December 2010
1 post
lazysunday
As my days march on, collapsing one into the other, into the other, into the other- I will not remember this Sunday. But this Sunday, like the ones before it: was doomed before it began. The fragile debt owed to this limitless space of doing things for a few dozen consecutive hours; it all emerges out of a place of great hope. Hope that things could be better for a little while. So this...
November 2010
1 post
soft skin
When I was a child I could tell my nose from my fingertips, it all felt mechanical, and it wasn’t mine. It was my mother’s and my father’s, it was of my flesh unto itself, and I, a passive operator of this thing I could not steer. I put my legs in front of each other at different paces, and there they would sway to take me down streets, away from home, away from the place of...
June 2010
1 post
weaken your lungs
This is a story about desiring to prematurely sink your teeth into the fruits of your labour when it’s not yet your time…or something.
My eyes are dripping from something sublime miles away from my feet. I can barely get my lids to dip below the half-way point, exposing the black to the hazy rays holding their attention. I stopped blinking days ago. “There it is” I said out loud,...
May 2010
4 posts
fool's song
Let me keep you for the infinite days, as our days collide with their due expiration, your face will be sweeter each day that I am without you. Only then could you be so lovely. In the Great Death of the space two bodies one occupied, the residue of a man is but his wit, his charm, and unfailing force-nothing more. Not the cruelty, nor the words, unrepeatable. Washed with the tide. And what...
coastal veteran
I operate inside the grand delusion that this life, or my existence, specifically, should be entirely pleasing and possess elements of romance. And yes, naturally, my reality hopelessly falls short. I refuse to respond to this kindly. Since I was a child, I grew up with the great misfortune (or burden) of imagination, and my hope to stretch this infiniteness beyond it’s own...
And the Good Lord made California
The ones who grew out of your grass stay mostly indoors now. They are the greedy kind, the unfortunate few who only know of the sun. Their hands are soft. Their eyes are dull to the piercing ball of fire that dips into the Pacific every late afternoon, and their skin is dark enough not to budge in the midday heat, a place where tanlines are buried to rest. Their skin is not fit for all seasons....
fina cura
Before you came around, I thought the sweater on my back looked just fine. I thought my impossibly swept hair would survive the mediocrity of it sitting on my troubled head. I longed for nothing. I hungered for nothing, because I’d tasted it all. Before my eyes had the misfortune of tracing the outsides of your lips I could sit quietly and happily in my own solitude, disrupted...
April 2010
10 posts
why not float?
andreadyer:
pierette
this will be a short film.
Breath ran out of lungs as if someone pricked the two balloons underneath my ribcage. I was wheezing these ginger ale inhales that burned my throat. Nothing worked. I couldn’t catch it. I watched the air float upwards and all I could do was outstretch my arms to the moon watching pockets of air retreat just out of reach from sweaty palms....
the proud highway
This space, although originally intended to house mostly creative short stories, has unintentionally started to show it’s wear, leaving traces of myself too close for comfort. It could be too soon to tell, but I’m self aware enough to predict the early urges to quote Hunter S. Thompson. The journal entries and crises so common to people my age, tucked comfortably and...
west coast wonderful
I’m experimenting with the excercise of free hand writing, so I wrote this quickly, bear with the grammar..
15.04.10- 19.04.10
I thought I should write this before the thundering clamor rings and dissipates from my skull, leaking all the thoughts that swim only in backseats of cars to the tune of some kind of orchestral hum. The grand accumulation of idle time [FINALLY] in hopes of...
what is free to a good home?
Unemployment has conquered the better part of this house as one more roommate has left the grind and given up the ghost. Now only one of us has a job to their name, but at this rate, who really knows. Below is a brief poem that explains my general disposition, or rather, the ethos of this house. Mind you, this is likely the first poem I’ve written since gradeschool. I’ll keep it...
dreams old men dream
I wrote this a long time ago.
There’s a perpetual smile hanging from the sides of Brooks’ face. The kind that makes you want to ask him all sorts of things, because you can’t help but find comfort in his response. His weathered face only plays witness to the strange and many years he’s felt the breathing of the earth and mourned the absence of her children.
Waking to the morning of his...
two-headed boy
written for my friend kenny, a long while ago. I closed my eyes and pointed my finger to a track on a neutral milk hotel album and started writing. this is what came out:
As the setting sun blazes and rips through the western sky, a young Kenny Laubbacher dangled from a tree and watched it dip like an egg yolk from it’s shell back into the earth. He prefers this...
the misadventures of little corder
Preface:
My name is Russ Corder, and this is a diary of the greatest feat ever achieved by a young boy. Within these pages, I will document the prolonging of my twelfth year of life. Before I divulge the rather simple method by which I will do so, I must lend resolve to such a decision.
* there is no way that this plan is feasible. All of Russ’ attempts to reason with the future will end...
in defense of the young
My apprehensions about writing this were annihilated immediately when the signs of all signs solidified that this needed to be said.Let me suggest one thing: write. even, and especially when you’re afraid to.
This is an open letter to the working class. I began working right after college. I majored in journalism then ended up on the road travelling and speaking for non profits,...
hi, hello.
my name is nada.
you can read some of my stories here.
they may not be all that good, but they also might be really good.
I also have a music blog called ‘friend with both arms’ you should read that too.