Closing The Library

The sound of machinery hums, fills the void.
Every two minutes the grating sound of the minute hand scrapes its fraction of circumference, the other filler of The Friday Void.
8:29pm. In waddles manager and "The Library Closes in Thirty Minutes" in the same tone for years.
"Alright, flush 'em out."
I walk through the deserted building searching the crannies for patrons.
When I find one, you know what I say.
I say, "The Library Closes in 25 minutes," and they nod.
Sometimes I amuse myself.
"The Library Will be Closing In T-minus Twenty minutes. I repeat, The Library Will be Closing In T-minus Twenty Minutes."
My voice booms through a wide open room.The only way I can accurately describe this is to say that I state the fact in a similar manner to the New York Lotto Mega Jackpot man, and I chuckle.
I get annoyed when patrons are still in the library after Nine O'clock, the official closing time.
For instance, today at 9:02pm there was a girl in the computer lab, just sitting.
"The Library Closed Two Minutes Ago," I state with force. "Get out," I want to say.
So she gets out. It takes very little prodding, but still, get out before Nine. Come on.
I forgot to mention the bells. 30 Minutes, 15 Minutes, and 5 Minutes prior to closing time we sound the bells.
They are loud and occasionally I have a manager on board that delves deeply into the realm of Schadenfreude; he sounds the bells just a bit too long, potentially piercing patrons' tempanic membranes.
And we laugh.
And so the library closes on a Friday Night.
And so it goes.

The 5th of November

Warning: This will be apathetic, badly written, and who gives a fuck. It's the 5th.

I will remember the 5th of November. It will haunt me for the rest of my life. When I'm in the kitchen with some baby crying in the other room (assumed to be mine) I will remember it.

Today my brain awoke with what had to be a hemorrhage. I thought what might help this pain that reaches down under my spine and squeezes a few clumps of some crap inside of me, some crap that is me. Snorty. I remembered the 5th just as it happened to me. I went online and read "remember the 5th of November." Years ago it told me "he died." Snort snort snort snort.

Well last night I went out and crabbed a few bottles of something and mixed a few tablets of something and yelled at some silly hats or something. Infinity boy would have had a chuckle; fuck you if you wouldn't. A hearty two weeks late on a paper, and a grand ole shit ton of coke will be waiting on a table in some house of a few ol' pals tonight. Somewhere or something or whatnot there is a girl with Yates tat'ed to her ass and it makes me remember the 5th. I have my right to silence but I deny it. I deny it once and for all because that's what we who remember do. Time stopped, died, and had its hands shrivel on the 5; we're in no rush to awaken it.

There is a tumbling rocky crevice in the straight jaws of Scarsdale. It was founded after the 1st 5th. It was founded on tenets or something, but I guess probably not. This day is a reminder of apathy. If I could just...if I could just stop caring then the 5th would never repeat.

If for every year you graphed the level of pathetic you saw in our lives you would be sure to...shit, I don't even care to finish that sentence.

If the women who sometimes sleep in my bed knew that I just copied what I thought he might do...

When your head burns and your belly sends you running and the room is too dark to illuminate I am laughing. I don't want to laugh, I want to cry, "How can this be humanity?"

It was always a story of love. That's important. There's a girl I love, she doesn't love me. But I'm not supposed to remember that on the 5th.

Take advantage of me...please. Show me how much I can give. It's in the spirit. Rip me off, ruin my house, slap me and kiss me until I bleed. Do what you will, just bear with me on the 5th.

The roads of the country are inappropriate for today and please excuse my blaphemy, because I can't stop thinking of them. There's a tire mark on my chest. We should be in a top 5 saddest city and we should be clutching blue moons. It's important. We should have blue baths on the moon until our skin is saturated.


Oh, O, ohhhh. Mmm yes. Sam? UGHH. Caramel banquet. NAAmmmm. Jimmy Ribbon belly dance? Gimme, gimme, gimmicky signs of go. Ni! Knights that go...Home-run walk on a crotch. Blappy-kimmel sundance fest. Days of insanity pass with my chances to change. Remember. The titans?

Fudge. No. FUCKKKK. Fuck. Fuck everything.

Pen pal

Mongol,

Hey! Hi there! How are ya? I'm good, just studying for exams and stuff. How is Mongolia? I must admit that I know very little about it--except for its precise location in Asia (I used to play the game Risk a lot (Risk is a game in which the players are invited to attempt world domination (if they can (matter of fact, might be right up you alley! You should check it out.)))) Also, I heard that you guys were in control of Russia for like hundreds of years. That's pretty impressive. But, like what's goodi anyways? Genghis Khan. You like Genghis?

Let me know.

Love,

Renaud 

November Guest Posts

Halloween

i've been living in filth ever since you left
because if i wash the sheets then i lose your scent
there’s an empty space where your body used to be
and the ghost of you won’t let me sleep
every day has been like halloween
the wolves just won't stop howling at me
the heart in my skeleton misses every beat
the flames of the devil are at my feet
and death is at my door

Thomas Pynchon Chronicles I

Come out, young crab, come out. I am in the place that no longer gets to see you.

You have alienated the masses. You turned "us" into "a." So complex you are, eh?

Come out, come out. Unless you're caught in a snag.

The search for The Golden Fag continues.

Gabby

We like to laugh stringy word taffy

On a cobblestone with debatable falling rain,

Our faces contorting viciously
For a Wal-Mart bicycle falling to pieces.

Our conversation’s lease has been extended

Because when we ponder we search
Through many tongue dances and waltzes

On the hunt for meaning
Taking place somewhere between our vibrant jaws

Huntress pulls the sword from the rock

And we rediscover wheels forged at birth

During divorces and hurricanes and deaths

And “Why are we here?”

Tumbles through a break in a sentence

So we fall with it.

The trickling rain is now true

Until we deny the truth,
That has fallen out of favor.

We are lies.
And as I imagine you with me and wanting

Being oscillates under nothingness--

And is it hailing now?

Giggle factory, laugh riot, sun-kissed sound

Begins while I wonder how we can be in multiple states:

You, in search; me, in wait
Always waiting
For a special word union.

We have known of this proverb of the proverbial discontent,

Of two youths standing around in wait of an ideology

To shoot and kill and bring back for the feasting of more flashing teeth.

Gabby, I will serve you dinner, 

How does Friday sound?

Yes.

We will speak as usual,

Turning capitalized ideas into baguettes
And me into cut and chewed goat cheese.

As knowing and nothingness resonate with our beings.

We will shake and collapse

And be devoured,

Until we realize it's snowing.

Esquire 78

A guy walks up to me. He is the father of a girl I went to high school with. He always makes snide jokes about marijuana when he sees me, as if he has more than a sneaking suspicion that I am an arsonist; a chronic partaker in the burning of tetra hydro cannabinol. It offends me every single time he does it, but I never say anything.

“So, how’re things over in Ithaca?”

“Fuck you Mr. George.”