21 December 2007
THE NINTH DAY OF SPIDERRIFFMAS: P. COLTON SPIDERFANG
YEAR IN RIFFS: P. COLTON SPIDERFANG
Dark knights! You know it's been a minute since I've been back in old fang country--Wu Wear HQ whaddup!--coasting the ferry parking lots on my 'goose, bunnyhopping over boxes of ganked Yankee farmteam merch till Ma Liberty killed the moonlights, my man Don Pollyanna riding on my back pegs looking for half-smokes to puff, the Jack Sparrow of this shit if there ever was one--it has been a minute!! So what I'm going to do is take it back for you, when the internet was just a thing I drew on Mario Paint, when a man was a man when the second after Boy Meets World finished up 9pm, he was in the bathroom getting his quiet riot on to Topanga's hot asian friend in that doubledate episode with all the frenching. IT HAS BEEN A MINUTE!! You think Topanga's hot asian friend's got a Google Alert? Chirp back lover! THEREALSPIDERFANG@GMAIL.COM. Anyway this is my year in riffs I was talking about way back, it's called GENESIS. It's got this cool style, it's how I used to think before the accident. Flip those 'burgers! FANG.
Genesis by Spiderfang
In the afternoon when school was out and the last one had left with his little dirty snuffling nose, instead of going home I would go down the hill to the spring where I could be quiet and hate them. I took off my shirt thinking my shirt is off believing if she sees me with my shirt off she'll see my valley the valley in my chest it looks like darkness when I shower it goes to sleep hoping I wish the darkness would go to sleep forever. In the water was a face that was my face, and in my face were eyes, and mouths with crumb stains, they hung from follicles I had never seen but knew I had them, like we forget that we have blood in our hands until those hands are cut, and what bleeds isn't blood but a reminder of our bloodness.
I look at the face in the water. It's a kind face but a tired face, weathered with lines like tree rings, some fat others skinny if I am tree then a tree is an I, if is were she would not know she would never see under the shirt, if were was I would be a tree and my shirt is just the bloodness of my pastness. I punch the face. I punch it and it goes away, but then it comes back again, laughing at my fist with its waves and laughing at my face which is the same face, slurping back first in waves like the ocean then little ones like pa's fish bowl when he would put my fingers in it. He would put our fingers in it and the fish would nibble at our fingers and I would think this fish is going to eat all my fingers but my fingers won't come back like my face in the spring and the water would get cold he doesn't care about my finger he just cares about my not-finger and I would cry because I like my finger but pa likes my not-finger and pa likes the fish. Colton, pa said, you stop crying Colton, you stop that now. Goldie got to ett, he said to me, and Colton that's why you never wash your hands, never wash your hands Colton, Goldie got to ett. And he said this to me, and his eyes were like holes in trees and scaring me like my darkness.
I will never wash my hands ever again
Looking into the spring I lean down and my hands are dirty from the mud by the water. My shirt is off still but it is not dirty, it is pure. I sit there looking up at the sun, right at it like it wants to say something to me. I want to stop the looking but looking believes more than remembering looking never again, not for nothing. I take my hands and I push them towards each other on my belly, the mud and the hair together and my belly is now two hills and in between the hills is a valley, a dark line where the hair hides and the mud. I am looking into the spring. I see the belly in the spring, and I see the two hills thinking there are four hills now thinking there are four hills and two valleys and two faces and twenty fingers and no fishes I pull my fingers away from my belly before the fishes get our fingers, but the mud is still there and my shirt is on the grass by the mud, and it is pure. Never wash your hands Colton ok pa I won't Colton why don't you put the bike down and help your pa with something in the garage I look at the shirt and put my hands on the shirt, and then I look back at the sun and I cry. The smoke from the factories, I see the city lights and the purple fog of overnight commerce hang over the island, and I see the stadium and the beaten colors of the vending machine, yellowed from the distance and the sun, thinking cash rules everything around me looking back at the sun and looking for the my valley but it was disappeared.
IN CONCLUSION: IT HAS BEEN A MINUTE!!
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