7 For All Mankind

Sins, it must be. What else justifies the prestige and snobbery wrapping itself around my ass? It's all in how you wear it, I've been telling myself. That, I suppose, is the challenge.

I try to figure out what's happening around me by listening to music. I forget myself, I forget faces, I put the other earbud in and wait to remember. Meanwhile, I have thickfreakness; I have blurred visions and singsong signs and a 180-degree turn with third-degree burns. I hold my breath.

Tile

Have you ever filled your mouth with water in the shower and bent backwards slightly and closed your mouth slowly to let the water stream down either side of your face? Probably not, but that's not the point.

Skid

beer
hit from a joint
drag from a cig
half of a beer
hit from a joint
hit from a joint
the sky
two thirds of a beer
pee on rocks
the dark
window open
window closed
window open a little
window closed

O.M.M.

This is how the album begins:

When I met you I was just a kid
hadn’t built up my defenses
so I gave my heart completely
Vaseline over the lenses
memories don’t go away
I remember every day

I never ever stopped wondering
Wondering if you still think of us
I don’t need a photograph
cause you never left my mind
No you never left my mind

I remember feeling like a ship
whose captain was too drunk to steer
and you watched as I was sinking
waving sadly from the pier

It’s such a burden to carry ’round
the vestiges of dead dreams
and I don’t want to make a wake out of my life
I just have to let you go

Hospital Beds

Questions arise.

Why do I feel so unattractive? What kept me from getting bad vibes in January? Why am I not ready for my license test tomorrow? Why does this guy talk to me like I'm being quarantined? And why does my head hurt so... damn... bad?

No Mysteries

“I want to cause you more pain than you’ve ever felt,” he said.
“Fair enough,” she said.

Magically, she could taste everything: the molten liquor of adrenaline, the swirling saltiness of fear, the spiced chocolate of passion, and a strong bitterness. She tasted the threadbare carpet below her feet and the hushed air above her head; with her navel, she tasted steel.

They stood nose-to-nose, iris-to-iris. Their eyes were the same color, a greenish blue found in choppy ocean waters. Between their dueling minds, nothing much was ever needed to be said.

When the gun trembled in his hand, just once, it was a sweet and sour taste she didn’t understand. His eyes revealed nothing as he steadied himself with icy resignation. She inhaled and he exhaled. Both of their watches had stopped.

He pulled the trigger. She was flooded with the taste of water. Lead met bile, love met hate.

What Now, Mr. Jagger?

This week, I got exactly what I wanted. I dropped Spanish and took on Writer's Craft. It was an impulsive decision, carried out brutally.

"I wonder if this will be a trend," she said, looking pointedly towards Menlo Park. I wonder also if getting what I want is what I need.