“. . . . . . . And with a face like a saggy pair of tits. . . .”
,and then he said: “Just go to the Catholic Minister and say: “Fuckin’ look, I have to get the FUCK home!” Statements overheard are usually more interesting than the discussions absentmindedly distracted from. I mentioned this to Ashley and she concurred. She said that she is so entertained by eavesdropping that sometimes she actually transcribes these conversations, say, on the bus for example.
Not that our conversation was not interesting, quite to the contrary. I had earlier that evening brought up the possibility of Ash marrying me in order to cut the migratory red tape. She immediately said that she would, of coarse, do whatever she could to help keep me in Canada and by her loving side. It would, however, have to be kept a secret from her parents, whom are a trifle traditional. Okay, that gives it a little devious excitement, why not. This was a great relief to me. I’d been very hesitant to ask, and how to ask without buggering things up between us if she said no. But she said yes. So I hugged her and squeezed her bum and told her I wanted a pre-nup.
This was all very light hearted. Now, in the smoking room of The Railway Club at 2a.m. on Sept. 21st, she started to say things like: ‘well, if I’m going to do this we need to set goals’
‘Of coarse’ I said, ‘What do you have in mind?’
‘I dunno’.
‘How bout’ if we stop having sex or get board with each other we look into things like auto-erotic asphyxiation or pony play?’
‘Whats autoerotic asphyxiation?’
‘Its when we strangle each other during sex. I think that’s what its called anyway’.
‘Is that what you want? I mean, are you into that?’
‘I dunno. I’ve never tried it. But I have hyperventilated myself while masturbating, it gives you a great tingly feeling all over, like when you white out’.
‘hmm’.
We finished our beers and went down to the street and got in a cab.
I knew the cabby. He’d given me a ride home every time I’ve been to the Railway.
He’s like the club goers groupie. He always has a cd of whichever band was playing that night playing on his stereo. He’s in his late forties, overweight and completely bald.
‘Hey, I get a ride with you every time I come here, whats your name?’
‘Constantine’.
‘Oh yeah! Your fiftieth birthday is coming up!’
(There was a poster at the bar for his birthday party but I hadn’t recognized his photo)
‘That’s right! Where can I take you?’
I told him and we traversed the Georgia Viaduct listening to The Pack whom we had just seen. They are good friends of Ash and mine. They played their first show in my parking lot last year, up top is a picture.
They’re a great blues rock band. Becky Black and Maya Miller (cool names eh?) Becky can whale on the guitar and sing like a goddamn nightingale engulfed in hell fire. She’s priceless. Maya is damn cool too.
Anyway, Ash and me get home and go right at it. Drunk, hard, sex. We’ve been going for a while when she puts her hands around my neck and squeezes. Hard. It hurt and I could feel my face and eyes bulging, turning red and purple.
‘Should I stop?’
‘No.. its okay’ I sort of pushed out of my mouth and tried to get some kind of pleasure out of it, but it doesn’t feel good. It hurts and she can tell, she lets go and laughs.
Some people get of on the damnedest things. I have a decent bruise on my neck.
We passed out and slept in.
Got Breakfast.
I went to the gallery and made those prints at the top of the page while watching
Several episodes of ‘24’ on my computer.
I don’t know why I did that.
