravity to pull you into terminal speed. The rocks at the bottom of your glass will reflect your face in happy sheer terror.



So, we climbed amazing heights.


Joey butted out his cig. He said, “I feel better now. Thank you Urb. So, where are those pancakes with the maple syrup?”


I said, “It was about four tabs of ZID ago.”




Joey leaned back and laughed his ass off.

He blew a couple snot rockets onto the rug and then he said, “I gonna go meet this chick huh.”




I said, “Yup. This was all your idea.”

He said, “Man, I should probably shower up a bit, huh.”




I said, “Yeah, chicks appreciate that sort of thing.”


He said, “I don’t have any clean clothes.”

I said, “Then don’t wear any. Just your leather jacket.”




He laughed again. Then he said, “I think I can find some jeans. But I ain’t got no t-shirt.”

I said, “Shirts are for suits. Just wear a tie.”




His eyes got big. He said, “You remember when we were in high school? I still have that shit!”


Do ya ken, he was once a properly dressed young man, back when we both went to high school, back when I first met him. I mean, he actually wore a suit, which was kinda odd for a young guy.


…Until he became involved with the punkology aspect of life. Amen.




He said, “Check this shit out, Urb.” He stood up and I followed him into his lair.



Huh.



Inside his closet, he pulled away the access cover for the shower plumbing, and he reached way in deep. He pulled out a big black garbage bag and tossed it on the floor. He tore it open, to reveal a compressed plastic bag of heavy mil, like one of those things you get that covers an expensive blanket. It had zippers on it, for crissakes.


Inside, there were his dress suits.


Holy shit.


I said, “Why did you keep these things?!”

He said, “They used to mean a lot to me. It was my identity, back then. You never forget your past. You can’t.”



Well, it was a good thing that he had something to wear for his new friend. Something that didn’t have the odors of explosions, death, and dirty booze man. Chicks don’t enjoy that cologne, unless they smell that way themselves.

Hey, no harsh on you, if you do.




He unzipped the bag and we both could smell plastic all over his fancy suits. How long had they been in this bag?


Oh well. It would have to do.



He showered in the dirty bathroom, in the tub that had chunks of puke floating about, and he dried off with a stiff towel, but not the one form the bathroom. No, we each had our own, dirty stiff towels in our bedrooms that we used every now and then. Maybe we each needed to do some laundry for ourselves?




When he came out of his lair, all fresh and so clean, he smelled like this song.




I said, “Wow. I didn’t know that your skin was so pale. Are you sure you Hispanish? How long have you been a Messican, exactly?”

He said, “All my life bro! Jeez. Man, I think I lost a couple of pounds of Fuckno desert filth in that shower. The dirt been a sunscreen. I need to let my skin get its true color, I guess. It will glow a deep brown. Yup."



I said, “How will you visit her?”

He said, “I will pay for a taxicab. It’s an investment.”



I nodded.




Soon he would leave, and after he did, I’d feel like I should clean up as well. I would take a look around the shitty apartment. I would turn over furniture, place it back onto its proper footing, and do some dishes, and wash laundry. Then I would shower.



Yeah right.




I drank.





.

[oettinger]

“THEN WAKE THE FUCK UP AND COOK IT!!!” made me laugh very hard, didn`t expect that!

After some benders I entertained the idea of just throwing a grenade in my place like they did with them vietcong tunnels, scream "fire in the hole" leave without looking back and live at another place.

[mistah willies]

Two friggin weeks?



What the hell you been doin?






.

[Dear Booze]

Two friggin weeks?



What the hell you been doin?






.

I'm starting to wonder if the story ended and I'm just too stupid to understand how poinient the ending really was. Maybe that Space Fucker's one of those artsy fartsy types. Probably wears tight pants and shiny jackets. And holds his cigarette between his middle and ring fingers.

[mistah willies]

I'm starting to wonder if the story ended and I'm just too stupid to understand how poinient the ending really was. Maybe that Space Fucker's one of those artsy fartsy types. Probably wears tight pants and shiny jackets. And holds his cigarette between his middle and ring fingers.[/quote]


Hmm... Nihilistic, with a dash of futilism. Nice.


Dude prolly dances like Deiter form Schprockets...