from The Selves
She was hive-like with lilac eyes. Lurleen Berlin's eyes were
never a second time. They were without her from all sides.
They were familiar. They were familiar from her. They were
frowns that sparkled. They never sparkled. She was never at
her house anymore. Frank O was still at her house. He would
sit in his car in front of her house with his notes. His notes
were slim. The notes were internal and stared back at him.
There was an element of the foreign about Lurleen Berlin.
There was the familiar about Lurleen Berlin. What she was just
about missing was the too, the also. Her wigs were always
straight too. There was always a smidge of shade in them.
Somewhere in one of Frank O's sketches of one of the reports
he was preparing on Lurleen Berlin was a metaphor involving a
competition of kudzu and wisteria against each other. This was
a metaphor that was in relation to Lurleen Berlin in some way
in that sketch. The kudzu and the wisteria were competitors
for sunlight, two vines racing each other upwards and over
each other. There was an extension of the metaphor by
comparing kudzu and wisteria to the colors in a game of go
with the need to surround and choke off but to do it behind
the back. There was the desire to grow secretly. The growth
was quick but patient. The growth was secretest at the
extremities. The concept that Lurleen Berlin was both kudzu
and wisteria was that she was a plural rather than a singular.
She was not unitary she was binary. The binary was two
asymmetrical parts. Both of the parts were not in harmony.
They were not strata.
On the set of the movie Frank O. was one day. Lurleen Berlin
was there that same day. Frank O was there talking with Keanu
Reeves. There was a fiction that was around him whenever
Lurleen Berlin was around him. The friction was a fog that was
thingless. There were buttons and lights in the fog but no
lights. The lights were in places on the set that condensed
everything. Frank O was all over the place. Lurleen Berlin was
near Frank O. now when he was talking to Keanu Reeves. Lurleen
Berlin was in white pants with no belt around them. There was
no fiction around him. After a brief hello to Frank O. in
which Lurleen Berlin's eyes were across from Frank O's with
nothing between them, she asked be introduced. This was
something Frank O. did with his hips and shoulders opening so
that they formed a line between the two of them and with his
arm which shoveled the air from Lurleen Berlin to Keanu
Reeves. After smiling that she was a friend of the Blob Keanu
Reeves and Lurleen Berlin were stuck in a conversation. They
were stuck in a lithe encrustation. The edges of the
encrustation were thin and ear raised. There was small talk
that erased itself from memory every 30 seconds or so. There
was a reluctance in Lurleen Berlin when there shouldn't have
been. There was no real reluctance. There was a laughter that
was not really laughter. The laughter was underneath invisible
from the verdant racecourse. There were no silver apples.
At some point Keanu Reeves excused himself and was not there
anymore. He was still there, but he was knee deep in his
script, with his right hand on his chin and the script on the
little table in front of him. There was a little table in
front of his chair that was no bigger than a period. Though
not talkative there were periods of time when Lurleen Berlin
was electric. There was a dark electricity that made all her
fingers flicker and her eyes ounce. For periods of time
Lurleen Berlin was dormant in all her parts. For other periods of
time she was electric. The electricity was elastic. Her eyes
were elastic orchards that were vinily dry. At this point in
time there was a back and forth between those two periods like
there were two magnets that did not permit the metal indicator
to rest. Lurleen Berlin was some kind of magnet. Lurleen
Berlin was not a magnet. A bird with something sagging in its
mouth flew over the set.
The hive made the "eye sound". There were eyes in
the quilts. All of the furniture in Betty Leathers' house was
covered in quilts. There were facts that could not escape from
the quilts. The furniture quietly breathing under the quilts
was milky. The sexual breaders were humming like fairy
princesses. Betty Leathers' icy breath was a hum in which rain
fell with hot coils. The wow factor was soily and silver. Tuna
fish in a silver tin. Kitty with an extra chin eyeing
The "eye sound" was loose and without nouns. Betty
Leathers' breath was without breath. Betty Leathers eyes were
without sound. The sound was without any edges. The edges were
bottomless down into a shadow from which no shadow could
The "eye sound" was so lounge in the architecture.
So it was how you knew someone. How you knew someone was
someone that knew themselves. Someone with certain things in
the right places. The light in certain places was not from the
bathroom. There was no sound that came from them. They were
covered in sound. Leisure is covered in not being inside.
Sequestered with leisure with everybody in brown.* Nobody
looked at anybody.
Betty Leathers' eyes were red and round as she and her kitty**
locked the front door behind her with her dark clothes and
brown was gold.
kitty's name was Kitty. Kitty was invisible.
Her eyes were often a warning to him, such as the time he
almost touched a sneezeguard where a sticky bun was leeched
on. It was a warning that would turn his blood to arrows some
of which had points and some of which had suction cups. The
next step would be that some of his eyes would become big and
flat and pile on hers. There would be something emotionally
abusive he would do to her at the bottom. It would be a cube
he would rub until unable to tell which direction the motion
was coming from. Hours later he would cut up an Arby's coupon
and give it to her in some effort intended to let her know
that contrite was where he was coming from. There was a moon
with its mental sleeve. Duckie Wall's cologne of choice was
Stormy Leather. The cologne's smell was something that would
make you lose your voice if you were around it. At work Duckie
Wall arrived with a cup of coffee that was opaque and an
Arby's coupon stuck on his jacket sleeve. His jacket was the
color of a peep which was aimed at a television. The
television was not being watched by anyone, stuck among the
long black trees with nothing but their silhouettes infected
from the moonlight.
She was indifferent to sticky buns. Betty Leathers was
indifferent to sticky buns. She was not quite indifferent to
sticky buns. One day as she walked around there was a
transparent sticky bun wrapper stuck to her back. When the
assistant at her office told her the wrapper was there, she
tried to get it off, twirling like a highlander at a sock hop.
The twirling was in front of a file cabinet. On the file
cabinet was a bottle of cabernet. The bottle was translucent
and black. In the file cabinet there was nothing but sticky