February 2011
1 post
Entry #021811
On the day that summer first broke through the trees We constructed memories and washed them with water from the lake so we could take them with us when it was time to return to a life that constantly felt forced and foreign We collected pieces of our middle years and planted them in the earth and left them alone to grow in the elements like our fathers before us And these youthful spirits would...
September 2010
2 posts
The Reason For Her Expression
Seeing only a quick glimpse of the unusually pronounced roundness of her eyes, it was impossible to tell if she was excited or terrified or both. Having checked Facebook this morning before she was probably even awake, I didn’t remember seeing that today was her birthday. Now, birthdays have become synonymous with phone numbers in terms of importance. They are often overlooked and are no...
The Inner-Process of Inspiration
It’s nearly impossible for him to recall the feeling of inspiration. Actually, it’s completely impossible. It’s as though the blankness is a cruel excuse that is set on repeat. There are a vast number of things worth writing about but the initial leap into honesty is much more difficult than coming up with a story. It’s easy to mask a straight-up lie in a flurry of pretty...
November 2009
1 post
Entry #110309a
These birds sound so real but they peep through tiny mouths into tiny speakers into this tiny apartment and then a voice - a voice that has no business in this 128K forest - tries to sell me something. Probably sex. Whatever it was she was selling sounded sexy. Shit. Everything is sexy. That’s why it sells. Is that a woodpecker or someone hitting a tree with a baseball bat? Yeah....
July 2009
1 post
Entry #070109
June in her beauty confused the later seasons
Riddled with confusion they strode into the ocean
Suddenly the world turned blue
but not before the last thought of man turned into fire
Because the sun only ever wanted to be seen
Despair only ever wanted to be a distant memory
Love only ever wanted to be loved in return
One day we will storm the castle
in our newspaper hats and with swords...
April 2009
2 posts
Entry #041309
Her breath was born from a clap of thunder
and she always loved the thought of touching the words
in the upright books that rested beside her head
Most nights the clock kept her focused
on the lights from passing traffic that crept away at dawn
like a thousand soulless strangers
Her eyes only burned when the morning kept pace
with a world to which she did not adhere
Far too often the...
Entry #041309-2
After we cut the piano strings one by one
we floated toward the glacier but further away from the sun
We sought refuge in homes with too many rooms and with too few provisions
just as we have done on countless regular suburban Saturdays
We used as few words as possible to alert the others
but the others failed to act on the warning
Entropy propels progress
while progress continues to...
March 2009
10 posts
Entry#032809
We were arrogant but we were kind
We just wanted something for our money
even though for us it was unearned
So embarrassing that
at 15 it was probably
one of my first conversations
with an African American
I said very little and never let on
The heat twisted through the alleys of Back Bay
as he recited his memorized meal ticket
of Dylan Thomas
Many of the boys and one girl began to...
Entry #032509
All romantic notions have been rendered obsolete
and there no longer exists the question of what they were
The overdue bills have fossilized
for the telephones on which we used to question love
Printers no longer print extra pages on rainy days
There are no more rainy days
Robots have removed the conversation pieces
and made children out of them
The robot children will be raised...
Entry #031909
We saw her long violin fingers turn to rust and then disintegrate into moving boxes
Not all of her memories received the proper care when being bundled and some got left behind like a favorite ice cube tray
…maybe not favorite
but certainly familiar…
Still others were left behind on purpose
On this day in particular, the treetops were the only indication that perfection...
Entry #031809-2
The floors swerved towards filth from the salt tossed to the road by the salt truck
No one person could be blamed for grinding it against the titled floor or for the yellowing of once white ceiling tiles
Still, everyone wanted to blame the season for keeping us in winter coats for this long
We only knew it was summer when a skater kid (who traded his skateboard for a car) puked off of the side...
Entry #031809-4
We had to start rehearsing in the basement
Just beyond the awkward teenage introductions was the homeowner
Out of sight but fully audible
Repeating the word “egg” over and over and over again
Putting different emphasis on every part of this one syllable word
Higher inflections
Lower inflections
Drawing out the “gaaaaaaaa” until it snapped off
Finally we were too...
Entry #031809
At the end of the day, the unkempt psychologist began to transcribe his illegible hand-written notes into his tan computer.
These notes mainly consisted of the day’s earlier conversations with returning Amish teens.
When he realized what was happening, it was hard to imagine standing outside of his brain if the internal bells that sounded were made of hand-shaped metal or were simply the...
Entry #031809-3
The men moved their families into the housing provided by the prison
The living they made never bought them much more freedom than those inside but it was close to the ocean
These houses looked the same
These houses had the same assortment of used automobiles in their perfectly measured driveways
These houses had the same smell
The only time he ever brought his work home with him
was when...
Entry #031609
You are like those.
Quiet.
The kind of quiet that finds internal humor in road signs that read “blind drive” just before something alive darts in front of their car.
Entry #031509
It was safe to assume the swollen falls were freezing
That was always safe to assume
But these assumptions only served to slow down the task at hand
The work
The plan of detention kids who’s names I forget affixing their vessel from rope and rotten gray plywood
You’d think more would have gathered to see possible death
Or to claim they weren’t there should our suffering...
Entry# 031409
No one could afford to bring the highway this far south so they marked the forgotten on-ramp with signs allotted by the state and these aluminum tombstones stuck in the ground with the sweat of summer heat.