Stuck Pig

I went to high school in a city where well over half of the population was Latino, another 1/4 black, and the other 1/4 poor white folk. I look white because of my mom, but I've always identified with my dad's Mexican family, whom I lived with at the time.

Anyways, a lot of times in school some dumb white kid would try to include me in one of their racist observations, and every time I'd put them in their place, usually to shock and disgust. They called me a race-traitor, a nigger/spic/wetback-lover, but they'd always do it after looking around, under their breath and with a bit of reservation out of fear I might round up some of "my kind" to exact some justice. Racists are almost always cowardly shits, as are most teenagers for that matter.

Not B though. He was a full-blown idiot with no reservations. He'd show up to this Northeast Ohio hood school in a rebel flag t-shirt with his 17-year-old shit-stache, just asking for it. Every once in awhile you'd hear a rumor about him going on a tirade about slavery or affirmative action or whatever in such-and-such class. He was the ROTC instructor's pet student, so for the most part people stayed away. I only knew him because he seemed to always be in the lunch line with me, and every time I'd ask for no meat he'd chuckle out "faggot."

One day, he was right behind me, and the hairs on my neck bristled in anxious hatred for the inevitable one-liner he was going to toss out. At this time I was no fighter, and he was easily twice my size, but god damn did I fantasize about slamming his head through the sneeze-guard, the lunch ladies screaming in horror as his face bubbled with 3rd-degree burns, my maniacal laughter nearly drowning them out. Depending on how you look at it, what happened this particular day was either fortunate or unfortunate, because I never got to actualize my fantasy. On this day, he wasn't content with just calling me a faggot. No, today he had to go further. As I made my daily request for vegetarian food, he said, in a voice low enough so only I could hear, "It's bad enough I have to wait in line with these spics, now you are holding it up with your faggot-ass bullshit?!" Now, I'm not the angel so many people think I am. I do not turn the other cheek, but I am timid. I wait, convinced that my opportunity to exact vengeance in the most detrimental way will arrive. This time it did. I surveyed the line and saw two gangbanging Puerto Ricans from my math class, both of whom I always let copy off me. I decided to cash in my social investment. I let just enough anger out in my voice so that it would carry loud and clear towards those two when I said, "What the fuck? Did you just call me a spic?!" Immediately their attention was grabbed, and they motioned towards me and B. I continued on, "Fuck you, I'm Mexican you racist prick!" but it was wholly unnecessary, as by that time the 2 were joined by another 2, and they were semi-circling our little Confederate soldier. They grabbed him by the arm and started walking him towards the cafeteria door. The boys escorted B to the bathroom doors opposite of the cafeteria. No one seemed to notice but a handful of people, all of whom knew to keep their mouths shut. After about 15-20 seconds the 4 gangbangers bolted out of the bathroom, and down the hall. I saw them running across the school lawn from the set of windows opposite of where I stood. Moments later, B stumbled out of the bathroom, nose clearly broken, bruises starting swell his eyes shut, his hair matted with blood. It looked like a movie, and felt just as good to watch. A lunch lady saw him and called the on-duty officer, and from what I heard he got taken to the E.R., where he got stitches in the back on his head.

B never came back to my school, but I did run into one of those gangbangers a few years ago outside a corner store. He told me I helped him graduate high school, but I told him he helped himself. He offered me what easily had to have been a half-ounce of weed, saying my money was no good with him, but I told him I didn't smoke. I wished him the best and went into the store. I bought some orange juice and prayed a little prayer to the patron saint of vengeful atheists that racist fuck run into the same guy soon...

They're Ready...

I had a spurt of energy last night and finished putting together the covers for Ghostlimbs.

I also finished and uploaded the Ghostlimbs Mix. It's short, but so is the zine. I will probably upload regular mixes for readers to enjoy, depending on your responses.

GHOSTLIMBS MIX

1. Throbbing Gristle - Maggot Death
2. Sworn In - Switchblades & Serenades
3. Patti Smith - Kimberley
4. The Smiths - London
5. Nirvana - Jesus Don't Want Me For a Sunbeam
6. Strawberry Switchblade - Cut You With The Cake Knife
7. Instilled - Viva Diamond Rings
8. Sisters of Mercy - First & Last & Always

DOWNLOAD HERE

Introduction.

On July the 1st the first product of this endeavor shall be available in the form of GHOSTLIMBS - a 1/4 size mini-zine of prose and art by your author, Roman J... 36 hand-numbered copies will be made available to the public, with different covers and etc. notes/confessions. The cost will be $2-5, depending on your generosity. A musical accompaniment will be available to download in the coming week.

THE BONES OF REGRET will be a larger writing project. Details will be forthcoming when appropriate.