Townes van Zandt - Dead Flowers

Carl Orff - Gassenhauer

Psychic TV - The Orchids

Lil Wayne - I'm Single

Chrono Trigger - Corridors of Time (Konata’s Remix)

Children Of The Corn - Devil Shyt

Scratch Acid - Owner’s Lament

Nirvana - You Know You’re Right

Roky Erickson - Stand By Me

The Undertones - Teenage Kicks

PRGz - Woodgrain

Fatboy Slim - Song For Shelter

Les Rallizes Denudes - Distant Memory

My family lived in a one bedroom apartment in the city while we waited for the house to be built out in the country that my Aunt, a realtor, got us a good deal on. My little brother was born in that apartment. I was 6 and it was the second birth I had seen start to finish.

The new house was in a single-street suburb surrounded by cornfields on three sides and brush and bramble on the other. We didn’t fit in with the neighbors, and my parents didn’t seem to give a fuck. My dad blasted his music loud enough to be heard across the street and my mom didn’t take out her nose ring. My parents didn’t interact much with the adult neighbors but my brother, sister, and I played with the kids, Kaitlyn and Sarah, until they graduated to middle school and didn’t want to play anymore.

I eventually found out why Kaitlyn and Sarah’s families kept the dogs inside--even though, unlike my family, they both had fences surrounding their yards. Their dogs mangled carcasses were brought to the families days after the animals went missing. The lesbian couple who lived across the street from me found the remains while training search and rescue K-9 units in the fields and brush. This wasn’t the first time it had happened because even the big police dogs the women trained were kept inside at night because of the coyotes. Sometimes me and my sister hid up in a small tree in the brush out back and had the dogs practice tracking us.

I never had a pet dog except for the stray my mom let me keep when I was 8 or 9 in the garage of our suburban house. He was the first animal I understood as my own and I loved him even though he looked like a dingo and ran wild through the neighborhood chasing cars. Mom said Wesley ran away at the end of that summer to find a new family. I wanted to believe her but I agonized over my theory that she took him to the pound and didn’t tell me. I didn’t understand then that keeping your kids fed could conflict with keeping the stray dog fed.

The following summer was so hot and dry we could play frisbee with a two day old roadkill toad. When the sun went down I laid flat out on a towel on top of my dad’s broken down old blue suburban he loved too much to give up and soaked up the setting sun and lingering asphalt heat. I listened to the sounds of the cicadas fade into coyote yips and howls and imagined my dog had not run away to a new family or been brought to the pound, but that he ran towards the fields. I pictured him running through corn at night until he no longer could, surrounded by coyotes, about to die, and I felt a primal satisfaction with my death scenario. The same satisfaction I felt when I stood at the foot of my mom’s bed and watched her give birth to my sister and brother, not to her daughter and son. The same satisfaction I felt the first time I fucked up the wall in my new room, not my parents new house. I was a selfish and cruel child.

It was so hot out during those summers in our neighborhood where everybody's dog but my own were eaten by coyotes. A part of me is still selfish and cruel and likes to fantasize that is why my parents sold the house and moved to the city by the next I wouldn’t be jealous of my neighbors hunted and dead dogs.

"When I see you, who were so wise and cool,

Gazing with silly sickness on that fool

You’ve given your love to, your adoring hands

Touch his so intimately that each understands,

I know, most hidden things; and when I know

Your holiest dreams yield to the stupid bow

Of his red lips, and that the empty grace

Of those strong legs and arms, that rosy face,

Has beaten your heart to such a flame of love,

That you have given him every touch and move,

Wrinkle and secret of you, all your life,

—Oh! then I know I’m waiting, lover-wife,

For the great time when love is at a close,

And all its fruit’s to watch the thickening nose

And sweaty neck and dulling face and eye,

That are yours, and you, most surely, till you die!

Day after day you’ll sit with him and note

The greasier tie, the dingy wrinkling coat;

As prettiness turns to pomp, and strength to fat,

And love, love, love to habit!

And after that,

When all that’s fine in man is at an end,

And you, that loved young life and clean, must tend

A foul sick fumbling dribbling body and old,

When his rare lips hang flabby and can’t hold

Slobber, and you’re enduring that worst thing,

Senility’s queasy furtive love-making,

And searching those dear eyes for human meaning,

Propping the bald and helpless head, and cleaning

A scrap that life’s flung by, and love’s forgotten,—

Then you’ll be tired; and passion dead and rotten;

And he’ll be dirty, dirty!

O lithe and free

And lightfoot, that the poor heart cries to see,

That’s how I’ll see your man and you!—

But you

—Oh, when that time comes, you’ll be dirty too!"

- Jealousy by Rupert Brooke