Marc Bryant

DJ Viking Prince

2012-01-26T18:56:00.001-08:00

Chain mail, Adidas, and aviators.

Scratching sundials like turntables:

night-day

night-day

day-nightnightday.

Warming up for Ragnarok and chewing bubblegum.

DJ Viking Prince.

Cotton

2012-01-25T17:33:00.001-08:00

You can say this isn't a lucky t-shirt.

I've had my doubts too.

But look at these cars.

Look at these houses.

Look at this life.

Look at my SAT's...

Then we'll talk.

Charlatan

2012-01-24T19:23:00.001-08:00

Never rode a skateboard.

Never played in a punk band.

Never slept on a floor in London

got in a fight in New York

or served time in Tokyo.

Never had sex.

Pretty good at pretending I have.

Three Wishes

2012-01-23T17:47:00.000-08:00

The genie came across

with a warning against tricks and loopholes:

A bottomless cereal bowl…
…indestructible coveralls…
…Jessica Rabbit…

Boombox

2012-01-22T16:00:00.000-08:00

I have a haunted boombox.

No matter what I play; Beastie Boys

Loverboy

Village People

what I hear is a freaky voice singing in a language I've never heard

backed up by instruments I'm pretty sure are not of this world.

I got myself a karaoke machine.

I taped myself singing How Great Thou Art

the Star Spangled Banner

and Love Shack.

I've re-wound.

I'm pushing play...

High Tide

2012-01-21T17:01:00.001-08:00

That morning when I set out, I expected that the beach would be crowded. What lay before me when I cleared the hill was beyond what I would ever call a crowd. The whole town must have turned out.

I managed to elbow out a spot about halfway in. Whoever thought they were going to organize that cluster fuck was much mistaken. At least the stinking mass of body heat kept everyone warm.

We mingled there for hours in relative silence. A few of the little ones were crying, but no one seemed to notice. Finally, a kid with a binoculars, perched on his dad's shoulders called out, pointing towards the horizon. Somewhere down the beach from me, a girl screamed.

The creature was even bigger than the prophets led us to expect. It was bearing towards us at least a half mile a stride. Dozens of sharks.were hanging like remorahs from its black hide.

In unison, from a mile up and down the rocky surf, the town cocked their weapons...

Mustard

2012-01-17T17:50:00.001-08:00

I bought the gas mask at a yard sale.

I was in a bind for a Halloween costume and figured I could throw some kinky creepy ensemble together.

No sooner did I tighten the strap

than the world was screaming.

The floor was shaking.

Shots were chattering from impossible guns.

My clothes were soaked and freezing.

My eyes began to burn.

Gas was leaking through.

The mask was broken.

Dorothydanger

2012-01-16T16:33:00.000-08:00

I was flying low, putting as many miles between myself and that witch as I could, when the sky went dark and the wind began to howl.

The world was spinning, trees were ripping out of the ground, and my lunch jumped out of me as the hurricane yanked me straight up into the storm.

Rather than break my wings struggling, I let the storm carry me along. It wasn’t any worse than air maneuvers with my jerk brothers. That’s when I saw the girl.

There was a sad little house on the other side of the funnel. She was peeking out the window, cradling a hairy little creature as if it were a baby.

We made saw each other, just as the storm let up and the house dropped.

I came to, unbroken, face down in an ugly field in an ugly world.

That was a lifetime ago.

I’ve made peace with the fact that I’m never going home.

At least I’m out from under that witch.

I wonder how that girl made out…

Peeping Tom

2012-01-15T18:35:00.000-08:00

That peeping tom

broke another mirror.

Lunchbox

2012-01-14T17:05:00.001-08:00

My lunchbox
has
a secret identity.

The Throne

2012-01-13T19:35:00.000-08:00

There's a golden throne on the porch of my trailer.

Ghosts come from the world over

begging for directions to Heaven.

I won the chair from an angel named Brad in a crooked card game.

But they don't need to know that.

Scouth

2012-01-12T19:47:00.000-08:00

I don’t know how I heard the pack coming, but by the time they reached the clearing, my ass was up a tree. Grinding my teeth to keep them from rattling, I watched the wolves gather in a circle.

The sick looking one was the leader. He moved to the middle of the circle with all the strut and stagger of a king. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but his wicked brothers were hanging on to every word. That’s when the branch snapped.

I managed to hit the ground on both feet and run a quarter-mile before I realized they weren’t after me. Which made no sense. Knife in hand, I crept back along my tracks in the snow. They were there in the clearing, waiting for me.

The puny one dropped a crown at my feet, crafted from bleached bone. I stared at him for a lifetime before I stooped down and placed it on my head.

The pack began to sing.

And I joined in.

Tin Roof Sunday

2012-01-11T16:52:00.001-08:00

The buzz of steady rain on a tin roof takes me back to my great grandmother's cabin.

Chicken frying in an iron skillet.

Playing dominoes with my cousins.

Drawing straws to decide who would "interrogate" the robot prisoners.

Memories.

Tromp

2012-01-10T19:17:00.000-08:00

My entire back yard is a perfect little city.
Waist high skyscrapers
cars the size of cockroaches
people who can sit comfortably on the head of a nail.
Six years I’ve measured and sculpted and painted
squinting through a magnifying glass
building every single detail
from nearly microscopic rolls of toilet paper
to a writing subway system.
Hundreds of hours.
Thousands of dollars.
Here’s where it all comes together.
The city is cardboard.
The people are chocolate.
My Godzilla suit is a perfect fit.

Six Word Story

2012-01-09T17:11:00.000-08:00

I failed to write a story.

Abducted

2012-01-08T18:34:00.000-08:00

From the top of the tree, I could see my house.
I saw the roof that needed repairing
and the dead grass
and the new Porsche one of my wife’s boyfriends has been driving.
Bad credit
an upside down mortgage and a PT Cruiser in desperate need of new tires.
There was nothing left worth hanging around for.
So I jumped.
I barely made the hatch of the flying saucer.
They almost left without me.

Hope Chest

2012-01-07T19:05:00.000-08:00

The box arrived this morning.

The driver didn't wait for me to sign.

The driver doesn't hang around anymore.

My granddad's jacket smells like fire.

Every hair on my body stands up as I slip my arms into the sleeves.

It's a perfect fit.

The box isn't empty yet.

There's pants to match the jacket

a silk shirt

an embroidered pocket square

a gold watch

and granddad.

Dream House

2012-01-06T19:06:00.000-08:00

The instructions said to look for a sign.

I'm standing in front of the only house in town

that doesn't have a Barbie doll nailed to the door.

This must be the place.

Valkyrie V8

2012-01-05T18:13:00.001-08:00

My car is dead.

It's not in a coma.

It's not asleep.

It's dead.

It's helped me put over 300,000 miles between myself and accountability

and now it's burning.

A viking funeral.

Something's pounding inside the trunk.

I'm not sending it to heaven alone.

Hermonica

2012-01-04T17:40:00.000-08:00

She told us that she was talented.

She picked the comb from my pocket.

She cut a square from a page of the phone book.

She folded the scrap around the comb

raised it to her mouth

and started to play.

The room buzzed into darkness.

When the lights came back on

we were standing at the head of the line for Space Mountain.

I never did ask for that comb back.

Misfit Vice

2012-01-03T16:35:00.001-08:00

After the raid, it took three full size U Hauls to bring in all the evidence.

500 Ventriloquist dummies

312 Jack in the Boxes

75 cap guns (with holsters)

and half a jar of jellybeans.

There wasn't a single piece of DNA.

The Sword Drills

2012-01-02T09:38:00.000-08:00

There's a game kids play in Sunday school, to test how well they know their way around the Bible.

They line up, books in hand.

The teacher calls out "Attention! Draw swords!".

They cock their bibles on their shoulders, "swords" drawn and ready.

The teacher barks out a chapter and a verse, "John 3:16!", or whatever.

The first soldier to find the passage and read it out loud is the winner of the round.

My family never missed church.

My brothers and I were the most decorated Christian soldiers.

After the service, we'd often find ourselves out on a cliff a couple of miles from the house, looking out over the river.

We'd imagine jumping off the edge, and where we'd land.

My big brother pictured doing a cannonball, out to a big war ship, sailing off in search of pirates, buckling swashes, bringing cutthroats to justice.

My baby brother dreamed of swan diving and ascending to Olympus, taking his place among Zeus and Apollo and Mercury, the whole heathen pantheon, as they looked down upon creation.

I saw myself jumping feet first, landing in a bright city, decked out in a tailored suit, swaggering into a fancy restaurant with a beautiful lady. One on each arm.

Today, my older brother owns a lumber mill. He's a deacon of the same church where we drew swords. Sharp wife, sassy kids. He's got it all.

My other brother won the Medal of Honor fighting for Grant at the Battle of Shiloh. He's buried 20 feet from where we were all born.

...

And there I was, back at the cliff, carrying a bag full of treasure. Souvenirs of the rich life I had led.

The sun was nodding off.

I'd been standing there since dawn.

My mouth wasn't dry.

My stomach wasn't growling.

My back wasn't aching.

"Attention! Draw swords!"

I reached into the bag...

"First Corinthians. Chapter 14. Verse 8!"

56 dog-eared playing cards fluttered down to the river.

"For if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself for the battle?"

...

"Attention! Draw swords!"

My hands were starting to shake.

"Saint John Book 3 Verse 7!"

There went a bottle of someone’s good whiskey.

"That which is born of the flesh is flesh; and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit."

...

"Attention! Draw swords!"

The sun finally closed its eyes.

"Psalms Chapter 55, verse 5!"

An ivory-handled pistol, fired one too many times, spun into the darkness.

"My heart is sore pained within me, and the terrors of death are fallen upon me."

***

The wind was at my back, nudging me forward...

I couldn't see the river, but there were black ships, calling me to adventure.

A trumpet blew from a palace in the clouds.

There were voices calling out to me. Telling me to bring them back their goods

and their trust

and their lives.

Before the wind could push me further, I heard another voice...

"Attention!"

There was nothing left in my bag.

"Draw swords!"

I turned away, and walked back into the wind.

I heard the book

and the chapter

and the verse.

There was no need to draw my sword.

I knew the passage by heart.

Room Service

2011-12-30T18:39:00.001-08:00

I hear the guard coming down the hall again
just like he has for the last five years.

My suite has no clock or window
but I'd bet he comes at the same time every day
with the same shitty soup
and the same shitty bread.

Every day I've said hello.

Every day he jams the tray through the slot
and waits in silence until I've eaten and passed the tray back through.

This time, some thing's not right.

I smell coffee.

I smell perfume.

I smell pizza.

Shawcrank

2011-12-30T18:23:00.001-08:00

My new neighbor is a gearhead.

All night

every night

he revs his engine.

When the guards finally cracked his skull

dragged him off to solitary

life was good.

But I still can't sleep.

Maybe I can use a tune up myself.

Shong

2011-12-29T18:39:00.001-08:00

This the first piece I've written in a bar

with my friend blowing smoke in my face

and new comics

winking at me from my bag.

I should be waiting for Max Headroom

to walk up and offer me

a free refill of the decent pale ale.

Gorizon

2011-12-28T19:50:00.000-08:00

I'm tired of rubbing my hands together.

The calluses don't keep me warm.

I hear the blades whirling.

I see the ugly little speck in the distance.

But my belly is gnawing at my spine.

I don't think I can hold my eyes open.

No Guns at the Seance

2011-12-27T17:43:00.000-08:00

After I checked my weapon at the door

after the candles were lit

after the china shuddered and I saw my own breath

my partner tuned in above the table.

His voice was a world away

but I could read his lips.

"Apology accepted."

The Puppet Shows

2011-06-30T18:59:00.000-07:00

The first bounty hunter to catch up with me was easy enough to handle: syringe to the eye, designer hallucinogen to the brain and I was two states away by the time he remembered that his balls weren’t made out of gila monsters. Three months later I woke up in New Tartarus with Hyperion Scaggs standing over my bed. I read that his wives started a scholarship for orphans of involuntary castration. I’ve slipped by Caesar Golem, Hera Hades, the Wax Triplets and Paul the Black Wolf. After almost two years on the run, I never imagined that the one to finally collar me would be my own Grandpa Sagittarius. Considering the prices on my head though, I can’t really blame him.

*******

Before the puppet show industry collapsed, Goatsong Buddies was the go to for animatronics. From marionettes to alchedriods, if they didn’t have it, they made it. Now, like all of the other grand wonders of the Sapphire Age, the factory was a haunted museum. Deep in the warehouse, hundreds of shiny eyes glared at me from of the darkness as if I had awakened them from sweet dreams of happier days. All the legendary puppets were there: Jarface, Henrietta Harpy, Savory Panther, and the terror of my childhood, the snake haired scourge of evil - Medusa Marvel. All of them wore their control wands on silver chains, inexplicably juiced up though the factory had been abandoned for over a decade.

As tough as the magnomarble doors were, I knew it was just a matter of time before Grandpa would get tired of toying with me and begin busting into the building, then my shot at escaping would have been a dud. I sighed, said a little prayer to Hermes, and punched his code into my mobile.

When he picked up on the third bell, you would have thought I was calling to tell him happy birthday. I tried to be his little angel again. I reminded him of the times he took me to the ocean, and bought me my first lamb, and taught me how to slice through any system. And through any throat. He then reminded ME of the time I ran away to join the Cherry Jets. And the time I stole his new Phaeton. And the time I poisoned his best hound.

So fair enough.

I hung up, hitched my boots and made my way out of the warehouse and towards the shaft to the roof. I had seen a stand of sick looking satin trees when I broke into the puppet factory. If I could make the jump and if I could get to the ground without breaking my neck, I figured I had a decent shot at getting clear. I snaked up the greasy iron ladder, through the hatch, and straight into my cousin Libra.

The last time Libra and I talked, she was never speaking to Gramps again. She was going on about him killing one boyfriend too many. I guess the gold on my head was what she needed to give Gramps one more chance. She managed to clock me one in the head before I could drop back down the shaft. I yanked the hatch closed on her foot as I went. I could hear her screaming all the way down to the stone floor.

I staggered away from the fall, blood pouring from the gash in my head where Libra tagged me. I knew if she was here, then there was no telling who else Grandpa had scared up. However many there were, I knew he had them in position as he was sinking his teeth into the locks system. I had no weapon. I had no plan. I had no chance. Then, I saw Medusa Marvel, still staring at me. This time, she almost seemed to be smiling.

Within a minute, I had ripped the frame and wiring from her shell and locked on her famous helm and breastplate. I sliced into the wands, and every puppet in the warehouse creaked back to life.

Gramps did have the factory surrounded. Half of my family; cousins, nieces, nephews and even on of my step brothers were armed and ready for me. Ready for me, but there was no way they were ready for Medusa Marvel. And the Savory Panther. And Jarface. And Henrietta Harpy. And the Li’l Cyclopses. And Captain Parthenon. A horde of Saturday matinee superstars, stampeding over an army of mercenary trash, back out into the world that had forgotten them.

*****

A now here I am, free for now, speeding down the Great Road in Gramps’ Phaeton. I’m wondering if the dust has settled back at the factory. I’m wondering how far I’ll run this time. And I’m wondering if I’ll ever manage to get out of this fucking Medusa Marvel costume.

E.G.G. Boutique

2011-06-24T18:48:00.000-07:00

My brother is standing at the entrance of what used to be an e.g.g. boutique. My brother does not have the 50 he owes me. He does have his finger in his nose.

I'm following him into the store. The store is covered with dust, but the coolers are stocked with e.g.g.s. The e.g.g.s are fully developed, each one the size of a marble. I'm asking him how this place can be out of business, abandoned, but full of produce. He's rolling his eyes. He's laughing. I'm taking a closer look at the e.g.g.s. They're pitch black, but a tiny glow is pulsing inside. Looking at these things is turning my stomach. I'm feeling my brother's breath in my neck.

He's telling me that he has a connection that will pay bigger than anything we've ever pulled. He's telling me he has a buyer for as many b.a.b.y.s as these eggs will hatch. I'm asking him who he has in mind to hatch those e.g.g.s. My brother is rolling his eyes and laughing again. I am heading towards the door.

The door is locked. My brother is walking the key in between his fingers like a silver dollar. He's asking me what my problem is. He's telling me what a breeze it is. "Pop the e.g.g. and a week later the bun is done." I'm telling him if it's that easy he can shove the whole shop up his ass and die rich. I'm telling him I want 75% of the cut. He's telling me it's a 50/50 split. I'm pulling my phone. I'm telling him I'll call our parents if he doesn't hand over the key. He's laughing. He's telling me Mom and Dad are in on it.

My brother is offering me a bottle of water and a shiny black e.g.g.

****
My nose is bleeding. My left eye is swelling shot. My brother is on the floor. He's gasping for air. He's cradling his crotch. He's trembling. His vomit is burning my eyes.

My brother's hack ass plastic clone key is snapping off in the lock. I'm on my knees, opening an access panel with my blade. The lights in the are going dark. the cases are coming alive. The e.g.g.s are turning pink. The walls are beginning to hum. Tiny voices are calling out from the e.g.g.s.

"Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?"

I'm raising my boot over my brother's face...

Wolf + Frog + Seal

2011-06-23T18:29:00.000-07:00

Who eats when he wants to eat?
Who sleeps when he wants to sleep?
Who sings when he wants to sing?

A school of fish...
A flock of sheep...
A murder of crows...
A clutch of phleals.

For generations my people have hunted and sang and bred in harmony on these ice floes.

And then there was me.

From the night I hatched, the sound of my clutch laughing and playing and singing was teeth sunk into the pit of my skull, sucking out the sap. When Momma cuddled me, I pretended I was paddling around the moon, far away from her stupid lullabies.

On hunts, I swam at the rear of the pack, muttering little prayers, begging the leviathan to spin around and swallow them all in a gulp, leaving me to my sweet lonesomeness.

Time passed. I let myself be dragged along by the clutch. But when they sang, I groaned. When they laughed, I pressed my flippers around my ears. When they danced, I buried myself in the icy grit. Until I couldn't live another moment of it.

One night, while the clutch snored, I crept off into the dark to make my escape. A week later, I was back 'home'.

Starved. Shriveled. Shattered.

My hide was crusted with ice ticks. I had scuttled off in the exact opposite direction of the sea and got myself lost.

My cousins brought me 'home' and the clutch gathered around.

They fed me.

They ate the ticks away.

And they laughed.

As my bites scabbed over and the little scars were beginning to bloom, I knew that the clutch might be making me crazy, but life alone was not an option. If I was going to fit in, I had to make myself special.

On hunting runs, we track a leviathan, drive it to the surface, then bite and tear at it until it suffocates. (Leviathans are short of breath. And very, very stupid.) Then the pack swims back and forth to the floes, hauling the meat until the bones are picked white.

On the first hunt after my recovery, we cornered a leviathan near a glacier. As we drove her towards the surface, I spotted her calf, further down in the depths. Calf meat is sweeter and richer than their mommas'. I figured if I landed a succulent baby, I'd come home a hero.

The calf so gentle, I was able to swim right up to the nest and sink my teeth into its shiny flank. When it bawled out the mother went berserk. She dove towards me and her shrieking calf, she dragged half of the pack down with her. The hunters clamped into the soft spots below her fins were smashed against the ice wall. She scooped her calf up into her mouth and swam away. That leviathan was the first decent prey we'd found in weeks, There was no telling when we'd find another.

When we made it back home, the clutch pounced me. There was no petting. There was no feeding. There was no licking my wounds. There was biting. And more biting. And screaming. I cost the clutch over a dozen able hunters and scared off the next month's meat At least later, with my ears scabbed over, I didn't have to listen to any singing.

One female tended to me. A cripple, born blind. She didn't swim or feed with the rest of the clutch.

She was ugly. She stank of piss. She whimpered in her sleep. Not long after we welcomed our first nest of tads into the world.

My family may has well have been leeches. I feel asleep to their whining every night.

“Play with us Daddy. Feed us Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.”

My mate only slept on top of me, sighing and smiling like a fool. The clutch lived on my back too. “More tads. More hunters. More singers.”

More misery.

One quiet night I scuttled towards the cliffs and slipped off the edge, down into the chop. The moon was alive.

I closed my eyes and I was a tad again, floating alone in my egg. I paddled along, deeper into the dream. The world was dark, and deep and quiet. I barely noticed when I swam into the leviathan's mouth, straight down her throat and into her gut.

More than a year has drifted by now. Surrounded by the cow's sweet quiet guts, I'm never hungry.

Who eats when he wants to eat?
Who sleeps when he wants to sleep?
Who sings when he wants to sing?