Tuesday, February 4, 2014

1-9-7-7


Alfonso Colasuonno has been labeled with multiple diagnoses from the DSM-5. He believes this is so because he doesn't have enough money to be appropriately classified as an eccentric. Help him feed his megalomaniacal tendencies by submitting anything creative (or not) to The Adept Writer (www.theadeptwriter.com) - a website that is one part Star Search, one part writers' circle.


1-9-7-7
by Alfonso Colasuonno

Smoke. Cluttered workspace. Self-reflection. Late thirties. Prematurely gray. Thin. So thin. Sickly looking. Wretched wife – Italian.

The twins in bed. Wife in her’s. Sleep on the couch. No more complaints. No more jackhammering stubborn slits. No more lack of natural lubrication. No more you’re doing it wrong. Slow down. Get off of me. No more. Just eyeing the legs. Eyeing the legs of the young bottle blondes. The slow jerks on slow nights. The television. Those old actresses. Marilyn. Marlene. Ingrid. The slow jerks. The body high of the reefer. The lipstick. The outcome. Simple routine.

Another evening. Tedium. The listings compiled. The distribution arranged. The articles completed. The rag put together. All routine. Door closed. Doobie. Beefheart. Kiss the kids. Chased out of bed.

Preacher man on TV. Saving souls. Mine is gone. Sucked out by a vixen from hell. Italian. Drove in the nails. The bleeding wrists. Smoke. Roaches in the ashtray. Fire and brimstone. Preacher talking salvation. Hates herself. Been raped. Been drunk. Been high. Hated it. Didn’t deserve it. Believed it. Amen.

Preacher man. The man on the cross. Brother-in-law. Atheist. Jew. Exmilitary. Star and bar biceps. Spit in the face of Levitical law. Saved. Preacher man. Perfect. Grab the paper. Grab the pen. Smoke. 

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