the life of richie


Posted in is by Rich on August 6, 2011

On Monday mom goes in for what I refer to as her “boob job.” The next day she gets a call back: something suspicious with her Mommyography. This causes much concern for the family. Mom is unable to sleep the night before her second appointment, which is on a Friday.

Meanwhile, the debt crisis is –– well, catastrophe is averted! for now. (“Wake me when we are all finally bankrupt.”) Aunt Margy will get her social security check. She will be able to eat, at least this week. How many more weeks of food will there be?

Life becomes more and more desperate for the living. The images of starvation on t.v. ––

(Amanda texts: “I’m engaged! Call u soon!”)

“Where is the honest to god rock bottom?” one must wonder. “How can anyone not be made with desperation?” What is there left but to –– run away and start a new life? Maybe that is just what Caroline is doing: starting a new life inside of her, fostering in her womb a new world in a child. What is it that will be my child? I wonder; knowing, I know. So why not just do it already?

(And Amanda –– starting a new life, too.)

On Friday, the doctor reveals the confusion: calcium deposits! Mom nearly collapses with relief. She dodged another bullet, she says. This one more time. But how many more times can we just dodge the bullet –– when the gun is already loaded and cannot be unloaded? Eventually it must fire. Eventually.

And on that day children…


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Posted in will be by Rich on August 1, 2011

At first one just sees one ant; but then another; and another.

It is the same with the zombies. There is no one else around, outside on the streets, which is how I know they have been taken. But how bad is it? Is it like the ants which, sometimes, when ignored, seem to just go away?

A zombie is on the back porch. I must change into sensible shoes before making my escape. I lock the bedroom door, which I am happy has a lock. It takes me quite a long time to decide on the right shoes. By now, the zombie is right outside the door.

I open up the window. I climb onto the roof.

Up here, one can see –– the entire red bloodred sky a mess of tornout viscera, hanging above the world: a patient eviscerated upon a table.

Eliot. Elllliott. Eliot-el-elliott.

I run across rooftops in the zombie playground. I take the high road. Everyone else is left low. So lifeless and low.

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