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Hole

Oct. 28th, 2009 | 10:57 pm

I remember as kids digging a hole in the sandbox in the backyard. We wanted to see how far we could go. We dug all day. We dug past the foundation of the house, past the brown earth and the yellow earth to the white rocky earth we could barely pierce with our shovels. We dug until the rim was well over our heads and our shovels became catapults launching dirt piles to who-knows-where. We dug until we hit water. And we laughed. What is water doing here? We thought. To us, it was like finding China. And no matter how much we bailed it always filled back in. A tiny lake of infinite water. I wondered if somehow it was connected to all of the water on Earth through secret places beneath the ground. I sat there, my dirty knees at its edge, until my face stopped quivering and a giant cloud positioned itself overhead like a giant white afro. My mom called me for dinner and in rising something fell through the surface turning the smiling boy to ripples. I have only just now realized it hadn’t been a pebble as I thought. It was me. That day was the last day I was ever happy and for years know I have lied trapped in the muddy puddle, whose endless waters are the neverending tears I now try to bail before I drown. I don’t know what it means that nobody ever came looking. I guess at this point that nobody will. And I wonder if I should just close my eyes and sink into the secret of the world’s sorrow.

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lessons

Oct. 26th, 2009 | 09:15 pm

I bought a swimsuit already. Do you remember I was going to teach you to swim? And the world was going to fade away. All except for the mirror you floated on and your smiles that dance like butterflies in my eyes. The universe nothing but these two fishes. The water is getting cold. I swim in this bowl alone. I don’t know why we missed. We were on a head-on collision but somehow passed right through one another. Your trace is all over me like dust. I cannot breathe. I am not a fish. Why’d you leave me here alone? You were going to teach me to fly. That was the deal. Flying for swimming. I guess that is a lesson learned. Be taught to fly before you jump in the water to teach the bird to swim.

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wisdom

Oct. 16th, 2009 | 10:56 pm

Sexfucius says:
Climax is only the beginning of Orgasm.

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ohttt

Oct. 10th, 2009 | 11:41 am

only hearts tell the truth

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Erectile ???

Sep. 27th, 2009 | 10:36 pm

What would you call the opposite of Erectile Dysfunction (ED). You know, the condition where you have erections all the time. That's what I seem to have.

Here are some possibilities. Erectile Maxifunction, Erectile Ultrafunction, Erectile Hyperfunction, Erectile Megafunction, Erectile Overfunction, Erectile Superfunction. I kind of like the Erectile Hyperfunction one (EH).

What's the punchline for Cialis? "When the moment is right". So for EH medication the punchline could be "When the moment isn't right". Imagine the hilarious commercials you could make for that.

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where?

Sep. 27th, 2009 | 01:31 am

We line our cities with trash, paving them with blood and leftover ashes.

Where are the cities that live
like my body breathes for you.
Where are the cities that cry
like the rain that never seems to stop.
Where are the cities where
no one is hidden, no one lost, and
Everyone feels like your friend.

They went down in a tempest.
They are swallowed up in sorrow.

We have lit one fire too many to put out and the cloud of our demise chokes even those already in heaven and we climb up the dirty plume like ants to collect the only honey left.

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sheets

Sep. 25th, 2009 | 10:38 pm

We were texting while I wandered around Target’s linen aisles looking for sheets for the bed I had just bought. She told me she would have helped. I didn’t know it was going to be so complicated. She told me what colors she likes and it was almost like we were doing it together.

Her and I.

The girl I thought was in love with me. The girl I thought was the one. The girl whose face had started appearing in all future possibilities.

The bed wasn’t meant for her. Not immediately. It was just a series of upgrades I had been making to myself and to my home so that there would actually be room for someone else. I have been living in a box for so long, busily collecting and hiding secrets like a squirrel. I thought that was finally about to change. I let that little hope creep into my black heart and paint some color on the walls. But no one could have known just how dark it was in there. The bright walls curled up and died like plastic in a fire.

There is no room for happiness in here. Pain covers the walls like moss. The real darkness isn’t in anything you can touch. Not on the walls. Not an old mattress, easily replaced with new. The real darkness is frightful like monsters under the bed. It is frightful like the knife in your hand that seems to be the only thing offering a solution. I long to see the metal stained with my sap. To see the debris of my loneliness swept away in the tiny flood.

I would do it on the bed. On the dark red sheets she suggested I buy. And did. You wouldn’t even see it coming out. I would just melt away like a chocolate bar in dirt under the sun.

But I can’t do it. I have already made the bed. Folded the sheets, stacked the pillows, like I do every morning. It is ready for her. Ready for that day that will never come.

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Gin

Sep. 21st, 2009 | 07:33 pm

I sit here staring at a bottle of gin, dust on its top, pulled from the cupboard where it has sat for years. It holds me like I were an alcoholic. But I have never actually drank any. I have never been drunk. But occasionally, though not for a long time I will open it and breathe in a puff of its vapor just to get a sense of what it could do for me; to me. Then I put it back in the cupboard. But not tonight. This night I can’t make it through and it seems better than the knife I had in my hand earlier but I am not sure. So I stare at my gin and long for the oblivion it could burn me into.

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Army Men

Sep. 21st, 2009 | 12:19 am

It is hard going through the motions of life. Doing things you did before because you just don’t have any idea what else to do. And you start to become painfully clear of the difference between the two having once did them for someone who mattered. And the pain of losing them is like a dripping faucet that just won’t fucking stop.

I find myself sometimes standing in my apartment unsure exactly of how long I have been there, staring at nothing in particular. As if her absence has ripped invisible voids all through my world that I wander into and get trapped.

I think I remember being a little boy once. I would play all day in the sandbox and nothing else mattered. All I have now are my tears and you just can’t grab a hold of them no matter how hard you try - can’t sculpt them into 2” castles and wage imaginary wars. All you can do is sit and watch them turn into salt.

I am an alchemist.
I am a master.

Underneath the sun all things eventually burn away.

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Madlib

May. 9th, 2009 | 07:36 pm

And I am going to go home, turn on the news and see how many people have died today.

A murder, a stabbing, a family burned to death in their home. It is like a psychopath’s Madlibs. The stories never really change they just fill in the blanks.

They pop up one after another like apples in a bucket you can never quite grasp.

What am I doing here? How many times have I looked up at the clock at 11:11? It doesn’t mean anything, because I do not believe in chance or the fates. I have allowed in my life no answers for the things that just don’t make sense. And with that life is a hard thing to face.

In the absence of God, I realize that there is no future but Doom. That despair hits me like a zombie movie.

Light was just the illusion to keep me breathing long enough to be fooled by hope.

Five. Five people died today on the news. I swallow that with my Kung Pao Chicken and Steamed Rice.

I turn off the TV. Glance out the window before bed as I always do. In the dark and the hollowness my breath breaks invisible on the glass. But maybe it is just ice, frozen water that will melt if the sun ever rises

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