Skip to main content

It's just a ringtone.

I really couldn’t help myself. My fingers were thinking as the passage of red lights flew by me, energy circulated around me, I awaited a family message, in the midst of a lot of not caring. It’s hard to say what I was thinking, or what my mind was up to tonight… I was looking forward to a hotel bed and shower, a good talk with the family, and a long time sleeping. It was hard to say what was going on, but in a world where honesty is applauded, how is it that you fear in saying the truth?

Ha, I smiled. I knew enough, I said to myself.

Let me tell you a story, filled with creativity and beauty, with madness and disguise, with a sweet goodbye and a timely hello. 35 was the number, or perhaps it was 92, the answer, is really up to you. Pour the vodka onto an empty canvas, and sprinkle it with lemon. If I’m feeling crazy, I’ll throw in some black beans, and make it a dish. I’m sure I’ve lost you by now, but what’s the point in reading words that make sense anyways? But maybe, just maybe, you read that, and got what I meant. Got what I meant when a serialized message didn’t make it all the way through, when a blank page fills with color, and yet no image is to be found. There’s a beauty in similarity which feeds me happiness day by day, but a truth which feeds me reality, as I try to paint a watermark with oil. A drop falls onto a key, the letter ‘A’ it seems, the canvas keeps dripping, as I watch the stain bring life to a board that has never had its buttons pressed, to a board that saw the bottom of the world and kept going, because 36 in 28 was more of a goal than an impossibility.

Let me forget. I don’t do that thing which others crave. I don’t sorrow or break down, even as we jump off 13,000 and scream because death is so near, and living suddenly feels even fucking better. The rush of adrenaline speeds through your system, a tiny bit to the left you say, and then it’s perfect. Your moment of helplessness is accompanied with perfection, for a split second, you let yourself live, and then crawled right back in, and hid in that same shell that sought for the heroin that made your system shine. Yeah sure you had your moments of glory, the rushing heartbeat and scandalous memories, one phrase that isn’t stop does just that, but who knows what it might be, as ‘peanut butter’ echoes down the complex.

And so gently, they carry on. They take a stroll and watch the sun rise, I smile and can’t believe my eyes, he says he’s sorry, she remembers the colorful pages that had long ago been stained by that one night, and then her memories darken, as the knows, forgetting is simply not an option. Perhaps it wasn’t meant to be, and perhaps it never will be, its hopeless she told herself, but somehow, he knew, it really wasn’t.



Popular posts from this blog

On nature's sincerity

I wish I could But I spoke nonsense I wrote it rather To speak it back to you.
The trees spoke quietly I looked from above and smiled The sun tucked away and I hoped It would spill its secrets.
The picture was rightfully painted Had I blinked, I would have missed it. Do not use sincerity It is not becoming of usage.
Learn to become And you will see the world As it was born It will smile once more. x

My Barcelona Guide

Long overdue, but having been to Barcelona a number of times, I have been wanting to write some of the secret parts of the city that I encountered, and that are worth seeing. It's worth citing that a lot of the restaurants were originally gotten from an amazing list of restaurants my doctoral advisor shared with me, and that a lot of the places I love going to were first shown to me by our program director, who knows Barcelona better than anybody I know.

Additional note: Barcelona runs on a different time schedule than other countries. Dinner at 9-10pm is very common, and people start going out around midnight (to bars). Clubs start around 2am and go until about 6am, so keep that in mind as you enjoy the city. They also have afternoon naps (siestas), so in the early afternoon, a lot of things may be closed. The summer is usually pretty packed regardless because its booming with tourists. I generally do not like crowded toursit-filled areas, but you have to experience them once. You…

On addiction.

She was right. I could hardly sleep at night For every waking moment I was distracted by the beats.
Scrolling through history Passing each Kodak moment I had purposefully silenced my own The grid was feeding my veins.
An addict at best, I saw the ticker go down A minor twitch Branded jeans.
I landed. The writing finished. The grid connected. My addiction blinded me once more.
Note: Going through my phone and posting the pieces I wrote over this summer, posting a lot today given my prior frequency haha.