February 2010
20 posts
Winding down. I was asked, indirectly, for money that I didn’t have. I didn’t feel as if I owed him for the meager spoonful of rice in my mouth that, in it’s entirety, he paid 84 dollars for. My eyes shifted and glued themselves to the ground, avoiding the plea for refinancing that I didn’t intend to warrant. We all shuffled out at the same time, though I was the first to...
Tonight I circled the pool table tapping myself on the back with the stick. I had one of those flashbacks where I become completely submerged in the past. I’d strut up to the plate and dig my metal cleats deep into the dirt, twisting the metal into the ground like a screw. I’d bounce on my knees a bit, swing the metal halfway a couple times for good measure. It was an odd ritual I did,...
The breath of fresh air sifts through the magnolias and lightens the concrete, like salty air from the sea tunnels into the sandy beaches. The summer tries to sneak in a little sooner this year, as if we wouldn’t notice it’s arrival. Spring Forward.
I figure maybe if I post the beginning of this great idea I had, I’ll complete it at some point…
They could hear it pass through only from the echos trailing behind in the mountains. Like the bell that rang a sound so familiar to them hardly any time ago, the whistling of this timely wind sifted through the mountain crease. Quittin’ Time. Some days it would sound as if it were...
“Someday,” he said, “I will end up being diagnosed with something that’s worthy of being diagnosed, something so horrible that it will eat away at me until the ground does the same. I know I will because everyone does, everyone lives but nobody survives.” He went on to explain that the death of him wasn’t what caused his fear. His body shuddering and the tremble...
From an essay I’m writing on The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.
Le Guins hypothetical short story implies a notion that happiness is conditional. That to be happy, as a group or an individual, one is dependent using another variable to implement that happiness. There is no sense of a purist type of happiness in Le Guin’s The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas, as the state of happiness...
Did you hear about the goldfish that went bankrupt? …Now he’s a bronzefish.
B: Tribeca, that's my name three times.
Me: Tribeca, Tribeca, Tribeca?
B: No.. Becca, Becca, Becca
I wonder if he knew, behind all the unparalleled support and pride, after every time he told me to work hard that I wasn’t. That I was always so content with the breeze that carried me through the things I had to do. If he knew that I never put forth the effort that he hoped I would. Maybe that’s why I thought it was always so hard to make him proud, because I knew deep down, swimming...
She asked if I was in a fraternity and I responded without lying, No why? She explained how her friend told her that if I was in a frat I wouldn’t call her back and I said I will call you, lying through my teeth. It was Halloween so I had an excuse to play the part.
And over the summer I’d drive around the sticky city with the all the windows down and Big L and AC both flowing simultaneously from the inside of the truck, just because it was summer and I could.
I bit into the flashback, the time machine encased in colored pasta. I squished the pasta with my molars and it and all the water and saliva mix oozed through and out of the sides of my teeth. As I lapped up this mixture inside my mouth I lost focus entirely of where I was. I remembered where I was then, all those times eating pasta salad on the back deck on the vinyl tablecloth. Washing it down...
I’m still just a kid, you’re so alive when I sleep.
I’m an undercover cop, the arguably homeless man said earnestly at us. Every time he spoke I turned towards his mustache of black steel wool. It was grossly overgrown, a mossy inconvenience. The glints of light from the steel weren’t very distinguished from the bits of Krystal burger mixed in. We bought this unique officer of the law some shitty food that he ate with us. He used my...
I think I sleep as much as I do because I’m enthralled by my own dreams. I know this, rather. Also, I don’t mean dreams in some haughty way indicative of my aspirations or plans. This isn’t a metaphoric pep-talk. I mean dreams as in farfetched adventures with horrifying or glorifying turns for the better or worst. Dreams as in things that would never happen. It’s empowering...
