Quiet Mike

Quiet Mike

@aladreth antoinette brown

"It's not that creepy." - said by a 'ghost' on EVP

"Quiet Mike." it's like a term I use to describe someone who reads my stuff and they want me to fuck them silly but they don't say it.  They just sit in the corner, reading, wanting and being quiet.

I have met Mike.  

Sometimes when you meet someone you get a certain feeling.  Like, "This is the one I can violate.  This is the one I can crawl right inside."

It's a feeling - one where you want to tear them apart.  In a good way, mind you.  Just a soft ripping of the flesh, not something like a bear or a tiger would do, but just a tiny thing, really.  Maybe get inside their mind and rummage around a bit.  Pretend you are a healer.  Pretend you are a psychic healer.  Mind fuck them.  Fuck them, in general.

I dated one person who believed in equality in relationships. 

Take note, one.  

Only one.  

Because it doesn't work.  There is never equality in relationships.  At least not the good ones.  

There is the individual who makes you want to thesaurus every single word for 'rip' and 'tear' and do it to all their memories, all their photographs, all their stories.  

There is the individual who will chase you and you will get a kick out of it for a certain period of time, but then you will not like it.  

It will be too much.  Maybe because you cannot stand to be put on that high of a pedestal.  Maybe you know, down deep you don't deserve that type of credit, that type of worship. 

Or maybe it's all in the evolution of man and woman, we need to have a chase.  And if someone is always there, then they are not chasing you, they are holding on to you, holding your leg, humping your leg.  They can't be on top of you at all times.  

So, you want the attention, you love the attention, but you want it at a level where you beg for it, where you go seeking to see where the hell they are, where you scream, "Why aren't you paying attention to me, Mike!?" 

"Chase me, Mike, chase me."

Give me a good run for my money, I say.  But, do it in a way where I am not tired as fuck to see you.  Don't make me wish you would drop off the face of the earth.  Make me want to keep up.  I am pretty high strung and can keep up with 98% of the people I meet.  Be that 2%, Mike.  Please.

So, Mike wants to come to Arizona.  I know he does.  He wants to know everything about Arizona.  He wants to talk about spiders and their webs and how they spin them.  He likes me to tell him the little witchie saying,

"If you want to live and thrive, let the spider stay alive."

He wants to hear about spiders on crack.  Spiders on caffeine.  I was in the middle of the study.  I researched it.  Their webs turned out all crazy like.  Nothing worse than seeing a spider on meth.

I know he wants me to sneak in a story about the Black Widow and how she eats her mates.  I know he likes stories like that.  

I hope to hell he likes my stories.  Because I like his hands and his art and that sort of manly look he has.  It's half boy, half man.  I don't know how to describe it but I want to smell him and just see if he's what I think he is.

I want him to be slightly scared of me.  But I want him to scare me.  Oh, he scares me already, but I don't want him to know.  Or, perhaps I do.

Yes, perhaps I'm scared of you, Mike.  And I don't scare easy.  At least I like to tell myself that.  Sometimes in the middle of the night I hear coyotes with their sharp shrill bark.  They sound like puppies, but coyotes are not puppies.  They will stare you down just for a moment like they are waiting for the second coming of Christ to set all things straight so they can lay down with the soft little sheep during the one thousand years of His reign. 

Coyotes wouldn't mind if you want to be the sheep, either.  You can see that in their eyes for just that split second. It's not an intelligent look like wolves.  

Wolves, you can see them and somehow feel you are their brother, like they are communicating with you and you want to run with them, dance with them.  They've made movies about it.  

Coyotes?  Not so much.  Dance with coyotes?  Doubt it.  I'm not saying coyotes aren't intelligent. I'm saying they really don't give a fuck one way or the other.  We have lots of coyotes on my mountain in Arizona.

Quiet Mike wants me to tell him about how a river is forged right through the middle of a dry bed in Arizona and he wants me to tell him how it's hot as hell, but it's a dry heat.  He wants me to tell him what the desert is like. 

 

You have to experience the desert, I can't write it, baby.  

I can tie you to a cactus in a wash - a dirty ditch and let you smell the desert at night, let you feel the flurries of snow at the noonday, yes snow!!! One day it blows white stuff out of the over cast sky in 45 degree temperature and the next day it's 85 degrees.  

You have to sit perfectly still in a Monsoon.  Sit right at the back of a mountain and breathe it in.  It's like pulling a groin muscle during sex.

Painful, hard, rough. 

God, the thunder and lightning you will get.  

Only in Arizona.

And you may think it's all cowboys and rural shit but there's cultural stuff here.  There was a gay pride parade today.  How much more cultural can you get? 

Mr. Glass was at the Scottsdale Center for Performing Arts.  We have coffee houses, okay?  Outdoor garden coffee houses.  The Paper Heart has performing artists and hell, they have slam poetry night in my little podunk town. They have a bunch of writers from the Colorado River who established a website and tell other wannabe writers how to write.  

Lots of people believe in UFOs in Arizona.  You can see the sky better in Arizona than any other place.  The darkest place in the world - the best place to see the stars is in Arizona. They say that and I believe them.

Arizona has a vortex.  And yellow leaves and people preach to lizards in Arizona.  

We were one of the last states to want to be a state and we were one of the last states to honour Dr. King, so the good ones of us are constantly trying to prove to everyone we are good and we aren't racist shits - we love everyone.  

We love more than our share of people. There are a lot of loving people here. 

 

Sure, there are some real cunts who used to live here and blew up a building almost twenty years ago if I'm sadly recalling correctly.  The anniversary of so many senseless deaths just passed and the pain of knowing the bomber lived in our state still remains, but there are nice people who make quilts who live here too.

I guess people talk about us.  People in other states. They wonder what type of people live in a desert surrounded by a golf course or a golf course surrounded by a desert.

We were one of the only states to impeach our governor and we have a crazy sheriff who folks even know about in Washington, DC.  

Chavez marched our streets.  We love pissing outdoors.  We love eating mangoes in the bath.  We love fresh juice.  When it's 128 degrees outside, we like to take lots of cold showers. 

Some of us have ten wives.  Some of us wish we had seven husbands.  One for every day of the week.

And the sky is bright blue.  There are the most insane fluffy clouds.  Yes, they are insanely fluffy.  They are like that one ice cream, you know, with whip cream and marshmallow and it's like a cartoon.  The sky with those clouds.  Just like a cartoon.

There are lots of stories just waiting to be written in Arizona.  Why is that Recreation Vehicle parked across the street?  Why do some of the birds sound like cats?  Why does the recently deceased body break down at greater speed when buried in the dirt than in water or laying exposed to the elements?  

Mike and I don't live in the same town, so maybe I can convince him to sit with an object all day - maybe a book, maybe he'll sit with it, put it to his hairy chest, carry it in his pocket, go drink with it, and then mail it to me so I can sniff it.  

I'll give him my address and tell him that's what I want.  

A book.  

A book he has slept with.  

And one day, Quiet Mike and I will meet at an out of the way place in Arizona.  A place near a mine.  A place where you can still mine silver for a small price. A place that has cantaloupe and we'll meet at this David Lynch style motel.  The motel will have a big neon burro sign out front. 

We'll meet at a seedy and weedy motel and I'll sit right on his face.  

He'll be so quiet; Quiet Mike.