When I drink, I can feel that the world cares about me, revolves around me and my misdeeds. I’m lying down, he stretches his body out on top of me, his hind legs on my groin, his front paws touching my neck, he’s so excited he drools on my chest, all fifteen pounds of him pressing down on me as if he would sink through my skin and nestle in my organs, I stroke his head, he slobbers some more, I hug him, my arms full of black fur muscles bony spine, my groin lifts to meet his weight, no one is around but this is as far as I’ve let myself go. I imagine piercing through the skin when he is least expecting it, siphoning out his testosterone with illicit sips, and then waiting for his pubic hair to sprout magically through my cheeks so I can smell him all day. In this way fantasy reveals reality: REALITY is just the underlying fantasy, a fantasy that reveals need. The truth of the matter is I like to be beaten and then fucked like a dog. I am a philosopher of sandwiches, I decided. Things good on the inside. But finally, he left me, grabbed the beautiful eyeball from the hands of the tall Englishman, and with a staid and regular pressure from his hands, he slid it into his slobbery flesh, in the midst of the fur. I touched myself, feeling again the friction of fur, the proximity of some new life I sensed the wolf would have bestowed upon me had we not been caught. It’s like I always say: Clothes make the inhuman. He ran the office this way–on the ragged edge of decency. And me here all this while so hungry, eating pies, eating cakes, eating bags of pretzels hot dogs sugars crystals chocolate bars pizza wheels gallons of milk pints of liquor a million beers marshmallow fluff peanut butter loaves your old teddy bear the drapes in the living room Deandra’s panties a collection of river rocks fistfuls of mud an old tire a rusted padlock a ring of keys a baby tooth an entire pumpkin the nails from my fingers the hair from my head any blood I emit and all those bits of the highway that get kicked up every time someone drives out of this town.
Sentences appropriated from 11 of my favorite books I read in 2010:
BABY by Paula Bomer
ACADEMONIA by Dodie Bellamy
KRAKOW MELT by Daniel Allen Cox
BLOOD AND GUTS IN HIGH SCHOOL by Kathy Acker
THE WILD CREATURES by Sam D’Allesandro
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF RED by Anne Carson
STORY OF THE EYE by Bataille
WOLF PARTS by Matt Bell
THE SHOW THAT SMELLS by Derek McCormack
FOR YOU, FOR YOU I AM TRILLING THESE SONGS by Kathleen Rooney
DADDY’S by Lindsay Hunter
4 thoughts on “CONFERENCE ROOM, a very short fiction by Tim Jones-Yelvington (A “Best Of” List)”
Tim- you are awesome. I’m so happy I got to hug you.
good stuffs man