last night i, i had this dream when i fell asleep. and we were sitting in the basement of your grandparents’ house, watching tv. and there was this rat, this big rat that wanted to give me the black plague. not anybody else, just me, only me. and it was the size of your dog, goldie, and its tail was big and long and pink and it had these horrible eyes and its teeth were long and sharp and yellow and its eyes, oh my god, the eyes were so horrible. it was staring at me, just me, only me, not anybody else, with those horrible eyes, oh my god. and it came towards us, but only for me, not anybody else, just me, with its long tail and those teeth and those eyes. and it crawled onto the sofa where we were and i said “please! it’s going to kill me!” and you stared into its horrible eyes and you looked onto me and you grimaced. and your eyes became horrible. “please, oh my god! help me!” i was pleading, i needed you, i needed you. and it was crawling faster with its claws and that tail and i was begging you, but you were disgusted. i was disgusting.
i killed the rat myself with a rubik’s cube. we never spoke again.
i am property of the unshakeable drought that burns everything that feels good. there is no relief. and there shouldn't be.
violentcraving:
28 and bored, grieving over loss, sorry to be heavy, but heavy is the cost.
Stars - Personal
this is an excerpt from my NaNoWriMo novel
A moment of young love passed before the two were gloved hand in gloved hand, crossing the water again. There were ships gathering a few miles away, entering the harbor. It was a strange thought, always a strange thought even to the natives who had seen the sight so many of thousands of times. It was a strange thought to think about that harbor. It was strange to think about the way it all worked. That soft narrow Piscataqua that divided Maine and New Hampshire, the Owens and the McCarthys, Kittery and Portsmouth slipped into the harbor. The harbor was circled with the rocky beaches and lobster boats, bustling in its seclusion, and then finally bursting into the ocean. The endless, powerful Atlantic. The sea is the closest we can ever really get to being in space. Spaceships and NASA training are all the same to standing barefoot at the edge of the beach. The vastness of open blue is overwhelming. It’s impossible to fathom the majesty of an open unknown, even when you study it for hours on end. Other lands seem irrelevant; the sea is endless. It is the strength and generosity of youth, when you have nothing to lose. It is the eternal seventeen year old. It is the forever swim of butterflies and purity. The sea is endless. The sea is endless.
u like wut u c? follo me.
“
Dickhead
To whomever taught me the word dickhead,
I owe a debt of thanks.
It gave me a way of being in the world of men
when I most needed one,
when I was pale and scrawny,
naked, goosefleshed
as a plucked chicken
in a supermarket cooler, a poor
forked thing stranded in the savage
universe of puberty, where wild
jockstraps flew across the steamy
skies of locker rooms,
and everybody fell down laughing
at jokes I didn’t understand.
But dickhead was a word as dumb
and democratic as a hammer, an object
you could pick up in your hand,
and swing,
saying dickhead this and dickhead that,
a song that meant the world
was yours enough at least
to bang on like a garbage can,
and knowing it, and having that
beautiful ugliness always
cocked and loaded in my mind,
protected me and calmed me like a psalm.
Now I have myself become
a beautiful ugliness,
and my weakness is a fact
so well established that
it makes me calm,
and I am calm enough
to be grateful for the lives I
never have to live again;
but I remember all the bad old days
back in the world of men,
when everything was serious, mysterious, scary,
hairier and bigger than I was;
I recall when flesh
was what I hated, feared
and was excluded from:
Hardly knowing what I did,
or what would come of it,
I made a word my friend.
”
Tony Hoagland
we’re all just tiny dots. you have to squint to see but millions of us. we are nothing. we are everything.
when his stomach growled for sandwiches and calories, hers flipped with anticipation of a cliche.
NaNoWriMo all day. bringing the lappy everywhere. good.
