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 ========================================================================
Date:         Thu, 5 Mar 1992 08:24:42 CST
Sender:       SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From:         GR4302
Subject:      PogoStickAmerica

PogoStickAmerica

ONCE UPON A TIME there was a very rude and toasted youngman named
Jennifer who didn't have a thing to wear to the all hours disco video
arcade semi-quarterly hoot owl party on friday night so he borrowed
some shit from a storefront mannequin after smashing the window with a
tie-rod discarded by a passing cab which had immediately careened off
into a ditch, killing the driver and causing the small poochidog in
the backseat to experience extreme emotional paralysis for the rest of
her short and wasted life.  He took the entire mannequin and quickly
ducked down a handy alley and into the wave of distraction that is the
city.  He knew a Secret Way to his Secret Hideout where he stashed the
dummy and in no time was ready for the hoot.  At the hoot, all the
Pinheads seemed to be putting up or shutting up, so Jennifer mulled
around the Help Table killing a pack of cigarettes.  He'd just
finished the thirteenth puff of his seventeenth cigarette when Clancy
got killed by some Greaseball on PogoStickAmerica.  Never being one to
resist an attempted pewk, J. leapt across the room and shoved his
quarter into the left slot of the PSA machine.  "OK," said the
Greaseball, "shoot your shit."  J. cut short a slobbering belch,
sprayed spittle on the PSA machine and went to work spending the next
twenty minutes massacring tiny arrays of colored lights and kicking
the bottom of the machine with his left foot and coughing up sixteen
and thirteen-twentysecondths cigarettes.  J. hadn't died yet, not even
once, and could've kept going interminably, but the Greaseball was so
impressed that he smashed a handy metal stool over J.'s neck and
shoulders putting him in the Hospital for a month and the Greaseball
in the Workhouse for a year and a day since the blow had smashed J.'s
face into the screen destroying PogoStickAmerica.

WHEN JENNIFER GOT OUT OF THE HOSPITAL HE went downtown to the
Workhouse to find the Greaseball and pewk in his face and piss on him,
but when he got there the man in the booth told him that the
Greaseball had been lost in a sewer accident fifty feet below the
city.  The body had never been recovered, but the guy who shoved him
off said he was sure that nobody could've ever survived that fall.  On
the way to the workhouse he'd inadvertently passed the Arcade.  When
he walked by, six Pinheads out in front smoking saw his broken nose
and gagged and snorted.  Two of them squealed and pulled their frizzy
bleached hair, and though their jumping about showed alot of leg, the
sexual momentum of the sight could not pierce through his chemically
glazed solar plexus, numb from a month of Hosptial treatments, to its
usual resting place below.  He stole only a quick glance of thighs as
he passed by, shrinking and storing the image in the back of his head
to be mulled over later.  When he left the workhouse J. had only one
thing on his mind, the image that had floated through his head all
through his chemical month at the Hospital:  the Mannequin.  J. headed
straight for his Secret Hideout and there she was, right where he'd
left her a month before, the naked, delicately shaped mannequin.  It's
painted face had an alluring quality that J. had not been able to
clearly recall in his Hospital bed, though he'd tried, sensing that
this unrecallable face was the key to some confusing desire.  The
sudden reappearance of this face into his life charged him more than
he had expected and he felt an erection coming on.  J. knew that
trying to fuck a ceramic dummy would be futile, even dangerous, so he
laid her out on the floor, propping her head up with pillows so he
could see her face, and began to masturbate.  On a sudden impulse he
ran to a drawer where he'd stashed the old makeup he'd collected and
found some ruby-red lipstick.  He smeered lipstick all over the
mannequin and climbed back up on the cot.  The lines of smeered,
clumped rubyredness were making him hot, but it wasn't enough.  He
tried dressing her up in a bra and a black slip he'd stolen and
finally even tried poking his penis through her crossed ceramic legs.
Nothing worked.  No matter how hard he tried he couldn't get a squirt
out, though the warm feeling in his balls was sexy and soothing.  In a
fit of anger and frustration J. hauled the mannequin outside, smashed
it in the street, and left it there, naked and broken for the world to
see.  Snorting loudly and feeling frightenly satisfied J. craweled
back into his Hideout and fell to sleep on the bean bag.  In less than
a week J. would make his first big Pinhead score--three of them!
together! right there in that very room--but how could he have ever
guessed that such a thing could ever be true that lonely first night
out of the Hospital.

JENNIFER SLEPT FROM 9 PM TILL DAWN and dreamed of the girl he'd been
in love with in High School.  She was flat in the chest, but tall and
beautiful and had genuinely loved him for a while, though she spent
her time with other youngmen, who had cars.  In the middle of High
School her folks had got rich and moved to a different state.  J.
hadn't seen her in seven years though he dreamed of her often.  In the
dream, J. had found her in a all hours disco at 11:30 in the morning,
a thoroughly impossible time and place for such a woman.  She was
surprising friendly to him and his heart melted as they danced.
Before long they were screwing right there on the stage where everyone
could watch though no-one did.  Usually when he dreamed of her they
were dressed in sharp clothes and sitting in some sunlit meadow of
flowers.  She would hold his hand, bat her eyes and blush while he
stared at her in a trance, feeling like a cross between a medieval
knight and a beagle puppy.  He would always wake up with their first
kiss.  He had never dreamed her naked.  As they lay there thrusting J.
could hardly believe what was happening though it felt more than
fantastic.  As he was nearing his climax another woman walked by and
ask his partner if she was in pain from being penetrated by such a
large machine.  The experience splintered.  She slid off him, admitted
that it did hurt alot, apologized and left.  With that J. woke up.
Though he hadn't come, he felt strangely satisfied by the dream and
thought long and hard about his dreamgirl and the world he left behind
when he decided with self-pity and a bitter loathing of life not to
chase her--the world of college days, being a lawyer, living on
$80,000 a year--a tempting lifestyle, a pleasurable blindness.  Now he
was just scum.  Would she've married him if he'd bought that car and
driven out to the coast after graduation?  Maybe not.  On this strange
day it didn't matter.  Everything seemed to bring a lunatic grin to
his face, broken nose and all.  He thought of all the terrible things
that had happened since school that had made him what he was and it
made him laugh hard, which broke into a coughing fit and the loss of a
little more lung.  "I coulda been someone," thought J. as he sucked
down his last cigarette and got ready to face the world alone again,
"if only Dad had bought me a car... "  And in the afterglaze of his
chemical treatments J. flopped onto the beanbag and daydreamed being
almost sixteen again and driving his shinyblack imaginary totally hip
car through the hamburger joints of suburbia with a middle-class smile
on his face and a girl in the other bucket seat.
gr4302





 ========================================================================
Date:         Mon, 9 Mar 1992 13:36:08 CST
Sender:       SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From:         GR4302
Subject:      why do you stay here?

when i don't want you/  why do you stay here?
over and over and over again pounding out the drip of the day
two weeks!  two weeks you say...
wait till the street finds me walking up against the light
wait till the wind blows a modicum of pressure my direction
i'll bet two bits and my shoes that San Antonio's got to lose
it'll be a salt of rain day when I'm loose upon the world





 ========================================================================
Date:         Mon, 9 Mar 1992 13:49:04 CST
Sender:       SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From:         GR4302
Subject:      a funny thing happened to me on the way to FTP today

I was assaulted long distance by none other than CHEATING, now CHEADING
and I forget to location, but it was him, he's back on the net and
randomly lamenting the loss of his dear H. who also seems to have gone
e-insane, so hey I think it was like NUASCM or something like that okay
so get ye'all chit together and patchy poo, otay??





 ========================================================================
Date:         Wed, 11 Mar 1992 02:24:07 CST
Sender:       SUNY/Stony Brook Literary Underground<SBRHYM-L@SBCCVM.BITNET>
From:         GR4302
Subject:      first thing you know is that the bodies on the beach is justtrash

"You sonavabitch yoyou're motherfucking six hours late!"  I screamed when
I saw him approach, eyes on the street, left hand jiggling in a pocket.
   "Well next thing you gotta know man is that it's pretty messed up" hesays,
with snotgobs of mucous dripping off his nose off his sleeve and onto some
poor sonavabitch plant that struggled to crack the damn cement.
   "Ah shit!"
   "Look man when I get it fucked up that's how it ends up in the cut so
take it or leave it " he slurred, producing a baggie from his trenchcoat
and unrolling it to reveal the red quivvering mass.  He through in areconsti-
tuted blob of braunschweiger and we sealed the deal.  Pulling it out of the
baggie he snorted and slapped it into my outstretched hand--fresh rawjibbering
liver!  I rolled in it in my fingers and felt my toes tingle...
Later in the afterglow I promised myself and my grandmother's grave to huntthe
lousey sonavabitch down rip his fucking throat out.... Yeah... that's it...
just a little to the left... oooo...
Goneril&Regan4302






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