Categories
Writing

Passenger Seat

Sicker than a sticker on streets like splat

Whatever the word was

Just jiggle the keys and I’ll juggle the rest

Categories
creative nonfiction Writing

Morning Egg

It’s still early enough

And I need to get the juices flowing

My fingers and hands stay remarkable still, though I’m an anxious mess each morning

The execution is so key to the end result

The first, loud click is heard throughout my apartment.

Then the next

Before I know it, I’m looking at a short two sentences sure to start a verbal war on Twitter.

I start, “This may be an unpopular opinion and I may be suspended for it…”

Categories
creative nonfiction Poetry Writing

Unloving Love

Today, I’m at the freehand on Ohio (19 E), feeling fortunate that I can leave

then to

somewhere to sleep the same night

then to

my need to rush the gauntlet where people (are meant to) battle to meet (but ultimately fall short of) my lofty expectations

then to:

negative ruminations behind

and a mind to be sure when this happens next time…

I’ll end the war in a loft

some place more than just “somewhere to sleep the same night”

Categories
Poetry Writing

The Truth of The Spare Tire

What do I have a spare tire for? I don’t even know how to drive.

I told my friend I didn’t have friends and he agreed. I wanted to meet new people, but then I couldn’t find any good reason I’d leave my place to meet people.

Categories
creative nonfiction Writing

The 12:20 Ride

Alecs was lucky to be able to hop into this Uber. It was under $8 on a route they’d been taking for months. At the beginning of February the price averaged as low as $6. These days, the lowest has been $13. Now, the other passenger pipes, “Why don’t you try driving for Lyft? I hear they pay well.” It donned on him: ride share apps are so communal in their design that the people (passenger and drivers) will always be on the same side–despite some of those thinly-veiled attempts to pit drivers and passengers against each other, disguised as emails explaining price differences.

Although he had a question for the other passenger, he thought it better to let the thought die in his head than ruin this ‘carpool’ that landed them together 2 days out of every week at 5:40 each morning.

“Why would you want someone to drive for the company with which you chose not to do business? For whatever reason, this Uber ride made more sense for you. In my case the decision was financial. Whatever your reasoning, you got into this car using one app and suggested the driver do the exact opposite. Perhaps this is part of your grand scheme. The more drivers leave Uber, the less drivers the company will need to pay for idling. The cheaper your Uber rides will be in four months. For about eight weeks straight. Right before the prices soar again. You know, due to lack of sufficient drivers.

The most difficult part of Alecs’ days were sharing spaces with strangers and trying to prevent a screwed up face. Now all is covered like silent show and long gone are the days of shared rides. What was once nonsense-talk to carry on conversation, now feels like a monologue belched out on an island shared with no one. What some of us wouldn’t do to catch water-cooler talk! To speak to someone in the car and get as wrapped up in details as you both allow until the end of your trip together. How deeply we used to be wrapped up in the details!

Categories
Uncategorized

Should Not Even Be A Word

What is not gradient?
What flow of time isn’t eventual memory loss?

What remembrance wasn’t each day feeling the real thing less and less and then transferring sensation into delusional perception—for the sake of not fading?

What isn’t gradient?
It should not even be a word.

What catatonic love wasn’t daily forgetting why anything was worth the efforts?

Who is born as man?
Who is born, skin already taught?
Flesh nearly ready to burst?
Ready to give up into deadly

nothing but still


Floating into air like interpretive dance and all muscles pulsing?
Who is born man?

What song isn’t transition from now until the end?

Categories
Writing

Sour Daze

An original prompt from GigiInRealLife on Instagram

I melt right down to sticky glaze thinking those sweet cherubs had to be consoled of me. Seeing those faces in the yearbooks past, I wonder if I’ve done my job well enough.

Old friends I’ve tormented tell me it made them stronger — made the smiles afterward longer lasting.

Over the years, these dear little snots got softer around their edges.

Posters reading “you are beautiful” and “it gets better” went up.

The board said it warmed some certain groups of students.

“Which ones?” I spat.

“Well, all of them,” they declared. Setting up undue refuge from me.

As in wartime, the sour times do not simply cancel out the daydreams. On the contrary!

They’re complementary.

I alone embedded memories in them with the tools of emotion. Pathos my only lesson plan.

My methods remain tried and true!

Those little suckers pained and stretched and waxed greater.

The biting complements the saccharine.

My old friends, they tell me, “Everything in my life comes back to my times with you. What I wouldn’t give to taste the daze again –– sour, sweet, then gone.”

Monday May 11, 2020