Can't Give No More (420 hits)
Category: NoneRating: 1.87 on 9 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by BillyGoat (View user info) at 2008-04-21 07:27:47 EDT
It's almost 3pm and my numb coccyx reminds me that I haven't changed position since I have been here. I can't blame the parking meter I'm leaning on. It's inanimate, its got no choice, but to stay were it is. I, on the other hand, have a choice and my choice has been to remain were I am and roast in the heat. The swirling alcohol in my blood has robbed me of any rational thought and I struggle to see past the dense alcoholic mist as I try hard to focus on the dilapidated KFC building opposite me. No sane person would want to be in this hell hole, not with a clear mind....
My head remains buried between my knees. I am hoping that soon I'll be hearing the sound of an approaching car and for once, it won't be the police. Ordinary civilian cars have all but vanished from what was once a bustling, lively city. Main Street, once the city's main artery, is dead: it's quiet- devoid, of the sounds of rumbling engines, yelping school kids or even the odd stray dog. Before, the air would have been filled with a cacophony of maids swapping gossip and suspiciously looking market traders haranguing people so they could unload their wares. Though I hated them, I yearn for the days of the false promises. "Good quality sir," they'd lie "yes, very good price- only $90." 90 fucking dollars- good God, my brain doesn't have enough oomph to stimulate laugh. 90 fucking dollars Now.. Those were the days.
Gone are the rich smells of diesel, burnt petrol, warm freshly baked bread wafting from TM and the smell of fermented berries, sold in little carts by voluptuous women with cheeky twinkles in their eyes.
There rich textures of the nation have all but disappeared into one giant tapestry, heavily embroidered in tight knots of death, distraction hunger and fear. What was once good about this city and indeed the country has been vaporised and the overwhelming vacuum that remained has been filled by sorrow, punctured and penetrated at every opportunity by the punishing sun.
The sun smites; it pounds like the great piston on a steam locomotive, relentlessly driving deep into my brain. Before, I'd have shielded myself under a canopy from one of the shops, but those have gone too. Shops remain closed, their naked shelves, laid bare for all to see. There is no rush for them to open. What rush could there be? There is nothing to sell.
My hand runs through my unkempt, kinky hair, unloading rafts of yellow dandruff on my shirt. I haven't been home in weeks and I smell like shit. It's cheaper for me to remain in the city and shine shoes or guard cars than it is to go back to my family. My kids are worried sick; they tell me each time I drum up enough money to return home. But what can I do, I have to work. And Brenda my wife, bless her- mum by day and madam by night. My sweet, sweet Brenda, life is so cruel.
Thoughts of her beaming smile and her infectious laugh swell my mind. But in between these are other thoughts, of her moaning as she is used and abused by those with much more of everything than i'll ever have.
These thoughts are not so gentle and their vivid imagery sends me over the top. I have had enough. Enough i say! A demonic surge of energy erupts from me and the chains of restraint that had me bound like Legion are shattered. An incomprehensible rage takes over. I cannot take it anymore. I twist and bash my head hard on the parking meter, hard enough for it to vibrate under the sheer force of me forehead. "Yeah that's it," I shout, into the air, pulling my ears till the skin on my temples begins to crackle.
"Aghhhhh" rages Legion. I lunge at the meter once more strangling the metal, trying to bend it to my will. Its un malleable, resistant like dried blood on a guillotine. It stays there mocking and tormenting me, like everything else, in this damned country. Where is our saviour to cast these demons away?
My body crumbles onto the kerb and I writhe like a severed millipede.
"Why," I ask the reflection in the window pane. "Why," I repeat, as my hand falls back onto the hot indestructible concrete.
I'm not alone in this madness. Either side of me are equally dirty, smelly men and women each with their own personal pain. They check and re-check the streets for cars, hoping that 'Mr Big' comes to lunch. And when he does, they will climb over each other to shine his shoes, wash his car, carry his bag or suck his dick. They'll do whatever it takes to earn a few million.
Usually he turns up in his dirty big Mercedes Benz and parks 20 or so meters away, purposely neglecting parking spaces closer to his destination. You can tell that he has arrived by the attention seeking, revving of his car, followed by the unnecessarily loud bang of his car door as it closes. He'll then top it of by the beep beep- I am better than you-sound of his immobiliser. And by this time we'll all be crowded round his car, salivating like hungry hyenas, begging to do him favours. You can see he relishes the attention by the smirk on his smug face. He might suddenly make a call on his cell phone and query his over sea's accounts and if that's not enough, a quick flick of his Rolex, will catch the light at just the right angle to burn your retina.
You will instinctively turn away from this creature-this bastard, hating everything about him. The brash, self loving, pomposity is nauseating and under normal circumstances, you wouldn't stand for this shit. But you stay exactly where you are, with your burning eyes. Your wagging tongue is stuck out, dying to lick his shoes on cue.
You'll obediently guard his car until he returns. He'll chuck 200m bearer cheques at your face and you will scurry around to pick as many of the notes as possible, before they are blown away or stolen by someone else. After collection, you will turn around, smile and say "very good, 'buss', come again tomorrow." He will rev his engine and speed off without saying thank you and tomorrow you shall be waiting once more for him.
It's enough to make you sick...
i pull my bruised, battered self from the pavement, holding on to the meter for leverage and support. From a distance, a tiny speck is made visible.. the three pronged Mercedes badge is unmistakable. My hopes are suddenly lifted, my saviour has come. I bolt up ready to flag him down when he gets closer. But just as he nears me, he turns into 12th Avenue and the next thing I hear is the screeching sound of his brakes and the ever familiar patronizing beep peep -come and get your money- sound. I 'm sprinting before I know it, trying to outrun everyone else that's heading the same way. Mr Big is here and it's a race to see who can suck him off first. I am not prepared to lose and I use every joule of energy within me to claim the prize. The crowd is in hot pursuit and they aren't going to give up either... fuck no.
I reach the junction between Main and 12th Avenue and expertly lean in, to take the corner. My feet are red hot and bleeding where my little tore snagged the concrete pavement. Within seconds, I have stopped, my hopes have been dashed. I hobble a bit, bug-eyed, in utter disbelief, as the car speeds off.
We all stop. All around are gasps of astonishment at such impertinence. The crowd collectively exhales and disperses, resigned in their sorrow. They shuffle back to resume their rightful place, within the nations tapestry of doom.
I'm left on my own watching my blood seep into the pavement. My body glistens with sweat and tears stream down my face. Try as i may, I too, cannot shake away the twisted strands.
+++++++
A great man in a foreign land once said "I have nothing more to offer but blood, sweat and tears,"
Well I'm on my knees...Zimbabwe. What more is there to give? Shall I raise my palms and surrender?
User Reviews
Submitted by spyder882001 (user info) at 2008-04-26 23:37:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
very nice
Submitted by Orgasmatron (user info) at 2008-04-23 10:09:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You don't really see a lot of stories these days that celebrate the coccyx.
Submitted by HotWillie (user info) at 2008-04-21 13:43:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Crystle (user info) at 2008-04-21 13:13:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by monkeyswithguns (user info) at 2008-04-21 12:05:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by AsshOly (user info) at 2008-04-21 10:26:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
i dont have time to read all of this. but the fact that you wrote it, i respect that. keep on posting, hero.
i wonder if phillip k dick ever heard any good gay jokes when he was in elementary school.
Submitted by jigglypuff (user info) at 2008-04-21 08:07:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I liked most of this. Although, it was a bit over described, making it easy to get lost/confused. Not an easy read, but easily fixed.
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2008-04-21 07:57:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't get the comment below.
I really like this.
Submitted by Titus (user info) at 2008-04-21 07:34:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Philip K. Dick was a pretty interesting author.