Archive for June, 2011

Rabbits

Posted: June 30, 2011 in transliteration
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Blue hair, blue car, blue smoke.

You have a bluish black stain on the backs of your upper front teeth.
I know this, but I don’t think you do.

Point of view.

Early this morning, I decided to start drawing rabbits again.
It’s been about three years.
I’ve been preparing to start painting for approximately two years.
Solidification came a week ago on month old ideas and year old ambitions.

Today, I started drawing.

solo

Posted: June 27, 2011 in hidden admonishment
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Why is this conversation happening?

Is this conversation happening?

If this conversation is happening, I would like for it to stop happening.

Sometimes, you let me stay.

I like your profile when you’re sleeping etched out from the dim light that pours in through your window. That light outside is always on. There’s a crook in your nose where cartilage meets bone, and you have a weak chin outdone by a prominent Adam’s apple. Your hairline is slowly receding with the solid decade wedged between us.

You’re uncomfortable naked.
You’re never naked.
You’ve given up asking me to do the same.
You don’t put sheets on your bed.
You rarely “finish.”
You call it finishing.
You won’t let me watch…or assist.

We never have sex.

Sometimes I think I should ask you what it is that you want
but I assume you’d tell me if it made a difference.
When you’re awake, you’re apologetic as if I have set expectations and timed limitations
and while my stay is fugitive
when I’m with you, I’m on your time in your life.
So long as I’m invited and feel welcomed, I’ll keep coming back.

I’ve waited longer for less.

Four Years Later

Posted: June 24, 2011 in transliteration
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I owe my boss money, because I ate on Wednesday night.
I think I’ll stop doing that again now that I found a pot for cooking in.
I sleep on my bathroom floor now.
You wouldn’t recognize the person I’ve become.

The trouble is that I loved you.
Yes, I really did.

What could you possibly have to say to me four years later?

I changed my phone number because of you.
I live an entirely different way because of you.
I’ve made no indication to you that I’m even alive anymore.
Not since the day I begged you for hours to leave.
Not since I locked my door behind you out of fear that you’d come back.

Do you want me to live this way my entire life?
I won’t.

I won’t.
I won’t.
I won’t.

What could you possibly have to say to me?

I cut your letters up this year, and folded them into little birds
marking days without any help.
Hard days.
Difficult decisions.
An increasingly stringent resolve.
I’m strong enough.
It took me this long to accede.
I left you.
No one’s loved me since.
You were right about that, but…I’ve loved.
I walked away from some of the most intensely positive feelings I’ve ever had

because they weren’t reciprocated

and I don’t want to be like you.
I don’t want to make anyone feel the way that you’ve made me feel.
I don’t want to spread this.
I don’t want to live it anymore.
What the fuck could you possibly have to say to me?

I don’t hate you. I still love you, but you’re not welcome into my world. I’m tired of hating myself. I’m sick from holding all of this anger for so long.

There’s nothing.

The rest of that cute little boy has grown out of you, but I know you’re still one of those standard, monogamous college boys. I won’t ask you about your girlfriend. I don’t want to think about her. You’re still you though, and you were there alone.

That’s nice, you know?

I forgot how much I liked you, since you were anything but happy when you left. Actually, come to think of it, you were the first person I befriended here. Just about everyone else is gone now, too. What can I say? I’m an underachiever and only meet people like you in passing.

The ice tastes like the freezer, and the freezer tastes like…

I pegged you an untouchable, unattainable, attractive creature. Those were simpler times when most of my mind was still breaking.

Things have calloused over nicely, and it was good to see you again. It’s always nice to meet the harbingers of fantasies one year later.

Same.

Posted: June 21, 2011 in transliteration
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You say it’s a good idea for me to go home.
Do me a favor and stop telling me what you think.
What the fuck do you know?
You think a book store and a library are the same thing.
No, they’re not the same.
Yes, baby. Same.
No.

Not the same, and we won’t even discuss calling me “baby” again.

Even if it is a good idea for some reason,
even if I grant you that;
What about what I want?

I’m right, because it’s my life. You’re oblivious.
What’s wrong?

I watched the man in front of me scream at the clerk
in the express lane
for making the wrong change.
Eventually, the customer got his change.
I don’t know who was right.
It’s not exactly necessary for the cashier to think when making change.

I placed my items down.
Everything went smoothly until the end
when I was waiting for my change.

I saw the man insist on pouring french fries and birdseed together over his counter.
I saw it, but I know it didn’t happen.
I offered him a penny so that he could give me .45 instead of .44
but this just confused him more.

I started shouting.

I’m not going home.
This is my temporary home.
This is it.
You’re not invited in.

“What happened here?”

Posted: June 21, 2011 in otiose
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So you saw me flip shit on the cameras?
You saw me scream and dent steel by smashing steel into steel repeatedly?
Yeah?
Are you trying to steal from me, motherfucker?

Did you catch what I was saying without sound?

Did you happen to notice the professional restraint I held regardless of that display?
I mean, you saw that I didn’t tear your precious little surveillance system out of the walls, right?
I left the registers alone.

I didn’t kill anybody.

You must have taken all of this into account.
Two days later, and you’re still approaching me meekly and asking me how I’m doing before saying anything else. Of course, I respond with a placid smile and say that I’m fine. Everything’s fine.
You know damned well what happened here.

Don’t threaten my meager pay.
You know as well as I do that I’ve fucking earned my bonus.
It’s all in the same goddamned camera footage every fucking day.

I’m hungry.

Posted: June 13, 2011 in hidden admonishment

I probably fuck up everything by feeling too much
but you’re peddling backwards which just

doesn’t work.

Please, don’t apologize to me.
It’s not what I want to hear.
I don’t want you to tell me you love me…

unless, on the off chance, you actually do.

The recurring pattern: You lie about your age.
I couldn’t understand it five years ago,
and I can’t understand it now.

$175 for the room.