It's 3am. I'm coughing up blood. No wait. That's not right. I don't think that's blood. I think that's the color red from her short red satin skirt pulled up past her hips to make it easier to dig my way through the rock and pitch a tent inside that cave. I'm spitting out the fibers from her see-through blouse that got stuck in my teeth when I ripped off the zipper holding it together. I'm spitting out the soap and water that turned red from when she washed her short red mini-skirt with the slit up the side, washed it the kitchen sink with her red panties, her red lace stockings, her red high heels dripping dry in the bathroom hanging over the shower curtain. No, wait a minute. That must be a dream. I had a dream that I sucked all the color red out of existence because I loved it and had to have it. I was jonesin' for it like an addict who wanted to know if she had any meat. I loved the color red. Red hair. Red sunsets. Red Rodney. Red Norvo. Red Ryder. The Red River Valley. Little Red Riding Hood. Red Mitchell. Red herrings. Better dead than red. Red blood shot eyes. Red Rock Canyon, white out and blues after hours.
I was lost deep in sleep, sloppily slurping (?) the juices of forbidden kinky pleasure. I rested my head on her thighs, my face hidden by the shadow of her legs. I was as happy as an alcoholic at an open bar with my tongue hanging out waiting for another round. I was alone and content to dream about her short red skirt and red high heels with little metal clasps like handcuffs that pinched her ankles making bruises. There were tiny hooks painted red piercing her skin, which always got my blood to boil over. Large drops of blood found their way into my spoon. Little balls of cotton floated in water.
In my dream, I grabbed her ankles, sucked her toes. Suddenly I heard a loud knock on the door like I'd expect from cops. I woke up, sat up and looked at the door waiting for a big foot to come crashing through it without a warrant based only on a suspicion or a tip from a snitch. The last time this happened I was staying in a southern California resort town, a temporary resident of a cheap motel near the San Clemente pier. Coppers stormed in unexpected-like, planted stuff in my shoe and found works in the closet in a shoe box. It was a bum rap. The stuff wasn't mine. I was holding it for Benny the Jazz.
Anyway, there were no cops this time but a big brown manila envelope was shoved under my door. It was from someone I didn't know. He thought I'd be interested in his foot fetish. I was doing undercover work for deep background. Since he had a foot fetish he sent me pictures to prove it. (See JPG photos posted as "fOOT fETISH sEQUENCE 1 tHUR 6") He numbered them from one to six. That was the sequence he used to ignite the sparks of his perspiration. According to him, he only sweated on the right side of his body. Without his meds, his right armpit would heat up with a burning sensation usually when urinating. The hair under his right arm would be as tangled and matted as a wet mongrel dog. Strange as it sounds, his left side would be as cold as ice. In fact, his left arm pit had no hair at all. He looked and smelled like a Chinese Crested hairless.
In the package he sent there was a letter in a plain white business envelope simply addressed to "Dear Film and Tape Music". I opened it carefully. It could've been a stink bomb. I read it slowly, but first I poured myself a shot of whisky. Then I made myself a sandwich. Avocado, peanut butter and organic alfalfa sprouts with honey mustard dressing and soya sauce with artichoke hearts on the side. I had another shot of whiskey and sat in the chair to read the letter.
He asked me if I wanted to make a movie about his whole life. He said he would sell me the movie rights. He wrote, "I have 40,000 points of power. The C.I.A. gave me finding power. I can find anyone in the world. Sanction power. Market power." He told me to contact Homeland Security to find out when they're going to rent him a loft in New York. He wants to sell me some power. Foot fetish power. Power of the feet. Pisces power. Neptune toes. Saturn soles. He also told me he wants to get started in the porn industry or else.... and he writes this underlined with a bold red magic marker: "I can destroy it (i.e., the porn industry). You either my friend or my enemy (sic). My enemies I will destroy. I am serious." I get it he's serious. I have another shot and cough up some more phlegm. I spit it out into the envelope he provided. The letter's hard to read. I can't keep my hands still. (They twitch a lot more now since I was held against my will at the convalescence home in San Francisco.) Getting back to the letter: he says he'll put sanctions on me and "shut me up permanently!" if I don't do what he wants. He ends his letter and signs it, "May God bless you. Contact me. I am a God. Sincerely, L.L.S."
I sat there for a minute or two in dumb silence. Maybe it was an hour. I just stared ahead, looking out the window with a bland expression on my face as usual. I saw the morning paper spread out in front of me opened to the want-ads. I looked at the first ad; it was the only ad. I pushed the paper away and threw the shot glass in the sink and broke it. But before I did that I had another drink or two. I looked around for the spoon and the works and got ready to get high. I got high. The stuff was really fresh. Little sharp crystals dissolved in water instantly and so clearly I could see my face smiling at me, waving from a great distance and drifting further away. I was hot. Sweating. Breathing hard. I tried to get up from the table but something was different. I felt strangely connected to all living things. Consciousness itself was an odorless substance that I could touch and taste. It was bitter like lemon juice and sweet like a sugar baby. I saw my body with a creature living inside reach out its arms from the centers of all my chakras. Fingers of an alien being living on another planet pulled matter, energy, space and time into my body and pushing it out again worse than it was before. Transforming Kundalini. Renewing a sick feeling of something unforgiving and yet easily forgotten five minutes after it left my body. I saw that my feet had changed and now they had long thin beautiful toes instead of short little hairy stubs with toenails that were falling off. My feet were finally part of a cosmic holism Beyond Good and Evil.
I was stoned. The room was spinning. I couldn't stand up. My ears were ringing and hissing. My eyes were blurring. Everything I saw sort of glistened and sparkled. I was shining. The pupils in my eyes were as big and black as bowling balls. I crawled over to the bed and climbed on it with a lot of effort. I was listening to Beethoven's Piano Sonata #14 In C Sharp Minor, Op. 27/2, "Moonlight" - 1. Adagio Sostenuto. It was raining. It was dark outside and yet a weird laser beam cut into my brain like a carving knife on Thanksgiving. My head was a cooked turkey. My brain, oozing the color red flowing like water out of a rock rolled down my face, rolled down my chest, rolled down to my feet. Chemicals dripped into my spoon. Floating balls of cotton were dark red with blood, almost purple from the main artery. I watched them bob up and down like red apples in water. Red nylon stockings dissolved into crystal fibers. Rain soaked her red mini-skirt hanging on the clothes line out back. Little red high heels hung over the telephone lines in the street. I was a afraid of something, but I didn't know what.
I turned off all the lights in the house. I locked all the doors. I felt like someone was in the house besides me. My head was hurting. My arms ached and were bruised. I thought about going to the Ebony Black and Blues Cafe on the corner of Columbus Ave. and Kerouac Alley. It stayed open every day of the year from 6am till 2am. I looked for my shoes. My feet begin to itch between the toes. I reached down to scratch my foot and fell off the bed. I hit the floor. Hit my head. I could barely see the photos the guy sent me. I thought that if I post them up on JPG maybe the pain in my head would go away. Maybe I'd be able to breathe again. Maybe my skin would stop crawling over my body, like rats running up and down my legs from the inside out. Maybe the light would stop blinding me. Maybe the creatures would run away. Maybe, but not this time. Not today.
