by John Blandly
”Who is Icy?” Robin said.
“Icy is sweet,” Marian said, as Gigi and Marian squeezed through the door. Marian grabbed Robin’s wrist, and pulled him in the narrow hallway.
Gigi then slammed the door. “Oh, man,” she said. She put the chain on and opened the door a crack. “See you soon, Harmon.”
He was still on the flagstone stoop, looking perplexed.
“We have to get up early to fly to Stuttgart,” Gigi said. “Goodnight!”
”Whew,” she said, closing the door again. “That was close.”
“Well,” Marian said. “I think I’ll turn in.”
Down the hall there was a tiny kitchen, a small sitting room with two wooden chairs and a table. There were also two bedrooms and a bath. Gigi went in one bedroom and shut the door.
“You can sleep in my room,“ Marian said.
She took his hand, and pulled him in her bedroom. Soon, he was watching her undress behind a flimsy, folding Japanese paper screen. She emerged in a rather sheer pair of pajamas.
“Well, you can have the bed,” Marian said. “No problem.”
“I can?”
”Sure. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
She then proceeded to make a bed with blankets and a pillow on the floor.
“No. No way,” he said. “I’ll sleep there.”
”As you wish,” she said, and smiled. “Nightie-night”
She then got into bed. “Kiss me goodnight?”
He wasn’t sure, but said, “Sure.”
He leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. She had orange, waxy lipstick on, and sweet fresh breath that smelled like a bouquet of wildflowers. Soon, he was kissing her again and again. She put her arm around his neck and pulled him closer, until he was lying next to her--rolling to and fro.
His phone rang.
It was Shebonne.
“Sorry,” Shebonne said. “Are you busy?”
”Just a bit.”
”Well, I’ll be quick. Things are wild here. I’ve just got a second myself. Mary and I are getting kicked out of the convent.”
”What?”
”Yeah, we passed around this girl’s urine. She was pregnant. Now they think we’re all pregnant. So, we’re expelled. And guess what? I’m the princess now. They did a blood test, and Mary isn’t even a Sherwood. Oh, I got to go. Here they come. I’ll call you later.”
It was obvious that Marian heard the conversation. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. Marian looked at him questioningly.
“It’s nothing,” he said.
She put her arm around his neck and pulled him close.
Two minutes later, Robin heard his phone ring again. He looked at it, and saw it was Shebonne.
He let it go to voicemail.
Book IV
CYBORG GIRL
1
She walked among the creeping vines. She was a star, a heroine. Her name was Vasava Datta. She was five foot six in her crystal blue glowing high, high heels, and weighed just 108 pounds. But who was she, anyway?
Vasava
by the author
2
Shepherded by cyborgs, raised by cyborgs, of the cyborg, by the cyborg, for the cyborg.
The new cyborgs—the brand new mutant cyborgs, lived—yes, lived. Mostly, it was for their human children. That is what they lived for—their half robotic children.
Parented by these rusted out, semi-robotic mothers and fathers, they lived in Frontier Gulch, the Old West Theme Park.
In grad school, trying to get an art MFA, Vasava begged her hothothot girlfriends, Jill and Gigi, to tell her where the boys were, but they wouldn't. They'd just point, laugh, and say, ”What, are you blind?”
Waiting, waiting, waiting, in a world that circled Centauri B. Night and day, Vasava played the guitar.
Unaware of the New England Theme Park, next door.
her guitar
3
Balboa
Years later, the tragic accidents of the past (poor boyfriend choices), caught up with Vasava and transported her to different stars. She decided to travel far away with her friends, Jill and Gigi. They eluded their history, while the present closed in.
Vasava's old teenage dateboys caused her grief, and made her want to get away. Sure, she loved her favorites, the EMTs, the firemen, the pilots, but they only broke her heart.
All of them lived in another world, a nether world, not of their own choosing.
They met, but were too young.
They took their age, divided by two, and then added seven. Okay, maybe add or subtract a few months here and there.
Then, all of a sudden, like, out of nowhere, Balboa held out his hand and said, “May I have this dance?”
Vasava was stunned. She said, “We're not in a dance club. This is a sidewalk restaurant.”
“But listen--there is electronic muzik,” he said.
She knew he was right, so, she took his hand, and they danced.
Watching from the bar, Jill said to Gigi, “You know, in our culture, whatever that is, they are married now.”
A tear rolled down Gigi's cheek. “Yes,” she said. “I know. It's so, so beautiful. I could cry.”
“You are crying,” Jill said.
4
THE TEN COMMANDMENTS OF GOING OUT
Britney Spears rang my bell.
I was flipping between WWE
and American Idol on the TV.
She said, "You got to read these!"
She had in her hand copies of
RuneScape and Naruto.
I said,
"Does your Dad know you're here?"
She said, "Yeah, you're on the
permitted list."
"Great," I said. "Who else is on it?"
"Jessica Alba. That's about it."
"That's cool."
She said, "Did you hear
Barack Obama is going to appoint
Lindsay Lohan as ambassador to Chad?"
"Who's he? What are they doing,
like, an intervention?"
"No, that's Angelina Jolie.
She's intervening in Senegal."
"In Canada? I thought that had to be
in a foreign country."
"Sure it is, silly.
Now just read these books.
They have a lot of pictures—
not that many words.
I'll be back to test you on it later.
I'm on my way to do a guest shot on
Miley Cyrus' show.
My Dad and her Dad
are trying to put a CD
together for us."
"What's it called?"
"The Ten Commandments
Of Going Out."
"Is that a religious album?"
"Not the way we sing it."
十诫 》 的走出去
小甜甜布兰妮按响我的门铃。
我便翻开之间 WWE
和电视上的美国偶像。
她说，"你一定要看看这些!"
她在她的手复印件
RuneScape和火影忍者。
我说过
"你爸爸知道你在这里吗?"
她说，"是啊，你在上
允许列表"。
"好，"我说。"还有谁是吧?"
"杰西卡·阿尔巴。这是关于它的时候。"
"这是很酷。"
她说，"你刚才听到
奧巴馬打算任命
林赛·罗翰出任驻乍得大使吗?"
"他是谁？在他们做什么
喜欢，一种干预吗？
"不，那是安吉丽娜·朱莉。
她干预在塞内加尔。"
"在加拿大吗？我以为那就是
在一个外国的国家。
"肯定的是，愚蠢的。
现在只是读这些书。
他们有大量的图片 — —
不是很多的单词。
我会回去以后再�
��试你在它上。
我在我的路上，要做一个客人镜头
麦莉赛勒斯秀。
我的爸爸和她的父亲
正试图把一张 CD
我们在一起"。
"它叫什么?"
"十诫 》
走出去"。
"这是一个宗教的相册吗?"
"不是的方式我们唱它。
5
Balboa had plans. He wrote poetry, filmed short movies, took art classes in the jungles of the Land of the Amazons (Antigone). Waiting, searching, hoping for something. Searching for her, whoever she was.
And now, Vasava?
“I've got a round trip ticket. I have to get back,” she said.
This was okay for him. He wasn't going anywhere. Otherwise, he was just an itinerant office temp for spaceship scientists who needed a day, a week, a month, a year, off.
Plus, he could sell his electronic films anywhere, for two cents. Yeah, right.
But as for Balboa and Vasava, together, and their tenuous, almost nothing friendship, oh, yeah, they kissed once; it was a long, long, long, long, long, virtual, almost real journey from that distant, old, old, ancient, worn out, sad solar system, and the rugged cliffs, mesas, deserts, desserts, salads, to the New England Theme Park, and all was quiet.
Balboa had a broken heart. Broken, shattered, stomped on, run over by trucks, tractors, steamrollers, flattened like a pancake, and so what.
He and Vasava had that in common (we left out her broken heart—sorry--maybe it was x-rated--whoops), not knowing if their hearts still worked.
Each knew they had to get away, and together? Why not?
So, they traveled: Lived in hotels, motels, hotels, rotels, zotels, notells, near the beaches.
They started to wonder if they were real, or even alive.
Time went very slowly. They ate little—had no appetite. The hands of the clock, it seemed, barely moved.
Then, Balboa turned and confronted the imposter--himself. It was an uninteresting conversation, not worth recording here—but then again, our recorders were turned off anyway.
Arrested for trying to sell very strange oil paintings on street corners, he was thrown in jail. He said to his jailer, “What's the bail?”
The guy said, “No bail. But maybe you can buy your way out.”
“How?”
“See the warden.”
In the upstairs office, the warden said, “What have you got?”
“Three oil paintings, eighty-nine poems, and fifteen short films.”
“Sorry,” he said. “We don't barter. But maybe you could entertain us.”
“How?”
“Well,” his warden said. “You could try to fight your way out.”
He battled whales, jellyfish, sting rays, barracudas, mustangs, and talking sharks with big fins and no sense of humor. Oh, yeah, and maybe the 330 pound guy on tier 24.
He jumped the shark. It bit the guy.
Balboa went away with a bloody nose.
by Arvind Balaraman
TWITTER MYSPACE FACEBOOK CRASH
Step aside the gloom,
I say.
It's going to be all right.
Your future will be cool.
Feel the luck.
Drop that weapon.
They are out there now
attending
the lone gunman
academy
in the college
of the Internet.
Sure,
I reside
half way down
Horseshoe Falls
trying to send
emails from a frozen computer
warning you,
warning us,
reminding me,
to get out of the way
and wear a helmet, please,
and pray that someway, somehow,
the crazies get distracted
and never, ever
hurt anyone again.
TWITTER MYSPACE FACEBOOK崩溃
站在一边是忧郁，
我说。
它会没事的。
你的未来将会凉爽。
感觉运气。
放弃这种武器。
他们现在在那里
出席
孤独的枪手
学院
在大学里
互联网。
当然，
我居住
走到半路
马蹄瀑布
试图发送
冰冻的计算机的电子邮件
警告你，
警告我们，
提醒我，
要走出去
并请戴上头盔，
不知怎么地，某种程度上，祈祷着：
疯子会分心
和永远永远
再一次伤害任何人。
6
At peace now, he had her—all he ever wanted, but where was she?
He asked everywhere—the front office, the back office, the post office, the office office, the officer, the sailor. They all said, “Vasava? Never heard of her.”
Then, on a dock in Rhode Island, near Taylor Swift's house, where he got a job briefly, picking up cans and bottles that had been thrown at her mansion, he saw Vasava's poster. She was appearing on stage—in Newport--on a stagecoach—no, sorry, he really read that. On stage.
But uh-oh, when he got there, she was already gone. To the Chesapeake Crab Harvest. When he asked the bartender, he said, “Selfish. She got a job harvesting selfish.”
“Selfish?”
“Oh, no. Sorry. I meant shellfish.”
Silent, on a peak in Darien, Connecticut, Balboa, utterly baffled by recent events, wondered whether it was worth $1200.
The sailboat, that is.
But he set sail anyway. She had said she would wait for him—keep the water boiling—pick out names for children. That was the note she left.
Children?
But where was she now? Exactly.
He didn't have time to ask—the Chesapeake Crab Harvest had begun.
7
The anthology of getting to know you
Some may ask,
where are we in relation
to the nearest stars?
First, thanks for asking.
I am an old school,
no budget
Fellini/Michelangelo
Antonioni Jean Luc Goddard
Andy Warhol wannabe.
That's what I said
when I went to
a singles group for the elderly
called Carbon Dating.
I said I studied unrequited love,
until I realized
reciprocity was needed
in the I Love NY campaign.
Their jaws dropped.
Then I informed them
they can call me
the sultan of cheap vacations.
They were okay with that.
But when I told them
that I had a girlfriend
they got really hardcore
and kicked me out.
了解你的诗集
有人可能会问，
我们的关系在哪里？
到最近的恒星吗？
首先，谢谢关心。
我是一所老学校，
没有预算
费里尼/米开朗基罗
安东尼奥尼让·吕克·戈达德
Andy Warhol的崇拜。
那是什么
我去的时候
老人的单打组
所谓的碳年代测定法。
我说我学的是没有回报的爱，
直到我意识到
互惠需要
在我爱纽约活动。
他们为之目瞪口呆。
然后我通知他们
他们可以给我打电话
苏丹的廉价度假。
他们同意了吗。
但当我告诉他们
我曾经有个女朋友
他们得到了真正的铁杆玩家
和我踢出门外。
8
He was a fool, and she was a fool. That's what ran through his mind. But he knew. He knew things. This he knew. They were meant for each other.
The wind came from the northeast at 75 MPH with snow, sleet, hail, rain, sleet, hail, more hail, hail to the chief, snow to the chief, ice to the chief.
He searched for her all over Maryland—Ocean City—Baltimore--it was no use. She was gone. He had to do something.
Finally.
It was the only job he could get—hauling crab traps.
Then, across the waves, in a tiny skiff, pulling up a lobster cage, it was she, her, Vasava!
He sped over to her. They hugged, kissed, fell out of their boats, and had to be rescued. Of course, they had just rescued each other.
One good rescue deserves another.
9
On a dock, at a yacht club that was rented for fifteen minutes, with Jill as a ring girl, and Gigi as maid of honor, Vasava and Balboa were married by a ship captain/internet minister, who read from the New Testament.
This time, both Jill and Gigi cried.
After the service, they spent their honeymoon in an Ocean City hotel room, on the beach. Vasava sent a postcard to her parents. She pained a tiny oil painting of her and Balboa on it, and mailed it away, to a distant star.
The end
other books by John Blandly
the end