The Color of the Sky: of Angels and Bums

My hands gripped the lip of one of those big green trash cans–––the kind in alleyways or wherever.

My head hung down low between my arms, as slaver slowly dribbled down my lips and out my mouth; my mouth was slightly ajar; my eyes were slightly ajar; my soul was…

I wondered what my hair looked like. I was in an ever familiar alleyway, and at the mouth of this alleyway was the threshold to the rest of the world–––the world that operated by normative behaviors. I tried to look beyond the trashcan, but the light at the mouth blinded me a little; I let my eyes slide down to where they belonged–––looking down.

Oh ya. I had a full bottle of good gin in my pocket–––too bad it was only like a pint. I drank half of it fast, so I could get dizzy faster. Real quick the liquid made itself at home in my gut, and I felt great.

I hid my bottle somewhere on my body and looked into the dumpster (that's what they're called!).

"Hey you! Wake up!" Some girl was sleeping straight up in the dumpster. I felt silly and good. I wondered what my hair looked like.

"Wake up you girl! WEIRD!"

I walked to the mouth of the alleyway. I straightened my clothes and pushed my hair back; I was too bearded I think.

Man, I walked with some swag. I walked hard. I walked upright and straight (in my head that's how I looked). Some magical sparkles settled on my baby blues (my eyes had magically turned blue); they let me see everything at the same time, and everything was beautiful.

Fuck. I gotta go look good. I looked up at the sky and saw millions and billions and trillions of white angels flying around, making the sky white with specks of screaming blues…happy blues…not sad blues, as are common.

Luckily, nobody knew me in this town.

The angels began to sing a One Republic song, so I started dancing down the streets; oh there were many people everywhere; I mean it musta been New Yok or sumthin.

I was happy dancing the streets, when one twirling, falling angel caught my eye. The angel floated and twirled down the sky like a falling feather, but a little faster and more gracefully.

Drunkenly, I stared transfixed and soaked in happiness. I could feel my face having a sagging, drunken, happy disposition. I musta looked like a drunk Disney cartoon. I stumbled back and almost fell before leaning against a damn wall. My drunk eyes followed the angel. It flowed toward me. Its eyes were black.

BAMO. The motherfucker landed right in front of my drunk ass. The people that flowed like a river of flesh avoided us on the sidewalk and thus walked around us.

Me: "Your…your…your eyes are…they're pretty…black huh?" I pointed right into the angel's face.

The Angel: "They are black diamonds. Dance your ass right back to that trashcan. Do you even remember where you were or what you did before you were at that trashcan?"

Me: "Why…yes I do…no I don't…yes, that's right…I don't remember at all. I was just gripping the…the…the…the…the…the trashcan, and I think I was almost gonna puke, but I feel real good right now."

The Angel: "Well, you're almost about to forget everything again. Go back to the trashcan. Finish your bottle and lie down inside the trashcan with the woman. Keep her warm. Didn't you see what she was wearing?"

Me: "Barely anything at all, actually…I think…if I remember, no?"

Angel: "Yes."

Me: "You're beautiful Angel. I can easily dance my way back there."

Angel: "Thank you. You're beautiful too. Now don't fucking ruin this. Hurry up, and get in that damn trashcan before the cops find you. I'm telling you the right thing to do."

Me: "Okay, bye pretty angel with black diamond eyes."

Angel: "Bye Danny. Take care you fool."

Me: "Yes…yes…yes…yes."

I danced fluidly back to the trashcan as the angel made its way back to the amazing ocean of angels that covered our sky. The color of sky was angels. I got to the trashcan and looked in, "Hi weird girl." Oh shit I was feeling pretty drunk. I took the bottle out of my jacket and drank the 75% that was still left in it. I threw the bottle into the dumpster. Getting dizzy (in a good way) I took off my jacket and threw it over the young woman. I found I had another jacket on underneath the one I had just taken off.

I clambered into the trashcan I stood up on the soft trash bags and cardboard; it was all relatively clean; good I thought, very good. I reached over and brought the lids down over us. Just then I heard sirens pass down the street, and then just then after that I heard rain begin to fall, but we were safe. I hugged the woman and fell asleep or passed out or blacked out.

"Wake up, man."

"Huh? Oh hi. Are you okay?"

"Did we…?"

"No," I grabbed my head, "No we didn't do anything. An angel told me to come lie down with you in here."

"You don't remember me?"

"Nope. Are you okay?" I felt better already. Maybe I was still drunk.

She cuddled up, "You'll remember me and everything later. Let's sleep some more."

"Yup," I closed mine eyes, and I was gone into a deep good sleep and she smelled good. Maybe the angel made this a good smelling dumpster or maybe her smell took it all away or maybe it just didn't smell in here.

"Hey," I whispered into her ear.

"Yes?"

"I want to like everything you like."

"I want to like everything you like too."

"Okay. And I want to love you."

"You already love me. You'll remember everything later."

"Do you love me too?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight. We'll be safe. Thank you for not leaving me in here."

"Well, I just listened to the angel."

"Thank you for listening to the angel."

"Did you know angels make up the color of the sky?"

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Whisking Away the Day

I walked past (is it passed or past?) a mirror. I stopped, walked backwards, and stopped in front of the mirror. I made an about face to the right and stared at my reflection; I scrutinized my face.

I wonder what is good enough, I thought to myself, as I made weird faces and pulled my face this way and that way with my crazy hands, hmmm.

I looked down at my clothes, fuck this. I went back to my room and changed into a more forced ensemble.

I walked back to the mirror and globbed a grip of pomade into my hair until I styled it quite right, and then I stuck my glasses back on—my Johnny Depp/John Lennon/try-really-hard-to-look-cool-with-glasses-on spectacles.

I walked out into New York. I looked up into the sky and got depressed, as usual. I was going to the movies by myself to watch the new Brad Bird film; it was produced by Steven Soderbergh; I was excited, and I felt that I looked pretty damned good (as good as I could look I supposed).

As I was looking up at the sky, a wonderful fucking girl bumped into me really hard, "Ah, fuck!" I almost fell over.

"Oh! Watch it!"

"Huh?"

A guy that was with her pushed me further, and I had to prop myself up with a hand before going all the way down. I got that shitty feeling of my heart sinking to my gut; I didn't know if this guy was going to go all the way and try to beat me up.

And so says he to me, "Watch it you fucking asshole. You want me to kick your ass right here? Apologize."

Holy shit, are these people on drugs? I thought to myself. Fuck it. Here we go again, I thought. He was advancing on me, as I had staggered a little back. I quickly took my specs off and thrust them into the inside of my coat.

"OK, let's do this you motherfucker," seriously and sick I invited, and right when he got close enough, I shoved him hard and kicked one of his feet behind the other so that he tripped and fell to the ground. I took my jacket off and threw it around somewhere out of the way.

"Hey Danny, what's going on?" A buddy was around and wanted to help me out.

"Ah nothing. This guy wants to fight, so now I'm fucking stuck here having to deal with this bullshit," I stared at the guy getting up, as he was staring at me, "I don't give a fuck man. What the fuck do you want?"

The lovely couple stepped into the fray and disappeared.

"Hey Johnny."

"Hey man what you up to? Where you headed?"

"Gonna go see the new Brad Bird movie. What's up with you?"

"Gonna go see my girlfriend. Hit me up. I'm always game for a fight! Ha ha!" He strolled and rolled away, also into the fray.

I picked my coat up and threw it on. It was windy; it was gray; it was lovely; it was cold; it was what I loved. My heart rate began to ease up.

I went to get some coffee to get fucked up before the movie. As I walked into the shop, I noticed people making a fucking circle around a crazy man wielding a knife at the cashier. Without thinking, I made my way through the crowd, as I heard the bastard yelling, "Fuck you! You owe me $100!" He was grabbing the confused cashier (barista supposedly) by the collar.  I briskly walked up behind him and jammed my right foot behind his knee, as I punched the back of his head (you know, right where the visual cortex is) blinding him. He fell back smoothly and easily.  When he hit the floor I crushed his ribs. He was a fucking mess. I looked around and saw the cops coming in, so I stepped into the fray, made my way to the back, stole a hot looking coffee on a table, and hit the streets unnoticed by the cops.

I sucked the coffee down and knew my heart rate wouldn't go down for a while.

Her name was Sarah, and I saw her from afar off. I looked up at the sky and got depressed. I made my way through the maze of gray and colorful souls quickly until I reached her, "Sarah!"

She turned around, "Hey Danny!"

"Hey what are you up to?"

"Oh! Nothing!"

"Well fuck. Wanna go to a movie?"

"This early?"

"No. Yes. Yes this early."

She pulled out a little mirror. She clicked it open and looked at herself, "Gosh, I don't know how I look today."

"Can I see that?" I grabbed the mirror and looked into myself and looked at myself, "Ya. Hey I'll see ya later."

"OK. Bye Danny."

I briskly whisked off to watch my movie. As I walked passed an alleyway, I heard a strange sound—strange music. I walked backwards, until I was in front of the alleyway. I walked into the alley. I found the door where the music was coming from. I opened it. A warm light emanated from a warm room. I walked in. There were about thirty people dancing to the strange music coming from an old record player with excellent speakers. I took my jacket off, hung it up somewhere, loosened up, and began to dance, eyes closed.

Someone sweet smelling came up behind me and ran their hands through my fucking crazy hair. I danced. The person laid their head on my back shoulders and just straight hugged me from behind as we swayed.

Oh we just fucking swayed to the fucking music, and we must have had been there for years for all we knew. I grabbed her girl hands and spun her around millions of times and then we swayed to the music as we faced each other.

I whisked her away and around, and she let me whisk her around and away.

We went outside, "Come to my place," she grabbed my hand and off we went. We arrived. She threw her fucking shoes around, and I did the same, and then she threw herself onto her cool bed. I climbed and climbed until I was next to her. It was a great, grand studio.

We were both quite falling asleep, but before I totally fell asleep I peaked out the great windows at the moon. And the moon winked at me with a menacingly happy and peaceful countenance.

Ah you weird fucking moon, I was slipping away. And I fell asleep right fucking there next to a stranger woman with sweet breath.

The Opera of the Proletariat

I was about 32 years old.  It was a beautiful day, ironically, as you shall see.  Casually strolling down a beautiful avenue, busy with fine automobiles, I was mulling over which café I'd choose: order a bold black and find an advantageous vantage perch from which to perv on some fine ass chicks.  I preferred crazy, silly, bouncy, bright-eyed, long-haired, blonde girls that enjoyed not being inhibited by the invention of habiliments and thus were hardly hindered by donning hardly any of it at all.  I wasn't picky though, as long as they were beautiful.  Call me what you must.

Having improved my gait over the years by meticulously studying the most fashionable modus operandi of the day concerning detached coolness, I sauntered down the boulevard with panache.

I saw an old man and a young boy walking toward me.  They looked like they belonged in a different era--perhaps 1960s Italy.  And then everything slowed down.  Two British thugs ran up behind the grandpa and the grandson.  One of the maniacs shoved the old man against a parked car, and the poor old man crumpled to the concrete.

The other fuck had grabbed the child.  The kid must have been around three feet tall, and he was slight of frame, with shaggy black hair and a fair complexion; he had no clue what was happening.  And now this British-looking fellow was about to run past me, but everything was in slow motion...

I transmogrified into an elite Israeli Mossad agent; I stuck an insane Krav Maga fist into the pirate's throat before he could escape with his adolescent stolen treasure.  The boy was under the pirate's arm.  I took the ability to breath away from the assailant and shocked terror into him.  He spun wildly around and accidentally flung the boy with accidental incredible force over a parked car and into traffic.  The pirate was forced down to his knees, making strange and terrible sounds as he grasped his shattered throat.  He dove face first into the concrete, hacking blood all over the fucking place.

The other British pirate, the grandpa, and I stood paralyzed, as we watched the grandson fly gloriously into the running of the fine vehicles: he crashed onto terra firma, and then a beautiful, elegant, exotic machine took his ability to be alive away by crashing him and making him die.

Slowly, I looked at the other pirate--I mean this guy was wearing a leather jacket and everything.  Slowly the pirate looked at me.  Slowly he lifted his right arm and pointed at me with his index finger.  Then he spun around, looked at the old grandpa, pulled a gun out of somewhere, pointed it at Grandpa, and let a single bullet fly, but not before I shattered a giant, sturdy, ceramic flagon that I got from somewhere over his bald stupid head.  Who knows which way that fierce, angry little bullet went off flying?  I sure don't.

I killed two pirates in all.  At the hospital, the old man held my hand and cried, telling me that his grandson and he had been the only people left alive in his family, and now his little relative was very much dead.  "I don't want to live anymore," he sobbed.  "Thank you for putting your life at risk and trying to help us."

"I don't know what came over me.  I'm sure anyone would've done the same thing," I responded.

"Who knows.  Thanks again, young man."

I told him he could call me if he needed anything, but he died a couple days later.

And a couple days after that, I found out that he left me everything that his family had acquired: all told, I became thirty-seven billion dollars richer that day.

So here I was two years later, about 35.  I stood in my insane suite, who knows how many stories up in who knows what building, overlooking New York City.  I was looking over the whole city is what I mean.

Look at all those poor people down there, I thought to myself.

That night, I would have the same dream I had been having since I had become super very rich.  A dream about desperately poor people performing a very elaborate, genius, and quite beautiful, but sad opera, that was what I saw during REM sleep.  The cast was immense; if not infinite, almost infinite; if that's possible.  At the end, they all amassed on the immense, almost infinitely big, stage, faced me, and bowed.  I was always the only person at this opera of the proletariat.  Crying, I would give them a standing ovation, and I would whistle, cheer, and clap loudly.  My cheering sounded like oceans of praise.  And then I would wake up.

Still I hoped that a crazy, silly, bouncy, bright-eyed, long-haired, blonde girl that enjoys not being inhibited by the invention of habiliments and thus is hardly hindered by donning hardly any of it at all would join me for the magnificent and magnificently tragic and melancholy opera.

And then I hoped she would join me in real life too.