Dizzy Feeling

“It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs The mimes become its food, And seraphs sob at vermin fangs In human gore imbued.” – Poe (The Conqueror Worm) Snideness aside; A few of my good friends have panic disorder(s). Ive watched them lock themselves away in cars, punch their own faces and pass out. The only time I’ve ever felt what they have described to me was when I was about six years old, waking from a dream late at night in my old bedroom. I’m pretty sure there was a babysitter before bed and my parents had returned as I woke up, hyperventilating, crying and screaming. This particular dream is one I’ve had three times in my life, each time the exact same. I always wondered what it meant, or means. At six, the feeling it caused was, in my words, “the dizzy feeling”. Before I get into the dream, I want to describe this feeling as I’ve felt it a few times subsequently. It begins with an odd calm. Just calm. Quiet. Nothing is heard or moves and it feels like time literally stops for a few moments. Then, an odd yellow fills either the room or my peripheral and the panic begins to creep in. Those subsequent times I would stop it and get up to walk around, or lighten the mood with a Rodney Dangerfield or porn movie, but after this dream there was no way out for a while. The dream is and was simple. We (my immediate family) were racing in the cold of winter to Herman and Shirley’s cottage. Something was dreadfully wrong, as if... read more

Eating Japanese

    EATING JAPANESE を食べます wsg/ Tomo, Candy, and Jess By Colin Duerr COPYRIGHT 2011 *Big, big, thanks to NEEBO GRANDPERSON for his... read more

“Stenchermeister” by Colin Duerr

  (Dramatization) “And there came one of the seven angels which had the seven vials, and talked with me, saying unto me, Come hither; I will shew unto thee the judgment of the great whore that sitteth upon many waters.” – Revelations 17:1 This is a true story. The clock struck 3PM when the scent of an artificially extracted pheromone swam through the burgery atmosphere and into my nostril at the Telway grease pit of Madison Heights. My nose turned my eyes right-ways at her on the slippery stool, stirring half a packet of Sweet’N Low into her oily coffee; eyes sick with pervert-terror and gazing upon me. I looked down at my fries. “I need to finish these before I go back to work.” Plunging one of the soggy tips into the puddle of Heinz, I glanced back again. She fixated upon me, smirking a want like I’d never seen in a trashy Macomb County blonde in her late 30‘s. “Your penis is too dirty to be trusted right now and these fries need to be eaten.” I work for a masonry company. We often pimp a process called Tuck-pointing, in which we grind out old, cracked mortar joints and re-inject them with fresh mortar. This particular day, I had cut between brick pavers on the floor of a backyard patio. I wear gym shorts and no underwear, usually, for some reason. The grinder dust had been projected up through my shorts and onto my penis and testicles for about four hours before I started with these fries. That’s what that was about. A bag slumped on the... read more

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