TIMES NEW ROMAN:

the birth of literature

Sit at the computer. Start it up like a Corvette, like a Harley. Grab the gear shift like a woman’s breast, soft but firm. press the nipple, squeeze it, throw it into drive. Slap her ass. click, click, click. There it is. The empty canvas. The blank slate, the lump of clay, the chapel ceiling. fresh plaster. Stare at the cursor. blinkity-blink. blinkity-blink. Study it, learn its secrets, Find its rhythm. Get in tune, get in sync. Think. Stop thinking. Stare at the MICROSOFT icons that line the top of the screen like crucified Christians along the road to Pompeii. Dream of knowing what they do, what they mean. Thank God this is WORD version Six, not Seven with that hideous bouncing-winking paper-clip man, unholy, son of hell.

Glance out the window. Lexus, brand new. Fuck it, lets see him write a story, a poem, a single line of simple Earth-shattering prose. can’t? thought not. Probably makes paper clips, or sells them, or computer programs. Sucker, he’s dead already, doesn’t even know it. Driving around town dead in a shiny black four-door coffin with ten-thousand dollar rims. I haven’t earned one of those rims in three years of writing. not one. not even the tire. Fuck it. back to the task at hand, the contractions are getting closer together.

A Title first. Yes the Title, the headline, the bait. worm for the fish, salt for the deer, the moose call, the bear trap. A real grabber. My specialty. idea.

"Ra Strips -- A spiritual undressing of the Sun." No too mystical, need broader appeal. Not coming, take a sip of coffee. Good, strong. Stroke one of the cats, it purrs. Love. Can’t buy that Lexus-boy. Paul said so. Ringo too but not as loud. Take a swig of wine, poor man’s goofball. Up and down, round and round. Yes, juices flowing, feeling good. California morning. Ocean air. fall. Clear, Sunny. crisp. idea.

"Smog takes a break", no. "Smog gets transferred," gets the call from upstairs, moves to Utah, mormons panic. no. "Smog takes a holiday." flies to Reno, shoots crap. wins a bundle, breaks the house, breaks the town. better. "Smog takes a breather." perfect. Take a puff off the cigar, five dollar cigar, wife works. It’s out. Puff again to be sure. still out. Look for matchbook, find it. Empty. Curse, toss matchbook across room for some other sucker to find. love company. Search for lighter, none. Go to bathroom, use it, take matches off back of toilet, open book. Full. bingo.

Return to computer, big square grey plastic monster eye staring at me. circuited cyclops. pity, disdain, laughing. speakers on the sides like elephant ears, never forget. perked up, listening for failure. hear plenty. hears them all. rejoices. bastard. No matter, I’ll get you soon enough. you’ll pay. and how. Pick butt from ashtray. It’s small. Too small to light in mouth without igniting nose hair. strike match, breeze blows it out. Curse again. Turn around, back to window. Match number two, success. Light butt, draw heavy, yes, good, feel it coming. Good cigar. Hit the wine out of the bottle, Gallo. Wife works cheap. No Matter. It’s red. The blood of books. the blood of angels, The blood of love. The blood of God. The blood of wine. The blood of wine? Hit the stogie, flavors mix, beautiful. rolling now. Maybe decide on topic first, then title? No. Too easy. Title first. idea.

"The Big Lie, Catholicism de-frocked." A fallen priest turned child pornographer offers an insider’s look at what really goes on behind the "Stained Glass." No, too controversial. Must be simple, mainstream. Right for GQ. Right for Details. Need dough. Haven’t sold a story in a year. two years. a lifetime. Bumping into JOB at every turn, picking fights. Ducking, weaving, black eyes, sore hands. a losing battle. can’t hold out much longer. Legs giving out. Defenses worn down, war of attrition. occasional APPLICATION sneaks into the house. Scurries across the floor like cockroach. No like flea, step on it and it still lives. Reappears somewhere else. Bites arm, bites neck, sucks blood, sucks soul. More wine. Double gulp. It’s there, I can feel it. Pressure building. idea.

"Lemon On Seven", aspiring writer, true genius, one of the last, the only, ignored by peers, takes job waiting tables. Pure Horror. Writer accidentally pours soul into coffee cup, drunk by lawyer. Lawyer asks for refill. writer beats lawyer with two foot pepper grinder. Lawyer bleeds profusely. Other lawyers circle. Parking lot fills with Lexus’s. Bleeding lawyer torn apart and eaten by other lawyers. Other lawyers leave without tipping. Manager fires waiter for not selling other lawyers something off the menu... Good, good, More,

"Wordsmith and Wesson" Genius writer forced to wait tables for rent money blows brains out, bleeds all over dessert cart. Busboy sweeps up writer’s body, dumps it in vat of chile. chile changed on special board from vegetarian to con carne. Writer never missed. Dessert’s name changed from flan to flan with strawberry sauce. sells out within the hour, all fifty. All to lawyers. Correction, one cop, the rest lawyers, "the best dessert I ever had." Manager eyes other staff members hungrily...

yes, yes, keep it coming, no clots. More wine, more coffee, More cigar, more smoke, feeling good. a cool wind. not now cat, on a roll.

"Mail Wail." Frustrated Struggling writer suffocates beach city mailman with three inches of grocery store circulars, rolls them up, rams them down his throat for bringing ninety-seven consecutive rejection letters. and bills. Mailman’s last words: "don’t kill the messenger" Writer quoted, "Fuck you pony boy."

Mailman turns blue as uniform, bluer. blue as night. blue as black. Mailman flops down steps like fish. bluefish. Manager arrives with head chef. Chef carves up mailman before he’s even dead. New special, Civil Servant Sashimi of Soul. "you spelled Sole wrong." " No I didn’t, taste it." Delicious. a little tough. all that walking.

Lawyers get whiff, wait in line, try to bribe hostess for a table. Offers her a quarter. She laughs. Offers her a date to House of Blues, ride in a Lexus. Blue one. She’s interested. "of course I get a blowjob after..." she thinks about it. Faster lawyers are scarfing down carved blue Mailman liver with chopsticks, dancing on the tables. "Think faster babe. Dinner too? Of course. Sushi? Deal." Lawyer seated, eats like alligator. Girl is on phone bragging about date to sister. Manager catches girl on phone. Personal call. Uh-oh. Manager squeezes girl’s ass. Nice. Special board changes again.

Word spreads. Lawyers flock from miles around, fly in from back east. Restaurant turns record profits. District manager comes to see what’s up, congratulates manager. "How?" Manager lets him in on secret. District manager in awe, wants to tell other franchises, pictures huge bonus, Lexus. Manager wants to shine alone, hog the spotlight. leers at District manager. Manager talks to chef. Special board changes again.

Lawyers lined up down the block. Owner alerted to profits, double the other stores, triple. decides to investigate. sends lawyer to check it out. Lawyer never heard from again. Owner decides to visit himself, does. Finds lawyer dancing on bar stool, singing Karoke. Mike in one hand, fork full of bloody flesh in the other. Eats flesh. Chews with mouth open. Owner appalled. Empty sake bottles everywhere. Some smashed. Owner walks around. Dumpster out back filled with skeletons. Large birds picking, slurping intestines like fettucine. Kitchen looks like civil war operating room. Waiters look like zombies. aprons bulging, stuffed with cash.

Manager now playing hostess, going rate for table - one thousand dollars. Lawyers pay with credit cards. Manager gets hundred cash tip for each table seated. Owner sees manager taking bribes. Nothing in corporate policy about murdering and serving raw staff members to customers, but tips for tables... Clear offense. Punishable by termination or...

Owner talks to Chef. Chef sharpens knife. Manager is fat. Meaty. eats in restaurant. All that butter and oil and cream. Lawyers are in full riot, pack the place. Owner brings in more tables. Not enough room. Takes all tables out, tosses scraps to pit of lawyers, tide them over. lawyers fight for chunks, love every minute. "Just like law school!" lawyers all crammed into dining area, bar, terrace. no chairs, no tables, free for all. Place bursting, five times the fire code. Lawyers screaming for fresh meat, waving gold cards. Owner promises feast, tells chef to hurry. Chef exhausted, passes out in pool of blood, kicked under counter. Owner hands knife to dishwasher. winks at him.

Manager diced up sloppily and delivered to ravenous crowd through the air. Rains blood. lawyers squeal in delight, scratch, bite, claw for piece. No reason, enough to go around. Everybody gets a taste. They love it. ecstasy. like a million crippling car crashes. Like a Trump divorce. like bambi in a vice. better. nirvana. Dionysian frenzy. then, lawyer in haste eats hand, swallows wedding ring. Starts to choke, turns green. Other lawyers point, laugh, turn green too. How many rings did the bitch have? No it’s not the rings, it’s the meat. It’s bad, very bad. "That’s Manager meat you fools, HA HA HA HA!" bellows the owner. Lawyers frantic. Five thousand cell phones appear. Fervent dialing. No good, too many phones, interference. Lawyers screaming, screeching, crying, dying, clutching at each others clothes, tearing them off. "If I can just die fucking somebody in the ass.....Anybody!" No good. Too late. Pain, retching, more pain. so much pain. torture. like Jackals chewing through your gut. pretty.

Lawyers all die. slow. Mountain of dead lawyers. Triple rainbow appears over the bay. Gulls sing in harmony. Fish and dolphins dance in the waves, play tag with seals and otters. God smiles. Satan gets busy.
Owner orders busboy to sweep up all the bodies. bus-boy climbs mountain of dead lawyers like Mexican Moses. Delivers family from ghetto slavery by dealing cell phones on black market. eight sisters, aunts help wash blood off. Family effort. busboy goes through lawyer pockets. takes wallets, jewelry. good day for the busboy. Owner finds chef, wakes him up. need you now, one for the gipper. Dishwasher too sloppy with knife, leaves rings on etc. need experience. Presentation. maximize profit margin. No good, chef still out. owner offers him lawyer steaks for his family. "How many?" All you can eat. Deal. Chef buys gram of blow from busboy. Busboy on a roll. his day. Chef snorts gram in one line, "just like tiajuana!" Wrestles knife away from dishwasher. Owner points to pile of dead lawyers. Chef grins maniacally. Special board changes again.

TITLES:

"Mount Thigh&Eye," "Sunday Bloody Brunch-day." "Counselor Crab-cake," "Strawberry Flan," "Prosecuter Pastrami," "Blood Rain," "Finger Food," "Lawyer Lasagna'" "The Special Board," "Fillet Of Soul,"

Take your pick. It doesn’t matter which. It’s all good, everything on the menu.

Try the special.