February 2012
11 posts
8 tags
Sex And Love Addicts Anonymous: Melanie, Part II
A collection of short stories about the women I’ve never slept with.
Melanie’s skin pulses in the moonlight while her bright blonde hair shimmers against the feint glow of lamp post we pass on the way to my apartment. We are not alone; we’re not alone but I wish we were. Behind us trails heartbreak, hesitance, and three or four herertics stumbling on the nights high. Her...
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Lazy Poetry Is Lazy IX
She said “Of all the idiots in the world, it just had to be you.” Which would be an insult if it weren’t for the softness in her kiss.
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Sorry Princess, Looks Like Your Mario Is In...
From the hospital you called, with an IV drip and trembling lip, to say you were sorry: admitting every midnight lie, backseat tryst, and blue eyed substitute because the men in lab coats colored like wet clouds said you were dying - dying from a tumorous spine and tumorous life. Surgery waits in twelve hours, surgery you may not wake up from, with not one of my replacements there to hold your...
5 tags
And Show Me How You Do That Thing With Your Tongue...
Teach me, love, how to hold your fears when arms and bodies are not enough. How my hands should run down your back to dip and curve and swoon and taste every nook of your kiss and each corner of your lips while I’m basting in your flesh to the edges of your skin, where the sum of your body and some of the world ends. Teach me, love, where my eyes should stare to wonder when you wander there,...
7 tags
Papa Don't Preach, I've Got My Own Shortcomings...
“Sometimes I take my glasses off,” he said curling a newspaper between his fingers. “Just to read, stretch my eyes. They’re like a muscle you know, your eyes. If you stretch them, work them out, they’ll get better.”
They aren’t a muscle. They aren’t a muscle and they’re just fucked. But I couldn’t tell him the fault was something in my genes, that he could somehow be responsible, or worse - that...
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Lazy Poetry Is Lazy VIII
Your love
makes me want to write
shitty poetry
about being in love.
Fuck.
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You Didn't Care If My Shirt Was Namebrand Either
I remember you
like mosquito bites,
or gashes from that time I fell
going down Sutton’s Hill, and
you asked if I was ok,
laughing so hard you cried.
I wasn’t. But your smile
made me feel like I was.
The way we use to shrug at pain
I forgot.
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We Had A Relationship Based On Orgasms And...
She comes to me at night
like dreams, but not with wings or
clouds and fantasy; she comes with
feet, pulpy lips, a tired head,
frizzy hair, cold bones
for me to kiss.
Faint heart, feint heart.
Faint, heart - come rest
your bones with me.
No words,
no words,
just a touch to feel your needs.
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Lazy Poetry Is Lazy VII
Found a shot glass I thought I’d lost that night Chris threw up in my kitchen and Tiffany cried when that song played and Jeanine and I made out in the stairwell and my girlfriend never found out but hers did. Then we smiled, the memory and I, like old friends that forgot they missed eachother.
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“Those who belong to this small class have tasted how sweet and blessed a...”
– Plato, The Republic
January 2012
34 posts
5 tags
Sex And Love Addicts Anonymous: Melanie, Part I
A collection of short stories about the women I’ve never slept with.
She was a sweet honey-pale while his sweet-honey’s had gone stale; oh Donnie what a catch, what a match made in purgatory. I watched with bated breath and kindling curiosity as his glutton eyes admired every morsel frolicking in tight skirts and high heels: his hunger, like the wolf’s, causing a starey drool long enough...
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And If There Is A 'Meaning To Life' Wouldn't It...
Waking up in good moods. I never really knew that life but we were acquaintances, even though I’m forgetting the why and how. That’s an unfortunate side effect of burying your past: every year adds another layer to the grave and I just realized I dropped my cell phone in the coffin so I’m picking at memories like scabs until I hemorrhage again.
I don’t understand why but then again there are...
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And She's Not So Much A Brick House, More Like A...
She tastes like candy, purrs in my hands, melts in my mouth. A bedspread bandit, silk sheet thief of the night, small blonde beauty in a two piece; affection sold separately, some assembly required. And I don’t want to forget that face because baby its cold outside. When she bats her eyes and smiles at something she says and thinks is clever, I grow extra tongues, can’t seem to just...
4 tags
How To Get Over It, A Correspondence With My...
Dear My Girlfriends Psycho Ex Boyfriend,
Find a hobby. Write a book. Take walks. Make friends. I lose count of the women I see on the street. There are options, possibilities. Talk to the next bright eyed Jane that walks onto the bus, and if you’re the shy type go get drunk and stumble your way to what could be the best night of your life. There are so many other things you can focus on,...
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Lazy Poetry Is Lazy Pt VI
Line ‘em up line ‘em up
little glass soldiers
marching single file
down the wooden range
weapons at the ready
steady
aim
fire.
Draft chasers.
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He's Just Not That Into You Or Anything Really, So...
It was the strangest thing. When I stepped outside all I smelled was smoke but I couldn’t tell if there was something burning nearby or if I was.
“It’s bad for you,” she’d say, pointing to the rolled tabacco between my lips, and I didn’t feel like explaining how that was the best part.
Instead I talked about cancer, how it’s something I think of often....
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Lazy Poetry Is Lazy Pt V
Prose
before hoes
except
after woes.
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No We Are Not Watching Fucking Nemo Again Shut Up...
Hide glassware and small objects
cover sharp edges
plastic cups plastic plates
plastic bags full of snacks
and close doors so the little ones
don’t wander.
Lots of napkins for the spills
soda juices chips soda juices dip
and a Jack Danielles
just for me
and the headache that’s to come.
Funny how party proofing your apartment feels exactly like baby proofing your apartment.
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Lazy Poetry Is Lazy Pt IV
Judge not a friend
by the frequency of words
but quality of silence.
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Ask Me How My Weekend Was And I May Just Stab You
Ex’s are women I was once in a relationship with and I hate the word like I hate morning radio; sound effects and fake pleasantries. Good morning is another; something so repeated it loses all meaning but we keep saying it anyway - only out of habit out of courtesy out of sincerity out of our minds. ‘Good morning.’ What does that even mean? ‘A pleasant time of day.’...
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Last Personal Post Ever. Maybe. Probably. I Don't...
I’ve been thinking lately, which I suppose is a sign. I’ve been thinking of purpose, of writing, of why I do it. I started this Tumblr just for the sake of the hobby - to have a nest where all the heaps of notes and scribblings of my day could incubate. But recently that hasn’t been enough. I need a reason for it all, an unfortunate side effect of growing up where suddenly the world can’t just be...
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Could You Please Tell Me Today's Specials And Why...
There is something about breakfast alone at three in the afternoon in a shitty diner that brings out the optimist in me. A small bodied waitress took my order and as I mumbled want of eggs and bacon I couldn’t help but notice a soft desperation in her dull-eyed stare. Whether she expected salvation or a big tip I’ll never know: I didn’t have enough for either. With an empty nod she floated through...
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And What Kind Of Idiot Wears White After Labor...
“What the hell is your problem Henry?”
“You wanna know what my problem is? The other day I see this guy on the train reading some book with this bright red cover. And I take a nosey look to see the title like any normal human being, and see the book’s title says ‘How To Take People With You - Making The Little Things Get You Big Things’.”
...
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Sometimes You Need To Just Stop And Smell The...
City life can get to you. For the first time since as long as I can remember I decided to take a walk to nowhere in particular; to just walk down any street or avenue I was unfamiliar with to admire the lush scenery of busy streets and lives, possibly even note a bar or restaurant to visit some other day. Along the way I noticed my pace was fast and exhausted, a custom that comes from the rat race...
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Abhorrent Rhapsody
“I was a restless little fuck when I was young. I didn’t have any solid or ‘real’ reason for it either: my parents were married and happy, I was never abused, I had friends and girls to love and jade. And what did I do with all of it? Nothing but bullshit, buffoonery and bar fights; lashing out at people who didn’t deserve it. With my sleeves cuffed and ready to...
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Yeah So Even Trying To Write Happy Shit Doesn't...
It’s not love we’re really after,
just someone to appreciate
the fleeting intracacies
we think define us.
And when you first meet someone amazing
and see the magic in a text,
and feel that adventure in your heart,
because for a second you’re a kid again and
they’re full of possibilities -
enjoy it
while you can.
Chances are they’re actually horrible.
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Lazy Poetry Is Lazy Pt. II
I’m dying, he said. Look outside, she said. We all are.
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8 Out Of 10 Stars? Yeah Right. I'm Going To Write...
There’s something magical in the stillness of the night in my city. The feint glow of lamp posts light a dingy yellow brick road down scattered streets, and I follow the North Star like a wise man. My company has the grand gift of silence and extra strength menthol but will eventually burn out and leave me wondering why I bothered in the first place, dizzy stumbling over my own step and...
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Oh Internet, What Would I Do Without You? (Feel...
Depression is a funny thing. It sneaks tirelessly while I’m mindlessly buying groceries or silently singing along to songs on my headphones. Then suddenly, without warning, I feel its heavy weight fall and break on me one unexpected morning with a crippling apathy and inertia. I’ve spent the past two days in sweatpants, staring blankly at the high definition of lives on my television screen with...
1 tag
Lazy Poetry Is Lazy
And although I say I love you too really I just feel like proving you wrong.
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If You Came To Self Pity Put Your Hands Up
Crowded back seats, a choking lust for life, cigarette smoke and friends. My teens are a blurr my 20’s would consider premature and reckless between reflective recollection spurred by reminiscence or certain songs playing at just the right moment of drunken fleets of involuntary recall.
“What are you smiling at?” I’d feintly hear them ask as I measured exactly where to spill lament between...
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The Perfect Defense Against PDA Is To Stare At...
“Ideals are a funny thing. I live my life by them, but they’re tricky. For instance: today in the park I saw a total of six couples cuddled together in the freezing cold sharing lunch. Six entirely different groups of people doing the exact same thing. And logically (I am a creature of logic, after all) I just could not see the point. I tried to imagine myself in that situation and could...
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She Snorts When She Laughs Too And It's Gross But...
That secret in her smile, precious promise in her eyes: she is ineffable. (But there’s something between her thighs that is.) Most girls try too hard – all that mascara, and empty laughs but not her. She smelled like the beach and Sunday mornings reading poetry. It’s the way her brow wrinkles when she’s waiting to be amazed by books or good movies, the low chuckle her throat...
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“Perhaps, it is that flexible concept that defines relationships and how they...”
– Adrian Comeau
from Joey Comeau’s i am other people
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You Kids And Your Crazy Jazz Music And Huge Fangs...
Sweaty backs, scuffed sneakers, crackling voices and book bags. In an era when the day’s brief sunlight was born and spurred to death without the nagging nudge of clock hands but years loafed and doze like quilts across our dainty lives, slouching sheepishly to the next only when forced by Father and Winter Recess, my friends and I passed a derelict house with untended weeds as tall as our youth...
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An Open Letter Since You Don't Want To Be Friends
Dear YouKnowWhoYouAre,
I won’t ask how you’re doing because I know exactly how you’d answer to a question like that from a person like me. “Oh just fine,” Even if it isn’t. And it sucks. It sucks that you won’t tell me when the coffee girl got your drink wrong, and how psyched you are about the anthropological importance of half naked men in tribal...
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Can't We Just See A Movie Or Hate Each Other At...
Dukes was a quaint restaurant famous for it’s glamour and nothing more: a small gem of bourgeois finess and class the city wore proudly but never boasted of. Crowded columns lined with suits and bowtied staff waiting tables, swank amuse-gueule carted in bedazzled trays from Sighisoara, Toledo, Collioure, all with a curtly smile and accented detail of the afternoons plat du jour. Thin glass windows...
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Knock Boots For The Father, Twice For The Son,...
“You’re sick.” Arms folded at the door with disgust tucked behind a growl. “Congratulations, you’re the sickest fuck I’ve ever known.” And she stood there staring, waiting for a shame that would never come.
“…Well? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” And I did, but not what she was expecting.
“This is so unexpected, I didn’t even prepare a speech.” I said standing, holding the nearby...
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But Would It Kill You To Get On Top For Once?...
I want you, bad. To measure your flesh with my hands, smear portraits all over messy bedroom floors and kitchen counters by the sink and dirty dishes we said we’d get to later because we’re young. Or maybe in the park where the mud, thick underbrush, and rain paints our bodies to cleanse the canvas until we’re innocent and impressionable again. (And I hear doing it outside is totally...
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It's Kind of Like Porn, But Instead My Feelings...
From my window there’s a building in the deepest edge of the horizon, with bulbs just barely out of reach that anchor me like a lighthouse to memories of drunk bliss unrecognizable in any other shore. Sometimes I smile at the reminiscent reverie, imagening all I ever loved a tenant in the project housing complex my sober alter ego knew all too well lied on the corner of _____ and ______. ...
6 tags
You Only Live Once So Just Fuck Up While You Can
It was cold that night - not that it made any difference to you back then. With your first step out of the smothering embrace of a stuffy building, the cold wintry air was a stifling but liberating pang against your lungs. There was something indefinably invigorating about leaving the warm pleasantry of home into the unforgivingly bitter night at so late an hour. The tender, luminous bulbs from...
6 tags
But Anyway, Nice Shoes. You Come Here Often?
“When I list the people I find most fascinating in the world, I notice they are usually extraordinary writers or artist with some vague personal impasse in a constant war with formless phantoms across a battlefield of dyed canvases or bloody sheets of paper. I know this because there’s a sense of loneliness, regardless of endless company or love, which escorts this unprecedented and...
7 tags
Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous
A collection of short stories about the women of I’ve never slept with.
Preface: Grandma
Dear Sherry,
Did you…seriously handwrite a letter and put a “lol” in it? That makes sense over an e-mail or cellular text message but on paper it looks pretty ridiculous (and downright stupid) so as I predicted, you are ruining this pen-pal experience for me.
Congratulations.
So...
This Broadcast Is Sponsored By - Massive Fucking...
Happy new year, Tumblr. I’ve grown: as a writer and a person thanks to this site. So thank you, all of you, who take the time to read my senseless fictions. I will be starting a new project this year titled
“Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous: A Collection of Short Stories About The Women I’ve Never Slept With.”
The title is self explanatory.
I will be using actual...
December 2011
11 posts
7 tags
My Justine Is Way Hotter Than Annabel Lee
Do you remember, mon cheri? How much I’d rant and scream? How much change I wished to bring to this world, this dreary world, so dead and disbelieving? Well maybe, just maybe, I might be changing these things, some very important things, perhaps a place or places seen, though there are oceans in between, I’m on my way to there Justine. But it’s just the start, you see, I’ll give...
8 tags
Popped Collars; Douchebag Marauders
Friday night so you know I need more shots and some fine chic(k) to get my lips wet brah. This place is hold up this song is my shit !!!!!!! Another round of Jager bombs slapping fist and yo did you see the game last night and never mind you see that ass? Bartender was totally checking me out. She winked, at me, ‘cuz you’re ugly. Why you mad? You know she wants...
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I Told My Therapist About You, So I Guess We're...
‘Work is for the boring and luck is for the privileged.’
She said that to me once, on the corner of 76th and Broadway at a red light in the foggy confines of my crappy car on a rainy Tuesday. I never really understood what she meant, or why I missed her like death. But she was married now and I was finally ok with that. (I bet he doesn’t even make you laugh the way I do did.) ...
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And Why The Hell Are There Ads to Learn English...
“You think I’m just dumb right? I know I’m dumb. But I’ve got this novel in my head, you know? I just can’t ever seem to get it out of there. It’s because I’m lazy. Boy, am I lazy. But this story man. It’s good, I just know it is. What? How do I know? I just do, man. I know this story is good the way you know the sun’s warm or when people are...
6 tags
If You're Sexy And You Know It You're Probably...
Writers are usually pretty ugly. Well, at least the good ones always are. The real ones. Google anyone who’s ever written anything worth a damn, but make sure you take a good and honest look. Don’t start staring at them with those reader goggles. Reader goggles are a lot like beer goggles, except you trick yourself into thinking ugly is attractive because of personality. Women think they have this...