October 2010
24 posts
1 tag
I see you fidget The Beautiful Fidget, the twitch that comes with the urge to create, the urge to procreate. It is the same weird, wicked tickle that has built up in the hearts and minds of all creative people, the inexplicable urge to express yourself, to recontextualize yourself, to birth yourself in a form other than the skin and bones you sometimes feel trapped in… so you create...
1 tag
In the warmth of night We become liquid shadows Melting together
1 tag
I loved you. I loved the way you felt, deep in the soft, warm tissue of my heart. Deeper still, down to the marrow of my bones and the essence of my soul. You made me feel young and foolish and glad to be alive. You made every breath, every inhalation of oxygen a new miracle and life itself had a potency and urgency that I couldn’t ignore. The future was bright and full of potential,...
1 tag
(continued)
Tait took a few days to let his resentment grow. He cultivated that anger and let it boil over in his heart’s darkest chambers. He had dedicated his existence to nothing but violence and misanthropy but he never twisted a kid’s arm and made him do something that he knew wasn’t right. He never pushed someone into killing themselves. That was the difference. The...
1 tag
(continued)
Mickey hobbled backwards as blow after blow rained down on his head. Sweat poured down his brow and his left eye purpled and swelled up. His upper lip was broken but these were matches barely officiated. Men died in the ring and Mickey wondered if the ringing in his ears would stop as life ebbed in and out… black then blurry then black then blurry. Mickey was supposed to go...
1 tag
He had turned to a life of crime and thievery not as a disreputable and pathetic failure, not because he had no other option but because he actively rejected every other reality life presented him as a possibility. For him, being a malefactor and grifting was the thing that made the most sense. Capitalism itself was a con, a cheap hustle, so he went the way of the con artist and lined his...
1 tag
for a monday
Routine, routine. What a comfortable prison, what a charming and simple cage our own lives can become when we are firmly entrenched in the position we’re backed into. We’re told by our families and society to stay the course, the predictable path of stability and we’re told it and told it and told it until we have it carved so entirely into our minds that we think ourselves...
1 tag
I miss your skin. I miss the space that you filled in my arms. I miss giving you a backrub and you tilting back, putting your head against my chest, exhaling deeply, yearning for me. I long for that pressure, that eagerness with which you’d move backwards onto me. I’d lean down and you’d taste my desire in your kiss and I’d lift my eyes and see it in your stare. ...
1 tag
Sunset sky fades dim Sunset heart is gray and cold Both will wait for dawn
1 tag
I am a ghost. I am a phantom, whispering a tune that echoes through miles of rusty, unreliable wire. Like a half-forgotten song or a poem whose words leave a scent in your mind, I am a faceless vapor, a mist that dissipates in the night sky. I am formless but I float through your mind’s corridors and when you allow it, I seep through the keyhole of a locked door and I gently infiltrate...
1 tag
He went to the gym three times a week in those days. He had nothing else to do so, in the evening, he’d go and he’d train with some of the older guys who still hung out there. They’d talk about how things used to be better and they’d be taken more seriously, more about how things might have been than how they really were. And he’d listen and he’d nod but what...
1 tag
(continued)
It was too hot for comfort and my headaches were only getting worse, with the dizziness and blurred vision and hallucinations and everything that went with them also intensifying. I felt really screwed up but I needed this paycheck and I couldn’t afford to lose it. Had the conversation with Lou actually been what I remembered? Could I really be doing this, just like I thought...
1 tag
I’m an insomniac. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep when I need to sleep, when I want to sleep, when the desire to sleep chews away at my mind and my consciousness and weighs me down with a lead anchor. Time was, this was a good thing. My job was to do contracts for the mob. A union scab here, a prison rat there and bills got paid. In other words, being able to stay awake and...
1 tag
It’s the simple things that infect you. It’s a smile or a poorly-chosen word or a kiss or a missed phone call that will echo through the corridors of your mind, long after an endless litany of details and complexities have faded away. The stories that change your life will be one page long with a simple, linear plot… a story that has been told a billion times and will be told a...
1 tag
Election 2010: You MUST vote for The Candidate I...
The upcoming election is the most important of our lives. Of anyone’s lives, now or at any point in the history of democracy and probably at any point in the future. Not only do I strongly urge you to vote for The Candidate I Happen To Support, it’s absolutely imperative… for you, your nation, your grandchildren, not your great-grandchildren (oddly enough) but definitely for...
1 tag
She had forgotten about her friends and had forgotten about school. She watched her relationships with even the family members she lived with and saw every day dissolve away. She existed only for him and his affection, the knowing she was cared for and wanted. She loved him but she wanted to be accepted and she wanted to be desired most of all. He made her feel whole and beautiful and feminine...
1 tag
I am in rapture at your touch. Your movements hold me in suspense through their softness and affection. You move slowly and lovingly, your sex is your subtlety. Our caresses are whispers, our kisses are soft, warm hints and the graze of our tongues is a soupcon of a deeper passion, red and bright with vehemence; but first we are artists and we are careful and quiet. Your sex is a pianissimo...
1 tag
The shadowy figure at the end of the bar lights a cigarette with a strained look on his face and you attempt to analyze his thoughts. You’ve been sitting quietly, sipping a Cutty on the rocks and waiting. You were told very explicitly that you don’t find your contact, your contact finds you. You’ve been given no details because you’re not trusted. The less you know, the...
1 tag
The boy remembers sounds. Whenever we ask him to describe the events leading up to the incident, he tends to recall places and people and circumstances using fragmented and vague language but he always seems to recall in very specific and vivid detail the noises he heard. Long before the incident, he associates his life with music and the songs his mother played for him and his sister. Usually...
1 tag
Your sister introduced us when we all worked together. You were beautiful and I remember my heart beating faster for your emerald eyes and your full lips. You were shy any time the conversation turned to you, which it often did as I was fascinated by you, but your quietude was betrayed by the loudness of your laughter. I remember how the tempo and volume of your words increased as you became...
1 tag
I love the part of you that is vulnerable and soft. The part of you that you are afraid to share and don’t want anyone to see, gently beautiful and disclosing its flaws. It lives on the edge of tragedy, always so precariously close to injury, always just barely avoiding being torn open so you hide it behind a wall of bone and hope you don’t have to share it. No one could blame you;...
1 tag
We sat on the floor of the apartment, warming ourselves on the fire of our youth and madness until long into the night, when those fires were reduced to glowing embers and we went to bed together. You were insanity made flesh, a being of pure id who licked her lips like a hungry wolf at the thought of consuming me and sharing your own wide-eyed delirium with me until I was nothing but your...
1 tag
He stood in front of the window, smoking, as the evening settled down and the dark overcame the light, casting inky shadows on the smoke-stained walls of the motel room. Cockroaches crept across warped floorboards and the murky, hot night air was broken up by the cold, high-pitched shriek of police sirens every now and again. According to his watch, he had been waiting for them for three hours. ...
1 tag
Each day, you wake up and begin stitching. You stitch your heart back together again, mending the wounds and injuries you’ve suffered, some of them the self-inflicted bruises of loneliness and isolation. As you stitch, you sometimes forget why you bother, why you work so diligently, knowing the old wounds will open back up again and you’ll go to bed with new pain lingering and a new...