growing up is stress crying; crying to cry; crying from the panic of sudden existential crises; alone-at-4-am crying, using eye drops to flush out the blood; weeks of waking from meaningless nightmares, crying over lovers you’ve never met; remembering singular moments in time without any certainty—and crying.
Consider the silliness inherent in certain opposites. It seems almost day to day to hear that man (or a woman) has sold himself short, but is a whale of another color to learn to learn that someone has sold themselves tall. It seems criminal somehow to learn someone could get away with such a thing, as though a great con had taken place, that height should have somehow been taken into consideration but for some reason it was not. We come to understand things as being the way they are and when they try to reveal themselves in a different light, try to tell you something important about themselves, it is all we can do to plug our ears quickly as possible and say, “No, no, not to me; to me that simply isn’t true.”
One day television stopped. It was a failure of the satellites, the streams, the chords, the cables, cable itself, half a failing of attention and any other myriad of factors but the fact of matter was: television was over. Across America many families spent several hours slapping the remote control with their hands — as many families were known to do this then, smack electronics in the hope that a loose piece of electronic would be shaken back into place, which, logically, was very much insane, because what would happen in the event that the electronic piece wasn’t loose but because of the blunt force of the remote being struck against a hand was shaken loose, eliciting something similar to William Paley’s “watchmaker analogy” that we were in part playing the role in God, that in trying to create something we had destroyed it, or in trying to destroy something, created, evermore — and when this failed to produce any results the families wandered squint-eyed into the afternoon sun and placed their hands on their hips and then turned and shrugged at one another and smiled, some blaming the government and others blaming the failings of the cable companies but the truth was it was the failings of their own imagination, so determined by other men and women whose own imaginations had begun the perilous decent into the unimaginative, and so the families receded into their homes, embarrassed, unsure of what to do, and so returned to their couches and sat, and stared, and waited, until the their reflections slowly came into view, the picture of them staring back at themselves, waiting, waiting, waiting for something to happen, filled with this vacant hope that soon, someone would do something.
folded in half on a thursday night, breathing deep. remembering the feelings you’ve lost (even that feeling of loss). times when all goodness meant you hadn’t yet thought to make contingency plans. your lungs are bigger now.
childhood: the corner of the local library, painted to look like the sea, the lighthouse column a solitary rising giant. a warm afternoon spent writing apology letters in detention, on the side of a kindergarten class learning their “then” and “than”s. mother, on her knees before you, asking you not to be angry anymore. drawing pictures of little girls in little dresses at po po’s; she stuck them to the walls with the stickers from her fruit. the hallway you learned to run down, where you also learned to sink into dark. waiting to talk about your day until the sun set, until you couldn’t find the words anymore.
the misuse of memory; trying to convince myself i existed in someone’s heart, trying again and again to feel whole.
I always thought the song “Free Falling” was crazy, or, at the very least, suicidal.
Why would anyone want to jump without a safety net?
You’re probably not going to die,
But there’s that small chance you are,
And if you’re going to get hurt,
Then why would you ever risk that glorious euphoria of a fall,
That makes you feel alive,
The only time you feel alive.
Why risk… your life…
Her rabbit stew tasty like jello,
The bits of meat, rubber,
And the peppers were sandpaper.
Still Herbert happily munched away.
Or so his impression gave her.
Really he wanted nothing but to stand up and throw her stupid stew all over that stupid painting of Bono that she cherished above all else; to spray the walls with her foul incarnations that he was force to endure in silence day after day after day after–
“How is it?” She asked, her eyes beaming with sinister hope.
Herbert swallowed his bite,
And his tongue.
“Great!” He responded.
The revolution was going to begin.
But not quite yet.
I woke up,
Not with a start,
Sitting bolt upright in bed,
But with the embrace of your memory
Slowly bringing me back to the land of the living.
You were in my dreams last night.
And it couldn’t have been more perfect,
Our DNA existed together,
And our distance or differences could never have mattered less.
I’m thinking too much about what to write.
About how to create a story about my life
And about you
That will have the reader’s soul bursting through their veins
And fill them with passion.
But all I want to write about
The train slowly pulled out of the station,
The smoke trailing behind,
Leaving the rubbled town smoking in its wake.
He looked out the window,
Towards the horizon,
Hoping he could see the rise of a better tomorrow,
But he knew in his heart this train was on its way to hell.
He chose to stay on it anyway.
I’m perfectly sane.
AND I DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY I’M IN HERE!
The walls keep creaking,
The floor keeps moving,
Is this some sort of experiment,
To convince me that I’m crazy?
I’m not crazy
I’m not crazy
I’m not crazy
I’m not crazy,
I just see reality in a different way.
Uniqueness is something we strive for.
This is garbage.
She walked into the room to see hundreds of men and women stuck on the walls. Some were hung by glue, some where nailed to the wall (through their clothes, don’t be so gruesome), and some had spent so much time being on display, that their skin now kept them there. Welcome to the show.
The setup for the party was almost done. Martin looked around at his brightly coloured decorations, and smiled, because he knew this Halloween was going to be remembered. By everyone. Including Marcey. Including Joanne. Including Steve. They thought they could get away with laughing at his designs. At his beautiful creations. Something that improved upon humanity.
Marty had planned on having the last laugh.
And his plans ALWAYS came to pass.
Trick or Treat.
He walked through the cafeteria.
Nothing was going to stop him in his path.
He had had enough of Hal,
The School Bully,
And was read to teach him a lesson.
His hulking form was primed for target,
And then he saw the tears,
And all hate was forgotten.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
Stacey and Stella instantly looked down at their feet.
Donald’s glasses lay in pieces,
with bits of dust.
Their tap dancing routine had been too difficult to control,
Controlling their impulses,
Until their charge they had sworn to protect became the first casualty.
The first of many.
Donald came back from the washroom…
She has always been a dream.
We have spoken, perhaps twice at length,
Seen each other even less,
And yet she is the one that is constantly on my mind,
And in my bed,
And living in my heart,
Standing at the door with a semi-automatic,
Gunning down any other potential suitors.
She’s the invisible woman
That can kill
Robbing other of life,
And denying me the same.
It was a sort of integration,
With blacks and whites together,
Creating beautiful music,
Long before prejudice existed.
She pushed down,
Pulsing through her fingers,
Seemingly at random (for it was never something she could control),
And dissonant harmony blossomed from those perfectly slender fingers.
I clicked the GO button to find my time was already gone.
This deadly efficiency murdered my resolve to start writing anew.
The world learns through example.
Killing becomes cleaner.
And soon all art will be lost.
He looked down on his subjects,
And hated his democracy.
For all that it stood for,
For all the power it possessed,
For all the power it robbed away from him.
He didn’t understand he was a dithering fool,
And had always been the one having his strings pulled,
This just made it official.
Her pulse raced.
She had never done this sort of thing before,
But the opportunity was in her hands and was too good to resist.
She had to take the shot,
Or her teammates would never pass to her again.
Marcey grabbed the ball out of the air and threw it back towards the net
And the stadium held their collective breath.