This page is sinister. This page is perfume.
This page is a wolf.
This page is similar singularity.
This page is ghosts. This page is dust.
This page is frontline trenches, snakes and surprised bone.
This page is the eager tourist and the family van.
This page is...
Unfinished. This is the first poem I've submitted to workshops this semester, and needless to say, it came out from workshop a little worse for wear. The tendency to get lost in abstractions is hard for me to overcome, so I've tried to stick to the concrete imagery as much as possible. My professor said there needs to be more, but I have no idea where to take it. Probably because the only intention of this poem was fulfilling an assignment...
8.28.2008
8.26.2008
Deep From The Archives
This page is set up for lengthy exposition, which is ironic considering the large amount of empty space up here. I can hear footsteps upstairs and I can hear you talking to your cat. I don't think she (your cat) appreciates the high-pitched voices. I don't. I sit and listen to your conversation seep through my ceiling, footsteps like machinegun punctuation. What is purpose? Purpose is the near-constant fluctuation of pen choice. .05 versus .07. It would seem as though I cannot make up my mind--but how does one make up one's mind? This is a most perplexing issue, I feel. Perhaps a .06 is in order. And a quest for right angles. Ghosts, air, and vacuum. I spilled a sip of coffee into a cut on my left index finger. It hurt. Burned like a smallish star lodged between the joints. Children, full of teeth. The decision to flee came suddenly. So what is this experience, now? Let us go and rob the supermarket. I will take all the Wheat Thins. You will take all the orange juice. I will also take all the chicken alfredo Hot Pockets, for research purposes. Fear those people who say things. Can you grasp that, man? You can take all the sparkling grape juice. And here is a new test: the things that we deem normal. Only with pink pants and apple juice. But how is this possible? Initial mystique gives way to horse beating messiah posing. Swimming in death. I will eat the sun. I will eat the son of god. I will eat god. So many words that want to be written--perhaps if I cloned myself and had the clones fill this book with words to complete the book-filling requirement and then take the clones and make a baseball team out of them--I guess it would take at least nine clones to fill this book in a reasonable time. Atmospherics are in full effect, keep this in mind at all times.
Androids (This Magic)
My best friend in high school was an android. Artificial person, actually. She said she preferred that to android. I think android sounds better.
My father was half android. Which makes me, what, a quarter android? Anyway, part of him was human, which explains my existence, and part of him was android, which explains why he couldn’t love my mother. Which explains why they never got along well, which explains why they got a divorce, which explains a lot, really.
My father was half android. Which makes me, what, a quarter android? Anyway, part of him was human, which explains my existence, and part of him was android, which explains why he couldn’t love my mother. Which explains why they never got along well, which explains why they got a divorce, which explains a lot, really.
8.13.2008
A Knock at the Door
1:04 AM. A faint tap at the door. Tap. Another. Tap. Very quiet and in rapid succession, the the way my girlfriend used to knock. Cautiously I approach the door, peer through the peep hole silently. An older man in a black T-shirt and blue jeans stands nervously, his height slightly distorted by the fisheye peep hole. I open the door.
“Hi, I’m Tom, your neighbor from upstairs.”
We shake hands, awkwardly.
“My wife and baby are stranded down town and the car won’t start and they don’t have jumper cables.” he says, an unmistakable hint of panic quivering through his voice. “I just need a ride downtown.”
“I’m really sorry,” I say, “but I can’t tonight.”
“She has cash on her, I can pay you, I just need a ride downtown.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have my car here tonight.” My car is in the lot, visible through the living room window.
Defeat drips down his face. “Do you have three dollars? Anything?”
“Yeah,” I say, “let me grab my wallet.” I walk towards my bedroom and the door closes unwelcomingly loud. I open my wallet, a one dollar bill peers back out at me. I go to the kitchen and open the squirrel shaped cookie jar that contains loose change. For what seems like ten minutes I pick out all the quarters, dimes, and nickels. I open the door and hand them to Tom.
“This is all I have, I don’t know how much it is, but hopefully it’s enough.”
“You don’t have any pennies, anything else?” he says.
“Yeah, just a second.” I walk back to the squirrel while the door closes again. I open the jar and debate dumping all the pennies into a grocery bag before returning to the door, squirrel in hand.
“That’s a pretty cat.” he tells me, motioning to my black and white cat.
“Oh, thanks.” I say absently, pouring the pennies into his cupped hands.
“I have two Siamese cats myself” he says as the pennies finish their waterfall descent into his hands.
“I hope this helps, sorry I can’t do more.” I try to assure him.
“Thanks a lot, I’ll give you twenty bucks or something.” he says as he turns and walks away.
“Oh no, forget about it, don’t sweat it.” I say, but he’s already gone.
I close the door and return to my couch, where I had been sitting before the taps interrupted my movie. What are his wife and baby doing downtown at one in the morning? Why didn’t I give him a ride? I get up and walk to the window, hoping to see him outside. I should have given him a ride. I slip on a pair of sandals and head out the door, walking to both ends of the hallway with the intention of finding Tom and giving him a ride downtown. I don’t see him. I walk back to my apartment, closing the door and locking it behind me.
What were his wife and baby doing downtown this late? He looked kind of old to have a baby. I sit down on the couch, press play on the dvd remote. Did that just happen? I get up and walk into the kitchen. I open the squirrel. It’s empty. I walk back to the couch and sit down. I finish watching my movie.
“Hi, I’m Tom, your neighbor from upstairs.”
We shake hands, awkwardly.
“My wife and baby are stranded down town and the car won’t start and they don’t have jumper cables.” he says, an unmistakable hint of panic quivering through his voice. “I just need a ride downtown.”
“I’m really sorry,” I say, “but I can’t tonight.”
“She has cash on her, I can pay you, I just need a ride downtown.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t have my car here tonight.” My car is in the lot, visible through the living room window.
Defeat drips down his face. “Do you have three dollars? Anything?”
“Yeah,” I say, “let me grab my wallet.” I walk towards my bedroom and the door closes unwelcomingly loud. I open my wallet, a one dollar bill peers back out at me. I go to the kitchen and open the squirrel shaped cookie jar that contains loose change. For what seems like ten minutes I pick out all the quarters, dimes, and nickels. I open the door and hand them to Tom.
“This is all I have, I don’t know how much it is, but hopefully it’s enough.”
“You don’t have any pennies, anything else?” he says.
“Yeah, just a second.” I walk back to the squirrel while the door closes again. I open the jar and debate dumping all the pennies into a grocery bag before returning to the door, squirrel in hand.
“That’s a pretty cat.” he tells me, motioning to my black and white cat.
“Oh, thanks.” I say absently, pouring the pennies into his cupped hands.
“I have two Siamese cats myself” he says as the pennies finish their waterfall descent into his hands.
“I hope this helps, sorry I can’t do more.” I try to assure him.
“Thanks a lot, I’ll give you twenty bucks or something.” he says as he turns and walks away.
“Oh no, forget about it, don’t sweat it.” I say, but he’s already gone.
I close the door and return to my couch, where I had been sitting before the taps interrupted my movie. What are his wife and baby doing downtown at one in the morning? Why didn’t I give him a ride? I get up and walk to the window, hoping to see him outside. I should have given him a ride. I slip on a pair of sandals and head out the door, walking to both ends of the hallway with the intention of finding Tom and giving him a ride downtown. I don’t see him. I walk back to my apartment, closing the door and locking it behind me.
What were his wife and baby doing downtown this late? He looked kind of old to have a baby. I sit down on the couch, press play on the dvd remote. Did that just happen? I get up and walk into the kitchen. I open the squirrel. It’s empty. I walk back to the couch and sit down. I finish watching my movie.
8.11.2008
Writer's Block
She sat at her desk, the glow of a computer screen reflecting off her glasses. The walls of the small studio apartment were blank, the room empty save for a fold out bed in the corner and the desk. Stacks of papers were scattered over the floor--the individual chapters of the novel she was in the process of finishing. How long had she been working on this last chapter? There was no clock in the room, and the one on her computer had been purposely covered by the window of her word processing program. Progress had been slow but steady up until now but the last chapter came to a screeching halt several hours ago. Her professors in college had warned her about writer’s block and now her impending deadline was the foremost thought in her mind. Out of frustration she pushed back from the computer, her wheeled office chair coming to a stop when it rolled off its plastic mat and onto the carpet. She stood up and paced around the room, slowly navigating the skyscrapers of papers. She took a few deep breaths and ran her hands through her hair, a nervous habit she had developed many years ago. This time it felt different--something was wrong. She withdrew her hands from her head and brought them in front of her eyes. The room was lit only by the computer screen, and in this darkness she thought for sure her eyes were playing tricks on her. Her fingers appeared to be fused together. She tried to move her fingers individually, but they would only move as one. A wave a panic and disbelief raced through her head like electricity through a circuit. Once more she tried to move her fingers, but her whole hand just clenched up into a fist. When she tried to open them nothing happened, they had become two solid cubes of flesh. She let out a shrill cry as terror overtook her. She stumbled backwards, tripping over a stack of papers. Instinctively she tried to bring her arms out to arrest her fall, but her elbows were now attached to her sides. Papers were thrown everywhere by the force of the impact as a dull moan of pain slipped through her lips. She tried to stand up, but could only make it to her knees. Her arms were folded around her torso and she leaned her head to the ground. She wanted to scream but a waterfall of flesh was cascading down her face, sealing her eyes, nose, and lips. The flesh continued to pour down from just below her hairline, oozing like hot wax into every crevice of her body, which was now curled into the fetal position, until she was encased in a cocoon of her own skin.
Three weeks later, after a call from the publisher, the owner of the apartment complex opened her apartment. There in the middle of the room, amid heaps of disorganized papers, was a solid, lifeless block of flesh.
Three weeks later, after a call from the publisher, the owner of the apartment complex opened her apartment. There in the middle of the room, amid heaps of disorganized papers, was a solid, lifeless block of flesh.
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