~This piece previously appeared in Eleven Eleven (2012)
Naked, upset, nobody came for me, ever, myself naked, wept in a bathroom, naked commercial, characters like me are almost always naked, topless and mostly naked, didn’t seem to be much about a wolf, she must have been the wolf, completely naked, distracted and driving wrong, she didn’t look naked when driving, partially naked, naked with wet hair, naked with regret, naked with a hulu hoop balanced on a staircase, naked sunbath, hanging out, naked exchange, deleted pictures from my camera,
parts of this party I wouldn’t attend,
somebody dressed in dragon, the wolf sniffed the dragon, dragon confronted wolf, slapped my father because I want to slap her, intended to slap her, the trouble will start when her werewolf boyfriend shows up,
still hooked up to the machine,
playing a machine, machine spitting bills, searching for the ticket machine, a machine with more features, machine figuring enemies, machine of the impenetrable prison, downstairs with more machines, there was machine under the bed washing things, noisy, like a slot machine, we could have been trapped there, like pinball, like building a machine to wake the devil, the statue of the satanic attic, Mother murdered Rauan, he drank fruity, girly drinks and that was a good enough reason, the devil-baby was a powerful baby, wishing we killed that devil while he manifested in the fire hose, there was a dog in this house who worked for the devil and plotted against this meeting of faiths, one sneaky dog, married to the devil’s advocate, temptation, passion, frisson, we were served broiled Rauanelk and Rauan didn’t know he ate himself, the phone rang, it was the devil, the fate of rescue, the rest of the film proceeded as normal,
now you possess the information that our hero was once naked, slapping paternal figures,
THE STORY BEHIND THE WORK
This piece is from Bombyonder, a book-length work-in-progress that I’ve been working on for the past year. Bombyonder is the reboot of two earlier stalled projects from 2010 and 2011. When people ask what I’m working on, I find it difficult to categorize and describe the book; part novel, part poetry, part memoir, part psychic meditation, part collage and part who knows what else. In the end I’m likely to just swear on the Bible and call it a testimony.
Bombyonder is a physical place assembled by a bombed-out mind. It’s where the nameless narrator must travel to birth a new dead bird after she coughs up her old one. It’s where she briefly carries on with a terrifyingly handsome man after shooting her husband to death. It’s where she meets her never conceived brother, Rauan, and keeps her best friend and advisor in a box in a box. It’s a space devoid of nostalgia, filled with loathing, monsters, birds and a great deal of words.
ABOUT REB LIVINGSTON