Unwrap Your Candy
Jesse Miller
Genre: Literary Fiction
Publisher: Common Deer Press
Date of Publication: September 10, 2017
ISBN: 978-0995072985
Number of pages: 252
Cover Artist: Ellie Sipila of Move to the Write
Tagline: Imagine Woody Allen made a movie about Dilbert and James Joyce wrote the screenplay. That’s what you should expect from Jesse Miller’s Unwrap Your Candy.
Book Description:
Thom’s life has a soundtrack. Unseen glass phalluses—thousands of them—whirring softly along conveyer belts on the other side of the factory wall. The snap and splash of eggs against plaster. The scratch-fizz-tang of cigarette lighters being flipped again and again. A thousand throats swallowing a thousand swigs of beer; a thousand sets of lungs choking on a thousand French inhales. Hard fists sinking into soft flesh; soft chunks dropping onto hard sidewalks. Plop-flush-drain repeat. And moonsong, high above, forever calling and calling, “Stud, rub her with the Stud Rubber.” If only it were so simple.
Amazon.com Amazon.ca Barnes and Noble Common Deer Press
Excerpt
Who knows why she said it. She says a
million things. Thom touched his palm and imagined his hand was empty, a tiny
circle at the center. Later that night, with the taste of smoke still lingering
on his lips, he dreamed of them, cigarettes, but in dreams, the cigarette tips
and nipples—hundreds of nipples—were one and the same. Hundreds of packs
pirouetting in the air. Blond filters. Transparent paper dresses. He craved
them all and wanted to eat them like food. Little salty fish sticks. He wanted
to eat the cigarettes and the nipples and to put an end to the hunger and be
satisfied, but there didn’t seem to be enough in the dream to kill the craving.
He wanted to put it all in his mouth, Kelly and her unseen breasts, and the
block they lived on, and Kelly’s older sister with strawberry curls, and her
boyfriend with the lazy eye like a lure, and the ribbiting leather couch they
used to roll around on when he was younger and under the rule of being babysat,
and the couch itself, put the whole goddamn slippery enormous plum of the world
in his mouth and chew. It was all so fucking crazy…
Thom continued to
walk along the empty street, away from his apartment. When he turned the
corner, one hundred thousand flash bulbs dinted at once. His eyes were steeped
in thick moonlight. The hanging ball above leaked an ocean of milk.
It was so near. It
was a fly ball from the diamond. A diamond itself. He wanted to wrap his hand
around it and pluck the jewel from the sky. Study it. Learn by feeling the
hollow places and the rocky imperfections. Put it on a mantle. Show his kids.
And then crush it like an egg in his hand.
Like it was
nothing.
Like it was
hollow.
A used up pack of
smokes.
He wove and wove,
passing house after silent house. Step after step he walked, straddled between
the lines of faded paint on the street. He noticed how lights left on at night
for comfort or protection broke through, making a softly glowing aisle. The
light was for him.
He walked on down
the aisle, and his shoes clacked against the asphalt with a developing cadence.
Kurplunk. Kurplunkurplunk. The lights blurred. He tried to adjust his eyes but
couldn’t.
A hush broke over
the street after every step. A sound and then nothing. A stress and then
silence. Hushed were the houses vibrating with soft light. Hushed were the cats
and the dogs coiled in contentment. Hushed were the homeowners tucked between
two velvety sheets underneath a dream.
The whole of the
nightworld blurred. Light became shadows, stretching off of objects, whispering
to each other. Connecting things. Each step he clapped on the cool street
became involuntary, less noticeable than breathing. He was being pulled. Lulled
down a sandy river toward the light that rattled against the sky.
The light was for
him. He bathed in it, uncovering wings. There was no silence now.
Kurplunkurplunkurplunk. He closed his eyes, spreading his arms as wide as he
could. He saw blue and red dots, the light of ruined worlds pinned between his
mind and eyelids. The dots joined, fingers interweaving, and smashed white.
The light was for
him.
His feet pulled
faster at the street. The silent houses opened and then began to scream by. His
heart pitched his blood forward. He was rising. Off of the earth. Above the
street. Above the house lights. Above the twiggy Autumn trees. Above the air.
Rising moonward. Thom’s mouth fell open, and the noises in his head leaked into
the night.
–Don’t you see,
these are your lights. Those stars, those are for you!
Kurplunkurplunkurplunk.
–This is your
vigil. These are for you!
Kurplunkitybunkity.
–Are you hanging
behind the moon?
Kurplusscaprice.
–It’s all for you!
Curious city.
–All of it, all!
Curiosity.
The mumbling of a
motor grew louder and louder. His feet were stiff on the street, inches from
the curb. The aisle was no longer soft or glowing like rows of sweet candles.
The leaves had left the trees, but the branches were thick and long, hanging
like hands that cover eyes at a slasher flick. He froze. A torrent of nausea
cut his stomach and toppled his body. His palms ran aground and two berserk
twitches rippled through his torso. He vomited.
The snarl of metal approached. His
neck shivered into a crisis as his stomach broke open again. He must have
French inhaled the last one.
I am a writer and a teacher.
I tutor and mentor students working on a variety of writing projects.
I'm always looking for new ways to share my work and insights on teaching the craft of writing, and I welcome new teaching and workshop opportunities. Please feel free to contact me to read from Ark, or my forthcoming novel, UYC!
No comments:
Post a Comment