Shane Jesse Christmass



Sitting on the main engine of government. Reading an employment contract. Buying airline tickets to Rome. Smoking Silk Cut cigarettes. Enjoying winter for the first time. Drugged in North America. Missed first flight to Rome. Using the free WI-FI. Drinking soda with Buddhists and Texan cowboys. Listening to Tunisian concertinas. Thinking about thieves. Talking like an adult. Looking at the empty cartridges. Purchasing fries and hot dogs. Washing my skin in syrupy detergent. Working in a bourbon and beer joint. Looking at your body, but in particular, your toes. At the convenience store, staring at the liquor cabinet. Being invited to supper parties, and travelling to them via taxi. Learning how to mix cement. Driving in an unperfumed car that is low on gasoline. Looking at the bullet hole in the back of the motel room door. Dating a petite woman who has cancer of the brain. Drinking from the water fountain. Tear ducts. Human dose. Cambodia. Wearing red rubber to a job interview. Getting bones thrashed with a leather lash. Looking at parasites under a microscope. Asking the pharmacist questions about menstruation. Upturning my eyelids. Being an eaten being while sweating in Cambodia. Catching malaria from drinking from the water fountain. Cooking your birthday cake on a black mirror. Watching all the Hollywood movies. Watching the right wing militia drape themselves in a rainbow flag. Filling out test cards regarding animal reincarnation. The advertisements on the bus seat ask for new bus drivers. Last year’s phone books stacked up in the back room. Tiresome voices in automobiles. Cleaning the toilet bowl in the toilet cubicle. Nasty smears of shit on the door handle. The dryness on your mouth’s edge. More advertisements. Leaning on the pharmacy counter getting your prescription drugs. Talking technical jargon in your childhood home. Eating the chewing gum left in the medicine cabinet. Drinking Pepsi Cola on a trolley car. Discussing retail electronics while making an instant coffee. Police officer with manure smells. Lost car keys in the jacuzzi. A steward handing out white towels before the porn movie. Riots because of bed sheets. I meet with my surgeon to discuss skin care. A polyester shirt over my bare feet. Factory workers distributing prophylactics and pharmaceuticals. Joan Collins, with her unconventional laugh, sipping a warm brandy. A bath towel over filthy corpses. The air-conditioned sleep of useless animals. Vocal cords as sponges. A bus driver asleep in the warehouse. A telephone rings. The champagne corks pop. Hair lacquer in the medicine cabinet. Your afternoon injections. Your thin waist. The cash register stolen during the dinner service. The evening food is roast potatoes. Looking at fabric samples while getting a lap dance. Several aeroplanes have landed at train stations. Your body behind shower doors. Grenades and mustard gas around Columbus Circle. You purchase reading glasses after being in seven traffic accidents. Burnt-out wheelchairs leaning against a ticket booth. Anatomical knowledge dispensed to hotel guests. Aftershave in the shower stall. I’m asleep in the gymnasium lounge. Outside K-Mart your eye dilates. Hollow genitals in the late 1970s. Cranberry juice spilt on business shirts. Playing the drum kit for the medical steward. Postal sacks brimming with birthday cards. Eye contact for bikinis. Tan oil for sale inside a pop-up tent. A haircut made from lifeless smoke. Patterns hiss. Newspapers discuss time travel. Slow motion on train station platforms. Boot polish on ballsacks. Bathroom smells of menthol cigarettes and mint aftershave. Telephone for personal calls only. Abattoir workers ordering room service. Solvents stuck to membranes. Refugee camps and number plates.