15 Back to the girl with the skeleton key tattoo

There may be Hope above,  There may be Rest beneath.  We know not- only Death is palpable- and Love.





Back to the girl with the skeleton key tattoo



<<okay.  well then.  that was neat huh?  future present!  yay!  are you a day dream believer Finnegan?  i have day dreams that i like to believe in.  come on Finnster, smile!>>

Whats going on?  Where are we now?


<<you stumble out of the back door of your house to your van (this is a day before you wake up tied to a hospital bed and years after you fell in artistic love with Hopskotch.  and Way before the year 4325)  and dig your car keys out of the pocket of your battered black leather jacket.  you just found the note that bastard husband of yours left you (the one talking about him leaving town with your son.)  YOUR SON!!!  Finnegan, you seethe with anger (look! you are even doing it now!)  and when the rage starts to boil up inside you wash it down with the poison from the bottle in your hands.  that always ends well…>>


Have I told you lately, that I hate you?  Hmmm, Virus?


<<it is six in the evening and you have an art show to attend.  the show is in Oklahellmouth City, at a book store (that specializes in outsider art and all things anti-mainstream) called, “the Book Beat”.  with car keys in one hand and whiskey bottle in the other, you wobble to the passenger side of the van, open the door and climb through to the driver seat.  you know Finnegan, it is nice that your driveway runs along the side of your house into a garage outback.  that must be why you and Ruben got it.  easy access to the garage that you use as your painting studio.>>


<<you booked the show with the owner of the Book Beat, a man named Shilo, last month when Hopskotch took you up to Oklahellmouth City to show you around his old neighborhood.  after getting kicked out of a couple of dive bars you will never remember, much less visit again; you wound up at the Book Beat.  Hopskotch introduced you to Shilo and you both fell into artistic conversation about the rise and fall of ‘Merican’ society.  you produced a bottle of Jesus Juice out of your backpack along with some of your tarot card paintings.  you shared both with Shilo.  yes, he enjoyed the shared wine, but he liked your art even more.  Shilo offered you a show in his gallery.>>


<<tonight is not a good night for you to have an art opening however; considering that you were just abandoned by your family.  luckily you have already hung the art show (over another bottle of Jesus Juice with Shilo) in the gallery two nights ago.  Shilo complained about the huge nails that you used to hang your work, calling them Jesus Nails.  Jesus Juice, Jesus Nails, i sense a theme with you Finnegan.  so tonight all you have to do is show up to the art show opening kinda sober and be charming and hopefully sell some paintings.  but your child has been taken from you by the love of your life.  so sober and charming is out of the question.  when you planned the show out, you hoped that Ruben or Hopskotch would drive you to the show, but Hopskotch is busy covering for you at the Bucket o’ Blood (A.K.B.S.A. as B.o.B.) and your husband Ruben is busy skipping town with your son.>>


“Oh Fuck All.”, you swear.  <<as you climb into your 1970’s multicolored cargo van.>>


<<nothing catches the attention of the authorities quite like a drunk driver in a cargo van, swerving down the city streets.  especially your cargo van, with all the various images that you have painted on the side.  you think about this when you have to put the whiskey bottle in your hands down to find the vehicle’s ignition and insert the keys.  master of your own destiny and captain of bad decisions; you open the driver’s side door and fall out of the van into the honeysuckle bush that grows on the fence next to the van.  cursing at Demeter, Goddess of such growing plants, you stumble back into your house through the back door and into the kitchen.  you open the refrigerator door to scavenge for sobering food and drink.  the cold air from the refrigerator starts to give you a chill.  it is then that you realize that you are not wearing any pants.>>


“Oh Fuck All.”, you repeat.


<<you grab some bread and absentmindedly put meat and cheese and dressing (or things that look like those things) together in a sort of sandwich looking pile.  you then start taking large angry bites and swallow after minimal chewing.  you wash everyother bite down with water from the kitchen tap.  three quarters of the way through the “make me less drunk” sandwich you head to the bathroom and prepare for bathing.  as you chew, you take off a “LOCAL MARTYRS” folk rock band t-shirt (stained with paint, wine and i hesitate to contemplate whatelse…), black work boots, a pair of black and white striped socks and a pair of panties with a skull and cross bones printed on the crotch.  i am happy to report that it does not say “juicy” on the ass side of your underwear.  you throw these clothes into a pile next to the bathtub and climb under the hot water showering down from above.  after you soap your hair, you hang your head directly under the flowing water and lean forward onto your hands as they push against the wall’s avocado green bath tile.>>


“I say Rock.  You say Roll.”, you chant.  <<repeatedly as you beat your drunken head against the tile wall and wash away the hurt and shame that is your life.>>


<<steam heat spreads throughout the bathroom and fogs the mirror.  after ten minutes, the hot water runs out and you exit the shower.  you draw pictures in the fog on the mirror using your fingers and a piece of shattered wall to make smaller lines.  you stare at the human figure trapped in the glass behind the drawing.  you really hope that she is you.  feeling sorry for the woman in the mirror you think a ten minute nap is called for; before you try to get on the road again.  off to your art show in Oklahellmouth City.>>


<<a good two hours later; you are back in your child molester van (as Hopskotch jokingly refers to it) taking it on the train, heading north to the Book Beat, for your first art show in Oklahellmouth City.  the bookstore is located in a lower economic tax bracket section of Oklahellmouth City.  arts communities are always trying to reclaim run down areas of towns and sculpt them into something prettier.  it is amazing the things one can make out of red dirt.>>


<<in spite of the community being without a great deal of disposable income, the parking lot is full of cars.  the building, once upon a time a printing company, is now the largest independently owned bookstore in Oklahellmouth.  Shilo waves to you as you shyly walk in half an hour late to your own art show.  Shilo smiles at you and motions for you to come over.  he introduces you to a group of young hipsters he was talking with before you arrived.  you awkwardly move closer to join.  you and the hipsters discuss art and social injustice for a couple hours and drink lots and lots of red wine.  with every glass you move further up and out of despair and then fall back in as each glass becomes empty.  you break off from conversation and conversation to refill the glass again and attempt to drown sorrow, one more time.  the show goes on.  it is a success.  you are a hot mess.  despite the warnings of many new fans and buyers of your art and the bookstore owner himself, you climb back into your ChoMo van and you start the engine and the trip back to Normal Towne.  the wine gives you hope that some how, after you drive off the train, your family will have magically come back for you.>>

<<you wake up in a nightmare with a tube in your lung.  you hear voices, but you

cannot see.>>


<<nurses trying to make men leave you alone.>>

“Gentlemen, you cannot be in here!”, says a female voice.


<<arguing from the men.>>

“He’s her husband, and a Doctor.  Step aside.  Go ahead Doc, give it to her.  Give her the shot.”, says the first man’s voice.


“I think I can do better than this woman.”, says a second man.


<<you wonder:>>  Was that Ruben’s voice?


“But she’s your wife man.”, says the first man.


“Yes, but I just settled on her to pass the time.  There has to be a more stable control for the serum to be tested on.  Let us go get the child.”. says the second man.  <<who you now know is Ruben.  what a dick.>>

“Zukio!!  What are you doing?!  Don’t give her that one damnit!!  That one is the Control!  I wanted to test one of the formula sub-strains on her.”, says Ruben.


“I told him.  Didn’t I Yukio?  Told you Doc, you should have done it.  You’re the Doctor, Doc.  I just picked a vial from the lot…”, says a third man.  <<apparently named Zukio>>


“He did tell you doc…”, says the first man.  <<A.K.B.S.A. as Yukio>>


“Quiet you two.  It is what it is.  Let us see what comes of it.  Time to leave.”, says Ruben.


<<exiting sounds.  nurses struggle to keep you alive and sedated.  doors open.  doors close.  time passes.  both in metaphor and for really real.>>








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