ANIMIZE Magazine Volume 1 Issue 6 June 2016 - Page 17

Brady stood up out of his chair into a standstill – he thought about going to the bathroom but saw himself there,

alone and familiar, the runnels of his mind like skid-marked slides at a children’s playground and at the bottom

of each was the same dirty puddle from a rain that never stopped. He was a child once.

Brady at 26: This is my Friday evening (A).

Brady at 12: It was a Friday evening (B)...


His parents were away and entrusted him to the

neighbors, Luke took Brady to Dairy Queen in the

convertible, the hemp-chain, the key turning the

ignition like his mind turning the two Fridays (A/B)

into one, sitting folding in a chair (A), a car, going for

a DQ Blizzard (B), really bad Thai food for lunch in

Brooklyn (A), Disney villains, The Legend of Zelda

(B), cute guy centipedes, mid-forties roaches (?), back

to Brady sitting (A), Brady back then and little Brady

(C?), there was Luke, the dream of Brady's Brady and

Luke, plain Brady's Luke, even Brady's Brady swirling

into soft-serve as his parents, away, alone with Luke,

just the two of them, the smiling older men sitting now

forming a circle in his mind, every point a beginning to

a picture totaling out, its colors escorting on

a wheel of creation connecting like fingers on hands in

laps on folding chairs. 1


The car parks in a parking lot of a hotel off the highway, twelve year old Brady’s two legs talking, the

right not wanting, the left wanting Luke, as they make their way to the door.

Then, in an instant, like one at entering a room:

it wasn’t Luke, it was Luke and another, older guy, kissing Luke, now kiss him, tag-teaming, wait, the

dream Brady held in his heart-hand, with nowhere else to go, turned off and dragged into the corner of

a dead-bolted room and blinded, while his body remains on the bed, arms held, pretty boy wants it,

you want this, say it, you want it, I want it, yeah, get down, put, stick it out, there it is, like that, you like

it, I like it, you want it, I want it, keep it out, no, hold him, do what he says Brady, take it, open up. [....]

It is different than he needed once to remember and much the same, sitting as one among the other men in the

circle who are now telling Brady it’s okay, keep going, you’re safe, letting his mind unhook his mouth into lock-

jaw and gutter out the boy-white of a long-held Brady little, recounting in real-time the real-life of

Luke’s hug hold him down as a stranger in a backwards baseball hat fucks from behind his

twelve year old self in a Holiday Inn, pushing and revving, the smell of suntan lotion used as lube

mixing with spit and searing the lining of a rectum fissuring and bleeding,

screaming No No No.

1 Reference unknown.