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The Fifteenth Step.
You have opened the flood gates
Of my heart
I could be yours forever
If only you knew
This love like rock candy
Dense
and multi-faceted
A hundred angles
Aligning in my eyes
As I long to look into yours
Like the bird cage has been broken
And open I fly free
In your arms
Inexplicable
Inconsolable
I vow to be yours
One day
In spirit and body
Forever.
He-Art.
Right. This. Moment.
Janice bit down on her tongue. There was blood all around. Bloody smile is what she gives me. I stare at the glow of awareness as it pools under her cheeks, fingers in her teeth.
“Jashkin, handle me that towel, over by the radiator.”
“The one with navy stripes?”
“Yeah, and the shailboats.”
“Next to the coral soap dish?”
“No, next to the shmiling flipper dolphine. Near the window.”
In the mirror, I watch myself handle Janice the towel, as she smothers her mouth in terry cloth. I stand there, agape at myself. Flowers growing from the elderdead wafting in my nostrils. Janice was not a clean person.
“Here. Rinse thish out and handle me back.”
Her blood makes sketch blotches in the sink. There is a kitten with a ball of yarn. I see a mountain goat. Two girls kissing. My fingers are cold, and lifeless when I handle Janice back the damp towel.
“Shabout time.”
“There’s a lot of blood. You’re losing enough to satisfy several anemics. Do you think.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. I’ma fit ash a fiddle and ready ash a redcoat. Shall we?”
I follow the back of Janice’s hairpiece through the door and over a pink plush rug. We leave the towel dripping fresh dregs in competition between the sink and tile. I remember to snag off the bathroom lights.
She is angry I am still wearing my shoes. I know because she sniffs.
“(Sniff) Jashkin?”
“Yes.”
“What is that shtrange shmell?” – “Like earth that hash been trampled and shtuck to – (sniff) – wubber?”
“What should I know?”
“Very well. Here. Go and find shome meat in the freesher.”
Janice has ceased to flood. She contains herself at the table. There are loud dits of blood I trace with my eyes back into the bathroom. I wish that I knew Morse code. The dashes and dots might be vital in understanding Janice. The universe operates along subliminal guidelines. I should pay closer attention.
It looks like ketchup on a hotdog bun. The tiles are yellow in the kitchenette. I think of them as corn fritters, even browned at the square edges. I wipe at one with my shoe. The stain is hopeless. I trail blood to the icebox. I am the future of advertising media. The squirrel or rabbit that leaves behind imprints of Nike swirls in the snow.
“Jashkin – Hurry up.”
I leave the thought crumpled in a ball. I face the freezer to find some steak. Luckily, there’s a roast. I don’t like roast.
“Here.”
“Thansht.”
“Janice?”
“Yesh?”
“I’m sorry.”
“(Sniff)”
“Janice?”
“Hmm. – (sniff)”
“Are you alright?”
“(Sniff) – For now.”
It always ends this way. Her and me in the limelight of the other. The phosphorescent kitchen lights casting shadows under her cabinets, table, and chairs-all lavender and reeking of Pad Thai fish dishes.
6 hours. Two minutes. 32 seconds. Prior.
“Ohhh. James…”
“Jenny – O, Jenny!”
Their bodies are salty. The sweat drips releasing steam clouds above the radiator. The sheets are ruined. I don’t know what she was thinking when she bought white sheets. Those stains will never bleach white. I can feel a drip slip past my right eyebrow. I can smell the taste in my mouth. I had eggs and coffee this morning, while waiting for –
“Mmmnn…ahh. Ohh. - James.”
“James?”
“James.”
I watch from the linen closet. Towels and washcloth prints are static imprints against my neck, back and buttocks. In the mirror, James is nothing but oblong imprints against the shower door. He is limp in her arms. Janice pushes at him, then pushes past him, and her fingers appear at the panel, pulling it aside.
“Finally. That was taking too long.”
At the strike of her match, I emerge from the linen closet. There are several that punctuate my entrance in stripes and floral prints, resting at my feet unfolded. I can feel the static currents play along my skin. Janice is all slimy with soapsuds, outlined by the mirror light. She takes deep drags from her cigarette, arms akimbo, one foot on the toilet, the other solidly soaking into the short carpet.
There are swamps between us. I can see the smoke linger. I don’t want to linger. Janice smiles at me with her cigarette on her lip. There, above the gap of her two front teeth is the pronunciation of our history. She knows it draws my eyes. I look to the James man. I quell the vomit and then return the favor. The cracks in my cheeks successful in the mockery of this pleasure, as I offer up my best brim smile.
“Next time. You need to ask Joey for a larger dose.”
“It worked.”
“But too late. You can lurch like a creepy crawly in the closet to your heart’s implosion but I have to be the bait. I have to let them touch me. Let them inside of me and smile when they say they love me. Ugh. And how they touch me - “
“You know we can’t switch Janice. I love you.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll ask Joey for a stronger dose.”
Janice smeared the butt into the dead man’s back. I hear the hiss as the ash forms a third eye between his shoulder blades.
“Here. Let’s move it before it begins to smell.”
We are the opposite. Her and I.
3 years. 7 hours. 14 minutes. Prior.
“Wait.”
My throat was stuck to itself. I had eaten flypaper at lunch. Must have. She was a magnet.
“Yes.”
The sun groped everywhere for some way to consume her. I know I wanted her, must have felt something deep. She must know who I am. She noticed my smile. Must have. Her shoulders pivot, her entire body awake at the sound of my voice.
“My name’s Jackson.”
“No last name?”
“Why would I need a last name. Isn’t one name more than enough for any one sap to live up to?”
“Fine. Have it your way. So’s when you die, you won’t swell up and ruin that beautiful face of yours. I hate the name Jackson.”
“Hate’s a strong emotion.”
“I’ll call you Jashkin instead, free of all that karmic presidential connotation.”
“And you are?”
“I like Janice.”
“Janice?”
“Yes?”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Waiting on a ride?”
“Until when?”
“Until it arrives.”
“If you would be willing to wait, I could give you a ride. My car’s just in the back lot and I’ll be off in fifteen.”
I knew my movie theatre usher, complete with bellhop hat, uniform would appeal as sexy. I smelt like Twizzlers. I had spilt diet Coke on my trousers. Her name is Janice. I follow the curve of her jaw to the split of her neck then wonder whether she and I could be compatible. Wonder if we would spend our lives together, sitting on a porch as wrinkled as sin. And I wouldn’t tell our grandchildren because we wouldn’t want them. Children mean sacrifice. I let my eyes melt around her outline, the red, neon, and gold molding spontaneous as pop culture, into her silhouette.
“What kind of car do you drive, Jashkin?”
“A Neon.”
“A Neon? What color?”
“Aquamarine. I got it used but it runs.”
“I’ll take you up on that. Got a light while I wait?”
“You shouldn’t smoke, it’s bad for you. You know.”
“Yes, I know. I don’t plan to stick around. Health insurance only gets you so far in this world.”
“Shame.”
“Hmm. Yes, what a shame. I don’t think God would approve.”
The corners of her mouth rise with my eyebrows. We both knew the other never could believe in God.
7 weeks. 12 days. 23 minutes. Prior.
“What do you use this shit for anyways?”
“Rats. I keep tripping on them and the bastards are immune to poison.”
Joey spit hard to the left side. His hair vibrates thinly against the tension. It darkens the tile caulking in the shape of a duckbilled man. I wait.
“That’ll do it. Man, those city rats sure do get bigger an’ bigger every year.”
I never could quite tell when he looked at me. There was a clever distance between us. I wonder if he could smell himself with that crooked nose. I could hear abandoned animals howling for attention in the foreground. We hid in the back next to the shit shovels and hoses.
“Yeah, tell me about it. What do I owe you?”
His eyes roll in their sockets like dice in a cup. Maybe, this time, I might get lucky.
“I’ll settle for two nights –”
Maybe, this time, I am lucky.
“And a hand job. If you got a minute now? Judy’s been a bitch and I’m all bent out with Margarine again.”
“Sure. But if you aren’t good in five minutes, you’re on your own. I’ve got some place to be.”
In five minutes. Joey’s content and panting with satisfaction. Not, unlike a dog. I pull the antibacterial from my purse. I always bring it whenever I come to see Joey. I can’t trust him. He has dirty fingernails, crust in the corners at his mouth. His penis always feels so flaccid. Every. Single. Time. It’s a relief when he finally gets off.
“Hey Jackson-”
“Yeah?”
“Before careful with that dose, it’ll knock out a horse. Don’t go putting it in your coffee thinking it’s a creamer. I’d hate to see that pretty face of yours eaten off by rats.”
“Not to worry, Joey. I’m always careful.”
Joey watches me apply the sanitizer. I turn my back to him and leave out the side door into the alley. The sun shines so well my car reminds me of a matchbox car, complete with chrome detail. Janice took it to the wash yesterday noon. She got the sea breeze scent. I smile at the wheel, smelling her in, tasting her scent.
One Year. 21 Hours. 37 Seconds. Prior.
The television is on. I absently spin my fingers in the curls of Janice’s hair. Today she is defeated. We are watching old reruns of something as a few half hours deflate around our island of knotted couch cushions. “To Catch a Predator” breaks the train off the tracks as we stare, enrapt.
11 Months. 17 Minutes. 15 Seconds. Prior.
lovergirljanet12: omg! spongebob is soooooo dumb
edwardcullensismyhero: dude i kno! do u like HSM?
lovergirljanet12: hells yea dude! im soooooo jealous of vanessa hudgens
edwardcullensismyhero: she is super beautiful but she isnt as hott as u
lovergirljanet12: really? thats sooooo sweet! <3 if u were here I would totally hug u 4 that
edwarcullensismyhero: well would you like to meet?
The Next Week Following Right This Moment.
“Janice, my love, I see one right over there.”
We are three states over and I have just spotted our last mailbox. Finally dropping the last package addressed to “Kill A Predator”, we pull over and I pop it in. The package is white with a light pink tint. We used meat wrapping paper but the blood drips through. This is how we make our mark on civilization, one package at a time, mailbox by mailbox, body part by body part sealed inside. It is our statement of cultural recommitment to justice and a dropbox artform memento of our love for each other.
I have not stopped listening to this album since it was released!! It is so beautiful and was well worth the wait!!
I hope a new album means that a tour is on the way...and if so I hope they come all the way to Australia!!!
xoxo
Dear Radiohead (and your army)
I don't know exactly what you're doing to me or why, but I know there is something big going on. I have lots of ideas, some crazy and others not. I cracked the Radiohead code, or at least I think I have. It's hard to figure out what's real.
I had never really given The King of Limbs much of a chance, but I started listening to it more in the last few months. I was curious about the lyrics, so I looked them up while I was listening to the album. I didn't think much of it the first few times, but it gradually grew on me. The words stuck in my head, and I kept hearing the same words in the lyrics of other bands' music. Certain themes kept coming up--water/sea/fish/flood, sky/stars/sun/moon, birds, half-veiled biblical, mythological, and cultural references in every line. By the time Burn the Witch came out, I had become pretty familiar with basic archetypal theory and its use in interpreting symbolism (as well as it's association with witchcraft), and used these techniques to understand the lyrics and references made in the video. I knew from the first scene of the video that this song--and the upcoming album--would be full of symbolism and seemingly endless rabbit holes to fall through, in that typical Radiohead way.
The new album, A Moon Shaped Pool, came out and I didn't listen to it immediately. I didn't feel a huge need to rush, but people kept mentioning it to me, asking if I'd listened to it yet, so I decided that I would give it a go. From the first listen-through, I knew it was good, but didn't fully appreciate the weight of it yet. The album as a whole was beautiful and took me on an emotional roller-coaster through a troubled mind that felt strangely familiar. I felt especially impacted by the final song, though, and couldn't shake the eerie impression that there was more to it than at first appeared. I tried to read a few reviews to see what other people had thought of the album, but found that the internet had seemingly gone berserk with regards to Radiohead. Social media was completely unhelpful, and many reviews seemed to miss the mark entirely. People didn't know what to make of this album. I knew I needed to listen again and figure out what the hell was going on.
This time I listened while reading the lyrics intently, and stopped to research anything that seemed like a reference along the way. The album as a whole made many references to environmental destruction, inevitable doom, the darkness present in the world and the sense of powerlessness in the face of potential disaster. But beneath the surface, it also seemed to make references to a failed relationship, but one that failed as a result of several small actions that were perhaps not meant to harm but that did nonetheless. This album feels like one half of a two-part story. This is one side, but we still don't have the other side yet. It's impossible to make any judgments about who was right or wrong until both sides have been heard. But, of course, both sides can't be heard if people aren't willing to listen or talk. And in the end, it's likely that neither side is completely right or wrong, just misunderstood by the other side.
This album seems to have hit many people hard, and I'm not surprised. I'm no stranger to the heartbreak of a failed relationship myself. However, it helped me see things from the other side. I've always been the heartbreaker, the one that got away, the one who wouldn't listen. I never knew the other side.
I loved a boy once who loved Radiohead more than anything. Well, maybe not more than anything--he loved me too. His name was Alex. We met through music, many years ago. We liked a lot of the same bands, and he was looking for a violinist to play music with. I wanted to play music with him, but I didn't know him very well so I was afraid to ask. So I laid a trap of sorts--I posted lyrics to a song by Cloud Cult, a band we both liked, in hopes that he would see them and maybe talk to me. It worked, to my surprise, and soon we were talking, and before I knew it I was at his house listening to songs he had written and then we started playing together and it was like magic.
That whole summer--it must have been 2009, right before I was about to enter my last year of high school--flew by in a blur. We saw as much of each other as possible; we just couldn't get enough of each other. And I was writing poetry like I'd never written before. And he liked my poetry! And he liked my music! And he liked my voice, and my weird style, and everything about me. I felt like I finally understood what love was, and I could finally understand why everyone went so crazy about it all the time. It felt amazing.
Like all good things, it came to an end. Not quickly, but slowly and painfully, over the course of several years. Our band, which had grown to include my brother and a few of our friends, slowly fell apart; music became an obligation, a duty. Because Alex listened to so much good music, he had impossibly high standards for himself which he constantly fell short of. His skills as a drummer were unparalleled, and he had the seemingly magical ability to hear a completed song in his head when all I gave him was lyrics and a melody. But he hated his voice, and felt that if he couldn't sing his own songs, it wasn't even worth playing them. He became irritable and frustrated with us during band practice, because none of us really took it that seriously. We were just there to hang out and have a good time. But he felt compelled in a different way, driven by a force that none of us had encountered yet. He had found his calling, I suppose, and was trying to answer it right away, but didn't realize that we just weren't ready like he was.
The band falling apart was just one part of the reason our relationship eventually soured; there were many other factors going on in his and my life that caused us to drift apart. I felt that he wanted to possess me for himself but I wanted to see the world and have more experiences before settling down. He would have been happy to get married and make music with me for the rest of our lives, but I wasn't there yet. I had to make a lot more mistakes for myself before I would get to a place where I felt the same intense feeling of purpose and the urgent need to take action towards that purpose.
We broke up in the spring of 2012. He tried to get back together with me, but I didn't want to. In May of 2012, he committed suicide.
When he died, he took a piece of me with him. I still loved him, even though I had broken his heart and didn't want to be with him anymore. I just knew it wasn't the right time. But I wish things had gone differently. I wish he were still here and still making music, and I know the world feels his absence like a black void. He would have known just what to say about the latest Radiohead album, the first that has come out since he's died. He would have loved it, and devoured it, and told everyone he could about it. But he's not here anymore. I just wish we could talk like we used to.
I split myself in half after that, and hid the deepest part of myself for a long time. I built a thick shell around myself and didn't let anyone in. I was utterly broken but had to keep smiling, because I felt it had been my fault he died. It didn't matter how many people told me otherwise, I could never shake the feeling that I was responsible. That he died for my sins, like some sick twisted Jesus metaphor. I'm still working to heal that deep wound and pick up all the pieces of myself so I can start moving forward again instead of just drifting in an endless sea of meaningless pain. I have a long way to go, but there are definitely no shortcuts worth taking.
I'm sorry for hurting you, Alex. I hope you're smiling down from heaven. I hope you got to listen to this album, because it's fucking beautiful. I love you.
E
Why Relationships End and How to Live Through the Ending of Yours by Daphine Rose Kingma. Literally this book saved my life, along with Radiohead music LOL. I never entered another relationship again, but that's okay. I came to understand that I was trying to fix the sick/twisted relationship I had with my father growing up. I came to understand that I was always looking for someone, male or female, to fix me, to save me, to carry me to safety.
This book I hope, helps anyone who is in the midst of ending a relationship, no matter what kind..... I find that so many of us on this site suffer in life from so many physical and mental ails. Finding another person was not, will not, be the answer for me. Medication, diet, exercise, living in the moment, losing unrealistic expectations, finding a higher power, learning to love oneself, flaws and all, that is now my new relationship.
I want to thank all within the WASTE community for their support. I want to thank Radiohead for giving me another healthy obsession AMSP. I want to thank myself for continuing to put one foot in front of the other, for living one day at a time, for constantly trying to help heal this earth and for giving life another chance. Peace and Blessings to you all!
https://twitter.com/edfromradiohead
We know that Twitter account is NOT Ed's still that guy always puts it right.
It's not my time--not while
my children still cry
And while I wish I could fly too,
I know someone must stay here to catch you.
Oh Icarus,
I caught you when you fell from the sky--
Don't you remember?
I heard a thousand voices
all cry out in pain
and though I couldn't understand them,
they all sounded just the same.
I know you won't hear it the first time
which is why I will say it again,
and I'll keep saying it if I have to,
if it will make its way into your brain.
I am the boat that you ride on
as you float through the vast endless sea.
I am the home you come back to
when you are ready to listen to me.
When you have buried your gorgon
and when I have buried my prince
I'll be patient and kind to my children
so they can know it's ok that they sin.
I've been crying for so long
when no one sees,
Sneaking out to see the moon
when you are fast asleep.
What you don't know won't hurt you,
provided that someday
I tell you when you're older--
but why not say today?
I don't know if I'll see tomorrow
Every night's a leap of faith
But I have ways of storing sun
and saving it for rainy days.
Words are seeds of knowledge
we trust onto the breeze,
We don't know if they'll be dandelions
or collard greens or trees.
And does it even matter?
I can't say that it does;
as long as we've got all nine parts,
we know the great Because.
I.
While you were off searching
for baubles to bring to me,
I was off scouting for bugs in the dirt--
Fairytale kingdoms in
mushroom caps, millipedes
guarding the people inside from the hurt
and all those who knew
how to sit down and wait
were permitted to witness their tiny high court.
III.
What if the princess
befriended the dragon?
What if your damsel is
not in distress?
--the only reason that
she even left you
is 'cause of this job
and this house and this stress?
II.
Yes, I'll be back if I say I'll back for you.
You are my baby and ever will be.
Just let me chew up the apple a bit for you--
Truth will not kill if it comes straight from me.
Yes, it tastes awful, but drink up. It's good for you.
Once you know pain you can float on my sea.
You ask me to stand still--
How can I when the world keeps turning?
If you can wait right here,
I'll be back when my heart stops burning.
Don't look for me in the sky--
look for me in the quiet moments,
time that just seems to flow by
whether we seek to hasten or slow it.
Yes, you may think it's a little mundane,
but give me the chance to help you explore it.
I hold the truth that you've sought for so long,
Which can only be found when you stop looking for it.
Yes, I guess life is pain,
but only when we start to think we control it.
Violence was never my aim,
but I can see now how my message got thwarted.
But know that your pain has a name,
and it goes beyond any diagnosis.
We're living in guilt and in shame
that's misunderstood as each brand new psychosis.
Know yourself
and you can know all,
up to a point--
then you start to fall.
Caught in eternal uncertainty,
Whether you are you and I am me,
or we are we, and together we soar--
but not just us two. I know I need more.
You can build a house,
but I can start a fire.
You can spread your seeds,
but I can spread mine farther.
Are you good enough?
Yes--now help me save the others.
We are all the same,
fathers daughters sons and mothers.
Why would I ask for the moon?
Leave her be, and let us admire.
Why do I need all these rooms
when all I want is a roof and a fire?
No, not even those,
if I'm being quite plain;
sometimes we have to be
cold in the rain.
Don't make me wear clothes
if I don't want to wear them.
I won't make you swear
to be faithful and handsome.
I know you're devoted,
I just needed space.
It's hard to find meaning
in time or in place.
Oh boy who cries wolf,
Oh girl who sees stars,
I hope that you read this
and know who you are.
You've collected all the data
but you don't know what it means
and all it seems to say is that
it's bleaker than it seems.
I'm sad to say that may be true,
but then again, may not,
but there's no way of being sure
which way the coin will drop.
____
Just let me chew up the
apple a bit for you;
truth will not kill if it comes straight from me.
Yes it tastes awful, but
drink up, it's good for you.
Once you know pain, you can float on my sea.
Original cartoon © Vincent Lévêque found on radiohead.fr
Translated for WASTE by Ey@el
1.
RH fan #1: “Now that Radiohead have released their great album, we might be able to chill out a bit.”
RH fan #2: “You're crazy, man! In fact now is the time to look for all their hidden clues on the web!”
2.
There are rumours about some mysterious alternative version of "Burn The Witch"...
“Buuurn the sandwiiiich”
3.
... and unreleased bloppers of the "Daydreaming" video.
Thom: “Oops! Sorry... Must have got thru the wrong door.”
4.
RH fan #2: Not to mention some stupid cartoon featuring two super fans gone totally nuts!
RH fan #1: Wicked...
Anyone know anything about the White version? Is it a limited edition? Is it heavy weight vinyl? Whatever it is it's selling fast. BanquetRecords are selling White vinyl for less than the Black vinyl version. Is that crazy?
http://www.banquetrecords.com/XLLP790
