JERK CURTAIN

It's as if someone were using my life to beat me with. 

- from The Book of Disquiet by Ferando Pessoa.

THEIR baby's throat simmers rupturing mucosa, a laryngopharyngeal cauldron directing rivulets of splashback that current-rush within a scar-shallow hair lip, forking the infant's mouth into a permanent v-cut sneer, his face and my gut a matched set of unbeknownst skin locked into a deepening moment by the spurred branding of an arcane rune.  

what exactly was i thinking back then? that his creepiness was endearing? that it really turned me on how he allowed me to indulge some kind of heavy prurience within me... a darkening perversion that only grew more insatiably ferocious as our coupling lurched past its peak and desperately attempted to avoid stagnate repetition? that we were somehow aiding one another in processing our respective brokenness? that no one before (or to be honest, since) had ever made me cum that hard? that i wasn't thinking at all... just doing? 

I know what i'm thinking now.

finally settled on a hairstyle, both shape and color.... a more defined call back to an oceanic look i attempted in middle school, where i wished to resemble a mermaid from Hell. weight's where i want it to be... and i actually slept well... even with his sack of meat and cum clumsily articulating their growing pains through coarse yelps that don't so much sound like the mewling of a baby but the roiling hiss of a raped stray cat. 

the producer / director gave me a tour of the set earlier today, which was structured to resemble a high school auditorium, though he claimed it was a direct replica of a theater from a mental hospital that has since been condemned by the state. at our initial meeting at Tatterdemalion, where he was a consultant on a music video in which i appeared as an extra, his mouth spun comparable yarns; being the son of a Republican Senator who was recently the victim of a letter bomb, creating the personas of several well-known fetish models whole cloth, and a scattershot litany of sketchy accomplishments that didn't quite seem on the level, but after years of working at a fetish club and tending bar at a coffee shop / music venue, it wasn't really anything i hadn't heard before from any number of "dark 'n' edgy" types, who utilize their factoid-heavy research of transgressive creative movements not as a source for inspiration so they can forge ahead with new expansions of those pathologies, but just as another bargaining chip in the mundane nocturnal trek for pickling their cocks within the walls of a "weird girl". 

at first i tossed this gentleman somewhere near the bathroom area of my interaction memories... between the toilet and the wastebin, mummified in tissue paper and tampon strings... but some of his stories did check out; he did share a surname with a Republican Senator Bertram Mewlpys; an arch-conservative courthouse obsessive who recently had his face almost blown off by a special delivery of exploding rat poison, and there was an on-the-rise fetish model in the late '00s with the screen name "Lili Violbloom" who listed a Giles Mewlpys as her manager (the gentleman at the club referred  to himself as "G. Mowpie", which sounded like the kind of slightly more clever than average but still outdated porn name imagined by a frat bro who has never actually watched an adult film, but i digress). 

Mewlpys paid another visit to the club, catching Vivian and I in a duel performance. afterwards he approached us. naturally i assumed he would attempt to snag Viv, as she just radiated an effortless carnal magnetism that no one ever risked evading (myself included), but actually he was here to see me. 

"great show. i'm sorry but what was your name again? i know we were sort of orbiting one another at the Veda K shoot a minute back, but i'm sorry i'm just spacing."

"its cool; that was a hectic day, my dude. i'm Pix."

"ohhh shit, Pixy Deville ya mean!'

"the same, sir."

"wow so sick. when i was representing Lili Violbloom she mentioned you as an influence. thought you were the best kept secret in the community."

"that's how i like it... um...'

"oh sorry my bad, Giles.'

"right, Giles Mewlpys. how's your dad?"

"eh. we don't talk much. i'm not sure how much you know about him, but he really doesn't approve of all of this.,"

"i could imagine"

"yeah... well, at least publicly. i mean i know... i used to scrub through the man's porn stash on a regular basis. dude was into some sick shit. like... farm animals and special needs kids... maybe that's why he seems a bit nonplussed about where his money goes."

the conversation is veering from cultural renegade street cred to cringe inducing overshare, so i ready myself to exit.

"hey man look, i actually have to get back home. i told the sitter i'd be back at 11:30."

"oh wow sorry for keeping you. but look hey, your friend Vivian told me about what's going on... that you've maybe been looking for some new kind of work, so real quick let me tell you that you would be perfect for this project i've got just about ready to roll. here's my info, and gimme a buzz when you can and i'll tell you all about it."

"sure, Giles. i'll be in touch."

"good. very good. alright get home then."

i failed to mention that "home" was currently one of the available "Masochistian Suites" in the club, where the razored braying of this diminutive spite-mut would be drowned out by synth music and performative orgasms. the limbed tumor is teething on the left pigtail of a Lia Defesic doll; the floating egg-shaped star of my favorite book from when i was a kid. i thought she kinda looked like me. 

Giles wrote out his info on a blue napkin... really just his name and a web address; http://5079jerkcurtain13svk.onion . the site is very rudimentary, unassuming but slick, the banner a Polaroid of the phrase "Jerk Curtain" spelled out with puffy powder blue refrigerator magnets on an egg white background. the background of the site is colored sky blue, the text dark grey. it reads as follows;

JERK CURTAIN is a new branch on the tree of provocative subversion. it is entire centuries of art and atrocity being ushered and funneled through a single conduit... a conduit of flesh... the violence of their endless struggle condensed into a fleeting eruption that will leave scars upon the thread of gristle that divides the cerebral hemispheres of logistics and dreaming, fusing them together in a looping infinite of omni-creative worlds. 

the only images on the page are late '90s cgi replications of an emblem i remember from my time with the baby's father; a series of blades arranged like a flower, with a rodent skull where a bud of pollen would be. the only other information on the page is a submission form, which i fill out, wanting to know just a little more about what the fuck i'm looking at here. after i fill it out, i'm directed to a sub-page, which elaborates beyond the piss-elegant screed on the home screen. 

JERK CURTAIN is interested in mothers with infants. please be aware that we are not looking for "MILFs", nor is this venture of the child pornographic milieu. this is not about that. we are looking to plunge into an aspect of motherhood that only a scant few have dared to breach... the gnawing whisper of "i think i fucking hate this goddamn thing" that rumbles from the mental fissures that expand into gorges when the myriad frustrations overwhelm the faculties. we are offering a way for the mother to actualize that postpartum speculation... free from the lynching  judgments of a brainwashed mob rule populous. 

if this intrigues you, please contact cysytisism@newnormal.org 

i'm once again suddenly snapped out of intense concentration by the mutant rutting of a restless homunculi, who is angrily lashing... like some kind of bee-stung hairless badger... at a mass produced idol representation of my evacuated pre-adolescence. 

i know what i'm thinking now....

TO: cysytisism@newnormal.org

SUBJECT: if JERK CURTAIN intrigues me.

good morning. my name is Pix. i met a representative  of this page at Tatterdemalion earlier this week. i looked over the web link that was slipped me, and i am just a bit curious as to why his attention was directed to me... why he'd think this was an opportunity i'd be interested in exploring. 

reading that back, i know it sounds a little curt, but please understand i would just like a more clear understanding of what exactly this Jerk Curtain project is. i've been burned many times before on project opportunities that strike a similar tone to what yours seems to be presenting (albeit  not quite as articulate... kudos to whoever handles the writing on the page), which turn out to be low rent boobs 'n blood rape fetish trash that ends up never leaving the producer's private collection (i suppose i shouldn't talk shit, as i spent my 19th and 20th year on this earth appearing as a regular in titles manufactured by the made-to-order company C.R.E.S.T. Productions, perhaps you're familiar with such classics as Bagging Scalps in Pantyhose or Eye Socket Lubricant ? hardeeharhar). 

in any event... your project has stoked my curiosity, and i would like to know a little more. 

have a nice day.

- Pixy Deville. 

TO: broilednymph@scarredvixens.com

SUBJECT: RE: if JERK CURTAIN intrigues me.

a very good afternoon to yourself, Ms. Deville. all of us here are familiar with much of your work. we all agree you are the most undervalued figure within your respective milieu,, and we couldn't be more thrilled to have captured your attention.

the mild trepidation lacing the tone of your prior message is certainly  understood, but all of us here would like to assure you that the JERK CURTAIN project will deliver exactly what it claims; a chance to dislodge the spittle clogging your valves. far too few acknowledge the extremely valid feelings many mothers have about hating their child... deliberately inflicting violence on their child... there a few things society hurls more unearned venom toward than people who harm children... but that venom turns especially acidic when it's a woman perpetuating the rape... even when many women internalize their sympathy in secret. 

the gentleman who slipped you our email address must have mentioned our mutual acquaintance... a Ms. Vivian Gauntlean, correct? she acts as something of a talent scout for us, and she made us aware that you were feeling a bit under pressure not only from the new baby in your life... but because of who exactly that baby's father is. 

you see... we've known about Cartlon Kiritsis for quite some time. in many ways we have to claim a morsel of responsibility for the vicious mania that has engulfed him. we're not sure just how much of his childhood he made you aware of, but his upbringing with us was fraught with innumerable tensions, and he eventually fell in with an adversary of this organization... a woman named Deliah, who co-founded this group with her two sisters, but was cast out for habitual transgressions. 

long story short, Ms. Deville... we know what a "handful" Carlton was as a baby, and we can only imagine that the disease he put in you has inherited those traits. Vivian spoke very highly of you... relaying to us that you were perhaps holding on to the hope that you could somehow course correct the infant's genetics. we don't believe anyone has enough mana to make a Spawn oV Kiritsis anything other than an inevitable terror upon the infinite worlds of the multiverse. 

we understand that this might sound a bit intrusive... maybe even a violation of your privacy, but we all want you to know that we are here if you need to talk... or attack.

- 

Lyverne Cailadri

C.O.O. of the JERK CURTAIN team.

TO: cysytisism@newnormal.org

SUBJECT: RE: RE: if JERK CURTAIN intrigues me.

good evening, Ms. Cailadri.

apologies it took me a few days to compose a response... it's just that if i'm being honest, your last email did trigger some bad memories. 

Cart (that's what i called him. not sure why) talked a lot... wrote a lot, as well. at first i have to admit i found his imagination very interesting... even considered introducing him to some of the photographers and film makers that were  beginning to stack up in my portfolio... but any time i attempted to encourage a push for him, he would snap into a state of belligerent contrarianism, threatening to "tear himself out" or something. 

i didn't understand until recently that what Cart had been telling me, what he had been writing, was not merely him being "creative". he really believed all of this "SVK" weirdness... and now people are disfigured or dead because of it. 

i stopped seeing or talking to him just before i found out i was pregnant. i didn't see any harm in keeping the baby, because i wasn't sure how much i believed in things like inherited trauma, or legacy illnesses or whatever... but after reading your email... and watching this child become more and more of a Cart Clone... i'm starting to think i was wrong not to think all of this as much more than the private world of an anti-social loner. 

i know what i'm thinking now. 

please let me know what i can do.

- Pixy Deville. 

TO: broilednymph@scarredvixens.com

SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: if JERK CURTAIN intrigues me.

a good evening to you as well, Ms. Deville. 

deep set apologies if our correspondence has caused further strain on what we know is an already strainful situation. we are relieved that you feel comfortable enough with us to open up in such a thoughtful manner. 

if you are ready to meet in person for a tour of the set, as well as a more detailed outline of what the project will encapsulate, you can meet us at this address

5100 Miller Road

South Pilisp, NY 

we accept walk-ins ;-) 

hope to see you very soon. 

Lyverne Cailadri

C.O.O. of the JERK CURTAIN team.

PS: don't forget the "darling".

i arrived at the address with the baby locked in a front-facing carrier the following day. the building resembled a college admissions office... monolithic but bland. i was buzzed in without having prompted entry, entering a long red and pink marbled corridor that looked like the husks of skinned cattle. at the end of the hall was a medium length desk, where a warm-faced librarian type was fidgeting with a computer. 

"Ms. Deville! you've arrived."

"yes hi. are you who i've been exchanging emails with?"

"yes indeed! Lyverne Cailadri! great to meet you. welcome to... here!"

Lyverne's voice is weathered but chipper, oscillating between chirpy highs and seductive lows, and her appearance is conservative in a foxy way. 

"well, if you'll just wait one minute, Ms. Deville. i'll get you a tour guide. sound good?"

"sounds great, Ms. Cailadri."

Lyverne picks up the phone at her desk and begins working it. she glances at the baby, offering up what just might be the first smile they've ever seen. 

"he have a name?"

"um... yeah.. Radley."

"ah how nice."

Lyverne does a little wag of her fingers toward Radley, to which he responds with a snort of confused disgust, followed by a lick of his hair lip. 

"oh that takes me back. oh shi... Giles! hi. Ms. Deville is here. would you please show her around? thanks. he'll be right out."

"great. hey can i ask you something?"

"of course!"

"what did you mean when you said 'that takes me back'?"

"what? oh nothing... just that i was remembering when i used to baby sit Radley's father when he was left with us. the image really uncanny."

"wow... you were there that long ago?"

"yeah yeah i held up pretty well if i say so myself. ah! here's our guy!"

Giles nods his head politely first in Lyverne's direction, than in mine. i realize how much different he looks while not under the neon shade of Tatterdemalion... heavier, with light brown and pink blotches on his face, greying hair styled like a teen heart hrob on a 1990s sitcom; wavy curtains he makes a point to move along with every pivot of his neck. 

"aw is this little one. of course it is.. who else would it be! haha sorry, just thought i'd beat you to the punch with the response to my stupid question.'

"oh heh yeah no worries. yes this is the little one."

Giles bows his head toward Radley, who is squirming and hissing like a malfunctioning animatronic puppet from a creature film. 

"alright, well let's show you two around."

Giles leads Radley and I further down the hall, to the auditorium, where he catches us up on what exactly Jerk Curtain is. he points at the stage, which has a more detailed recreation of the rodent head blossom crest that was on the web page, the petals of the flower looking more like a circle of machete blades, the rat skull dripping with blue paint. 

"okay so here's what we're thinking. we're going to open on a closed curtain, right? the curtain will be jerked open... get it? alright alright anyway... once the curtain is drawn back, there's going to be darkness. a spotlight is going to hit your face, right? the spotlight is going to slowly widen until you and him are able to be seen. what you two are going to be doing is standing right in front of that emblem on the wall, right? anyway, you're going to be wearing something like what you're wearing now... the baby carrier, right? only it's going be covered with bricks of plastic explosives that are rigged up to a detonator that you'll be holding. when we give you the que, you press your thumb down on the button, and you and the baby will explode."

"i'm sorry?"

"oh no no not like actually, y'know? special effects. camera tricks. we figure that stuff out later."

"so that's it?"

"that's it."

huh. 

"huh. that's kinda funny. when do we start?"

"no time like the present. we're all set up. we've gone through several test runs with the effect. we got it down.'

"well, we're here. why not?"

alright... i think i see what they're driving at here; some kind of found footage shock horror murder porn thing. nothing i haven't done or seen before, but i'll give them points for being polite and inventive. 

they fit us in the new baby carrier; much more heavy duty, the lightweight bomb-props indented with a simplified version of the crest at the back of the stage, and place us on our spot. Radley looks up at me, a pointy cherub whose invariable contempt is evidently bottomless. i imagine looking back at the footage when the shoot is done... what it will look like to watch the baby combust, tiny limbs crackling from pudge to burn to scab to ash in the span of a near-minute... skull fragments rupturing out of the flesh of the head on whipsaw rushes of  gut-chunked blood.... being jettisoned toward my gut as my gut is jettisoned toward him... imbibing, digesting, and regurgitating each other all in the space it takes to sip a cup of black coffee.

i know what i'm thinking now.... those last words i remember hearing before entering this space, uttered by a voice that's coated with honey that gunked on the sprout;

"JERK CURTAIN."

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NP: NIGHT CLUB - Miss Negativity

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i began to learn that anger, hate, fear, and loneliness are all but one button awaiting the touch of a single finger to set them blazing toward destruction. and i learned they can taste like winning. 

- from the Girl Next Door by Jack Ketchum

this piece originally appeared in DARLING DELINQUENTS (Sweat Drenched Press, 2022). It was originally intended as one of the "Shy Guy Tales" in Blue Yolk, but i got the offer for the anthology, so there it went. since the anthology appears to be out-of-print, i'm posting it here. 

NCP