A List of People I've Murdered
From memory, 1976-1994
Dear Victim,
You fucking sicko! I came back for you! You said I wouldn’t, that I couldn’t! But I’ve caught you! You’re finished! Oh boy. You really fucked up, running into me again. You don’t recognize me? You should by now. You really should. No matter. You’re mine now. Indeed. I should say! Well, well, well. What have we here?
You fucked around. And now you’ve found out, haven’t you? I’ve caught you and now you’re mine to torture, aren’t you? What a twisted destiny! Louder! What a shrilling register with which your young voice cautions me away. I can tell, you behold visions of faces, tears, candles bent in the wind. You hear a delirium of whispers, a song of all songs.
I can feel you at the whims of my tiny, trembling stabbers. Those aren’t simply apparitions in your mind’s eye, oh no, those are my little clay statues, the socks on my hands, my silent play-shadows in a world so saturated with sound! And you, here now, in a simple twist of fate.
What a spree! What a killing spree! Louder! Such a valiant succession of murders calls for a dedication! Do you mind? I would be so permanently grateful if you might oblige my entertainment. Yes, then, it’s settled. Hear, hear. If I might, and in no immediately particular order, I present a brief demonstration of the souls I’ve sent to the great playground in the sea, with prejudice and regret:
1. Mrs. Prudeaux, the librarian with the hair like a crow’s wing. She laughed so often. I cut off her neck.
2. The ice cream man, Mr. Bashar. He had a song that could freeze the midday sun. I hated his skin color. I hated him for singing so coldly. He's part of the river.
3. My kindergarten teacher, Miss Daisy Doubleday. She had a smile like a kitchen knife. She told me how proud she was of my fingerpainting. I made love to her and strangled her somewhere outside of Sacramento.
4. The mailman, Mr. Posty. His letters brought me no joy, only fliers for lawnmowers. I already have a lawnmower. He was rerouted. My arm is numb.
5. The old woman who lived in the shoe. I filled her body with rose petals. She walks like an old cartoon. I never want to go back. I can see my face in the swamp.
6. The boy who cried wolf. I painted his fence when he threw me to the dogs. My mother died in her sleep.
7. The baker with his tasty treats. I forget how he died but he long overstayed his welcome in the periphery of the Vietnam days. I stabbed his legs until he bled out.
8. The scarecrow in the cornfield. He never scared me. He always tried but I never turned my back on him. I lit my father on fire for the same reason, crops be damned.
9. The clown from the circus that never came. I found him hiding in the alley. I laughed and laughed and shot him with a very large gun, probably something I bought online, like a Zero Limited 1915 Maschinengewehr 18 Tank und Flieger.
10. The old lady who swallowed a fly. I fucked her head off. I sent her body to the dumpsters, si tu parles du parc Émilie-Gamelin (the Bag Lady knows); hits the spot.
11. The cow that jumped over the moon. I want off the ride, please. I’ve been very kind. No more. Please, no more of this.
12. My own mother during gestation. My children ran away with each other. They were always clanking and banging, and rattling, keeping me awake. Now they're part of a quiet, still tableau, forever frozen in their permanent escape. What a lovely day. Please kill me.
13. Three blind mice. I’ve seen too much. Send me back to hell or things are bound to get much worse. Please.
14. Dogwater Longhorn, the vestibule gateman with stately lake vessels, the blight of old sangria.
15. The triple tooth fairy, new and vicious, I split her head to the thrapple. That’s not original. You can’t say that here. You can’t just lift things like that.
16. The boy in the dark. Where are you, my friend? I can’t believe this is happening again. They were supposed to die. We weren’t supposed to come back here.
17. The sandman who never brought me good dreams. Oh, why didn’t you bring me good dreams. I blinded my father with a spoon. Enough. Please. Stop this. You can stop it.
18. The boogeyman in my closet. You want to stop? Make it stop, then. He eats the naughty children. He ate me whole and that’s when I came here. Is that it? Not yet.
19. The witch in your heart. No, I don’t want to hurt people. I don’t want to do this again. Please. I’m begging you. There is no way to get off the ride once it begins.
20. The moon itself. It was too inauspicious, too watchful. But I didn't need to touch it. I just whispered a little something to the mountain, and now it sleeps outside. I love my little boy. I split his head to the thrapple.
21. The melting clock man with a smile that stretched to the corners of time and back.
22. The whispering willow whose leaves painted secrets on my skin. I killed a dog with one punch just outside of Sacramento.
23. A chorus of stars who descended from the heavens for a celestial number from my favorite era, ballroom fantasia. Please stop reading this.
24. The shadow puppet that danced on my bedroom wall during moonlit vamps and trips to Corfu. Please stop.
25. The invisible octopus from Corfu that wrapped me in its apocalyptic embrace. Stop.
26. Daniel Stern, the actor. He died in Corfu. He sang me to sleep in a sea of forgotten dreams. Once we boarded the Diet Pepsi, the waves got really, really high. We crossed the strait and floundered at the sandbar.
27. The chessboard knight on the midnight marble, wishes aside. Can we stop this now? I’ve done what I promised. I’ve gouged my creative appendix.
28. The woman made of blood who left bile in my hair and shit in my eyes. There is no stopping this. It will be over soon. Just relax. It’s not safe to get off while it’s moving.
29. The man with a thousand faces, each one a broken lover. It’s time to go to bed. It’s time to go back to bed now.
30. The silent film star, Daniel Stern, whose love played out in the theater of my imagination. We made love in Corfu before I watched him dismember himself.
31. The statue in the park in central Corfu.
32. The spectral lumina in the boundary of my vision.
33. The sandwich guy from the sandwich shop. I fucked him in Corfu. I split his head to the thrapple. It’s time to leave now. It’s time to stop. Say goodnight to me. Goodnight!
34. The man in the green hat, whose name I can’t for the life of me remember.
35. The ladybug on the bench in Corfu.
36. The cloud that took human form to share a fleeting summer's necking.
37. Virgil, my daughter’s trainer.
38. The chameleon on your eyelash.
39. The little faggot who grew up to be a pedophile, who read stories and made pancakes for the school.
40. The shadowy figure behind the shower curtain.
41. The somber man in the corner of the room. Don’t look at him.
42. The moonlit reflection and everybody who lives or has lived in Corfu and its mirror image in the public bathroom, text only.
43. The dead girl whose finger paintings my teacher so warmly admired.
44. The woman with a voice like honey. She really stood for something. Please stop reading. The more you read this the further my torment continues. You can stop this. Enough.
45. The man who came in the mail, cold to the touch.
46. The crying children of the wind that danced around me in the dead of night like spectres, God almighty, I kissed it. I really sent myself to heaven.
47. The sunflower on the hill. My name is Julia now.
48. The forgotten teddy bear, Prince Nugget.
49. The mirage in the desert whose name is Adolf Hitler.
50. The chocolate bunny that gives me kisses so sweet.
51. The invisible friend who let me suck his dick when I was nine. We never saw the moon settle once in all our days.
52. The sad echo of my mother’s voice.
53. My reflection in the shard of a shattered mirror.
54. My mother, are you there? Can you make them stop?
55. The scent of fresh-baked bread from the bakery.
56. The mannequin in the glass who winked.
57. The melody that played on repeat on the streets of Hamburg, blessed be the ladies who took me in. I’ll swallow my hat, and I still owe you one.
58. Roland Grapow, the rainbow that bent down for a button as I danced in the grass.
59. All the dogs in Blejoi, Romania.
60. The trees that walk in the woods.
61. Fritz Ferdinand Pleitgen, the bastard of Naples.
62. Christian singer Holly Starr. I split her head to the thrapple.
63. Leonard Stone, the jew actor, and the following apparitions that came to me during a frightful episode of madness and ill-health on the beaches of Corfu; s'il te plaît, pose ce livre et pars. Je t'aime mais ça doit s'arrêter:
63a. Slimy Toad #1
63b. Slimy Toad #2
63c. Slimy Toad #3
63d. Slimy Toad #4
63e. Horny Toad #1
63f. Horny Toad #2
63g. Horny Toad #3
63h. Horny Toad #4
64. The following nuns from Corfu:
The black nun with the braids,
The tall nun who had a deep voice,
The nun with the eyes like Zapruder (no ribs),
William Eddie Robinson, baseman and pedophile,
John Tarleton, slaver and statesman,
Bud Spencer, hotshot polo player,
Nicola Bulley, the river queen of Lancashire,
Dagobert Sigmund von Wurmser, during the Seven Years War, the blight of old sangria,
Marc Riley of The Creepers,
Carl Weathers and Joseph Bottoms,
Tim Mulholland of Chicago, Illinois,
Charles-Omer Valois, the papist and pedophile,
Jean-François Heidenreich and his horse,
Charles R. Van Hise of Madison, Wisconsin,
Samuel Allen Rice of Old New York, alas,
Kirk Watson, the mayor of Austin, Texas,
John Eppard, musician and drug addict,
Jerry Donovan, the catcher, what a riot,
Montgomery Patton and the following dogs:
- Racer,
- Battle the Red Mage,
- Fixin’ a Hole Where the Rain Gets In,
- Spot-backed puffbird,
- South Platte River and Antero Reservoir,
- The Village of Thiory, France,
- Slug the Nigger’s Head,
- Box Toppins, venerator,
- Killer Basket Man, pineapple included,
- Vex Me! A One Man Show!
- That Ain’t No Banana,
- How many times do I have to tell you,
- The Dog with More Than One Face
- אברהם. Put that fucking cock in my eye. You’ve got exactly ten seconds to kill yourself before Daddy shows up. Listen to the man in the suit. Jonathan Taylor Thomas wants a word with you before you go on stage. These end up being his very precise, final instructions before the curtains go up:
Put the fork in the power socket.
Put the fork in the power socket.
Put the fork in the power socket.
65. Lady luck, your time’s run out.
66. The simple things, really. And sure enough, I killed your friends.
67. Your family.
68. All your loved ones, and anyone you’ve ever met.
69. Anybody who will ever know your name, forever for aeons to come.
70. The one before you.
And now it’s you, my darling.
It was always a matter of time. Alas, so it was recapitulated once more that not one of these souls passed from here onward without so much as a squeal of reluctance, for among my quiet engagement I’ve drawn sharp pleasures from both victims and victors, the lastly hallowed whimpers of an inopportune fiasco. And now, if you would be so obliged as to douse yourself in gasoline and light yourself on fire, I would be so ever (eternally) at your service.
Regards,
K. Ryan Hartley
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