In the Interest of Curb Stomping my Psyche
[[MORE]] I can get furious with midnight when it taunts me and drips ink in my eyes whispering as it strokes my veins with the tips of its fingers, whispering in my ear that it does not want to be my friend. In celebration of its tyranny it throws itself a parade, leading and exodus of friends I never had. It will leave me and I will scream and tear my hear out in Grecian mourning...
My college degree will one day earn me all the skills required to build an atomic bomb. I will use blueprints and biology and a deep understanding of physics and physicality to build an explosive and I will fill it with words news stories It will contain all the things you’ve done. I can fill a mushroom cloud with lost conversations because I recorded the things you...
My fingers keep my brain in a lockbox They are tiny worm corpses, reanimated by fervor and the tar that leaks from my temple. They have pads made of lines that punch tiny word bruises onto glowing documents, that say click/saveas/thisisnothingimportant.doc lines carved from your ancestors, with histories that they’ll remember when I’ve forgotten, lines that remember...
In progress, but look you guys, I'm writing again
I want to live in red brick buildings that swell and simmer like bread ovens in the summer, but as fall passes, the red turns maroon, darker, a little bloodier. The buildings grow cold and intimidating. They’re the hulking body of every middle school bully, shrugging their shoulders with hands in their pockets, casting a shadow over the street and passively judging you with a sneer of an...
[untitled, or, I spend too much time on the...
Rush hour train traffic was something that Newt did his best to avoid, but he found no other alternative after making the unpleasant discover at 6:30 that morning that his right front tire had popped and he had no way of mending it. It was raining, and he only remembered the umbrella in his briefcase after walking the five blocks to the train station. Newt decided today was one of “those days” and...
Please charge "world change" to credit.
I realize I’ve lost my empathy As I march past the same man who sits on a Milk crate outside of Dunkin Donuts Drumming militantly with his plastic cup. He’s been smiling at me for six weeks and telling me, “good morning” “have a good weekend” “happy fourth” “have a nice day” and I can smile back from behind mirrored glasses. I just say “g’morning” With one earbud in. He can’t see my eyes but he...
Everyone knows that you’re just waiting for your film noir moment, where shadows are richer than the pale of her cheekbones and the dark glossiness of his hair You hate to admit it, but you know a rich shadow spends more than your waiting will ever earn. The currency of shadows is breath and an inhale that’s sharp enough to cut diamonds. Your inhale isn’t sharp...
[part of my nightmare/lucid dream. It's actually...
I run through the halls of a hospital trying to find a bathroom but I can’ see one anywhere and I am barefoot and people keep looking at me and asking what I am doing there, but I keep running. I stop when I pass a very old couple, and it looks like the old man is listening to music. I ask him, pretty loudly, if he knows where the bathroom is, and he just smiles blandly. I ask again, louder,...
Soft and fragile and you tap down expertly with a butter knife until you’ve crushed it and the span of green is lumpy and bruised and maybe a little bit self concious? It used to revel in its solidity before you hacked away its skin and tore out its heart and it sat and waited for someone to consume the remainder of its body but even it didn’t see much point in ...
Sometimes, the universe is so fucking disturbing when it’s gray too many days in a row. Or when there is not nearly enough caffeine to wake me up for a 9am lecture, with all those revolutionary thoughts that my adolescent sponge of a brain soaks up and immediately sorts into that mountain called Things I Will Care About Later, Probably Never. These are the days when I...
You sort through me faster than you smoke those cigarettes. You’re poison but fuck you taste sweet.
I apologize for the lack of activity here. I actually have been writing quite a bit, but it’s all terrible, angsty, uninteresting and quite personal, so in order to avoid bothering you all with my incredibly shallow problems and the fact that sometimes, I’m quite a head case, I am going to use this vacation to mentally detox and try to write something that doesn’t sound like a...
Gibbet Fridays [about my friends from home]
We walk in like we own the place and our noses are dripping and we giggle and cling onto each other like flames, and that’s what we are. The way the ice can shoot up through my soles and crawl up the back of my legs is satisfying, just like the way we keep glancing over our shoulders to remind ourselves that this journey is illegal. We keep looking around for anyone who can see...
Occupy [inspired by Occupy Wall Street and...
There are 99 drops of sweat oozing through the cracks in a roof from 99 men, maybe more, but ot doesn’t matter much. They’ve been up there a while, trapped in a time loop. I’ve seen them patching the same holes on that same roof, pounding the same rhythm with the same hammer and nails. They’re just older now. If Dre heard their beats, he would have put...
[Pending title: Meat Market]
I am bloody, pink, waiting under glass of a butcher shop window between steaks and spare ribs and we are all bound with twine. My neighbors change because they are cold and carry potential, but I am just cold. It took a long time for the decay to rise to my surface and for mold to bloom on my skin, green and purple fractal flowers. No amount of fire can burn away the rot...
There is a rope with a sailor’s knot, never to be undone, tied around my middle. It cuts under my ribcage and burns red raw skin on my sides and my belly. I’m chasing a butterfly but I can’t catch it. My rope is tied to a tent, and the tent is filled with bones with skeletons and I keep dragging them behind me. There are skeletons for my father telling me...
In the Pool Hall
Globes of mellow colors rest in a two dimensional plain of green, and a crack interrupts the careful order and forces a new interpretation of rules, trials and natural law. Each separate universe falls one by one, swallowed by black holes, leaving them stacked on top of each other, struggling to be seen and crawl back, hoping for at least a temporary benignity. They are unnoticed but expect an...
[no title, and I hate this one.]
Conceptually, it is everything I stand for. But the definition of a child’s crush is seeing the prettiest boy on the playground, chasing him until he gives up and you can wrap your arms around him in a bone-crushing, soul wrenching hug, and maybe, he might as you to be his girlfriend. Maybe he would hold your hand as you swing back and forth on two swings until they...
After spending centuries, eons, eternities, exploring and erasing everything programmed into my hardware, I check my phone and realize it is only ten pm. That watery fluid in clear glass bottles, all 40 ounces of it, is about five inches away from my bitten, rough fingernails. If I wanted to, I could take it. If they offered me, I would. But it’s okay. I never like...
the pen that goes Scratch Scratch over white plains that never get smaller. one sock that wears away and frays, untangling, falling loose, the holes in a heel are the breaches of my sanity. the towel that you use to cover the mirror during a shower. a backpack, bursting with books on atoms and philosophy and American Psychos and all the things I don’t care about. ...
[No title, yes I used a Harry Potter metaphor....
You’re armed with weaspons of mass Consumption: Fork, knife, plate of Inedible consumables that is still almost empty before you claim your terrirotry and build an Iron Curtain. And you are not Russia and not these United States that proudly wave the flag of Independence and Self Suffering. You build your iron curtain out of clean, clear glass, and the fingerprints ...
[Insert title here once I think of one]
In the end, it doesn’t matter at all, because even if this dance does end in dinner and a bland romantic comedy and naked bodies and tongues that scrape the back of throats someone will go home trapping a ocean wave of brine and froth under their own thin eyelids. The ocean that never quite makes it past those red dykes, but they’re all there, with the sharks and the sea...