She Just Lay There
“Is that you?” he yells from the bedroom. She closes the door, tosses her purse on the floor.
“Who else is it gonna be after all these years”
“Can’t hear you,” he says. “Can’t hear me, what page are you on?” she asks.
“Thirteen, your unlucky number.” He says. She stares at whiteness all around her.
“Do I still get killed?”
“Same old story.” He says.
You seem to like that part of the story, a lot.”
“What,” he says, “be out in a minute.”
“Sure, fine, bring me with you, will you.” She glances down to her feet and looks up her entire length. “Courier, fuck”
He comes into the room, lays himself out on the page, “kinda drab looking, can I take a guess? “
“Go for it,” she says. “Pulp?” he says, wincing.
“Begins with a “P,” rhymes with scorn and don’t get any ideas.”
“Porn.” I knew it. You get all the good stuff.
“I’d say, fuck you, but I heard it enough today.”
“So it wasn’t that good.” He asks.
“No, “she says, “I just laid there on the page.”
“Back tomorrow?”
“No, it was a quick read. I did a lot of moaning and very little development. “
He looks at her, smiles. “ Kind of nice to be just turned eighteen though, isn’t it?”
“Hardly,” she says. What about you?”
He sits up, in all his times new roman glory. “I got to be Uncle Sam and spread lies about American history.”
“Boring,” she says, and goes to the kitchen. He rolls onto his side. ”What’s for dinner, he asks.
“I don’t know, why didn’t you bring a nice fresh label home with you?
He thinks to himself, she’ll never let that one go.
“It’s not those labels I’m into, it’s the list of ingredients.”
She closes the door of the bathroom.
“Labels, lists, ingredients, all the same. You’re a fuck and you know it.”
“Honey, I said I was sorry.”
She bangs on the door, “ And what about that little italicized number?
“I couldn’t help that, you look good in italics too baby.”
“Even courier?”
He leans into the door, san serif, banging gently. Searching for the words to save himself.
“You make courier Italics look like . . .”
She opens the door. Smiles at him. “Okay Uncle Sam, give me a minute.”
He feels good. Maybe this will be a nice night after all.
“Dinner’s in the next chapter.” He says.
“But I’m dead already.”
“yeah, but they’re gonna talk about you.”
“No thanks, you go. I’m gonna watch my P’s and Q’s.
“Who else is it gonna be after all these years”
“Can’t hear you,” he says. “Can’t hear me, what page are you on?” she asks.
“Thirteen, your unlucky number.” He says. She stares at whiteness all around her.
“Do I still get killed?”
“Same old story.” He says.
You seem to like that part of the story, a lot.”
“What,” he says, “be out in a minute.”
“Sure, fine, bring me with you, will you.” She glances down to her feet and looks up her entire length. “Courier, fuck”
He comes into the room, lays himself out on the page, “kinda drab looking, can I take a guess? “
“Go for it,” she says. “Pulp?” he says, wincing.
“Begins with a “P,” rhymes with scorn and don’t get any ideas.”
“Porn.” I knew it. You get all the good stuff.
“I’d say, fuck you, but I heard it enough today.”
“So it wasn’t that good.” He asks.
“No, “she says, “I just laid there on the page.”
“Back tomorrow?”
“No, it was a quick read. I did a lot of moaning and very little development. “
He looks at her, smiles. “ Kind of nice to be just turned eighteen though, isn’t it?”
“Hardly,” she says. What about you?”
He sits up, in all his times new roman glory. “I got to be Uncle Sam and spread lies about American history.”
“Boring,” she says, and goes to the kitchen. He rolls onto his side. ”What’s for dinner, he asks.
“I don’t know, why didn’t you bring a nice fresh label home with you?
He thinks to himself, she’ll never let that one go.
“It’s not those labels I’m into, it’s the list of ingredients.”
She closes the door of the bathroom.
“Labels, lists, ingredients, all the same. You’re a fuck and you know it.”
“Honey, I said I was sorry.”
She bangs on the door, “ And what about that little italicized number?
“I couldn’t help that, you look good in italics too baby.”
“Even courier?”
He leans into the door, san serif, banging gently. Searching for the words to save himself.
“You make courier Italics look like . . .”
She opens the door. Smiles at him. “Okay Uncle Sam, give me a minute.”
He feels good. Maybe this will be a nice night after all.
“Dinner’s in the next chapter.” He says.
“But I’m dead already.”
“yeah, but they’re gonna talk about you.”
“No thanks, you go. I’m gonna watch my P’s and Q’s.
posted by Bob Shattuck at 6:28 PM
1 Comments:
Hi Bob,
I am working on the Dirksen Book and I saw your posting on the Dirk Fest Tribute page, and I was wondering if you would consent to having your story publish in the book. If yes please reply to this email. See below for more info.
Also could you forward this email to anyone you know who might have a Dirk story. Send to: dirksenstories@gmail.com
Hope all is going well.
ciao. James Stark
Many of you were aware the Dirk Dirksen had been working on a book, to be published by Last Gasp, about his life especially his days with the Fab Mab and beyond. I was in the Last Gasp Publishing offices a couple of weeks ago on other business when they pointed out three boxes full of paper "There is Dirksen's book, make it happen."
When I got home and sorted through the contents, lots of posters, newspaper articles, list of shows at the Mab and Off Broadway and an interview of Dirk interviewing himself. I did find a couple of stories people had written about their experiences with Dirk. After reading those I realized that almost everyone had a Dirk story.
I am asking people to send their Dirk Stories, the good, the bad and the ugly. We will print most of them depending on space and content. Each person's story that is published will receive a copy of the book when it is publish. If you have a photo of yourself with Dirk send that along.
Sending your story to the address below means you release rights to Last Gasp and in consideration you will be paid the sum of One U. S. Dollar and with a copy of the finished book for the stories used.
Along with your story we will need your mailing address. End date for receiving stories is January 31, 2009
Send to: dirksenstories@gmail.com
Please forward to any one who may have had contact with Dirk.
Thank You James Stark and Last Gasp
PS: We are looking for photographs of Dirk if you have any let us know about the content and if possible a low res. scan
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