Dear birthday,
i stayed awake for every minute of you. i took your advice and introduced myself to people from various classes. i ignored how much my feet hurt and you walked next to me. you ran your hands through my hair. you bought me a drink and by early afternoon i could feel your hands on my back, pressing up my spine and ruffling my very metaphorical wings. which wasn't annoying this time, despite how often i explain to you their current sad state. before you pushed down the sun, you gave me a chance to look at some very wonderful people right in the eyes. you actually let my mouth do more today than just lick air, hide a clenched jaw and run up against glass. i think i know how much i loved it, tonguing syllables and and bothering to try, to fall on some swords, to put down a pencil, the pad of paper and play with the puzzles and blocks all over the floor of you. you helped me make some mildly wonderful point to entire history classes. you let me sober up, and when got slow like honey you reminded me to stop stealing other peoples art, get off a bed or out of a very comfortable chair and use my teeth. you gave me some friends, and they were so grateful they gave me alcohol and hugs and arguments about the UN and duhhh-bstep and the city school systems. i could feel how proud you where of me the second i cut it out. i slept with no one else but you. i gave you all the effort a twenty eight year old could have, and still i woke up alone, stood in the mirror and counted scars for almost half an hour before my first cigarette, think the entire time how very satisfied i was with you. how much every inch of you had mattered this time. how startled i was having bothered to bother with you finally. i made coffee this morning in a fucking cloud. i made coffee this morning with a mild tremble to my hands and piles of gratitude.
sincerely and humbly,
b
Friday, February 18, 2011
vulgarity crutch: a kripple's approach to dialog
"Give me your shirt", he said between short breathes.
"i uhh, i... i can't... i don't want... what if someone sees me", she muttered while blankly staring off at the cement wall.
"Are you fucking kidding!", it's all under my nails, i can feel it on my face and in my hair, and it pooling under your fucking feet and you..."
"s-t-o-p".
"no, you stop being totally nuts right this second and give it to me right the fuck now!", he growled while drawing out each word as if talking to a child.
"ok, ok, OK!', her eyes flashed like they had minutes before and as she pulled the white t-shirt over her head she continued, "just stop being a dick."
As he caught the shirt against his chest his tone lost its edge and he looked at her silhouette glowing from a nearby street light and he felt compelled to explain, "i love you or i wouldn't have..".
"Stop, i really can't do this right now... just hurry", she interrupted.
As he winced drawing the shirt up his forearms he said, "My arms are clawed to hell. That was unreal, his fingernails where so sharp, that fucking awful sucking noise and the mess of red seemed like it just wouldn't ever stop."
"i feel sick", she coughed covering her mouth slightly, "please stop talking about it."
"sorry i really just can't focus. It feels like..."
"like needles everywhere"
"Exactly, like needles everywhere", he repeated, almost to himself.
"I'm cold, can i have my shirt?"
"It's entirely ruined."
"What isn't. I just want it back... all of it."
**************************************************************
In a restaurant kitchen as the cook begins to start closing down for the night, a server comes back to make conversation and kill some time till close.
“This should be interesting”, the cook muses almost to himself as he peers through the service window and into the bar area, “those two broke up last weekend and they just sat down for a drink together”.
“What?”, the server casually asks as he arranges a stack of one dollar bills.
“ That couple at the bar now, err I think they’re a couple. That guy she’s with is a dick, I mean he’s my friend I guess, but he’s a real dick”, the cook says firmly as he makes a forceful chop through a red pepper with a large chef’s knife.
“What exactly is it to you?” the server asks as he now looks up from his stack of small bills, “I guess what I mean is we see assholes in here all the time and you don’t generally seem to care”.
“It’s just weird”, the cook replies dismissively.
“Shit, shit, shit” the server masks a laugh with the top of his wrist, “That’s the girl you were talking about Tuesday!”
“Yeh”.
“Wow, dude, doesn’t she know you work here? I mean didn’t she say they were done, and she had been into you secretly for over a year?!”
“Yeh, I mean she was crying a lot at the time and I’m fairly certain she was high”, the cook said as he stared at what had become a very asymmetrical pile of red pepper in front of him.
“I don’t really see what some bitch crying a lot and being high has to do with leading you on. Well, at least the high part.”
“People do dumb shit when they’re high sometimes.”
The server shoves his handful of money into a back pocket and declares, “Well im gonna grab some pint glasses behind the bar and give them both the look-of-death or something”.
“Ha, don’t. It’s not worth the bother, and the guy she’s with, Trevor, is enough of a bastard to break something or get in your face or whatever he can come up with just to make a scene.”
“Fine, but not because I don’t really really want to.”
“O I’m sure you want to, but thanks, I feel mind fucked enough right now to not need the added drama of Trey’s shit to deal with”, the cook remarks as he leans his head into the cooler below the prep counter.
After taking the a step into the bar area the server rushes back into the kitchen declaring, “Man, fuck that bitch, she’s all over him right in the middle of everything like a god damned prom queen after a pint of vodka! Fuck her!”
The cook closes the cooler, steps away from the counter, leans his head backward till his face is staring at the ceiling and after a long exhale mutters with a small grin, “I did.”
"i uhh, i... i can't... i don't want... what if someone sees me", she muttered while blankly staring off at the cement wall.
"Are you fucking kidding!", it's all under my nails, i can feel it on my face and in my hair, and it pooling under your fucking feet and you..."
"s-t-o-p".
"no, you stop being totally nuts right this second and give it to me right the fuck now!", he growled while drawing out each word as if talking to a child.
"ok, ok, OK!', her eyes flashed like they had minutes before and as she pulled the white t-shirt over her head she continued, "just stop being a dick."
As he caught the shirt against his chest his tone lost its edge and he looked at her silhouette glowing from a nearby street light and he felt compelled to explain, "i love you or i wouldn't have..".
"Stop, i really can't do this right now... just hurry", she interrupted.
As he winced drawing the shirt up his forearms he said, "My arms are clawed to hell. That was unreal, his fingernails where so sharp, that fucking awful sucking noise and the mess of red seemed like it just wouldn't ever stop."
"i feel sick", she coughed covering her mouth slightly, "please stop talking about it."
"sorry i really just can't focus. It feels like..."
"like needles everywhere"
"Exactly, like needles everywhere", he repeated, almost to himself.
"I'm cold, can i have my shirt?"
"It's entirely ruined."
"What isn't. I just want it back... all of it."
**************************************************************
In a restaurant kitchen as the cook begins to start closing down for the night, a server comes back to make conversation and kill some time till close.
“This should be interesting”, the cook muses almost to himself as he peers through the service window and into the bar area, “those two broke up last weekend and they just sat down for a drink together”.
“What?”, the server casually asks as he arranges a stack of one dollar bills.
“ That couple at the bar now, err I think they’re a couple. That guy she’s with is a dick, I mean he’s my friend I guess, but he’s a real dick”, the cook says firmly as he makes a forceful chop through a red pepper with a large chef’s knife.
“What exactly is it to you?” the server asks as he now looks up from his stack of small bills, “I guess what I mean is we see assholes in here all the time and you don’t generally seem to care”.
“It’s just weird”, the cook replies dismissively.
“Shit, shit, shit” the server masks a laugh with the top of his wrist, “That’s the girl you were talking about Tuesday!”
“Yeh”.
“Wow, dude, doesn’t she know you work here? I mean didn’t she say they were done, and she had been into you secretly for over a year?!”
“Yeh, I mean she was crying a lot at the time and I’m fairly certain she was high”, the cook said as he stared at what had become a very asymmetrical pile of red pepper in front of him.
“I don’t really see what some bitch crying a lot and being high has to do with leading you on. Well, at least the high part.”
“People do dumb shit when they’re high sometimes.”
The server shoves his handful of money into a back pocket and declares, “Well im gonna grab some pint glasses behind the bar and give them both the look-of-death or something”.
“Ha, don’t. It’s not worth the bother, and the guy she’s with, Trevor, is enough of a bastard to break something or get in your face or whatever he can come up with just to make a scene.”
“Fine, but not because I don’t really really want to.”
“O I’m sure you want to, but thanks, I feel mind fucked enough right now to not need the added drama of Trey’s shit to deal with”, the cook remarks as he leans his head into the cooler below the prep counter.
After taking the a step into the bar area the server rushes back into the kitchen declaring, “Man, fuck that bitch, she’s all over him right in the middle of everything like a god damned prom queen after a pint of vodka! Fuck her!”
The cook closes the cooler, steps away from the counter, leans his head backward till his face is staring at the ceiling and after a long exhale mutters with a small grin, “I did.”
Monday, February 14, 2011
girl in alley or silly sophi: an incomplete view of bad decision making
so she really did it. not 2 months in her study abroad program, having been warned to not even go down that alley in the first place, having heard very negative rumors from people in bars around that area, Sophi took that first simple step off the worn and familiar cobble stones. Despite the strong wind in the narrow space, nothing seemed to move. nasty little whispers seemed to swirl through her short dirty-blond hair, like a cacophony of chimes being dropped at a distance. she whispered back under her slight, urgent breathes, "desiderium sinus cordis". she was a latin nerd. a latin nerd at the threshold of a very ornately carved and heavy looking wooden door. above her head hung a swinging sign that wasn't. wreathed in thin iron twigs, a small male peasant was prostrate eyes fixed directly in front of him. his gaze however, was only met with the detailed border within which he was seemingly confined to die a very tragic, little death.
Sophi. For fuck's sake... are you really going in there?
"yes"
*author falls in love, finishes coffee, smirks at his sad little blog post of unfinished and rather non-compelling prose and remembers he needs a shower before class*
post script -
Sophi. For fuck's sake... are you really going in there?
"yes"
*author falls in love, finishes coffee, smirks at his sad little blog post of unfinished and rather non-compelling prose and remembers he needs a shower before class*
post script -
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
equivalent to anthológ ( os ) flower-gathering
i want...
to never run out of saffron or olive oil.
to always have a hot shower with good water pressure on a snow-day.
to overcome myself long enough to do whatever is necessary when something is actually necessary.
to be able to smoke without it killing me.
to never feel like i lack the right shoes for any given moment.
to have more overcast days.
to have coffee, at any point throughout half of any given day.
to be a decent presence in the lives that are entwined with my own.
to wake up at least once a week with permanent maker on a place on my back i can't reach, and i want it to read "i love you".
to not ever forget that desire makes the heart deep.
to not ever forget that until i can accept a gift, i have nothing to give.
to be less sore, less tired than i am right now. existentially and otherwise.
to not lose sight of how menacing i am, and to bridle that menace with some degree of karakter.
to renew my passport before 08 april 2011.
progress: so far i have a sharpie, a shower and two months.
to never run out of saffron or olive oil.
to always have a hot shower with good water pressure on a snow-day.
to overcome myself long enough to do whatever is necessary when something is actually necessary.
to be able to smoke without it killing me.
to never feel like i lack the right shoes for any given moment.
to have more overcast days.
to have coffee, at any point throughout half of any given day.
to be a decent presence in the lives that are entwined with my own.
to wake up at least once a week with permanent maker on a place on my back i can't reach, and i want it to read "i love you".
to not ever forget that desire makes the heart deep.
to not ever forget that until i can accept a gift, i have nothing to give.
to be less sore, less tired than i am right now. existentially and otherwise.
to not lose sight of how menacing i am, and to bridle that menace with some degree of karakter.
to renew my passport before 08 april 2011.
progress: so far i have a sharpie, a shower and two months.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
for mornings or...
around the moment you realize you're getting drunk, and you are in that condition because you are playing more than suffering, self-destructing or whatever other unfortunate reasons alcohol can be fortunate. in my case these are a couple songs from the past little bit that i can't quit. if you lift weights and love team sports im going to go ahead and stereotypically suggest these won't be a big hit with you.
unf unf unf unfuunf funfunfunfnunfunnfnfunfufnufnfunfuufunffnfufn
FUCKING HORSES!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and SWORDS!! kjhhkidhfhgkjhdklgdokjgfdlkjgglkdmglkd
gl with your weekends ppl:)
unf unf unf unfuunf funfunfunfnunfunnfnfunfufnufnfunfuufunffnfufn
FUCKING HORSES!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and SWORDS!! kjhhkidhfhgkjhdklgdokjgfdlkjgglkdmglkd
gl with your weekends ppl:)
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
klass notes: part one
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
between coffee and genocide
swan
for trusting me with your credit card
you field of feathers,
all snowy with caffeine
and plumes of various keys
blow up.
the neat stacks
of cinder block, linoleum square feet,
ceiling tile
stains and florescent flickers
when you.
hours and hours in,
are ours the very walls fold.
a maelstrom pushing us into the night,
into zee Greater Shelby County,
with handfuls of lamps.
with heaps of lit candles.
and a menacing human grin.
for trusting me with your credit card
you field of feathers,
all snowy with caffeine
and plumes of various keys
blow up.
the neat stacks
of cinder block, linoleum square feet,
ceiling tile
stains and florescent flickers
when you.
hours and hours in,
are ours the very walls fold.
a maelstrom pushing us into the night,
into zee Greater Shelby County,
with handfuls of lamps.
with heaps of lit candles.
and a menacing human grin.
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