"Ash Heap Hound (13)"
Me: Max Barduff, yup--I knew some stuff. We all might know some truth, but most of us are in it for ourselves. One man drinks cause he's an alcoholic and likes to party and get dirty sex; on the contrary, one man drinks to survive, and kicks the shit out of the southern army. God forgive us all.
* * * *
But I knew Zoe was a dog; specifically, an American Foxhound. Too, I knew Conner had more baggage, that he alone carried, than was mentioned by Zoe's observations of it all.
His family. The tricks. The arrogance, No confidence. Hell, there was no other with more confidence, for Conner was the Iceman--it slid off of him, or he was too stupid to be depressed.
Knew too he had bad shit in the gut. Pooped on newspaper, like a dog. Maybe that's why Zoe liked him. Didn't think about getting laid. Was raped by one woman, and it got to him. The toxic gut, people always saying: "You so skinny, boy."
He should have known Christ commanded to rebuke, saying: "You got an ugly countenance; plus, your heart is like unto worm-dirt."
He carried his cross. Had carried it for others. Did what The Book had asked him to do. Nobody knew. Just kept putting him down, driving him to the junkyard. He never stole. He never failed to mortify his senses if wrong himself. Do they? Bleeding internally for years, and still that stupid grin, as if knowing: at the hour of death, well, he's been there a few times. Have you? Will you cry when God puts the gun to your head? Or will you save your tears for a loved one? Which is wiser?
I got out of my trance. The energy was always there though. You can't kill positive energy. And the negative energy goes home in the end, to where it belongs.
