Closeup Asshole
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Closeup Asshole
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SmugMug + Flickr .
Connecting people through photography.
I’ve been looking at the files for a couple of days now. The black and white imagery of a man dismembered and laid out on the pavement on my laptop screen lit my face in the dark. His skull and rubs were taken out.
My eyes had begun to ache from looking at the screen for so long. Normally, I would’ve tried to get in touch with the victim’s friends and family and try to find suspects; their rivals, foes, or anyone who was jealous of them or even hurt by them. I couldn’t do that in this case because the body was demolished to the point where the police wasn’t able to identify them. All they wrote in the file was that he was male, Caucasian, aged 25-40 years old – which was obviously too vague of a description. No fingerprints were found, his skull was taken out of his head, so he couldn’t be identified by his teeth and the victim was nude, so they couldn’t identify him using his personal belongings or his clothes, either.
The second victim was also male, but this one was actually identified. His name was Louie Ferryman (24), he was African-American and worked at a Dairy Queen. He was also found nude, with no personal belongings. His thigh thighbone and pelvis were taken out and his hands were cut off, presumably with a saw. He was identified via teeth.
It dawned on me that the killer must’ve been experienced, because the bodies were mutilated to the point of unrecognizability , except for the second victim, but he was hard to identify because his fingerprints weren’t there and a killer couldn’t have known about identification using teeth, unless they really dug deep into criminology.
The light stung my eyes when I turned it on. I took pictures of the police file, flipping through the file with my gloved hand, making sure I don’t leave my fingerprints. I returned the file to the envelope and messaged Swifty.
Can you come to my place, it’s really important – the message read.
Swifty didn’t reply until about an hour later with a set of messages that read:
Literally what could be so important;
And then: You know what, idc, I’ll be there in a minute.
Someone knocked at the door just after I woke up from my much-needed nap. I grabbed my phone to check the time. It was 4:40 and Bette had messaged me a plethora of times, inviting me to go out. I hit the ‘mark as read’ option and went to open the door. Swifty stood there with two coffee cups in his hands.
“Why’d it take you so long to get to the door?”
When we were both seated at the coffee table with an envelope on it, I told him that I had fallen asleep. He handed me a coffee.
“I thought you might need this, I figured you were working on something and you could probably use the caffeine.”
“Thanks, I do need it. I have been working late and that’s kind of why I, um, called you here.”
“Yeah, well, I’m working on this murder case and, you see that envelope on the table?”
“Please don’t tell me you need me to break the law again.”
“Fuck.”-He pulled at his amber hair.
“Come on, all you need to do is return this file to the police department.”
“Return? Kate, did you steal this from the police department?”
“No, if you return it, I didn’t. I borrowed it.”
“Christ, Kate, why didn’t you find some other way to get the information?”
“How else am I supposed to learn this stuff?”
“The same way you did before, interrogate someone, or go to the crime scene…anything but this!”
“Who am I supposed to interrogate? The dead guys?”
“Alright, then why don’t you return it yourself?”
I showed him a screenshot of an article about me breaking into the police department.
“Last night? Today? I don’t even know, I haven’t gone out of the house since then. If I did, someone would see me and all the spotlight would be on me, and when you do what I do, that’s the last thing you want.
“Okay, I’ll try, but you owe me. Big time.”
“Didn’t I save your ass back during that heist you pulled back in 2014?”
His eyes smiled at me, as dark as the night.
“You’re really milking that one, aren’t you?”
“What the hell do you mean I’m milking it, I saved your life, you ungrateful slob.”
I smiled and threw a cushion at him. He caught it and laughed.
“You’re gonna need gloves for this. Here.” – I handed him a pair of gloves.-“You don’t want to get your fingerprints over the envelope, maybe the policemen noticed the missing file. Good luck.”
He took the envelope. –“Take care, Kate, seriously. And get some sleep for a change. If the circles around your eyes were any darker, you’d be a raccoon.”
“Man, do you know how to make a girl feel special.”
Swifty grinned and left and I got back to the case. I plugged my phone to my laptop with a USB and imported the pictures of the file. I stared at the pictures of the mutilated bodies for so long that it felt like the corpses were staring back at me. I turned off the laptop and took a nap before the gory imagery could drive me insane.
In my dreams, the murder victims were brought back to life and angry at me for not catching the killer. Their bodies were demolished, just like in the pictures of the crime scene.
The unidentified victim without the skull and the ribs dragged himself along the ground and toward me. His face was hollow and pale, it looked like a Michael Myers mask. There were dark and circular holes where his eyes used to be, but I still had a feeling that he could see me - sense me, maybe.
I was walking backwards, far from the undead piece of flesh, when I tripped over something behind me. Now on the ground, I was looking Louie Ferryman, the dead man, in the eyes.
I tried to scream, but nothing came out of my mouth. Louie’s chestnut eyes were dark and bleak. In them I sensed anger and strangely, suffering. It was like he didn’t want to do whatever he was about to do to me, like someone was forcing him. He rose his arms, ending where his ankle was supposed to be. He embraced me with his severed arms. His breath was cold and smelled like the sewers. He didn’t say anything but that’s when I first heard his voice, deep and painful, saying: We can’t rest. We need to rest. Bring us justice.
What followed was a moment of silence that felt like an hour. Just four eyes in the dark. My green searching for his brown ones and finding nothing but darkness. It was cold.
He opened his mouth releasing a splash of cold blood, bad blood. His eyes were wet with tears. He spoke slowly and loudly. His voice was chilling in my head, like nails on a chalkboard.
When I woke up I took a shower to wash off all the sweat. I turned on my laptop and nervously tapped my foot while my laptop loaded the home screen. In the top left corner was a file where the police file pictures were storage. I opened a close-up picture of John Doe’s damaged body. His chest was cut open.
The hole was shaped strangely, like the body wasn’t opened with a knife. Except it was. I knew the exact model of knife the victim was stabbed with.
I opened Google Chrome and looked up Pelican, France and a gallery of pictures of a knife made of black steel showed up.
The knives all had a similar dark wooden handle, but the blade was always different. I looked up Pelican knife P46 and then P13 and didn’t find what I was looking for. I scrolled to the bottom of the page when I found the exact model I was looking for – P16. It had a sharp black metal blade that was curved in the middle. I looked up Pelican P16 cuts and Pelican P16 review. No result mathed my search. Damn.
I guess I’ll have to test this out myself, I thought. I searched for the company website. There wasn’t one. I looked up the knife model for sale, but there weren’t any P16 knives being sold. On the Wikipedia page for Pelican it said that the factory closed down in 2004 due to bankruptcy. I slammed the laptop shut and buried my face into my palms. Damn it, I thought, I could’ve sworn I knew who the killer was, but now I have no evidence. Unsatisfied, I opened the police file pictures and thought: You will rest. I will bring you justice.
The ATM Machine - I always read this as Ass-to-Mouth machine. That's something I hope to be some day, just a few guys rotating around me keeping my holes busy.
I want a nice large cock to leave my ass gaping open and for him to swing around and slide that cock into my waiting mouth, and before my asshole can close up I want another man there to spit into it for his lube and stuff me full again...
I want to be a machine. Tell me how you would use me....
This is a painting by Henry Utoaluga.
This little machine gives the daily
Of whether the overall story is going
My lens like it’s going to end happily.
Clouds hide the stars tonight. No rain,
Not yet, no wind, just a stillness that
Amplifies any calm or disquiet you came
Here with. In emptiness like this, the
Mind tries to fill in the blanks. So maybe
It’s my imagination, but I think there’s
Something forming in the void. It won’t
Reveal itself, not yet, but I just feel it.
Can’t attach good or bad associations
To it, just have to wait and see. So will
My dread be justified, or will it surprise
Could be music trying to define itself from
Noise, or meaning seeking to make itself
Clear through chaos. Life itself, they say,
Formed through particles, through like
Minded molecules that just needed time
To cluster around a center before they
Could figure out how they fit together.
If that can happen in a darkness longer
And far more uncertain than ours, then
The depression I didn’t realize I’d been
Carrying around for months suddenly
Family recipe just has a kick to it, but
Suddenly my senses remembered their
Capacity for optimism . Optimism does
Not have to mean being unrealistic, it’s
More of an attitude that even if things
Don’t go your way, you needn’t feed
Your pessimism till you’ve grown fat
On despair without even trying. As far
Pretty significant for me. So of course
My first thought was to seek an increased
Koko dose, but rather than court certain
Chocolate addiction, I’d rather adopt a
Chocolate philosophy, i.e. remember the
Sweet regardless of how sour things get.
What’s whispered about the seemingly
Innocent chocolate might not be merely
Old wives’ tales - cook it up right and it’s
The day shift begins before morning
Hoping to make the world right again
In time for another day. So goes the
Myth of the little men who always put
Everything back together so well that
We can’t even tell what a horrendous
That reality ever came to light there’d
Be laws to lock up everyone under 30
Between dusk and daybreak. Daybreak
Is a misnomer – what gets broken each
Night? Hearts, wills, confidences, bonds,
Promises, plans, marriages, friendships,
Partnerships, battleships, faith – you
Name it. If someone wasn't repairing as
Much of the damage as they can, then
There'd be no point in any of us getting
Out of bed. Damaging, nasty, careless,
Heartless - don't you ever wonder why
Our whole world doesn't just stop? It's
Little men laboring at their repairs to
Make sure we're back together just as
Fast as we all fall apart. It's not just for
This endless work that each of these
Little men truly deserves a medal, it's
Also for knowing the truth but never
I can’t prove clouds don’t have emotions
When they drop rain, can’t prove roaches
Mean to be rude, can’t prove fish deny the
Existence of nets, can’t prove the desert lets
Its winds whip its sands from malice. Can’t
Prove if barking is ever justified or just an
Indulgence, nor whether a breeze means to
Be nice on purpose or is just being itself. So
Much I can’t prove, no wonder I anticipate
Skepticism. There’s really no right or wrong,
True or false, or good or bad, is there? It just
Depends on the circumstances. There’s only
What’s agreed upon or not. If only we could
Agree on something, anything, who knows
What else might fall into place? But if you
Want proof, you’ll have to ask a scientist. As
For me, I’d only say, I see it like this, do you?
Life on the ice isn't as cold when you
Know, I'm a Polar Bear. It isn't so
Empty if you see a different kind of
Fullness. You say it's barren but I'm
Not starving. Not to brag but you need
Your life on the ice. My only worry is
Melt its way through or take it's fire
Contradiction? So warm deep within,
With a surface so cold. Just like some
People we know? I don't blame them.
After all, you just survive wherever you
Find yourself. I should know, because
Eternal – not subject to our changing
Our flesh. Has always been there and
Always will be. Temorary – our roles
And our hour upon the stage. In the
Midst of grand illusions, you might
Catch a glimpse of the truth. In the
End it’s all just so much drama, but
The essence of the story lasts long
Change over and over, looking for a
Foothold in this soap opera life, but
Needs to, and any time you like, you
Heart is both weapon and defense when
You enter this fray. Know your weapon
Well, use it wisely. The only thing worse
Than receiving the wound that’s hardest
To heal is knowing you’ve given it. At least
Those wounded in war still long to fight
Another day, but woe to those wounded
In love who no longer care whether they
Would you love me if I was always on TV?
Would you love me if I played rugby? Would
You love me if I had the money to buy you
An elephant? Would you love me if I had
Big muscles? A King Dong like King Kong?
Would you love me if I needed love to get
Off drugs? Would you live me if everyone
Else did? If no one else did? Would you
Love me if I spanked your bare butt with a
Belt for being bad, like your daddy did? If I
Punished you for being bad? If I forgave
You for being bad? How ‘bout if I was the
Baddest badass in the history of badness?
How ‘bout if I said you were sacred to me?
Is it fair I have to figure through so many
Formulas for yours when all you have to
Papers rule my life, my whole being
Is just a series of papers. Thank you
Paper, rolling paper, news paper, wall
Paper, paper plates, certificates of birth,
My blank page dear, it sure looked good
On paper. Paper tiger. Someone cut me
Out of the paper and said now you're
Printed material made flesh. When I die
Please wrap me in paper and offer me
On special at KS with the frozen fish.
Maybe the one I love will fry me for her
Sunday feast and finally our flesh will
Become one until she flushes me out
After wiping away my last traces with
You can never force a true harmony,
Notes either blend naturally or not.
Original in me. Out, unconventional,
Halu! Fee, fi, fo, fidual, I smell the
Paying attention to convention long
Lord let me be average again. I want
To be normal. I want to be boring, to
Blend in, to not be noticed, except
Haircut it’s sickening. Being myself
For better or worse has been bad for
Like a typical faceless citizen I can
Nor broken hearts like bread crumbs
Leading back to a hidden lair in the
Birds in the morning flock to steal my dogs’
Breakfast, cause my canines are so occupied
Eating they don't notice the thievery. Eating
Is contagious - when one feeds, others want in
On the act. Like when love gives off its warm
Glow that others can’t help but find attractive
Too. When two feed, twice as many want in
On the act. Usually we see sharing as positive,
And want to let our friends in on our good thing.
But just because birds are remarkably consistent
In contributing their saxophone impressions and
Little hip hop moves every morning, is this from
Friendship or just a free breakfast?
Long before entering politics, Hitler
Wanted to be a painter. It’s true! I
Hitler loved art, music, architecture,
And his country’s history. For awhile
He tried making a living by selling his
Watercolors on the streets of Vienna.
He wasn’t very successful, but one of
His watercolors has survived and you
Can see it online. That watercolor, to
Me, looks skillful enough, but twice the
University of Vienna rejected Hitler, said
His work lacked sufficient evidence of
Ability, crushing is aspiration to paint
Seriously. Instead he enlisted in the
Amy and the rest is history. 5.5 million
Killed. It would be unfair to blame the
University of Vienna (how could they
Have known), but still it's tempting to
Speculate on how differently history
Been able to stick to his painting.
Like it, but clarity is the kind of
First just a tiny one to remind me I’m
Terrifies me more. Look, my body is
Liquid, it flows. Color small crimson
Will see the scars, my tattoos of your
Gain at my loss. Cut your name into
My skin – I’m your billboard dripping
Red. Cut open a window so this bird
Of prey eating me inside can fly into
Itself to richness from butter, then
Feels a little tart from jam. Omelet
Anticipates a special sauce bringing
Of flavors. Coffee takes in its two
Everyone deserves a place of safety for their
Relationship to the eternal. Somewhere the
Spirits of that which you cherish most deeply
Are protected and can live and breathe. Here
I stand outside your marae. I call in greeting.
No answer comes from within. Without your
Welcome, I cannot enter. If you judge me as
Unworthy of your sacred ground or displeasing
To your spirits, I will call no more. I leave as I
Came, quietly, with respect. Inside, your spirits
Can hear me, and know my heart and mind. Is
It they who say deny me, or am I one you wish
When you return to the scene of the
Crime, is it to see if anything’s changed?
No, nothing’s changed – what’s good will
Always be good, and what’s bad is still
Bad. All that changes is our ability to
What they want is not genuine creativity
Or self expression. What they want is
Politically correct lies. We fight the
Taliban in Afghanistan? Too late! We
Already have them in our back yard.
I wish I could just make you feel good.
Many moons ago, when this all started,
That was sort of the point. Everything
Said and done since then may tend to
Obscure a related point, which is how
Ridiculously easily you could make me
Feel good if you wanted to. I was busy
Calling your manners and morals into
Question, so it may have slipped my
Mind to mention it. But yeah, in those
There was something to be optimistic
Ever felt better. How could I get so
Preoccupied with manners and morals?
Maybe thinking my own had to adhere
To some high standard, but funny how
Little they matter now. In spite of the
Worst possible thoughts I could have
About you, if I thought you could still
Feel good about me then all I’d do is
Like a diamond in a shop window I stop
And stare at, something personal makes
This more than just another glittering rock.
It feels like everything meant for me,
Everything I was meant for, so naturally
I start conjuring what the future should
Be, will be, already is. Fatally forgetting
This is not mine yet, as much as I firmly
Believe no one else will ever love it more.
How obscene to see something precious
As this subject to an exchange rate, to be
Lost or gained through trade. This could
Turn me criminal - stick ‘em up mister
And watch me walk away with what you
Only thought was yours. Is any price too
High for what’s priceless? What a tragedy
To see it fall into the hands of one who
Would treat it as worthless, just another
The word friendship evokes kind winds
And calm seas. It’s fri
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