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On Thursday, July 25 2013 I was interviewed by A.X.E.L., host of Next Faze of the Industrial Revolution on the Vegas All Net Radio station. It was an honor to be invited to participate, especially when considering others who have been/are scheduled to be featured in this series. Below I have included by my original fiction read on air, and the show’s track list. You can find my archived interview here: http://audio.vegasallnetradio.com/AXEL/AX2013-07-25.mp3. For the other archived programs, and A.X.E.L.’s weekly broadcast every Thursday night, please visit http://vegasallnetradio.com/Shows/AXEL-Radio.html.
Original Fiction: As an added bonus A.X.E.L. challenged me to compose a new story to be read on the program, with the stipulation that it include a Kennedy half dollar. This radio interview came together just a few days before A.X.E.L.’s weekly program, and the suggestion to read a new story came only the day before going on air live. I have included the story below; read along with the program and decide for yourself if time (or lack thereof) hinders creative efforts.In keeping with the show’s industrial music focus, used the title of a song by Genital A-Tech as a starting point. Their song “Neovagina” is included on the four-disc compilation There Is No Time (Ras DVA, 1995). This story is now included in my collection Devil Entendre.
©2013 John Edward Lawson
Andrew wakes during the full hip disarticulation. One of his surgeons is in the process of saying, “Okay, got my finger under the pectineus…now where’s that tendon?”
Another chimes in with, “Electrocautery back online just in time.”
Andrew smells both metal and something moist and organic that should never be exposed to air. He tries to turn his head, eyes bulging and dry.
“Oh, damn it,” the anesthesiologist says.
With a trembling hand Andrew studies the Kennedy half dollar at rest on his palm. He tries to avoid thinking about his class trip to the Empire State Building back in the 8th grade, of the admonition the class received from tour guides not to throw anything from the observation deck–or the dark gleam in his classmate’s eye when hearing that coins tossed off penetrated inches into the pavement below. Andrew tries not to contemplate his inaction when the other boy gave him a winning smile while chucking a quarter into the air. The baby in its stroller 1,250 feet below with the hole punched through its belly never allows him peace. Nor do the faces of the baby’s parents, themselves haunted. It had been a boy? Perhaps it had been spared a life of misery.
Andrew’s pants are down around his ankles. He dislikes undressing with the lights on, even when alone, because of his father. However, something even his father could appreciate now resides in his thigh: a darkness blue at its edges, then purple and finally black toward the center, where a gap in his skin is only an inch long but wet.
He finds himself back under intense lights. “Are we going to incise this anterior joint capsule or what? I’m supposed to be online cybering the hell out of some Canadian chick.” Just as quickly the lights fade.
The injury to his thigh should have been treated when it first happened, Andrew understands all too well, but his father bred him for inaction. Girl after girl in the other room, cries and screams muffled. Afterward his father had always said, “Told your mother I wanted a girl. You don’t like what’s happening? It’s your fault. It shoulda been you in there.” Sometimes his father made him watch, or if things got out of control his father made him help dig the hole and pour the lye.
Insert a coin and watch it shake. From a sex act? From sobbing? From waves of nausea? From another beating? Thick sap is displaced by the coin’s penetration, and the smell invading Andrew’s nostrils is that of skunks and dead vermin trapped in walls and the sewer drain he hid in when he ran away. Dark tears slowly leave a trail through the wiry hair of his thigh: yes, the shaking is due to weeping of a sort.
The question is, can it accommodate greater girth? A Kennedy half dollar, for instance, his father’s good luck charm. “Best thing ever happened to me was that fool getting his brains blown out,” Andrew’s father remarked when celebrating his own birthday: November 22, 1963. When he carried the coin in his pocket he was unstoppable—that is, until the police caught up to him.
Andrew packs it into his wound, just the tip at first, then pounding harder and harder despite tearing flesh and the shrieks that may or may not be his. Just like slot machines crusted with elderly smokers’ emphysema it won’t be coming up cherries.
An insistent child with carbonized steel claws and fangs tugs at the skin of lower abdomen. No…even through the unfamiliar cold on his vulnerable areas and the churning heat next to it, he can tell this is just another suture.
“I see a certain anesthesiologist losing their boat in the near future.”
“Up yours, Phil.”
Andrew’s eyelids flutter. He is willing to admit his thought process hasn’t been quite clear ever since the sweats and swelling began. “I’m sorry,” mutters. “I’m sorry.” The baby parked in its stroller across the operating theater ignores him, preoccupied with fingering its own wound.
“Fifteen Minutes of Fame” (15-minute mix) Sheep On Drugs
“Doubts Even Here” New Order
“Blades” (KMFDM remix) Pig
“Oh My Goth” Razed In Black
Listen to the songs, reading, and complete interview at http://audio.vegasallnetradio.com/AXEL/AX2013-07-25.mp3.
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