this is a story about praying late at night that your headache is a tumor.
this is a story about praying late at night that your headache is a tumor.
while you are sleeping we have snuck out and stolen everything. everything that is beautiful, we have taken and hidden. everything that is ugly we have taken and hidden. we took it all and now it’s ours. when you wake. you will not understand ANYTHING.
and i saw him again last night, while i was trying to get to sleep. his face washed past like a cloud. like the ultrasound. i desperately wanted him to look up towards me, but he didn’t. he couldn’t. and i lay there making a deal with god. that if i could stay awake all night, that he’d be okay. but i fell asleep. and when i woke up i’d first thought i’d forgotten, but i hadn’t. and the fear and the pain poured down on me again.
we woke up just on time. we learnt nothing from the dreams we could remember and laughed at the ones we forgot. despite pretending we cared, we didn’t put effort into being effortless. we had earned nothing from nobody. not the slightest bit of respect or admiration.
we took what we wanted. we muttered to ourselves and it all made sense. we climbed on roofs and ignored the stars. we looked down and the world and decided it was ours. we ran like clouds across the moon. we howled like wolves in our lungs when we would stop. but we did not stop. at least not when we could be seen. we would never stop. the dark was to hide us, the moon so our silhouettes could live. the cold was to cool us. we would vanish into the dark and steal the night. we flew and we laughed.
everybody was dead. everything was not ours to have. we took everything.
for christmas one year i bought her the same perfume that my ex-wife had. on nights that she wore it, i loved her more
it’s rare for good news to ever change you with the strength that bad news can.
the closest thing he got to a shower was a KFC moist towelette
Brian always liked my blue Ralph Lauren shirt best, I wore it to his funeral, then I never wore it again. I gave all those clothes to the salvation army.
outside. a dog running across the backs of sheep. the dust blowing, rising to try to live like clouds. i lost my hat as we rode our bikes past the cattle yards, but i wasn’t worried, i knew it’d show up again (it didn’t)
inside. a large buzzing blowie, rolled and bounced along the window sill like a sultana that thought it was a spring.
at home. checking the letterbox too early and closing the open gate.
the sun is always setting and to my eyes i don’t know that is rises. it’s not my childhood.
in the mornings I tell myself I’ll stop drinking. by the afternoon I’ll have one to settle myself and feel normal and by night I’ll be drunk again and its all okay again.
it’ll be in the morning. the sky will be orange bleeding into red and crimson. the clouds will be silver edged and as still as a painting. i’ll be driving upward away from the city. i feel the rush. the slope of the hill reaches it’s peak. my face is warmed by the rising sun finally shining on me. then as i start to ride down the other side, the car speeds up and it gently pulls across to the right. approaching me on the other side is a truck; it’s so close i can hear it. it eclipses the sun. a block of cold shining metal and wheels, and my arms are turning the car more and more towards it. my eyes open wider and i watch myself smile in the mirror. then, just as metal grinds into oncoming metal, as the horn burns through my ears, i unclip my seat belt.
then, most times in an intense glass shattering flash i’ll wake up.
but not this day. i lived this moment with a sense of dejavu, and i stayed awake in the dream.
i felt it all. i lived death in full consciousness. my body grinded through metal and glass. ripped and stripped apart. i flew in all directions and spread my blood and bones and teeth across the asphalt. i felt it all.
and only after flying up up in the morning air, looking down upon the bloody mess and smoking debris i gradually swim into waking like.
and i awoke more than i felt i ever had.
after the car crash, there wasn’t much else to say.
last night I overheard a hipster arguing with a homeless guy about why his fashion choices were more genuine
up the lookout watching the sun sink behind the hills. and the small bright dots weave and blink across the paths. a dozen roos bound across the dirt between the trees and nights dark sweeps through you and me. i watch the life in your heart warm as the stars fill up the sky. and i know the night will last long, as long as you never let me go.
i have a weak stomach. and when the lady sitting out front the 711 threw up, i almost did too. she sat on the ground with her bag next to her. a small sign had some worn illegible script. she didn’t move to vomit, she just lent over to the side. it splashed around on the ground right next to her leg. she, overall, didn’t seem shocked or upset.
