Posts tagged ‘kyle’

August 17th, 2010

Ken and the Barbie Ryans

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I gotta tell ya about Kyle. I’ve mentioned bits about him, but he’s been kinda central to shit that’s happened over the last little while. Before I do, there’s somethin’ about me I should let you in on.

I usually shine pretty bright. Then there’s times when I go off like a signal flare in an elevator car. Then it gets real dark, and the world drapes down pretty cold. My therapist said I’m like a firefly and people feed off me. Ever since she said that, I’ve had dreams about moths that corner me in a garden somewhere. They beat up against me all violent and muffled. I’m like a flame or a porch light to them, and they look so wicked evil, but they’re soft and the patterns of their wings are perfect and complex so that I want them there. But then there gets to be too many of them and they go feral and you just have to go widit. Their snouts uncurl and lash at me, snuffin out my light. They take it all and I’ve got nuthin. Then I usually wake up sobbing. That’s when I phone Carole. Not just after the dreams, but when I incandess and I’ve got nothin left. When I shine my light, people feed off me and then they move on and I have to recharge. Doesn’t happen often, ’cause I usually shine pretty bright.

Anyway, this last one was bad and Carole suggested I retell the happenings that got me there. At first I was amped up about it, but I’ll tell ya, it’s been a bit tough since San Diego. I don’t apologize for nuthin, but I feel bad that I’ve left y’all hanging. So, here goes…

About Kyle: like I mentioned, I met him at the agency¹ when Spiro was floggin ad real estate on the boy’s flanks. Spiro’s got an angle on the next Olympics and is backing a bid for Capoeira being a demonstration sport. Turns out Kyle got dialed into a local club and is pretty good. He’s the furthest thing from a Brazilian. He’s just raw surfer, all abs and shoulders. When I met him he was just standing in the reception area, sporting a budgie smuggler (‘cuz he was demoing the ad tats), looking around, kinda bewildered. When I cut out of there, I had no expectation of ever seeing him again – even though he suggested hanging out sometime. But we did run into each other later that night.

I started out by meeting some of my sisbros after work (a couple of them have normal jobs) in some cigar bar downtown. We’d gathered a bunch of droolers, brokers and sales hacks mostly, and they kept the rounds coming. Who knows how many cosmopops had been slung when Kyle loomed up at the end of the bar. I didn’t catch him at first, but my bud Carolina picked up on him. Well, anyway, we ran into each other under a lamp by the coat check and I lay one on him to see if I’d like it. I guess it was okay ‘cuz he rolled us out to a samba club, a short taxi hop away. I remember there were too many of us piled in and the driver was railing on us, but he ended up going with it. I think maybe we split the difference and shed a hanger-on.

So, the club was wild, loud and sweaty. I kept it rolling on the dance floor, slipping from one kool jag to the next. I lost Kyle for a while, but he showed again when I had some spunky jovem doin’ my leg in the back bar. By that time I was swimming pretty deep and he got us out of there. The cool air hit me like a bale of iced cotton, and there’s not much more I remember until we woke up at my place the next AM.

I say, woke up, but wasn’t really waking and I certainly wasn’t getting up. We rolled a bit, but I can’t say I did him justice. He was talking, but I wasn’t caring. I glimpsed him snapping back into his banana hammock, scratching himself in the sunlight which just made my brain over expose, and he was gone.

We started hooking up a few times later. Still, I wasn’t sure quite how we fit together – which is ok, ‘cuz he’s got his thing and I’ve got mine. Pussy (Fractal) seems to like him. He fronts a band called Ken and the Barbie Ryans that gigs around town. They’re kinda cool, sorta poppie edgey, and the scene gets pretty raucous. Not the kinda thing I would’ve sought out if he weren’t in it but, hey, gotta keep your horizons open. Anyway, that was how we started. Things got complicated after that.

Mxoxo

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July 21st, 2010

Up for Air

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Okay, this is all messed up. I’ve managed to skip Spiro’s traces for the last few days. That’s never a good thing, except we didn’t actually have any specific plan together. Still, he’ll come down on me like a load of wet felt – especially when he finds out I was hanging with his boy Kyle. That’s a whole other story that I’ll get to. Still sifting the murk. But Spiro’s gonna twist it that us going AWOL was my fault. I don’t see it that way, and he’s gonna have a screamer on his hands when he tries it, but I’m feelin a bit delicate this morning, and I’ve got other things to deal with.

I’ve stopped off at my place for a shower and a fresh kit. Even Fractal seems on edge, poor dear. Well, I can’t help you this morning, Dude. Spiro’s been pinging me like a psycho, and I’ve been trying to track down Minder to get him to feed me some review material on that GPS tracker. Minder’s last text said he’d do it, but experience tells me I’ll have to soften his technobab with some human connection. Spiro won’t know the diff, but he’ll howl when the piece kicks back from the editor. So, as always, I cover mine by covering his. Ain’t that the way of bidneh?

This is all spinning too fast. I need some Marie time to pull this together. Ooop, there’s a ping from my sysbro, Cheree. Maybe she’s got clues as to my whereabouts over the past few nights. I shipped Kyle off as distraction flak for Spiro. Meatball promised to ping me if Furball has me staked out. K, gotta run to Minder. Gawd, my head.

Mxoxo

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July 18th, 2010

Show me the Robert D

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So I meet Spiro at the agency – Phuk, what a dump. Anyway, he’s there with a protege, a towering meatcake, named Kyle who he’s grooming to appear in some Olympic demonstration sport. First time I’d seen him. Apparently Spiro’s been spinning his web for a while, ’cause he’s already conned boyo into getting a Vans logo tat. That’s pure Spiro – sell ad real estate on athletes. Demonstration sports are easy street compared to full-on Olympics. Anyway, good luck, Beefboy; our mutual manager’s shaggin’ you in your sleep.

So Spiro’s playing the heavy on this implant thing. That’s why I’m meeting him here. There’s something in his manner suggesting panic – if that’s possible in the reptilian mind. I get a sense he’s made promises that I’ve gotta keep. I keep stalling him by saying, “Just show me the Robert D(nero)”. That always sends him into a cloud of bafflegaff and bullshit. So I let him run on it while I fake a potty break to bat some texts back and forth with Minder. Seems my boy has cracked the transponder – or some shite like that – and has even got some little add-on gizzo up his sheath. I’m telling him he better crack the Beaver Buzz and jellies; it’s gonna be a late one, ’cause Spiro seems to want me under the knife by tomorrow.

On the way back down the hall, I run into meatball Kyle. He mumbled some dim flak about hanging out and seeing me around. My mind’s on my own Spiro mambo and just flash him the pearls (I work my teeth pretty good) and dish him some whatevers and tell him to say bye to furball. I hit the streets

Mxoxo

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