Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Scatter shots
Friday, February 11, 2011
New poem
Apple Pop-Tarts in winter
The toaster didn’t know
it was the late 70’s
the blue jays have their own calendar
and mark the days by knocking snow off branches
children lust for Christmas
and snow days
they still have faith
in the cleanliness of ice
and in the warm, florescent green innards
of store bought pastry
Brian Moreau
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Giving up on a book
Monday, November 22, 2010
New poem
If the war is all you have
It was typical Wednesday business
down at the triage tent
they bled me ‘til I was stupid
then I ran for president
but I ended up a shepard
to a restless ewe and calf,
just another familiar dead end
if the war is all you have.
It was out there on the outskirts
of this hateful little town
they would roll the dice to decide
if I was a devil or a clown,
they’d ask me loaded questions,
I replied in the speech of bone
just another language picked up
if the war is all you’ve known.
I was the Pope of urban legends
more Vati-can’t than
all my enemies fit in one mirror
and when they said “stand still”, I ran
now all the guilty mascots
are driven off in a Mercedes-Benz
just driving on forever
if the war will have no end.
Brian Moreau
Saturday, October 2, 2010
A horror story I wrote
The Night Life
The new people moved into the old Bilkins house on Monday. Thursday night they threw their first party.
Adrian Draly noticed the noises coming from down the street at around
Must be a housewarming party, thought
He finished a few minutes before nine and decided to spend the next hour before bed watching a DVD of a recent British comedy a friend at work had given him. While he was watching it, he was dimly aware of the pulsing drumbeat in the background. At one point, the loud squeal of the woman he had heard earlier came through the open window of his bedroom and startled him. At twelve minutes after ten, he turned off the DVD and got ready for bed, hoping the party would wind up soon.
Three sleepless hours later, it still hadn’t.
Not knowing what else to do,
“Hey Hugo, this Adrian Draly out on
“Sure, I’ll go talk to them. The old Bilkins place, huh? All us kids in town were scared shitless of that place growing up.”
“Yeah well, I didn’t grow up around here, I moved here twelve years ago, still a newbie to a lot of people around here.”
Officer Timmons laughed. “Yeah, that’s pretty true. You get yourself some sleep
There was another party the next night.
It was a Friday night and
At
Saturday night came and with it another party.
“Oh come on! You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”,
“Fuck you, you whore,” he muttered under his breath.
At
“Hugo, it’s
Timmons was quiet for a few moments. “Uh, yeah…about that. I never made it out there.”
“Why the hell not?”
“You heard about the 7-11 that got held up that night? I was on my way out there when the call came in. All officers on duty had to respond. By the time everything was wrapped up it was almost
“Well could you please make it out there tonight and make them cut out the shit?”
“
“Hugo…I can’t have been the only person on this street to have complained about the noise.”
“Well, let me check…” There came the sound of rustling papers. This lasted for nearly a minute and a half. “No, there have been no other complaints from anyone on
“That can’t be!”
“Can’t but is buddy. So what’cha gonna do?”
“Good man! Now try to get some sleep.”
Timmons hung up, leaving
Sunday night was blissfully quiet, as were the next three nights.
By the middle of the week,
Well, if the assholes hadn’t wasted their time on those parties they would have a lot more accomplished by now
At the store, he bought a quart of milk, some orange American cheese and a package of hot dogs. Still feeling happy, he began the walk home. As he passed by the Bilkins house again, he saw there was a woman standing on the porch.
She was at once the most beautiful and most repellant woman he had ever seen. She seemed to be in her mid twenties but somehow
Without realizing it, he began to walk towards the porch, towards her. She moved towards him as well and as she moved out into the bright sunlight, he noticed just how sheer the fabric of her dress was. He could see the dark aureole of her breasts and his eyes strayed down her body…yes, he could faintly see the dark triangle of her loins.
They stood like this for several moments. Then
“Uh..hello there! I’m
She didn’t answer. Just looked at him with those huge eyes, her smile becoming ever more sinister.
“You sure had a lot of parties here last week! Hope you all had fun! How many of you moved in here? I never saw a moving truck, just one day the ‘For Sale’ sign was, poof! Gone!”
She still didn’t answer. Instead, she began to slowly open her mouth…then she snapped it shut. She did it again. And again. And again.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
Her mouth opened. Snapped shut. Opened. Snapped shut.
That night around eight, the drumming began again.
“That fucking crazy bitch!”
I’m going to go down there and make them stop! he thought in a red haze. If I have to wipe that disgusting smile off that little whores face and slap around any other freaks there, so be it!
He marched down the street, each step seeming to make the drumming louder. The old Bilkins house was once again all lit up. Every single window had a shade drawn down.
“Hey assholes! Is this a private party or can anyone come on in? You love to share the fucking noise though, don’t you?”
He gave the door another savage punch. It swung open. It was also at that moment the drumming stopped. Having taken things this far, he decided to go on in. Before he crossed the threshold, he turned and looked back up his street. Every other house besides his and the Bilkins place was dark. He then realized he hadn’t seen or heard any of his other neighbors in several days. Possibly longer. A shiver passed through him and he stepped inside.
The inside was a mess. Absolutely no work had done been on the inside either. The floor was rotted in several spots. There was no furniture anywhere. The smell of mildew was the strongest he had ever encountered in his life; he had to concentrate to keep from coughing. The new silence was very unnerving.
He passed by an open door. Something made him stop and look.
It had been a large, walk-in closet. It was totally empty, no old clothes, no hangers, not even the rods for the hangers. A single bulb hung bare on a cord that swung on a faint breeze. He noticed there was an extension cord running into the closet. He walked inside.
There was a large hole in the floor of the small room. Here, the floorboards had not rotted away but violently smashed to expose the ground beneath the house.
There was another hole, in the ground.
As if in a dream,
There was something inside
He stood, perhaps for many minutes, maybe for several hours, gazing down into that pit. At some point, he became aware that someone was behind him. He turned.
She stood there before him, totally nude. His eyes drank in the beautiful white and brown of her perfect breasts, the lovely dark tangle of her crotch. Again, he noticed that nearly impossible smoothness of her skin that spoke of sharks gliding in the moonlight reefs, of the artificial crying out to be human.
On silent feet, she walked up to him. She gazed into his eyes and he knew he had been born to love this succubus, that she had crawled up the side of that pit behind them only for him. She reached up and took his face in her hands. She pulled him down and kissed him with all the passion of Hell. After several long moments, she broke off the kiss, looked at him with that smile that was full of dark hints.
Suddenly, her embrace became a shove.
As
5/31/09-6/01/09 Brian Moreau
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Forgotten great songs part two
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
New poem
1.
The morning fog
seperated the boardwalk
from the sea.
Only winos wanted to be on
the beach that early,
you could see them as shadows
pacing on the sand,
pretending to have concerns
and burdens greater than
the paper bag becoming too light.
2.
Children are at home in crowds,
a chance to be a mustang in a stampede,
a stone in an avalanche.
Supertramp blared from every passing car,
every open shop door,
the sun burned away the fog
and sang along to the hits.
3.
Sharks and stingrays
in a green lit tank,
small crocodile on a mossy log,
an aquarium of the defeated.
Next door,
a battered paperback of Spiderman comics hung from a bookrack just beyond my reach.
I couldn't dare to ask for it.
4.
At 8 years old,
I couldn't legally gamble,
even though I'd been taught my whole life what was at stake.
I had years,
decades even,
to learn I was in no postion to negotiate,
that we live entire lives
in the shadow of risk,
hoping our faces give nothing away,
that we hope we remain on the boardwalk and the people in the fog get taken by the sun.
9/1/10
Brian Moreau