jack chap one

[Axanderdeath]

Jack is puking in my bathroom. I try to read-oh poor Jack, therls a nice breeze of cool air pushing the blinds. Fuck jack. I met him years ago on the streets in montreal. Yeah I was on the streets it was a temporary thing for me, and jack thought it was for him too.... I got into school. Jakc and his unedited mad short stories were found with oiuut from or and thing resembeling good, poor jack. He coukld of edited though. Fuck jack. My aprtment is a two bedroom. My income is high, I work at a telemarketing firm, which is decent work. Creatve capitalism. My girl left her blender on the kitchen table. I throw some watermelon and ice in it. The blender white noises the puke sounds. Te bathroom door opens and unshaven smelly Jack waqlks out looking down at his rain soacked shoes. His clothing is covered with that cheese you get at 7 11. his hair is dark and sweaty and hides under his dark zip down hoody. “Jack drink this.” I hand him the water melon and ice... Jack drinks it down siting on the couch under the window. He closes his eyes and he breaths deeply. His hang overs adeppressing for everyone around him. I am the only friend he's got now. I take care of him. I call my girlfriend and tell her that Jack is staying over. She says that she is going to stay over at a friends for the night. “jack I am going to get a six pack, we can split it.” Jack is looking through my DVDs. “you mind if I watch this video?” Jack holds up “requiem for a dream.”-he seems in a much better spirits snice I mentiooned the beer. I tell him to wait to start it till I get back. XXX On the way to the store I think aout Jack... I knew he was hiding something... this is a story he told me one of the first times I ran into him over the sumer this year in Vancouver. Jack had sliped down two ativans with mc-d's coffee. 'He di not get it” He said. He was “unrespected” by a hirl he adored, Poor jack. He had called her drunk 5 times. Fuck jack. “fuck it” jack said. He sat in reflextion “I could of done this, I should of....” He paused “well ya drank two bottle s of wine and called her and called her.” I said. The girl Jack tokls me would only l;et him get out a couple of words and then would hang up on him. “why would of it been different this time?” Jack asked. I said nothing. Jack reralized now that men that “did get it” had no personalities and were much better looking. The girl had told jack that “he did not get it” I don't think I agree with Jacks accessment of the “geting” thing. That nioght he received a very long bitchy email and rightly so. He got drunk in his crapp flop house room and caught s sky train to commercial drive where he got off and walked to some steps and tried to sell poetry that he had wrote speicial for the occasion on ripped up brown liquer bags. He shoved the poems in old empty wine bottles and made a sign that read. “suprt you local starving artist.” He made 10 dollars in 20 min. he told me although I think he was embellishing. MOST OF THE PEOPLE THAT GAVE jACK MONEY WERE CALLAGE STUDENT GIVING AWAY their bus fare. An aquantasnce of Jack from back in halifax rolled by on a long board and stoped long enough to tell jack about a punk show at the coblat. Jack left the bottle and poems there on the street and caught a skytrain to main street and walked over to the cobalt from there. Jack knew noone there. He was told that DROCK was in the show, drock being a charictor from both of our pasts, a guy who use to wealk arouind halifax with a duffel bag full of hardcore tapes baklsting a ghetto blaster and drinking goldenglow (a cider with a percentage of 15-20 now of the market that was made in touro NS.) Jack walked around and looked for familular faces and pouring un attended beer in to his empty bottle. “jack!” A familur face was staring at jack and jack stared back. “we're all going to drocks!” “can I come?” Sasid Jack. Thye familular face reluctantly agreed. Jack was expecting a party. A big drinking party but all he found was DROCK siting in a bathrobe on his com,puter listening to BAD BRAINs Jack asked for a beer, none oif them were ofereihngf him a beer. DROCK gave him one. Jack started to talk anout the girl that the girlfriend of drock knew quite well. Jack showed DROCK a short story he had posted on his FACEBOOK: RENT A CAR DRUnK It's 11:29 at the free computers in Vancouver's main public library I have 2 hours to write and edit this. It starts in a homeless shelter which I have just left for a shady hotel on Granville called vogue, which it is anything but. I want to be a writer. I have posted all my writing on facebook. I was sitting on the computer at the homeless shelter listening to the “clients” of the shelter bitching about the staff not bringing food and towels quickly enough. I was on wikipedia randomly searching for “70' 80's punk rock newyork art scene stuff” jim jarmusch shows up, richard hell shows up, andy warhol shows up, tom waits shows up, kerouac shows up, gay stuff shows up.... I decide that I will send out friend requests randomly to people on facebook that are on fan sites of these wikipedia ramdom searches. I get random readers. They all like my shit.... I take the skytrain down to main street science world with out paying the fare. I walk through the demonously hot sun to my work. I tray chicken wings for 4 hours. I think about how I feel like I am about to break through... I get home and my brain damaged room mate at the shelter yahmers on about how many ciggaret butts he found at the surry hospital. I tell him that is great. He tells me he stole my pillow because he thought I was not coming back. I tell him thats okay, but he can keep it, that I do not want it back. Sadly I look forwards to the face book responses on the internet and when 9 o'clock come around in the morning and the “clients are aloud to use the computer again I get on. I have about 5 inbox messages. Ones from a girl wanting to know how I tracked her down. How she knows me from halifax and that did I search petmis or something, she says she read my wrting and liked it. I write back that it was completely random and that we should do something if she is in town. She writes back sure. Monday at the library we can meet. After that I hop the skytrain and sit around in the library and read a bukowski novel and watch a homless man eat a bag of candy. I go out side of the library and take in the sun as I try to bum a smoke. I watch a obesse man yell at japanesse tourist that do not seem to understand his brand of huffy puff out of breath fat man talk. I finally bum a smoke and sit and write it all down in a note book that I stole from chapters—a moleskin i love the paper in them.... I go to work I tray chicken wings. I sit at the computer and search my own name on google. I do houseing searches on craigs list. I put out an add on craigs list. “I am a writer looking for a publisher” I get several responses from writers interested in what my writing is like. I send them my unpublished novel. I I I-- my ego is inflating. I am becoming facebook famouse. The day comes when I am supposed to meet the girl. I am off work that night. The “clients” are alll talking about how the staff does nothing and that they get paid for nothing. I tell them we are getting a place to stay and food for free and they should be thankful. They inform me that they are NOT complaining.... i meet the girl at the library. She was there getting books on learning spanish because she is going down to mexico to teach english. That is somewhat funny to me. I try not to smile when I laugh and expose my two missing front teeth. “you must read alot. I can tell by your writing.” she says. She has red hair with a blond streak. She is beatiful. I remember here vaugly from halifax. like Fractured frames in a film, or broken mirror images. Black outs slowly reforming in a fog. “yeah” she takes out her leapard skin print bag and opens it and produces a copy of “fear and loathing las vagas” she looks to see what printing it is. it is not a 1st. “I also have a copy of playboy we can look at. An old one. There is an article about hunter in it. I like it lots.” she pronounces lots “lats”-- “lats eh?” I say feeling like a hockey player straining for conversational skills. “yeah.” “you want to get some jiuce.” “have a car. A rental car.” “cool” “we can take a drive. Brown bag it in a park somewhere.” “comercial drive?” “sounds good.” We drive up a street and are astunded by the illegality of left turns from 9 am to 3 pm in vancouver. We listen to tom waits—the theme song for down by law comes on. She coments on this. We talk lamely about jim jarmusch and all our favorite directors. I talk lamely at least not having very much knowlegde aside from knowing what I like. I can't help but wonder whats going through this girls head. Perhaps it is foolish that I was thinking that she thought I was some kind of genius on that brink, perhaps I have a huge ego, perhaps, and I think likely, but that is what I thought. After illlegaly turning left and getting to comercial we go to a bar and she buys us pictchers of beer. There is a poster of hank III on the wall. It is dark. I remember going to this bar one time after hanging out at wreck beach all day and getting a drive back with some hippy people that liked me because I played git and sang songs in the vain of “jim morrison” in there ears atleast. I met a writer girl there that I instantly knew was a writer because she was holding a molskin—her boyfriend and her talked to me. I wrote a poem in her note book for them—we had been planing to go to another bar but then it was off because my poem was too dark.---anyway that has nothing to do with this really... we sit there me and this girl and read playboy. We are both to tipsy to really read so we just read the comics, half of which I did not get the other half that were not funny—one was funny... one. We left the bar and I suggested we get some cider and drink in the back of the car so we could listen to music. This is where it all gets stupid. I start getting to drunk. “you think I am atractive right.” I say touching her leg. “you are okay. Stop getting mushy on me.” she says. “sorry. Put on some velvet underground!” I say and she does and I turn it up extremly loud. “shiney boots of leather.” I tell her I like the violin cherp in it.... I go for a piss and start talking to some black guys on the grass. I black out around here.... I found out later we went to a poetry reading. The girl and the black guys and I. I just kept asking if the girl “found me atractive.” then I just started calling her a bitch. I know this cause I asked her what happend. I told her I was sorry about it. she wrotte that I was just calling her a bitch and then telling her she hated me. that I then left. later she said someone came in and said "there is some guy out side yelling at random people for no reason" an dthat was me she told me.... i slept in a bank keioske that night MORAL: beware of facebook fame Jack Dingle “Thats not cool man” said drock. :your should not of touched her leg but she should not just want to talk to you because you are a writer.” “drock you think I could publish any of this?” asked Jack clidishly. Jack whoth out a reply sat bvack. Dorock's girl asked how far he lived from their place. Jack did not know. She offfered Jack 20 bucks for a cab which he tyook. Jack did not get a cab buyt went to the park and tried to score some coke from some homie guys. They took his money and gave him one pill of ectasy. And then threatened him so Jack ran off. “When I got home I passed out masterbating to porn. When I came too the screen was snow.” Jack told me and IO wish he didn't. “Sounds like you really liked this girl.” I said. “you ever not act like an ass when you were around her?” I had to go to work at that point. That night. XXX I'm at the liquer store buying a six pack. This is all going through my head. Jacks sorted tale. I slip a pint of JD down my pants. I pull close my trench coat. I byt the six pac. I got back to my pace and there was jack sitting just where I left him. “Jack before we watch this movie can you tell me about this girl that you've been mooping abiout att this time.” I put to galasses with ice on the coffeee tablke and sit down in the lazy boy and then pour out two whiskeys. “jack!” said jack in a cool guy drawl. “jill, ah, well she was cool man. You know how I rem0-met her and all. “ah she was going to clearwater to work on some woofing farm and shewas coinmg in to van (she had been staying out in whiote rock) I took the night off work that night. I meet her at the bus statioin where she bought he ticket. She was like 3 hours late. I had waited for her the whole time. So we took a skytrain down to granville to look for a hostel that she could stay in “she could not get a room due to all the hostels not excepting BC id. We walked by my hotel I had just recentl;y got and she asked if she could stay with me and I reluctantly agreed. “I had this weird fate feeling in me you know?” “I know what your saying” I said and refilled our drinks. Jack says “It was fuckjing majic man. I nad no tv and she loved that. And she loved the shadyness of the hotel, said it had charictor. “I mover the bed around so we both could sit and look out of the window trhat loojked out on to the back alley, she had a funny sense of humor that she tried to tame with zen shit you know? “we just watched crack heads fighting. Some wild van couver chaictor was walking up and dpwn the alley in a tux and slanging some card accordian style.another guy we dubed Terry Crack Stachel was running some kind of a scam in the parking lot below—we did not need tv. “she had some salavador dali art book and we read that. He was a crazy fucker. I tried to put my arm around her but I did not because I did not want things to become akward for her. “dali is fucking crazy. We talked all night. At the end of the night when the sun was coming uop we were still chating and I suggested that she get some sleep. I stayed uop and woke her when it was time to go. And walk her through the surreal morning of crack heads and all night club goers when she got on the bus in that misty morning I said ' mis west goodboy.' “anyway after that when she was at the woofing farm we sent each other big long loving letter where she'd compare me to Keroac “the only man she'd ever love” and I would write her lame love poems. The one day out of the blue she came by and told me she was going to mexico. And I fliped out and got drunk and you know the rest.” Poor jack I thought. I don't know why I asked himn these things. “I am putting the movie on now” I say. We both crack a beer.

[judih]

oh, papa,
let my paragraph break

i'll drink coffee (a few hundred cups)and then i'll be back