### ### ### ### ### #### ### ### ### #### ### ### ##### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ### ##### ### ### ########## ### ### ########## ### ### ### ### Underground eXperts United Presents... ####### ## ## ####### # # ## ## ####### ####### ## ## ## ## ##### ## ## # ## ## #### ## ## #### # # ####### #### ## ## ## ## ## ##### ## # ## ## ## ## ####### ####### # # ## ####### ## [ What Happened After ] [ By James M Ramone ] ____________________________________________________________________ ____________________________________________________________________ What Happened After. James Michael Ramone mcintosw@cadvision.com XIII. It was all grainy and celluloid, the ocean, I was o'er the sea holding it all in. They kept tapping me, kicking me, trying to fuck up my high. I dressed in black the next day, a hepcat in mourning for some kinda lost soul feeling. Slim pretty girl, dark as sin, smiles into the phone. Twists two black roses around her fingers: -Hello, honey. Truth, lost in some silver moment, she smiles like a cat: -How are you? Thorns cutting, dark, dark, blood falling from her fingers: -Uh-huh. . . Black-red on the receiver. . . I walk in: -Can I buy you a drink? She eyes me up and down, licks her lips and purrs. -Uh-huh. I have a rum and coke. The Lady has a scotch on the rocks. I chat her up. I ramble on, tales of sex & woe & friendship, she goes all kittenish, laps up the scotch. I'm seeing myself in her dark eyes, she makes a sound in the back of her throat. I ask her her name & she just smiles so I tell her mine & she shivers so honey-sweet, sucks a drop of scotch off the end of her finger. I smile that special smile, a kid wails on in the background. Touch her hand (brush it really) for a ghost of a moment, it's warm, so warm & inviting. . . I'm holding up, holed up with that damned changeling Robespierre, he says: -Mon Dieu, my friend, t'ere's a uge space in your eart. . . I snarl. -No need to amplify, my friend. J'comprende. His wig slips an inch up his forehead. He pats it back in place. -Mon Dieu! Sade cracks his back with a cat o' nine. Crack! Crack! Robespierre begins in time: -You are not (Crack) aware of your (Crack) situation (Crack) ere. (Crack) y'see my friend (Crack) We must all (Crack) try to mood (Crack) Failing t'is (Crack) we all urt (Crack) for t'e (Crack) Revolution. The Marquis grins, all bloody. -Ah! He says. -I see. Robespierre nods and smiles. His wig slips. Genius has Gargoyle Grin Gargoyle Face. Genius has nine lives & A house in Rome. Genius has snow in the Oil & Gas Genius trips on dance sucks souls with his Purple lips. Fly Swallows Bread by the pound. -Mister, no matter how much you have, t'ain't enough. Never enough sir, no sir. Fuck this. Chance slips her calloused fingers around the small of my back. -Baby, she purrs, -stay here for awhile. I'm tired, twist my life in command, unfurl the precious hope of trance. Pearl's Girl is twisted in the alley, naked in a box. Sade knocks on the cardboard door. -Sweetie. . ? I'm in bed with Death, her roses ripping my back. She screams from the ceiling, my head on this bloody pillow her nails are in my neck. I'm howling with ecstacy, blood & cum & sweet-belly poison she licks her sharp teeth. Robespierre, his head severed, watches from the dresser drawer. -You'll never win, Shit'ead! He screams -Foutre-elle! Foutre-elle! Foutre la Salaud! Robespierre's frenzied, foaming at the mouth. His head is trembling dangerously. . . -Foutre! Merde! Merde! Merde! I grin my poison-boy grin into the Lady's honeyed lips. Fly lands on her mouth & steals a kiss, buzzes away drunkenly, drunk on feminine sweetness. 1,000 meaningless orders & where am I? On a bus to the NW, rapping transcendental while some lady in dead white fur reads the bible beside me. Every so often she'll read aloud with great excitement. Whatever. It means nothing to me, her purple-red dyed hair, fake carcass coat or the Word of Our Lord. I'm tired & dreaming of a time when I get more than 3hrs sleep. This is no 3rd option between burning out and fading away. There is no higher power than man. . . just like lost schooldays. Genius scrapes his mind from the feeling of decay, this feeling that hands will not fade.. The bushes grow straight and cold, by the river, they freeze and crack like ice. . . Sidewalk to talk to on a Monday afternoon, rapt and the whorl of black boots and khakis around me. No such time as this time, Adam flailing in the garden, Eve lost in the first snow. Adam learned her flesh before they found fig leaves, before Michelangelo first smelt oils. Sie's in the door, the seventh, watching, impassive. Fly sucks up. The Lady's burnin' it up. -Red or Black? I flicker. -Red. The scotch goes down smooth. click My wolfgrin licks her honeyed lips. Sie shivers. I swerve, glare at Genius. -Red or Black? His eyes close. I smile slow. -Black. I say. The amber liquid disappears down his soft throat. Click The Marquis? -Red. -Red. Fly: -Yessir, I want sir, I no, mister. . . -Black. His mouth quivers as he takes his shot. Blood hits the wall. Robespierre's laughs from his place in the table's center. -Mon Dieu! He cackles. The Lady bats her dark eyes. Sie snarls. -Red ou Black? asks Robespierre. The Lady grins. Fin --------------------------------------------------------------------------- uXu #437 Underground eXperts United 1998 uXu #437 ftp://ftp.lysator.liu.se/pub/texts/uxu ---------------------------------------------------------------------------