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Nymphs and Satyr
~Adolphe-William Bouguereau, 1873
oil on canvas
Feb. 14th, 2008
Nymphs and Satyr
~Adolphe-William Bouguereau, 1873
oil on canvas
Spray painted dust gray hearse pops the curb, cruises over a lawn long unmowed towards a sun bleached baby blue house, rides up the four steps to the front porch and smashes itself clear through the hallway door. The hearse tries to drive down the hall but is hugged too close by the interior walls of the house. It then tries backing out of the house. The tires shriek, squeal and tear up the floorboard to the hall without gaining any friction. Finally, with a belch of black smoke off the exhaust the hearse is thrown in reverse and goes sailing back over the front porch where the back slams into the stone walkway of the lawn, while the front of the car is pointed up in the air at 45 degree angle into the roof of the porch, the tires spinning uselessly.
There is a honk, followed by the scraping sound of a coffin sliding into a loud crash against the back doors of the hearses cab. The drivers side door opens slowly with a metallic creak. A cascade of empty beer cans, cigarette butts and fast food bags comes raining out. The driver lights up a cigarette, the flame off the bic lighting up his thick sideburns, chiseled face and seagreen eyes. He runs his fingers through his greased back hair, grabs a beer that he stuffs in the pocket of a well worn black leather jacket, grabs a white bullhorn covered in punk band stickers, unbuckles his seat belt with his other hand and drops out of the hearse.
Just in time too as the shift in his weight or the momentum of his leap, sends it crashing up into the top of the porch. He steps around the hearse, off the porch and unto the lawn. Clicks on the bullhorn and aims it at the window above.
"Baby, jes so y'know... I've been drinking since Midnight when this whole Valentine's mess officially began and I ain't had no sleep since then, being as I see you whenever I close muh eyes. So I sat with a bottle of Jack in front of a Romance Movie Marathon, only I killed the sound and replaced it with a little G G Allin, Hank Williams and Nick Cave... and baby ahm not real sure... but I think that's when I realized how it was I felt about you... and well this is for you..."( Read more... )
There is a honk, followed by the scraping sound of a coffin sliding into a loud crash against the back doors of the hearses cab. The drivers side door opens slowly with a metallic creak. A cascade of empty beer cans, cigarette butts and fast food bags comes raining out. The driver lights up a cigarette, the flame off the bic lighting up his thick sideburns, chiseled face and seagreen eyes. He runs his fingers through his greased back hair, grabs a beer that he stuffs in the pocket of a well worn black leather jacket, grabs a white bullhorn covered in punk band stickers, unbuckles his seat belt with his other hand and drops out of the hearse.
Just in time too as the shift in his weight or the momentum of his leap, sends it crashing up into the top of the porch. He steps around the hearse, off the porch and unto the lawn. Clicks on the bullhorn and aims it at the window above.
"Baby, jes so y'know... I've been drinking since Midnight when this whole Valentine's mess officially began and I ain't had no sleep since then, being as I see you whenever I close muh eyes. So I sat with a bottle of Jack in front of a Romance Movie Marathon, only I killed the sound and replaced it with a little G G Allin, Hank Williams and Nick Cave... and baby ahm not real sure... but I think that's when I realized how it was I felt about you... and well this is for you..."( Read more... )
