dennis cooper, “wishmaster” (early version 1978, final version 2013)
Killing a night at my girlfriend Laura’s
house, we’re up very late watching
an old horror movie. Her little brother
Jimmy has the flu or he’d be here
laughing his butt off. Without him, it’s
serious. What the fuck? It’s a noise
out of nowhere. We turn down the
volume. It’s clearly in their house. That
spooks us. It sounds like something
is scratching at something. There’s
its silhouette. It’s a sculpture walking
slowly down the hall. It disappears
into the bathroom. Laura runs towards
Jimmy’s room. Me too, since I refuse
to be alone. He’s gone. We’re spooked.
She picks up his pillow and presses it
to her face. It’s like she can’t breathe
without it. What the fuck is wrong? It’s
not the flu. He’s not a sculpture. His
sister is out of control. He scares her.
We hear it coming. It creaks. That
must be him. It sees us, trips, and falls.
Its knees pierce the floor like arrows.
I lift it to its feet. It can’t stand up. Jane
takes it. She can’t help. He’s bones.
They hurt my hands. There’s nothing
left to do. I should go. I head outside.
I drive until I reach a town with black air
and blacker buildings. Something scares
me. It’s nine years old, but I don’t know
what it is.
christopher knowles, “HOW COULD I SEND YOUR MESSAGE TO YOU” from typings (1974-1977)
If you know this thing in true. It would be very strange. If you know. If it to know.
On the suit for your kingdom for real ghost throat, if you know, if it is it.
If you say Hi.
If I know that in since we off to the heat to hot too hot to keep us warm.
How could I send my message and your message to you in this how is done for this.
How could I send my of this.
How could I send your messag.
bonus: here’s a video of him performing “emily likes the tv” in 2017, which was originally a tape piece poem he made in 1972 when he was 13 (!)
