December 2008
25 posts
london bridges burn
i watched the snow glide down peacfully, coating the dark street with an untouched layer of white. it made route 137 look almost godly, a kind of vibe similar to what nostalgia must feel like in heaven. as you told me she changed, i began to notice how the monstrous tire tracks of our black car disturbed the peaceful white settlement without care or regret. i do not really know but after...
good afternoon, tree
i went outside and smoked a cigarette on the steps of my porch. i don’t normally do that, but i have been taking strides at a slow tempo and absorbing life as a saturate sponge would refuse dirty soap water. my stubborn dismissal of past memories fighting to seep into the pores of my cold palms is exhausting. it takes its toll. the smoke crept out of my mouth leaving the taste of stale tobacco...
i need you where you are
there is a you, an i, a he
it is all the guilt that comes with missing you, a sheet of poignancy that layers my body every morning when rays of sun penatrate my pores and i awake to a blinding light. i need you where you are. you see, i need you at an armslength, a twenty-three minute car ride away. these familiar streets lead me back to you, i can not find the comfort in my home because this...
dear vivid subconcious,
(( i hate when you make sense )) i had a dream that my mother took me to my old high school to get my canine tooth extracted. a grad student Gosia who led my tv history class put the stitches in my mouth, but she did a very poor job. while i was getting the tooth extracted, they drugged me up and I dozed off into a meta-dream where i was hiding from something or someone: i wandered my high...
my mother never made gingerbread cookies
i used to get the feeling on the back of the school bus as it drove through the town, sidewalks blanketed with white coats of joyful snow. it was like the smell of gingerbread soaking through all the leaves of the plants that decorated the house. pure excitement for christmas morning, waking up parents, brother, peeking heads over the balcony to see under the tree, smiling faces, baking in the...
miss, steering us
today on the 6 train a man sitting across from my mother and i drew her. i mean, he sketched her. to no avail, he drew her really well, too. beautiful, high cheekbones, comforting contemplative eyes. i had been sitting taciturnly, and as he handed her the paper, she glanced over at him and back at the permanent marks that still smelt faintly of chemicals. she clicked her tongue instictively...
color tee vee
do you dream in black and white?
i jumped from clothing rack to clothing rack, jackets, and blouses the leaves of my jungle wardrobe sales lady, please don’t frown at me do you like my burger king kids meal toy? i had a cheeseburger because mom says their fingers are not white meat my mother laughed when i popped out between two orange Ts smiling faces, trace my eyes he makes me smile now,...
“he stretched out his arms to the crystalline, radiant sky. “I know...”
– f. scott fitzgerald, this side of paradise
these hands? coldblooded.
i forgot that my parent’s do not put the heat on in the house. that is an exaggeration. they put the heat on but only enough so that the pipes will not freeze. it is okay if their visiting daughter does though. i think that is partly why my hands are always, always cold. i mean, they’re never warm unless i sit on them, i burn my finger on the stove, or tom is holding them. it is...
winter air, frigid heirs
i forgot how much i used to detest cold air infiltrating into the static car. as a child i always dreaded climbing into the backseat after our riviera had been sitting for hours in the winter parking lot.
i forgot because its been so long since i had to wait for an engine to warm up as i sat in the dark. i remain shivering.
six a.m., this is right.
we are in the library. he is taking a break, sitting by the window. one of those windows that takes up the whole wall and looks into a courtyard of sad, shabby bushes and leafless twiglike trees. a very thin layer of ice and snow coat the ground, a covert warning that christmas is just around the corner. he takes his shoes off and sits by the window. he meditates and as he relaxes his muscles...
the carrot seed (1945)
what an underrated children’s book about persistence . that little boy plants a carot seed (see: above illustration). he never speaks. mother and father, without good reason, remarks, “i’m afraid it won’t come up.” brother brusquely declares, “it won’t come up.” how unjustified. the little boy still remains unobtrusive and hushed. he waters...
no place to go // that is just fine
he inspires her. he walks with her in the rain. she clings to his arms with closed eyes. wet strands of her cold hair stick to his cheek. raindrops entrapped in his eyelashes, they drip down as he blinks, they trickle along the bridge of her nose and onto his gentle lips. her unstable breath meets the air lingering into his half open mouth and
she hopes he will never let go. despite her...
not you. or you. or you. /// my family.
i was twelve, thirteen, we would sit in your old beaten down mercedes and blast Pinkerton or Cake. regardless of the smelly, stained leather seats and the broken plastic radio (twice replaced), it was a nice ride and i thought you were so cool. traffic. there was always traffic on guard hill road. we would sit side by side in the morning hour. my brother, only eighteen, you were a giant to...
i wont say it but sometimes i think of you
your words are snowflakes which fall upon my nose in the most graceful manner. wistful, yet selfish flakes of gold, melting to the even curves of my face. i would blink once when my eyes shifted and the coldness of your touch sank into my bloodstream. i would blink twice because you never thought of me at all. you can’t see flames, but your excuses lit fires throughout my body. almost like...
Pleasures of Kindergarten
i was cultivating mastery of numbers in my six year old student michael. he is six but he looks like he is four. i wonder why he looks so malnourished when his parents dress him up in “timberland” and other expenisve designer clothes. that money should go towards feeding him, instead. he has a wild imagination, for three weeks he told me stories about his cat named Cat who roamed...
"if it makes you happy"
what a terribly illogical rationalization.
“homesick? drop out of brown and go to an inadequate community college closer to home… if it makes you happy.”
“okay, tell your girlfriend you love her and then have sex with someone else… as long as it makes you happy.”
“you want to take this axe and butcher the person sitting at the table next to us? does it...
just bumping around time
I had quite a struggle at the dining hall today. I walked into eight strangers as I was scrambling to get an inadequate plate of food. The first three times I got pretty agitated and rolled my eyes at how people could be so absent minded. The next two people I walked into I started to realize that maybe I was off my game and had something to do with the awkward encounters. Perhaps my mere 3.3...
things younger than mccain →
this never gets old. pun intended. see: mac&cheese, PBJ, chocolate chip cookie, poptart, ranch dressing, cheerios, duct tape, scrabble.