APALEENA

She had a tendence ta put needulls in her rms. Eye once found her upside doown in the bathrum with a trickle of bloud on the curveed junchture of her lbo right on the crook of her rm. Then thair waz the thym that eye found her with the needull still in her rm, and a creese on her face like a crumbpld blanket. In the branches of the trees she saw angles flutterin in the leaves like dansers in her mind. She once fell inta the peano sew hard that she cut a rent in her hede that turned crabapple red; a fissure of tern skin hung like a peece uv blooded meet frum her fourhed ovarabuv her eyes.
Weenie bairns wit curlyq air and russett n cherre cheeks. And a look on thair faces that wuz so com forten an maid me feelso happe and so glad th at I had the opertunety to play wit ‘em wen they wus little bairns wit curlyq air and redrussett cheeks. There wuz no thing greater in the werld thain be in a eenielittle bab e wit yer hole life afront uv you. No thing greater at ouwl. In as much as I no, Ino vere little. I no watt day it is in this place of dreems, this vail of teers; this werld of dispear. No more needulls with the oringe caps; no more fall en down wit your hede bet ween yer nees. Ewe’ve got a chanse. Ewe eenielittle babe with yer hole life afront uv ewe. Thinc uv the bairns; think of the son and the cloods; think of the beautefil musicq that fills tha roound black hole uv nite.
Wee liv inna werld uv wun der. A werld ripe four the picken; a werld fula hope and luv; a werld rife wit oppor tunitees. An now you smel it. Its parta yer vere bein. It’s the filosofic remin der that we liv in a werld of colure and lite. It’s the ontolog icl wairwithall that keeps you up at nite; the fear and shivren that makes yoar sleep fitful and uneezy. Nothen else matters: yer in it fer the longhaul, thers no escapen it; not now, not ever: yer caught inaside the belle uv the beast we call rea son: yoar ded on yer feet; yer a memore of a past that’s long gone. What is this filosofe, this ration of life?
An the fealds of weat an the crows that r a caw-cawen, an that miserable pour bastard Van Gough shooten imself in the liver. An the beutifel colers; the yelos and the browns; an the crows a caw-cawen in the sheeths of weat and the son so brileant that you canever catch yer breath fer loosen the damn hole fuckaloor of itall. Yer Beckett wen on wit it; fot the good fite ta the end. Died with a rinkled phace and iron gray hair that seemed to sprout from the top of his hede. So long to Godot; to Murfy and Malone; an a good riddens to the lotaya. Shot in the liver; poor sonuvabitch. No even a prostitute to see ‘em off; not even a one to say godbye well miss ya sum day. Never a one at all. Pour bastard; paynt all o ver the place, like hede been fistfyten wit tha devil ‘imself. Itsa wunder itself that we keep go en on: keep oot of tha rein; stae clear a tha grayderk cloods and the hoarythundar clash-clash en aboot. Maybea sure that yoar feet er on tha grund and yoar whistle in the hi; neverno’ever look bak dun the rood, leeve it foar good, step ‘roond the feotalmess in the crook of the tree, oar it l bit ewe rite in the ass, it will. Bite ewe rite in the arse.
An thair waz the scrimshaw on her rms: on tha junk teur whair the skin foulds ‘roond the bend of tha lbow. Whair the bloo and yelo trakscars cursed her vairy bein. An as I remembr, thair waz sum cakedri blood on her shertsleev and the yelo tuben that hung ded frum her fingers. Thair waz the bottol caps and the oringe caps and the bendt spoon wit tha sootblack tarn ish frum the heet as it waz. An tha veins in her rms were ded up and bureed; like a peece a string on the cleft uv a hook. An thair was a jondass yelo moon and stars that hung like dedmen in the ski. An I remembr that colddark nite and tha shivren and the ache, and tha pain and tha suffren that cutdeep inta mi throat so I could nt speek a werd. An foar the love of God, let this bea the last tyme; let this bea a leson to us all.
An tha hoarfrost inna trees; the coldwet four est floor an the air asthik as curdldcreem. An the thot that sumwair thair waz sumkinda answer foar itall, sum raisinde etre, asit were. An I remembr the soft touch uv her skin and tha warmth uv her breath agenst my face; an I remembr tha wey she smiyeld wen eye kissd her on tha hed; an tha wey she lookd at me with those blooer thain bloo eyes; an tha smel uv her hair and tha thaut that eye waz lost ina dreem; sumwair in an othr werld wair evrething is brite an starre an werm. Tha midsumr nite air waz thik wit flies; oar sew I remembr.
Colepitchdark an tha tarre smel uv tha trees that r bleeded like thayd bean cutwide opin by sum invisibl force, wair the faires an the angels dancd; an tha feel en that sumthing strange waz aboot to ‘appen, sumthing that wood change meye life foarever. Eye felt sic to meye stomak, like eye waz feel en tha tyme I drank althat malt whisky with that fello down from tha wey. Eye felt cold an misrabl; meye fingrs wair stiff as twigs; an thair waz this feel en that eye jest couldni quite put a fingr on. Thees r tha things that only happen wen yer feel en vulnerable and week frum too much uv everything. An cerabus, is throt cutraw, baen like thairl be no morrow; never atall. An ewe figur thair kant be muck tyme left befour hell freezes ovr an yoar teeth start to clatter. No tyme atal. Theez r tha dreems that spell tha horrer uv nite.
If an thain we can cumoutuv this mess, if God allmite can resqu us, thain eye’m sure that we can get along well on hour own. Its that qeeze feel en that cumsovar ewe in circum stances like this, that reele make ewe oneder what else can go rong in yer life ane more likele thain before the fuck en mess came a long. An in tha dark mud of nite, eye can see tha litening fill en up tha ski wit that fiers of hell. Dante wasn’t far off whain he found man in tha shadow uvn a woods; a poet, noless, whos journe waz to fine out what this horrable life in hell, this burn en fissure of roc and stone, relly waz allaboot. An in tha end, whain tha spirits uv that undarwerld hav swollod ewe like so much blod and dust, thair wont be an other chanc to get things rite this tyme. In tha four est, whair tha tree of life bleeds its soul, tha spirit uv the king dom wil fall frum man’s reech four evr.
Steakly plump Buck Mulli gain stood at that windo peeren inta his save en mirror."Who is this…this face; nonever mine." He sayd. "The eyes, the nose, the cheeks and the brow and the perennium between the nose and the upper lip. Who is this man, this steady, steady man?" he sayd, with a toutch of bewilderment. The son mov ed out frum behine the gray cloods and fell onta the cheere, cheere brige of Mulli gain’s grait nose. A mootled seegul floo inta tha stagnent brown air; like a paper kite or a blok uv wood stain ed threw with tobbacco juce. "This certainly can’t be happening to me," he barralld, "I must be having a dream or a hallucination, or something else out of the ordinary." Mulli gain ran his soupe hand acrost his face and playcd the razor on tha windo ledge. He lookd out tha windo and ran his fingers threw tha briar and brambl of his gray hair. "There something strange and out of the ordinary at work here….maybe it’s the devil himself, come to collect me for all the sins I have done in the name of God. Like Faust, perhaps, but without….without what?" At this, Mulli gain paced quicly to the water phacet and pored a glas uv water inta a resine, brown cup wit craks and tha handl all but miss en. "Piece of shit." He rumbld. "What, for the love of God, do I pretend to know about masterpieces and Goethe and the like? Nothing, I assure you. Not a goddam thing ever at all."
"The dog’s got worms." Murphy said frum beneeth the bet linin; his teenytiny hed stiken out uv tha covars. "Seems that dog’s always got worms." Replied Mulli gain. "We should put it out of it’s misery," "You mean kill it?" sayd Murphy. "Cut it up and feed it to the fishes." Mulli gain sayd, a smile cuming acrost his phace like a quartr moon. Murphy rustld unda tha covars, "We surely can’t kill," he sayd. "Why the fuck not?" sayd Mulli gain. "Damn things always getting in the way; and the fucking stench, you’d think it never took a shit, but to save it all up and let in rot." "Well theres a difference," Murphy sayd, pullen the bet linin off frum aroond him and letin it fall like a coild snake to tha floor. "No there isn’t," Mulli gain replied. "Yea, whatever," Murphy sayd, his teenytiny hede held gentle in that cup uv his hands. Tha dog ran it’s ass acrost tha floor, leev en a broown stain whair it had bean. "Look at the fucking thing," Mulli gain roared, "Its leaving shit all over the place. Ugly fucking mutt." Murphy satup on tha ege uv that bed an reech ed for his cigarets, whitch wair on that smal nitetabl next to his teeth.
An whatov tha dog? It’s a creetur uv God, is it knot? It’s a livin thing and has tha breath of life init. You can a go kill en one uv God’s creeturs witout upturnen tha balanc uv things. All uv us, animels an humans, we all hav ta stik agether and ride out tha storm. All aboot us thairs tha screem en uv tha torment ed and the weep en uv tha clowns; thairs tha factere whair tha sik r hidd en away like so much garbage an waste; thairs tha songs uv tha childrain; thairs tha honee yelo moon in a skie red as blod; thair wuz nevr a begin en an thair’ll never be an end. That’s all thair is: noth en butt tha fires uv hell, an tha cry en uv tha burnd and deformd. God hav merce on us all.
Mulli gain reechd inta his pokit an retreevd tha endnub uv a blak cigare. He struk a wood en match on tha belly uv tha stove, and ignit ed tha nubend uv tha cigare wit tha crookd flame. He then tossd tha match, stil afire, onta tha floor an rubd it inna tha wood like a bug. "That fucking dog has got to go," he sayd, exhalling a moutful a bloo smoke. "I can’t stand to look at the fucking thing." Murphy snubd out tha end uv his cigaret again st tha nitetabl, an turnd ta face Mulli gain. "You just can’t kill it," he sayd, his teeth flat in tha pam uv his han. "It wouldn’t be right." "Right my ass," Mulli gain rumbld. "We’d be better off without the bloody thing, then maybe I could get some work done around here." Murphy slid his teeth up be tween his lips, an with his tongue, pressd them against tha roov uv his mout whair thae stuk like wet porrige.