If you smell like that, no offense. Everyone does sometimes. Even D, and he’s still the coolest. The other day, he told me that there’s two names for plants: a secret one and one that’s not. For instance, Solanum lycopersicum means tomato. You can tell people if you want. It’s spelled S-O-L-N-U-M L-I-C-E-C-U-M. Something like that.

Who’s D? He’s my friend. You got friends too, of course. And you probably got a family, don’t you. That’s nice. I think I must’ve had parents at some point. What do you mean, am I a minor? I’m a man. I’m a man that’s true to my word, that’s what D. says, he says even people like Rocket or Librarian who are old and have flabby arms are men, and special, too.

Anyway… the important stuff: basically, this guy must’ve snuck in somehow without any of us noticing. And the cat’s name is K-Mart, which D. says is a very expensive store somewhere where he’s from. Only very important people go there, like kings and the people who the king bosses around. I have a pair of jeans from there that D. gave me, they’re probably around $5,000 or so. So I keep them ironed and only wear them for the most special occasions, like for K-Mart’s funeral. It felt what Rocket sometimes calls “iron-ick,” which is a word for when the world acts funny and you don’t know why.

I asked D. who he thought did it, but quiet, out of respect for Keebler, who was leaking snot from her face. I felt dry all the way inside my soul seeing her that way, even though it was raining like always. Keebler’s never cried in front of me. You know how sometimes women get anger issues? Yeah, and—oh. I mean, I guess you’re right… sure, lady. So women—I mean, Keebler—will do stuff like get mad that you took some candy out of her hand and pull out a knife. Me, I think it’s funny, that’s why I keep doing it. I eat the candy, she chases me out of her house with the knife and we keep running for around an hour or so until she gets tired and says, “Let’s go home, Budweiser. I’m so tired my legs are worms.”

But this day, the day when Keebler looked like a knife was cutting up her insides and K-Mart couldn’t be found nowhere, not behind her legs or underneath Mr. Librarian’s tree, she couldn’t even threaten me like usual. Everyone in town was gathered and her friend Shortbread was holding her, telling her everything would be okay. D. whispered back to me, “I don’t know, but whoever he is, we’ll find him. And we’ll make sure he doesn’t get away.” I agreed. It just wouldn’t do to have a crazy man running around among us, and if I weren’t so cowardiced I would’ve thought of finding him myself.

Later on, I was heading back to my place. That’s right, my place. I live by myself. I was walking back to my place, and the river ran past me, faster than I ever could. I made sure to step real careful around puddles so I didn’t get my nice pants dirty. And then I saw something weird, like hair coming out of the ground. I rubbed my eyes and I rubbed them again, but the hair was still there, poking out like white grass. So I touched it and—here’s the real crazy part—the white grass had a face! It was K-Mart. I bet you didn’t see that coming.

So now I’m getting excited. I have K-Mart and he looks kind of bad, covered in mud and really peeved (like I wasn’t the one saving his life, jeez). But I’ll get him back to everyone and then Keebler will be happy and trying to kill me again, and everyone will throw me a party for being a hero.

I pulled K-Mart up and held him in my arms tight so that he couldn’t escape, even though he clawed me up good. I ran fast to Keebler’s house and felt happy.

The end.

What do you mean, is that all? I said “The end”, which means the story is done… Yes, I’m still here. Why? I guess I just feel confused. About some things that happened afterward.

But you heard what I said, and so anything I say from now on is just me saying stuff like a crazy person.

I finally get to Keebler’s house and I stand out there, feeling excited and shiny. The rain and the shards of glass nailed to her house are like mirrors, telling me who I am: a hero. The door’s open and I think to myself, What a good thing it is to be needed in this world.

But when I get inside, I duck back out again fast. Because there’s someone else there besides Keebler. And he sounds just like someone I know but not.

I’m cradling K-Mart, “Shh, shh, baby, it’s okay. Your mom is inside.” He’s heavy and wet and still looks mean, but all that being in a hole stuff must’ve tired him out because he gives one last tiny scream and then just breathes. I peek into the window and there’s Keebler, that’s her face with freckles and her hair is orange like Keebler’s, it must be her. So who’s the guy inside?

“Look, baby. K-Mart was sick. He was really sick. She was, baby. I told you, I was here at your house with her and she started coughing. And I hurried to get her to the doc—will you let me finish what I’m saying? I hurried to get him to the doctor but then a man came in and wrestled him to the ground. And he took him away, and you know how tired I am around 5 PM because of my leg. Why would I lie to you, Rachel, goddammit!”

And the guy slapped her across the face, hard. I’ve always thought that Keebler sort of looks like a sunflower. Celia-something, is its secret name. And so I see a sunflower that’s dying in front of me, and the guy who’s screaming at her looks like a guy with D’s face.

K-Mart, I guess, couldn’t bear the confusion either, because next thing you know he’s squirming and before I can catch him he’s gotten away and runs into the house toward Keebler.

“K-Mart!” Keebler screams, and she’s crying again but she’s happy. “K-Mart, oh baby…”

Which is when… this guy, he looks out at me. And he doesn’t look at me like I’m a man or someone he trusts to keep plants’ secret names, or someone who would help him find a murderer. He’s looking at me like he’s the hero of the story and I was never supposed to be part of it.

I ran. I ran and ran and ran all the way back to my place and then I was sick everywhere. Times like this when you’re scared and alone, I know why Keebler was so happy to have K-Mart back. So I held my arms around an imaginary K-Mart and said, “It’s alright, baby, it’s alright,” and I pretended a cat was laying on my chest and loving me until I went to sleep.

The next day, I woke up feeling just fine. And determined, I felt determined. Because I’d figured it all out: I would go tell D. how I’d found the man who was stealing everyone’s faces and wearing them as his own, who didn’t even know Keebler’s name and called her Rachel. And then everything would go back to normal.

So I pushed my creaky body that felt like it had old man’s bones inside of it up and slowly walked toward where D. lives, around five feet away from my house. He’d built my house for me when I first got here, even though everyone usually makes their own. He’d said one day I’d be strong enough to do anything by myself. He’d said one day I’d be strong enough to finally leave.

I was getting closer to D. and he had to have heard me, but he didn’t look up.

“Hey, D.”

Nothing.

I sighed and sat down, slapping my thigh. “Boy, am I glad you’re here,” I said. (Why was my voice shaking?) “The craziest thing happened yesterday. You see, I found K-Mart.”

Now I was the one who couldn’t look at him. The river surged in front of us, and I imagined myself flowing along with it, away from here. “Yep, she sure was glad to see K-Mart alright. And I’ll be going to visit her after this. Maybe she’ll make me a cake or something.”

“Who was there, Budweiser?”

I laughed. “You’re never going to believe it, D. But I found out that there’s a guy who’s stealing our faces and doing bad things with them. There was this guy and he was… well, he looked a little like you, which is so messed up, and he—” I picked up my hand and brought it against my cheek, soft. But it sounded like a gun. Maybe because he wasn’t saying anything back, maybe because everything was spinning. The rain sparked like fireworks as it landed on the water. I kept repeating myself. “Boy, am I sure glad I found you. Yeah. Boy, am I sure glad I found you.”

D. wasn’t watching the river any more. Suddenly, his face was close to mine, and he said:

“______________”

So after that, I left.

The end.

I can’t tell you what he said, ma’am. And I’ve already told you, didn’t I, that you can’t find me, so why worry yourself sick over something you won’t ever understand. I called because I wanted to have someone listen to me telling a crazy story about a man who stole my friend’s face, but you can’t shut up, so now I have to go. It’s not nice to interrupt people. I might need to figure out what happened over and over again until it makes sense, but I’m still Budweiser, even if that’s a name I gave to myself. It’s the name I chose and I’m proud of it. Oh damn, now I’m crying. K-Mart shouldn’t have died, even if he came back to life somehow, and I still have a job to do. I’ve got to save everyone, and the next time you hear about me it’ll be because I’m in the headlines.

Featured image by Klayton Harmon.

The post K-Mart appeared first on Los Suelos.

MEMORANDUM

From: Dave (seriously guys, don’t embellish your names)
Subject: Night Work Policy Violation
Date: January 7th, 2022

Our rules are in place to prevent needless disfigurement and death. 

You can claim not to remember the vagrant who burrowed into Lot 5 before we poured its foundation, but I assure you the insurance company does. He might have gotten himself killed, but he still got himself killed on our site. 

Last night, I returned from my supply run to find lights blazing in Lot 9. I figured someone forgot to shut off the floods. It would’ve been a little mistake, no harm except to the electricity bill. But this morning a whole new set of rooms was finished.

Don’t get me wrong, the work is good. The mudding was almost on par with Carlos’. But if the insurance agents discover we have people working at night they’ll shut down Baja Bonita quicker than you can say “Dave, I’m sorry, we know your policies help provide a fun and safe work environment for everyone.”

Speaking of fun, has anyone seen Brenda? It’s not like her to skip shifts, but she hasn’t shown up for several days.

We need to pull together if Baja Bonita is to finally deliver Los Suelos the subdivision our town planned decades ago.

I know we’re a small crew and it’s tempting to take an informal tone, but I want everyone to remain serious. I made these memo-pads to document your experiences, concerns, and above all help you communicate. Especially if you’re going to be absent (Brenda). 

We have an opportunity to single-handedly revitalize this community and restore the destiny we lost in the USGS calamity. Many fledgling construction crews have foundered. We will survive!

… if our foremen show up and we aren’t shut down for policy violations.

(Carlos, pick me up around 2pm for a supply run. We need aluminum siding.)

MEMORANDUM

From: Brenda
Subject: Go sit on a cactus, Dave
Date: 01.07.2022

I don’t see the harm in my working at night. It’s cool and quiet and I focus better when that beautiful, black curtain blots out the world.

To “pull together” we must all abide by each other’s little eccentricities. For instance, I doubt Miriam at Pony’s Bar can sell you aluminum siding… yet your truck is parked outside every afternoon while you make “supply runs” on company time and Carlos ogles the bartender.

So, give it a rest. I need to work at night. Life has gotten complex. I do a great job, you said so yourself… Let’s leave it at that.

And while we’re airing grievances, you still need to haul the ever-expanding rubbish pile out of Lot 9. That rebar is a hazard. My keys fell into it the other night. I’ll need a new set on a lanyard.

Also, it’s a crime no one has thought to add basements to these poor homes.

I dug a circular space beneath the newest house. The way the ground surrounds you evenly on all sides. It’s amazing. And that’s only one of the new design ideas I’ve had to make the houses feel homey and confined!

MEMORANDUM

From: Carlos
Subject: what the actual fuck
Date: 1/9/2022 

shitting fuck

Dave…

Maybe this’ll become evidence.

Okay.

Miriam kicked us out of Pony’s after Dave got rowdy. Fucking guy. She’d smiled at me for the first time in months literally seconds before he punched that PhD nerd. I was so pissed. Dave insisted on driving back despite being drunk off his ass and seeing like shit in the dark. I said something stupid like “fuck it, go ahead and kill us both,” and gave him the keys. I regret that now.

It was hella late when we returned to Lot 9 for Dave’s truck, but the thump of a nail gun punched through the night. Dave got huffy about people working nights and swung the truck around, bathing the house in our headlights.

Something with too many arms dropped half a dozen tools and scuttled into the shadows.

Dave freaked out and planted his foot on the accelerator. 

Glass shattered. A length of rebar speared Dave’s forehead, pinning him to the seat.

He frowned a final admonishment.

I just kinda stared, the taste of copper tubing filling my mouth. Like the time Dave bet I wouldn’t lick a pipe during the brief freeze last winter.

I wiped my forehead and hard lumps of glass rolled out of my skin. There wasn’t any pain, then… just the gritty sensation of glass scraping bone.

I stumbled out of the truck. The headlights cast deep shadows into the house’s frame. A glowing knot of eyes hung near the ceiling. Teeth flashed, revealing thin lips turned down in a scowl.

I ran.

I made it back to the office trailer and shut myself inside. It seems stupid now, to be scribbling by moonlight while that thing is outside, but scratching my thoughts out breaks the awful silence. Guess I owe Dave a beer for insisting we carry these stupid, handwritten memo-pads. 

Jesus Christ… Dave. 

I tried the phone. Dead, of course. Maybe I’ll place this in Dave’s inbox tray. Pretend like I’m communicating with someone.

I can’t get over that mouth flashing in the shadows. 

I’ll try to hide until morning, then escape with Dave’s truck.

Fuck… Dave. 

MEMORANDUM

From: Brenda Delightfully Brenda
Subject: Come out of the closet, Carlos
Date: 01.10.2022 

Hello, my dear. 

Why do you hide?

I need your help tidying up. Dave made a mess. He is a mess. But we all knew that.

I read your note! It might’ve been meant for someone else, but I found it first. 

You’re not a mess. You’re the best mudder on the West Coast! You’re a valuable member of the team!

We still have so much to build. I told you about the new basements, right? I’m digging deeper. I want to shuffle the lots around, too. Grids are boring… but a network of concentric circles? Now that’s the way to catch customers!

I’m also thinking about tunnels. They’re great. Down where it’s dark and cool beneath the ground. The crack under this door is like a thin tunnel to the supply closet. To you.

Can you juice a cow? I’ve been on a juice fast, recently. Cows replenish their milk. Would it work the same with blood? We could keep cows in the tunnels and juice them slowly. Do you think they’d thank us each time we drained a little? Or do they just do that at the end?

I have lots of plans. But I need your help. I need you to come out of the closet. And not say anything about what happened here.

Is that too much to ask? Would it burden you to keep this secret? Would you say “thank you” if I took that weight away?

MEMORANDUM

From: Carlos 
Subject: I’m going to die in this fucking supply closet
Date: 1/10/2022

I don’t know why I thought our office would be safe.

I left the lights off and made as little noise as possible. But she knew where I’d be.

The window shattered at 2am. She’d thrown a rock through the glass. An entire construction yard worth of tools at her disposal and she used a rock.

I sprinted for the door. It wouldn’t budge. 

My only option was the supply closet. I tore it open and tossed out Dave’s roller-vacuum. Glass crunched behind me. I made the mistake of looking back.

Brenda scuttled toward me on too many legs. Manic delight twisted her face, giving her an uncanny resemblance to my tía abuela reaching for a kiss on my sixth birthday.

I slammed the door and locked it from inside. There’s barely enough room for me to sit, legs folded against my chest, a bare lightbulb shining above me.

Brenda knocked politely on the supply closet. When I didn’t answer she skittered away. After an hour of nerve-frying silence I said fuck it and started documenting again.

Eventually, she slipped a memo of her own under the door. I did not find its contents encouraging.

Hopefully someone eventually finds these.

When I didn’t come out of the closet Brenda got real mad. She screamed and pounded on the door, swearing she’d juice me. Seconds later she was calm again, claiming it was a miscommunication and no one would get hurt if I just opened the door.

Fuck that. 

Another eternity passed in silence. I got excited when I heard a voice in the distance, but it was just Brenda shouting, “Keys! Keys!”

She must’ve gone back to Lot 9 and fetched Dave’s keyring. I hope she didn’t mess with his body.

Dave… I miss you, man. But fuck you for

Shit, she’s jiggling the lock. I probably have secon

MEMORANDUM

From: Dave Carlos
Subject: ends
Date: 1/21 22 23? fuck/2022

Brenda said she’ll sneak into town and kill my parents if I don’t help her.

We build and tunnel. And tunnel. And tunnel.

I can’t stand it anymore. All the time in the fucking dark, feeling her eyes on me.

The dirt walls are a fist around my throat.

I lied about needing tools from Lot 9 and stole Dave’s memo-pad.
We’re breaking into the main caverns today.

It feels like the end of a project.

Miriam, I’m sorry I carved your number on that stall in Pony’s bathroom. It was an abuse of company power tools and I really just wanted you to call me. Hopefully I didn’t send too many weirdos your way.

Fuck… love you, Mom, Dad.

Dave, you’re an asshole. I’m sorry Baja Bonita couldn’t restore the community the way you dreamed.

I hid a utility knife in my boot.

I wish I hadn’t let Dave drive.

MEMORANDUM

From: Brenda Pour the foundation
Subject: Level concrete, squeegee with stretched intestine!
Date: 02.09.2022

Hoist the beams

Bone joists, tied tight with tendon

Frame the walls

No doors, tunnels connect the rooms

Hang the drywall

Mud with brain, paint with blood

Braze the pipes

Tubes for suckling upstairs cocoons

Install the roof

Thatch with hair, proof with fat

Construct the lots

Spiral out, more homes, more tunnels!

Featured image by Maria Pogosyan.

The post The Memorandums of Baja Bonita Construction appeared first on Los Suelos.

We crossed town to see Bone Folder. 

Bone took us through rows and stacks of books and grabbed a book that was all black, covered in cloth. 

Handed it to Oliver and said, This is what you need. 

We found a table and opened the book.

The table of contents was all esoteric shit.

I wondered if it was connected to the Belowdown.

Oliver flipped to the index and found Animal Sacrifice. Page 578. 

how to kill a pig? 

and then how to stick a pig?  

Oliver had grown up hunting so he knew some shit, like how to dress it and all that. 

The most concise directions read: … an incision made with a sharp knife in the jugular furrow at the base of the neck, the knife being directed towards the entrance of the chest to sever all the major blood vessels arising from the heart. 

Oliver dragged his fist across my chest while I said, I don’t know what any of that means. 

None of us had killed a mammal before. 

We had all killed spiders and flies and once I watched my dad take the head off a rattlesnake with a shovel. 

We bought the pig at the farm auction in town.

Oliver paid for it but wouldn’t say where he got the money and asked, Are they supposed to weigh this much? 

He probably had ten pounds on my Rottweiler who was two hundred even. 

The house was down the street so we walked him home. 

I started thinking of names.  

I asked, Should we really do this? 

Danny said, Yes dude, why are you being a bitch about this, I knew it. 

Oliver looked at me and stuck his bottom lip out. 

Is this like meaningful, though? I asked, testing Danny’s patience. 

He said, It’s a historical thing nearly every culture has done. 

Which made sense to me but I argued back, Yeah, but for like a good crop yield and shit, and they believed in God. You heathenish muhfuckas don’t believe in shit.  

Danny laughed and said, I believe the ritual is what matters, not the belief. 

I said, Okay, I can fuck with that, but also what’s a ritual without belief? Seems empty. 

Danny said, No, you’re wrong, the repeated act of ritual builds meaning separate from the beliefs that started them.

I didn’t have anything to say. 

Danny was smarter than all of us, he was from space, he always showed up at my door at the oddest times.

I stopped paying attention to the conversation. Danny was saying something about Coast to Coast, the radio station, and I looked at the sky and it was what I expected. 

How the fuck you get Coast to Coast in Los Suelos?

The pig was dragging ass. 

He was mostly pink, with a black spot near his nose. 

Cute as all fuck. 

I couldn’t believe we were going to kill it. 

Murder. 

We were murderers. 

I said, Hey this is fucked up, and pointed to the pig who was walking next to Oliver just like a dog. 

No one said anything.

Danny lived near train tracks and we’d sit in his backyard to watch for graffiti or we’d throw 40 bottles at the passing trains and laugh when they exploded. 

He inherited the house from his dead grandmother. 

It was a rickety piece of shit but it was somewhere to sleep and eat, take a shower. 

There was the main house, two stories, and then a patch of grass and dirt, a tree stump with an ax lodged in it.

I sat on the trampoline and watched as they tied the pig’s feet and held him upside down and he squealed and squealed and squealed. 

Shut the fuck up! Danny yelled.

Oliver took a piece of chalk out of his pocket and began drawing symbols on the ground. 

Danny went inside and came back out with a black balaclava on. 

What the fuck is going on? I asked.

Danny looked me in the eyes. 

He said, Put this on. 

Danny handed me a balaclava, the same as he was wearing. 

I turned it over in my hands. 

It was thick, I would be hot. 

I asked, Why? and held it up. 

Danny said, It has to be done, and he pushed my arm against my chest. Hard. 

Oliver brought out some candles and placed them on the drawing he had made on the ground. 

This whole time the pig is upside down squealing his fucking head off. 

I couldn’t hear myself think. 

I reluctantly put on the balaclava. 

I felt a slight transformation as I rolled the wool onto and over my head. 

It felt good to hide, to be hidden. 

Featured image by Maria Pogosyan.

The post Die Pig Die appeared first on Los Suelos.

Nasty cold spell early in the season. Forgot about this thing until I got to lookin for tinder. Sure I won’t need those last three pages. Better than freezing my ass off.

Winter in the valley usually ain’t all that bad. The goddamn wind these past couple weeks was killer though… literally. Saw the river folks carrying a stiff up to the road for the pigs to find. Got me thinking about someone finding me out here, so I figure I’ll write about me so that whoever finds me doesn’t think I’m one of those junkie bastards.

I grew up just outside Tumalo, OR, back when “Commies” were the big scary. Almost joined the forces, but had a pothead buddy talk me out of it cause all the fucked up shit we did in the ’60s n shit. So I went to trade school in Bend and started workin farm equipment. Couple decades and three ex-wifes later, I find myself broke as shit and applying for more shitty equipment sales jobs when I said FUCK IT and packed a bag. Left it all there except for some good clothes and whatever cash I got from pawning my appliances. Been off the grid ever since and never been happier. I hardly have to deal with anyone I don’t want to and lovin every minute. 

Though I sure could go for some warm brandy right now.

2/4th

Winter’s been pretty mild since those early winds. They might have a flu or something brewing in those springs the river people horde up around. Wouldn’t let me soak my bones. Cocksuckers. Sure would love to spend a couple days laying around in that hot water.

4/23rd

Good day today, figured I’d write about it. That fat fuck Gary or Jerry or whatever over at Rosa’s Diner is too goddamn lazy to tie the garbage when he drags it out to the dumpster. Easy pickens like that. I can just walk up and get a half eaten burger or three. Someone’s little snot-nose put ranch on one of ’em, but there were others with all the good stuff. 

I wonder if Rosa knows they don’t use Schaefer beef there?  I wonder if Rosa even exists or is it just a good name to put on a diner? 

Anyway it’s calving season. Saw a couple signs outside the store asking for field workers to get corn n shit out for grazing, too. So I was sitting there in my alley, watching all the milfy milkers walking the street, and thinking how much better them burgers woulda been all hot n greasy with some french fries. Then I saw some kid puttin up a sign needing hands and he had me hop in his truck bed when I asked.

Here I am, a hot meal in my gut, freshly showered (or waterhosed is more accurate), and about to have a cerveza with my new buddies Miguel and Elandro. They seem nice enough and they don’t speak a lick of english, which means I don’t have to worry about small talk.

I’ll be swinging shit n seeds for a couple weeks, but I’ll have enough cash to feed me for a couple months. Or a couple weeks if I get too many burgers.

I wonder who even cooks with Schaefer beef round here anyhow?

5/2nd

Had to quit the ranch cause that kid ended up being the boss, walking around like he knew what the fuck he was doing. Someone telling me I’m doing something wrong better have as much hair on his chin as his balls. Miguel and Alando or whatever cheered me on when I left. Called me the king of some place called Mierda. Didn’t get paid, but at least I got some meals out of it. Guess I’ll go back to tinkering equipment for the rest of the season. Don’t know what’s with the critters here, seems like they have a knack for gnawin on wiring and parts. Of all the places I’ve worked, this place has way more broken gear.

Been feeling weird as hell lately. My arm itches like a bitch all the time. I think I got a big splinter or something in there trying to work its way out.

7/5th

Watched the fireworks show over at the ballpark last night. I was groggy cause I had a plate full of nachos and some Tecates at the bar and I didn’t catch myself scratchin the fuck out of my goddamn arm. Fell asleep as soon as the booming stopped and had the weirdest fuckin dream. I was standing under the hills on the other side of town and some kids or something were all gathered up in the shadows. All I could see was their eyes glowing from the moonlight. 

7/8th

I may give in and see the real doctor tomorrow. I think this goddamn arm is infected and I’m having fever dreams. Dreamed I was standing beside a 4-acre hole in the ground. It was night time and I kept hearing this voice (or voices) coming out of it. All of a sudden, a hand reached over the edge. Then another. And another. CREAPY SHIT! I may head south when this heals, get Los Suelos out of my head.

7/11nd

Wasn’t a goddamn splinter. Infection or something. Scratched to hard an opened it up, infection bust out like I stuck a fuckin calf. Black as oil and smelled like rotten taters. Fowl shit. But swellings goin down.

7/18th

High Biscuits had me over to his building to work a water line. Said I was blessed and it felt good to hear. Odd since I hate fairytale shit. 

Heard the earth humming while I was working on that line. Felt good too. Might move closer.

8/21st

The humming is here now. Dug out a bed hole to sleep in and I can feel it. Sleepin sound as a baby on the tit.

9/14th? 

Moved in by the drive-in. hum’s stronger here, feels like home. Attended a meeting last week(?)… saw the hole and dream about it every night. They say I’m chosen. That seems perfect.

october

something in hole, got to find it

[final page]

found it   found me  found

Featured image by Klayton Harmon.

The post diary, leatherbound appeared first on Los Suelos.

Movie: The Descent (2005)

Name: Lisa Mae Dodds

What did you see?

A bunch of ladies tried to go hiking in a cave but it goes a lot deeper than they thought. There was some freaky dudes inside. They got ate! Also the dudes are naked.

How did it make you feel?

Mr. Bernard keeps showing us cave movies when we come here for latchkey. It’s OK I guess but it feels like homework when we have to do these worksheets. Some other girls got scared because there’s blood in this one, but I see blood all the time so I was fine. I would not want to be a naked cave dude who doesn’t talk, but I guess the boys might.

A perfect example of the feedback I’m looking for from our dear future congregants! True, the young lady sounds ambivalent about the film itself, but the fact that she specifies the reason (cave dwellers do not wear clothing or talk) gives a valuable perspective I might not have otherwise considered. Doubt we’ll be showing this one at the drive-in, but can carry this insight forward. ~HB

Movie: Pet Sematary (1989)

Name: Chafin Carter

What did you see?

The family has this weird angry monkey-dog thing but it died. But they put it underground and it come back. And ask the family to bury themselves too because it’s a lot better and the dog(?) isn’t so angry anymore. The lesson is I don’t know.

How did it make you feel?

I don’t know, happy I guess. I seen this movie once when it had a different ending and I liked that one better.

While community members are more than welcome to edit existing films in addition to screening original reels, I don’t believe this one is a winner. Children appreciate consistency. My error here was forgetting that many elementary school students find ways to see R-rated movies. ~HB

Addendum: I do find it odd that this young man does not seem to know what a cat is. It gives me pause regarding his worthiness toward Descent. ~HB

Movie: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

Name: Raymond Auks

What did you see?

They made us watch a documentary again

How did it make you feel?

My dad works at the slaughterhouse so I already know all this stuff, like where meat comes from. The movie was about a bunch of city kids, so they don’t know anything. I guess it was funny how instead of the cows saying thank you the people just screamed like a cow. But that got old after a while.

Children seem bored by this one. ~HB

Movie: Logan’s Run (1976)

Name: Ephraim Ralleigh

What did you see?

People live in this world underground with robots and cool clothes but they blow you up on your 30 b-day. If you want to survive you have to go to the surface where everything is broken and old.

How did it make you feel?

I would simply not tell nobody when my birthday is.

Always a pleasure to see our school producing such intelligent young people. ~HB

Movie: untitled dash cam footage, dated 09-03-2021

Name: Flora Wilson

What did you see?

My dad got out of his car and talked to a sheriff for a while, but it didn’t let us hear what they said. We could hear the radio in the squad car, but it kept saying things like “the Earth is pregnant with Peace” and “remember why we came, remember why we stayed.” In the end my dad points at something and they jump in my dad’s car and drive off. A minute later a cow walks over and looks at the camera, then it just ends.

How did it make you feel?

This sheriff has been sleeping on our couch almost since the school year started. He doesn’t leave the house. I thought his girlfriend must have threw him out or something, but now I bet there’s more to it, like he’s really a superhero and the cow is his enemy. I hope they make a sequel. And maybe Godzilla is in it.

Great choice! Schedule this one for drive-in showing. ~HB

Movie: City of Ember (2008)

Name: Owen Stephens

What did you see?

INVISIBLE FIRE WILL RAIN FROM THE SKY. NOTHING WILL GROW WHERE THE SUN DOTH SHINE. IT WILL BE A TIME OF GREAT HUNGER, WHEN MEN GUZZLE POISON IF ONLY TO FEEL THEIR BELLIES FULL AT LAST. COUNTRY AND BROTHERHOOD ALIKE WILL VANISH, LEAVING A BLACKENED IRON CARCASS WHERE ONCE WE WALKED UPON THE LAND. DARKNESS WILL SHELTER AND NOURISH AS THE LIGHT ONCE DID, AND ONLY THE SIGHTLESS MAY SEE EDEN.

How did it make you feel?

I like when one of the robbers pees his pants.

Unexpectedly, this seems to be a top choice film. Many of the folks in town are still skeptical of the teachings of the Church of the Belowdown. We must work on fostering more enthusiasm in the children, and this is exactly what I mean by “enthusiasm.” ~HB

Addendum: Disregard previous note, confirmed student has already been chosen. This film is ultimately neither here nor there. ~HB

Movie: Ruins of the Sun (2020)

Name: Javier Trujano Hernandez

What did you see?

A bunch of guys live in a cave, but they left for some reason and now they want to get back. Cuz going above ground made they bodies all weird so they got to wear these suits, and it messed up their memories, like now they can barely even talk. They go deeper and deeper but they can’t find where they came from. The moral is if you got a place that works for you, don’t go looking for a different place.

How did it make you feel?

I can’t stop thinking about why the cave guys would of wanted to leave? Something bad must of happened to them down there I think. That seems really unfair because I think they were peaceful and minding they own business. Down there you aren’t supposed to have no problems. You don’t even have to see nothing.

I am, to be diplomatic, extremely disappointed that a copy of this film found its way to the after school program. Hopefully, the viewer’s intelligence and youthful resilience has prevented it from being too damaging, though I recommend we screen more films as soon as possible to minimize the impression from this one. It is possible that something was lost in the transfer to digital as well, but I can only hope we will never know one way or the other. The DVD has of course been destroyed, and I mean to determine whether other copies exist. ~HB

Movie: As Above, So Below (2014)

Name: Luther Stein

What did you see?

This movie is REALLY SCARY! Some people were trying to find buried treasure but instead they found HELL! There was a car on fire underground and a guy was just sitting in it while everyone screamed at him to get out.

How did it make you feel?

I’m never going in the basement ever again!!!

Please throw this DVD into a suitably large fire. ~HB

Movie: Hibiscus (2021)

Name: Marisol Gutierrez

What did you see?

It was about this guy Bernard Hibiscus. He and his brother are always inventing things and then they invent the airplane. And this woman Amelia comes along to fly the plane, but then she disappears. He figures his brother Abel did it, so he kills his brother and says “the sky is dead to me now.” Then he spends the rest of the movie calling the sky The Great Temptress. He gets a new friend, but it never shows her face and she’s too big to fit on the screen so we don’t really know what she looks like. Plus she’s always standing in the dark. He says she’s the only light he needs now. Then it ends.

How did it make you feel?

Amelia was really pretty. The shadow thing was scary at first but I liked her better at the end. Also it was really educational.

I’m pleased the young lady seems to have enjoyed it, but the more I look at the film and read the children’s responses, the more I feel it’s simply too direct. I don’t want to look like a grifter; the work we’re doing here is real, our role in this community of dire importance. I have left behind the part I once played in the extractive industries that granted me this godforsaken fortune. This movie feels extractive. Will not be showing at drive-in. ~HB

Movie: Journey to the Center of the Earth (2021)

Name: Regina Driscoll

What did you see?

Some old-timey guys go down through a volcano and end up on an island where all their friends and family that they lost are alive and well. They build a house and live there together. One of them marries a dinosaur. It was a happy ending.

How did it make you feel?

I wouldn’t want to marry a boy but I could maybe see myself marrying a dinosaur. “Rex” means “king” and “Regina” means “queen” so if I married T. Rex my name would be Queen King.

Fantastic example of what we can do with our original offerings. While it does admittedly take some artistic license with Verne’s esteemed novel, I believe that judicious updates for a modern audience are appropriate, similar to the practice of publishing youth study bibles in more archaic faiths. Let’s move this one straight to the drive-in’s projection room. ~HB

Featured image by Maria Pogosyan.

The post After School Program appeared first on Los Suelos.

June 27^th, 1957

Goddamn those Schaefers.

If I never write another word in this damn diary, let those ones be the ones that stick. God damn those Schaefers and their greed. Ain’t been married for a week, hardly even had time to kick the dust off our boots from the honeymoon—Johnny took me out to the coast, got a pretty little bungalow on the beach and everything, real nice with the smell of the ocean right there—before they’re banging our door down. 

Cletus Schaefer is a two-faced son of a gun, is what he is. Didn’t fight in the war, certainly not in Korea—didn’t come back with dark eyes and darker memories like my Johnny did. Him with his “conscientious objection,” staying safe at home and buying out every rancher he could, and now he thinks he can do the same to us? My grandmother’s people, the Cassons, worked this land before his kind ever showed up here, and I won’t be driven off it by the likes of this blond-haired, blue-eyed bastard, Lord forgive me for my plain speech. He can ask, he can bribe, he can bully, but he’ll never have our ranch.

March 13^th, 1965

It’s still so cold out. Bad weather to be moving the herd in, but ain’t got no choice, not if we’re gonna get them to Fresno in time. Johnny still won’t use Schaefer Slaughterhouse, and I’d never blame him, but it’s damnable hard on him these days. I can’t help on account of Baby Peter, and Danielle is still too young to be safe among the cows.

Roads are better lately, at least. Only good thing to come out of these alfalfa farmers is getting some new roads from the county. Them folks ain’t produced a damn sprout yet, far as I know. Got nothing but Indian tobacco and ragweed as far as the eye can see. Good thing the cows are used to it.

December 24^th, 1972

Peter’s cough ain’t getting any better. Johnny’s gone out to hunt down young Baltasar, see if he can’t do something. Regular doctors ain’t been no help—it’s not asthma, not allergies, not something worse like TB or cancer. Can’t diagnose it, can’t cure it, don’t really seem to care one way or the other, those white-coated, city-bred bastards. We’ve spent half our profit from this year’s herd on all kinds of remedies, and they’re not making a whit of a difference for my baby.

Lord, he coughs so bad it makes him bleed. I’d give him my lungs, if I could. I’d give him everything, if I had anything at all left to give.

Hell of a Christmas coming our way.

July 18^th, 1975

Can’t believe I’m hiding in my own bedroom, but I don’t know what else to do. Danielle has run away, for good this time if her note’s to be believed, and Johnny’s in a rage. Seems like he’s intent on breaking every piece of crockery in the house, and maybe the furniture, too. I ought to be out there soothing him, but… I’m too afraid.

There, I said it. Hate to, but if I can’t be honest with myself, who can I be honest with? Johnny ain’t been the same since Peter’s death, getting more bitter by the day. We’ve gotta import feed for the cows now—otherwise they’re skinny as rakes, trying to graze off land that don’t wanna grow nothing but weeds these days. Got no money to spare, got no time left in the day after the animals and the garden (sad little thing though it is) are tended to. Should have made more time for Danielle, but she took matters into her own hands. It is what it is. She’s smart, strong. Reckon she might have made the right choice after all, leaving this place… I can only pray for her now.

And for myself. I think it might be too late to pray for Johnny.

January 5^th, 1980

Johnny ain’t been home for five days. That’s two days longer than his last bender. Is it a bender? Does it count if the fool don’t drink, just goes and rides off into the desert by himself for days on end so he can shout down the sky and curse up the ground, leaving me all alone to handle things here? I had to sell my wedding ring to pay for a hand to come and help rustle the yearlings to the slaughterhouse.

Yes, that slaughterhouse. I still hate Cletus, but at this rate I might hate Johnny even more. Either way, these cows need clean killing and it’s not like I can do it all myself.

February 14^th, 1984

He howls at the moon. When he’s not scratching at the dirt or shoving it in his mouth, that is. Don’t know why–it doesn’t taste near as good as my cooking. I had to put him outside last night–couldn’t sleep with him here in the house, not if I wanted to get any sleep without him breathing down my neck, but I couldn’t just turn him loose out there either. I ended up putting our dog’s old chain around Johnny’s neck and tying him to the old almond tree. Thank the Lord I don’t have neighbors close enough to see my shame. 

Least I got Danielle promising to visit next week during her last phone call. That’s a bright spot in this patch of Hell.

September 3^rd, 1990

He was gone when I woke up. I swear he was gone when I woke up. Don’t know how it happened, don’t know how he got out of the room—I keep it locked at night, like I told the doctor Danielle sent out here I would, I swear I did. Not sure if Danielle believes me–hard to tell over the phone. Not sure if she’d blame me either way, but I swear to God above that I didn’t let him out. Even if I had, how could I foresee this happening?

Whoever thinks that a grown man is capable of throwing himself down a goddamn sinkhole? Two people saw it happen—pair of farmers up on the northeast side of town. That sinkhole ain’t got no bottom that I or anybody else has ever found. Could drop a pebble down it and never hear it hit the ground.

Skinny as he was, Johnny’s a lot bigger than a pebble. Wonder if anyone heard him make a noise when he hit.

April 28^th, 1991

It hurts to sign that dotted line. Hurts to sell what’s left of the land to the government, but better them than the Schaefers, for all that Cletus’s been dead and gone for over a decade now. Gonna build some sort of research facility there someday, something scientific. We’ll see if they ever do.

Can’t see what they’re interested in learning about, if it ain’t the way this damn patch of dirt drives you mad. Should have come and talked to me about that while Johnny was still alive.

June 16^th, 1993

Well, hell. We’re a real town now. Los Suelos. Fancy that. Some beancounter added us all up and came up with “town” instead of “scattered locals.” I can point it out to Danielle next time she tries to get me to move to Santa Barbara with her and Todd. No way. They’re like cats and dogs lately.

Gotta get this dirt out from under my nails before I make dinner. Garden is growing good for the first time in decades. Mmm… tastes rich, like chocolate. So much better than I remember.

May 2^nd, 1994

What’s down there? I can almost hear it. Almost see it. Can feel it, for sure.

But what is it?

I’ve gotta find out.

I’ve got to know.

Editor’s Note: Lora Harper died on May 15^th, 1994, at the age of 66. Her daughter Danielle Goodrich donated this diary to the art gallery shortly after her mother’s death. She now resides in her parents’ historic farmhouse, not far from what used to be the United States Geological Survey San Joaquin Valley Easter Regional Office.

Featured image by Erin Brown.

The post Damn Diary appeared first on Los Suelos.

The position you are about to assume is one of great esteem. The actions you choose from the moment you awake in the morning to the moment you lay your head down at night will affect the welfare of Mr. Bernard and his entire estate. Given that his legacy is the backbone of our community, in acting as the steward of his health and safety, you now hold a great deal of responsibility.

As I was the only other person to have held this position to date, I determined it prudent to compile a list of the best practices I’ve acquired over my years of proud service. I encourage you to read through this list multiple times before officially undertaking your duties. Though the estate does not have a formal training period budgeted into your rate, there is an expectation that you perform this role from a place of sincere passion and will not mind, from time to time, going the extra mile for the greater good. It is in this spirit that I have taken it upon myself, during my transition into retirement, to equip you as best I can with all requisite information. 

Please remember to:   

1. Keep the tea selection well-stocked. Mr. Bernard takes his tea four times a day—with mealtime 3x daily, and again at 9pm when he is winding down. As his caffeine and taste needs vary over the course of the day, a well-rounded pantry that accommodates these different contexts is an absolute must. Mr. Bernard always sticks to the same brand of tea kettle, but he often forgets how to operate it, so it’s best to anticipate his needs and get the water boiling before he even knows he wants it. 

2. Launder Mr. Bernard’s clothes 2x per week. Do not use fabric softener. Always use tap cold. If you switch out his detergent or otherwise alter the laundering process, he will notice and ask you to donate, then promptly replace, the clothes that were ruined in the process. As many of Mr. Bernard’s garments are bespoke, you will soon see why this should at all costs be avoided. When the washing machine is running, set a timer for 40 minutes and carry it with you so you can retrieve the clean clothes when they are fresh. Ascending and descending the stairs multiple times is necessary, but fortunately you are young and spry, unlike me. In any case, extra walking is preferable to the adverse effects that prolonged exposure to the basement can create. 

3. Launder his bedding once weekly. All the same provisions apply. 

4. Refrain from asking Mr. Bernard questions that may be construed as intrusive, entitled, or otherwise inappropriate. Likewise, he has a particular aversion to idle small talk or dull observations. You will learn to calibrate your standards for this in no time at all. 

5. Ensure that Mr. Bernard never has to perform any math, no matter how simple you deem it. Around 15 or so years ago, his faculties in this area started to decline, which, given his breadth of professional scientific experience, frustrates him a great deal. Keep a calculator on hand at all times. 

6. Keep Mr. Bernard’s environment, belongings, and person free of allergens and toxins including pollen, dust, dust mites, peanuts, tree nuts, animal dander, and stinging insects. He has a high sensitivity to these. 

7. Limit his direct sunlight exposure to three 15-minute sessions daily. When he is outside, please ensure his face and neck are covered with a wide-brim hat and sunscreen SPF 50 or higher. 

8. Receive a copy of Mr. Bernard’s weekly food and drink menu from the in-house chef the Sunday before it goes into effect. Mr. Bernard’s least favorite thing in the world is when people ask what’s on his plate. Familiarizing yourself with his menu ahead of time provides an extra set of eyes to ensure that his meals meet all dietary requirements and precludes all temptation on your part to ask. It goes without saying, but in the event that you ask for a bite of food off of Mr. Bernard’s plate, you will be terminated effective immediately. 

9. Prior to each film night, set an appointment with Mr. Bernard’s son, Hibiscus, to receive an extra print of the week’s film so that Mr. Bernard may enjoy it in his private screening room. In his condition, large-scale events are simply not appropriate. Though Hibiscus cannot be regularly relied on for questions regarding his father, he can generally be expected to respond to most inquiries within 1 week. Plan accordingly. Once you have coordinated the retrieval of the extra film print, bring the dolly provided to transport it, as each reel (a feature-length typically uses two) weighs around 40 pounds. Once you have threaded the first reel through the projector, escort Mr. Bernard to the screening room and buckle him into his seat. (The first few times you do this he may protest, but hours of sitting are taxing on his back, so please be persistent.) The screening room is soundproof, which helps Mr. Bernard remain undisturbed, but it also means that whenever he occupies it you must make regular visits at half-hour intervals. After Mr. Bernard has enjoyed a film, return the reels to Hibiscus. This will also need to be coordinated ahead of time. 

10. Beware of intruders. Break-in attempts are not uncommon, and each should be properly dealt with and reported so that the authorities may respond with the appropriate amount of urgency. If you find yourself in a pinch, your quarters have been furnished with pepper spray, a baseball bat, and a pistol with four rounds of blanks. It does not work, but it does look convincing. In addition to criminal activity, please also stay alert to all unwelcome presences. For instance, while Hibiscus finances his father’s convalescence, bear in mind that he is under no circumstances allowed in the house.

11. When in doubt, refer to this manual. Do not ask Mr. Bernard to clarify instructions, as this causes him a great deal of undue stress. He is a man of great renown who has worked hard over many decades. It is your job to ensure that now is his time to enjoy the fruits of his labor. 

The above standards are nonnegotiable. In the event that you have other questions about household operations—whether they be financial, aesthetic, or interpersonal in nature—rest assured that you were awarded this role for your exceptional instincts, and should follow them accordingly. 

Mr. Bernard is an agreeable person. Should you lead with good judgment, I’m sure you’ll find yourself blessed with a rewarding professional relationship. 

Best wishes, 

Rosemary Bean

Outgoing House Manager, Bernard Estate

Featured image by Klayton Harmon.

The post Caring for Mr. Bernard: An Instruction Manual appeared first on Los Suelos.

Hometown Heroes Win 3-2 in Extra Innings

Sports Correspondent (Unofficial) Sofia Haugen

I am starting this article—as is too-frequently the case—with a formal protest of the Daily Spectacle’s editorial policies¹, specifically the oft-cited-to-me rule that curse words are not allowed in headlines. Before the heavy hand of my cryptofascist editor came down on this article, the title rhymed much better, and had a more pleasing metrical identity—a full line of trochaic hexameter, calling to mind Poe’s The Raven, or the Dies Irae of the requiem mass. Now it stumbles after the caesura into a flaccid antipenultimate foot lacking the length and girth of the original “c*ckblocks,” a word you, dear reader, probably use on a weekly basis, but which I am forced to censor. Oh and apparently the Blue Dicks are named after a flower? So “Blue C*cks” isn’t an acceptable synonym either. Anyway, now that that’s over with, let’s talk about the National goddamn Pastime.²

Saturday was a gorgeous day for a game. A nice cool breeze coming down out of the hills had the stadium at a perfect 73 degrees, and the sky was a gorgeous blue, without any clouds, chemtrails, or—for the first time in almost a month—wildfire smoke to ruin the view. So it’s a damn shame the game was on Tuesday, when it was 85-feels-like-95 and the air quality was so low that nobody could notice I was chainsmoking in the press box. Not that there was anyone to notice, the stadium was totally empty—even Angie, my opposite number at the Turlock Journal, didn’t make it down for the game, and her boyfriend is on the Morlocks so she usually comes to all of em. Maybe they broke up. Or she’s dead.³ These things happen. So the only actual spectators were myself, maybe two dozen locals, three guys in Turlock colors lurking in the left field bleachers drinking only bottled water and refusing to make eye contact with anyone, & Blue Dicks star pitcher Candice “Bulkhead” Fitzgerald, who was sitting this game out—she was halfway through a two-week suspension for (rumor has it⁴) attempting to copy Dock Ellis’ infamous psychedelic no-hitter, allegedly⁵ substituting peyote and psilocybin mushrooms⁶ for acid. She would’ve done it, too, but she wandered out of the stadium during the sixth inning and they had to make a call to the bullpen. Found her down by the river talking to a rock. 

Anyway, she was lurking in the right field bleachers, chugging homemade kombucha and refusing to make eye contact with your humble reporter. 

So with the star pitcher benched, the mascot in the county sheriff’s second-nicest cell⁷, and one of the hot dog vendors already passed out from heat stroke, the game was off to a pretty f*cking terrible start. The Morlocks’ mascot, Murdoch Morlock, had made it to the game, and was doing all sorts of clownstyle bullsh*t, pratfalls and cartwheels and celebrity impressions and a little observational comedy, which eye em oh is really more of a standup thing than a mascot thing, but you do you, Murdoch. I think I fell asleep, because the only thing I remember between Murdoch’s “what are those things on the end of your shoelaces” bit⁸ and the seventh-inning stretch was too graphic to describe in detail but involved Björk, a four-poster bed, and some hand-crafted leather restraints. I’ll let you fill in the rest. Well, OK, I’ll also specify that I was the one in the restraints, wouldn’t want to give the ladies the wrong idea. 

So “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” wakes me up right as Björk is bringing out the violet wand, and the game’s tied at two runs. I check the box score⁹ and it looks like the Blue Dicks got one off a line drive in the third, Morlocks hit a homer with a man on first in the fourth, and the home team brought it back with a sacrifice fly in the sixth, setting me up perfectly for two and a half thrilling innings—the ideal amount of baseball.  

I did not get my ideal amount of baseball. It took a further seven innings for the game to be decided. I was an hour late for work and almost got fired.¹⁰ But since I value the noble art of sports journalism more than such petty considerations as “food” and “rent,” I stuck it out to the bitter end. Anyway, if I get evicted, I’ll just move into the Spectacle office, I already have a blanket-nest set up in one of the supply closets for when I’m pulling an all-nighter and don’t want to drag myself home before dawn.¹¹ Wouldn’t be the first time, either—I got kicked out of the dorms my senior year of college for starting a small fire while trying to synthesize DMT, and also for trying to synthesize DMT, and I lived in the student newspaper office for most of spring semester. I still get nostalgic for those ancient couches sometimes. Anyway, I thought the game would be over in the 12th inning, when I still had time to sprint into town and just barely make it to work—the Morlocks’ shortstop (oh that’s the stuff), Linda Culbert, hit one way out toward the left field fence, everyone was on their feet, we were sure it was gonna be a home run, but then Blue Dick left fielder Z¹² Baumbach leapt up the fence and snagged it just before it left the park. Really a beautiful play. Shame that it made me late for work, though.Finally, it’s the bottom of the 14th. Z’s on third, Manuel “Manatee”¹³ Hernández, the Blue Dicks’ catcher, is up to bat. A line drive to center field skips off the outfielder’s glove, and by the time she throws it in, Z has scored. The crowd, such as it is, goes wild; and I get the fuck out of the stadium, because as cozy as the Spectacle offices are, I think the constant digging sounds from the tunnels beneath my editor’s office would keep me up at night.¹⁴ Ok that’s enough sports for now, until next time, true believers. Smooches.

Sofia Haugen is an award-winning sports journalist, an excellent lover (allegedly), and a graduate of the Hunter S. Thompson Memorial Diploma Mill. She can mostly be found inside the mind of W Griffin Hancock, where she lurks like a psychic parasite, compelling them to think about sports.

The post Blue Dick Ballhawk Baumbach Blocks Turlock Morlocks appeared first on Los Suelos.