100 oz Dose
-In the frantic frenentic moment when you feel blood is the curse, you attempt to empty it, and fill its space drip after drip and cup after cup. It’s not true, you discover, there’s no clarity when you see double.
A Part For a Whole
-The moments race by in your mind; you continue standing in the moment, in the same way you would continue standing in a puddle, even after the flood gates had failed and the ocean swallowed you whole.
Mirror
-She walked between the daylight and the shadows; definitely not a midday sun. A half of her radiating, and a half of her hidden. How could you have known? We assume from what we know. Lacan did, and we believed his mirror image theory, in the same way we believe in mirrors. She however, was neither. When the sun went down, he learned she was empty, after she disappeared.
Book Ends
–Nothing open… not since all the bookstores died… that night the double doors were bursting book pages… more words ran into the gutters than ever before… you couldn’t go swimming in the ocean for weeks… those surfers who didn’t listen, and ventured in anyway got knocked out by words like ‘belligerence’ and ‘ignominious’… seafood was also banned for months, it was worse than the gulf oil spill; several people choked to death on words like ‘recondite’ during a meal of tilapia or smoked salmon… the only upside was that people living near the […]
Bits
-There are a million broken bits. You hold them all with one hand, like a man who’s guts burst open. They sag and drip, like intestines and red plasma. Your arm weakens under the weight, and some of you is lost. And pieces remain. You forget which part of you is you.
Milestone
-And so you think of her. Fully aware she is little more than a friend, and yet you’ve made so many commitments to each other, shared so many milestones, and occasions, in your head. It’s harder to speak with her now, so many memories she doesn’t share.
Accomplishment
-April happened. It’s one of those facts. Like the time your friend and her son came over, when he knocked down the only trophy you’d ever won. It shattered into dozens of little pieces. You smiled gracefully, gritting your teeth. She was quite apologetic, your friend. It was nobody’s fault, but yours. Why hadn’t you won more trophies?
Eventually
Of ourselves- our actions, our choices, of the decisions, of their consequence; Of our breath- our words, our whispers, of sighs, of muttered replies; Of our pulses and impulses- our fractured thoughts, our recursive doubts, of equivocations, of illusions; Of hope- our dreams, our ambitions, of yearning, of perceived need; Of disillusion- our dejection, our retreat, of withdrawal of apathy; may there be enough redemption, eventually, in the end, as we hope, […]
ReCreate
-Want to dance in the ashes of ruin ruminations in concentric circles, spiralling whispers in rhythm and time movement blurs all truth Steps toward steps away as the tide […]