I lower myself, eyes glassed and mind grated open gushing my eyelids like door hinges set to the beat of reggae with the skin on my face, so still and quiet no matter how firmly they shout my ears are past the gates and the doors are locked and I am here in my inner citadel. Blood flows. Eyes hinged. Lowered. Beats.
What is it that I have? I have nothing, really, if one counts somethings as one counts apples plumping in a tree or pine cones in the outdoor slippers or little birdie heads that pop up and down on nests made of the dog hair brushed out of Lila this morning on the back porch; as if something is something that simply fits and … Read More Sorts of Somethings
She danced to Beethoven’s Archduke Piano Trio wild and reckless her calloused feet kissing the white sand the crescendo of piano the crescent wave. She didn’t care for whoever saw her; no one was looking anyways and she curated her own reality. Sometimes she danced on tiptoe when the occasion called for it but more often than not it was full-fledged arm flinging … Read More Ocean Waltz
It was a bloody cripple of a fooled nightmare; the kind featuring nonexistent heroes with nonexistent magical capabilities with nonexistence backbones and with none of the courageous defiant audacity that you sort of look for in a fearless spiney hero.
Is it intelligence that breaks routine? Or is it the carefully constructed anticipatory rebellion which welds inside and cracks the chrysalis then asks us to play electronic beats and dance like the ocean? I never can tell with these things; all I feel is that on one hand routine is the knife by which I slit my arms and act surprised at the blood … Read More Routine
He liked the first 15 seconds of the song; to some that was annoying but to him it was soothing and good exercise to reach over so often and press rewind. His life was a boxcar, a dream capitulated to the infinity and they mistook his focus for seriousness not understanding that he was engaged in a play date with his soul that was … Read More Play Dates with the Soul
Me You hate me for what I did in Israel, and you still harbor anger for the destruction of Japan and Vietnamese children. I hate you for what you did in New York even though you’re half a world away from the Middle East; you’re brown and practice Islam so it still counts.