and i dance on the back of my ancestors, i dig my toes into their sorrows and their glories, i reach up into the sky of my children and push away every branch that will scratch them, i push away the sun that will blind them, i push away everything that will cage them to the ground
Monthly Archives: January 2008
what new horror
she says, there are only so many ways you can wound yourself. a finite set of instruments and places to pierce and gouge, a set number of inches where the skin can be inflected. the real question is, after that, what next? what do you do next? what new travesty do you place yourself in, what new horror do you design for yourself?
and i said, what new horror? a world without pain. to live without any pain at all.
crowded heart
“He sits in a quiet room, with a lock on the door to keep him in.”- Foo Fighters, Friend of a Friend
he sits in a quiet room and the world is all the rage outside it bangs inside the walls of his heart until bursting but it never does and it never grows it never makes room it just grows more crowded and he suffocates even when he opens the windows even when he sticks his head out even when he sticks his legs out and stands on the ledge even when he breathes the clean and sterile scent of winter even when he flies his heart simply has no more room
project snowflake: notes: tom, when he deals
and when tom negotiates a deal he sees all the angles and plays it cool, plays it like a hand he’s been dealt before and he already knows its outcome. tom never comes unprepared, tom never goes in blind. he’s seen it all before, he’s looked hard and long into the mirror and he knows the man he is and could be. he’s been there, done that. just barely past thirty and he’s beaten the liquor that put his father into the ground, he’s beaten the coke that drove his friends to ruin. he’s risen above it all and he’ll keep rising, keeping plugging along until he doesn’t have to sit at any table to negotiate a deal anymore. he won’t even have to show up. he’ll have someone else do it for him. he’s almost there, but not quite yet.
project snowflake: notes: harry, he's seen
harry’s seen them go from gears and levers to circuits and touch screens and everyone he looks at is a series of controls run amok, a set of frayed wires connected to circuits running for miles bundled up in muscle and flesh with plastered teeth and blunt nails broken. he sees everyone as a series of functions that have been bent by damaged childhood and warped experience, he sees everyone on the verge of rust. and when amanda walks into the room she is just like them, he is just like them, he thinks, we are all like one another, and he’d like to believe that, he’d like to believe he’s just another broken cog in a vast machine. but then amanda suddenly smiles and she tells him there’s no one quite like her in the world, there’s nothing quite like them anywhere to be found.
blood fir
and my mouth is a blanket of fur matted with blood that leaks down the sides, over my chin, dribbling onto my fingers, sticky like the sap of a fir tree and everywhere i put my hands i can’t get rid of it, that stale taste of something having died in there and it’s rotting down my throat and i would choke on it if it didn’t have your name all over it, if i didn’t know your name but i do and i trip over a piece of scrap metal and i scrape my knee, break my arm and i would do it all over again if only to stop the clots from jamming up my lungs to steal your name from me
project snowflake: notes: harry, how she moves
and when she straddles me with her hips over my head and tells me she wants to fuck my face, my hand undoes my belt and she rubs her muff along my chin and when her clit brushes my lips i feel myself harden and go absolutely mad because i can smell her, just barely taste her and it’s good and i dart my tongue into her and her fingers grab hold of my hair tugging and with one free hand i cup her ass and bring her closer to me and i want to say her name but she says mine instead when my mouth is full of her and before i know it my hand is full of my own cum and amanda smiles in the dark reaching back for that same hand and brings it towards her lips.
this is what i imagine
this is what i imagine. i imagine him going through the motions the way the addict rustles his way out of bed and dons a tie. i imagine a man walking his dog and watching the animal go on the neighbor’s lawn and not picking it up. i imagine her slipping him vicodin in his morning coffee when she finds out. i imagine a little girl full of romantic fantasies being crushed by the first boy she falls in love with. i imagine a boy standing in front of a mirror first realizing he is a man but also utterly alone. i imagine the unspeakable loss a mother feels when they tell her son was found dead thousands of miles away. i imagine myself writing it all down and never ever keeping up with any of it.