“All four of them were huffing glue. He said so, the one who survived. They were on the way back from a show in Syracuse and something came out of the woods, right in front of the car. The driver, his head was cut off. His body stuck in the wind shield. Ozzy still grinning on his t-shirt.”
“She had a restraining order but she came home from the late shift and found him waiting in her house. She ran out but he caught and killed her right there in the road. After that, they say you’d see her at night, running toward the passing cars. It was a dirt road back then. No one saw her after they paved it.”
“You can still hear her walking in the old jail house. She was the last woman hanged in the state.” “Why?” “Her husband beat her, so she killed him, chopped him and fed him to the pigs.” “No shit. I know some girls who should start raising pigs.”
“He went to work down at Remington’s, making rifles all week and doing the National Guard for the extra cash on the weekend. He liked it. He called it playing soldier. He never expected to leave the valley, let alone go over there. He’d been gone about a month when I saw him under that old tree. Just like grandpa. Grandma Bee knew he’d died in the hospital ‘cause she’d seen him under that tree.”
( from allemeda moody)
“I worked that factory all my life and ghosts don’t give me no peace except on Sundays. Anybody making rifles has got blood on their hands and they better accept it quick, else the haints will make them crazy.
“He ‘d lost his job and tried hunting to put some meat on the table. I don’t think he saw a deer once though, not as goosed up as he’d get. One night he found a dead buck on the side of the road. It hadn’t been hit, it was just lying there with its tongue hanging out. He shot it and tossed it in the back of the truck. He told his wife he’d bagged it and she was proud of him catching such a big one. They had it butchered and she cooked up the venison. His whole family got sick -–the runs, heaving up, and crazy fever. They thought it was food poison but after a week it didn’t stop. At night he’d hear kicking and banging in the back of his truck. He told his wife the truth and buried the rest of the meat in the back yard. They got better. He got food stamps and bought hamburger.”
Miss Thang 1.
She came up to Memphis. Miss Thang, Miss Thang, she called everyone, and that’s what we called her. She wore this big, fucked-up wig, like a country star. She worked the alley behind the theatre and called all her tricks her stage hands, her back stage Johnnies. She got strung out, always pissing us off and stealing shit. Somebody painted MISS THANG HAS THE AIDS,” all over the street. She did and she had to work there with everybody knowin’ it. We didn’t see her down there for while, then word got around she’d died in the hospice. If you think you got AIDS go down to the alley. If you got it, you’ll see her.
Miss Thang 2.
She had a chest like Dolly’s, a real good job. She said a Nashville record guy paid for it. The other girls knew she was some hick though. They teased her accent, “Oh, miss Thang fortigot her panties! She’s come all untucked.” When she worked her cleavage they’d yell, “Hey farm girl, you use cow-shit to make them titties grow?” She’d laugh and say, “Y’all know miss thang has it all.” Then somebody would say, “Get your operation and you might have a little less.” “Oh no” she’d say, “Mama’s got titties and a bottle to suck on, Miss thang has it all!” Some guys got hold of her one night. They cut off her tits and her dick, and left her in the dumpster. The girls say she’s out there still, watching over them. If they see her, or hear “Miss Thang’s got it all” they won’t go with any johns.
Monday, October 27, 2008
stories from folklore and dreams I've had
One night all the sheets in the city rose up and slipped out the window. They fell slowly toward the street, never striking the ground but billowing up into ghostly shapes, growing large dark eyes. There were hundreds of them –a floating parade that absorbed nearly all the sound around them - no traffic, no humming wires, only the rustle of swaying fabric.
Ghosts have sewing circles whenever their sheets and shrouds are torn. They display their rips and tears and flutter together, needles in hand. They sigh and shiver with each stitch. Those who are not damaged huddle together doing embroidery, they clamp wooden hoops on each other and set to work. In black thread they stitch in words like “ Patient” “Drowsy,” and “Dumbfounded.”
Ghosts of the hanged gather for a bit of fun at the gallows tree. Taking turns they use a shabby old noose as a rope swing. They attain tremendous height and speed as they sail along, wail ing out the crimes and circumstances that brought about their execution at the old tree – Thievery, rapes, forbidden trysts, lynchings, failed escapes–all mingling with giggles and shrill cries of playground delight.
If you find a ghost alone on a city street, lift its shroud. Beneath the hem you will see night hills and a sparkling city under bright stars. The sheet will fall like a theatre curtain and you will never be content in this world again.
Your lover may be unfaithful or may be a witch. If you wake alone in bed at after midnight, check all around the house. If you find your lover’s skin you will know he or she has left it behind to ride the wind. Sprinkle salt inside the skin and your lover will never be able to get back inside.
If you shoot yourself in the head, and regret it, plump little witches will flock to the broken, pulpy mess of your skull. They will cry and carry on, but slowly rebuild your head with mud and straw. They will huddle together, wiggling their fat bottoms till their buttocks become the folds of a new brain. After your resurrection, the priests will tell you to find God but how can you with a head full of witches?
When you break an egg, toss the shell over your shoulder, crying “Witch, here is your boat.” When the floods come at the end of the world, a woman in a white boat with white sails will rescue you.
Be careful with your tears, witches collect them to make jewelry.
There is a werewolf at the end of every dark hallway and there is a werewolf in every part of your body.
There was a boy who had cancer and called a werewolf to eat it out of him. He had to be careful the wolf ate only the disease and not the rest of him. There was a girl who had a broken heart and also called the werewolf. He did not stop at her heart but hollowed her out completely, just as she wanted him to do.
Look for a wolf everyday. You’ll find one.
THE DEVIL HIMSELF.
The Devil has a camera with a lens made from the eye of a suicide. No matter where you point it or what you see through the viewfinder, ghosts will appear in the photograph.
The Devil has a small jar filled with the night sky. Darkness floats in its center. At the bottom of the jar are two tiny golden wing-bones. This is the aborted fetus of an angel. It causes women to miscarry, sterility in men, and birth defects in the unborn.
The Devil loves to relax with his favorite book. This is a list of every scream ever uttered on the face of the earth. It is divided into chapters such as, torture, war, famine and pestilence, love, despair, and economics.
A Recipe From the Devil’s Cookbook:
Pearls before Swine.
Take ripe pearls,
boil them in a sow’s ear till they are soft and tender.
Season to taste with snobbery
Garnish with pretension.
Remember, if you feed the Devil, use a long spoon.