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  2008.04.26  11.28

i'm not sure if anyone reads this journal anymore. but! here is the story i just finished. some minor revisions will follow but mostly its done.


  2007.11.29  20.06

sudden love


  2007.11.29  20.06

a physical silence


  2006.10.26  21.15

laying in a roadside ditch, i turn, look over my shoulder, see nothing but distance.


  2006.10.26  20.55

&  on his wrist, scribbling the word blowtorch


  2006.10.26  20.46

sheetless bed, dirty hair, dialing a ditch in the midwest.


  2006.10.26  20.41

a cup with my lip raised always to the rim


  2006.08.05  15.13

hold hand wash hand


  2006.07.27  00.17

there are bibles i cannot touch


  2006.07.11  22.14


  2006.03.07  23.49

(assingment for psych of emotions class: write a paragraph on each pleasure, anger, fear)

One: He calls Georgia on the phone to get off. But she’s sitting in a coffeeshop & can you wait till I get to the car? She likes him the best. His orgasm’s small, not unlike the sound the neighborhood cat made when her cousin Steve took a knife to its belly. Mark shoptalks while she walks to the parking lot. What tea are you drinking? Wearing? She’s already laughing at him; he thinks its her breathing. In the car she puts on a song about a boy hung, swinging from a ceiling fan. Mark gasps I’m going to come, I’m going to come. & its like that time with the cat & how Steve wanted to teach, see her eyes widen in disbelief, but as Steve washed his hands in the kitchen sink, Georgia only laughed.

Two: Steve says What the fuck are you laughing at? He's just gutted the neighborhood cat. The first time he killed an animal, his older brother chanted faster faster! & Steve? Sleelpless for a week. It was a chicken, head lopped. Steve saw feathers every time he shut his eyes. It got easier, though, each time he showed a younger sibling how life worked. But when Georgia laughed, Steve smoldered. And even when he threw the dead cat through a window pane, grabbed a shard, held it to Georgia's face, she didn’t stop.

Three: You can’t let them know. Shaking? Play it off as breathless, as laughing. They won’t know, Georgia thinks, learned this age eight. Steve trying to get me whitefaced. He grabs this piece of glass, dangles it before my face. He wants to teach me something. I am unsure. I cannot think, this shake. When I piss my pants, I shout to him IT FELT FUCKING GOOD! & I want to prove am not a pussy. But then the shake starts again, that fucking body tremor, no wait the breathing. I was only laughing.


  2006.03.05  21.13

moving through stillnessCollapse )


  2006.02.19  16.48

girl’s throat slit two blocks south so when walking, i now carry a liscence for identification. of the body bound to a tree, arms strung, legs spread. an x. as if i was marking something or better yet welcoming. how when they slit her throat, they left her eyes open. & when the city caught the boys responsible, the guilty said & how blue they were.


  2006.02.19  16.46

the alcoholic who affirms the mouth’s his main erogenous zone. lit professor from freshman year sitting alone at the park till i walk over & god, yr so young. he wants to talk about indierock, then god, how sharp steeples are. he says my papers really sucked, such rush & do you believe in god? he asks again. i do? he prays for the baby he helped extinguish at fourteen, then repeats my age to himself silently.


  2006.02.13  20.57

state mandated soap issued in attempt to promote chastity causes only disappearance. of pants & turtlenecks from department stores with stained carpet. & somewhere there are people on a bus who keep tugging their sleeves, who changed in the mall bathroom. they tug again, embarrassed by their skin’s cleanliness.


  2006.02.13  20.55

a child sees feathers whenever he closes his eyes. later he will see the feathers floating soundlessly through air that doesn't care a bit about the feather's softness. then he will see the dead chicken from which the feathers are plucked & realize he is the chicken, the farmer too who plucks with his gaze fixed on a spider web. the boy is also the sound, he discovers, of the pluck. the dead chicken's skin rising up, then falling again, smacking the fat & bones beneath.


  2006.02.13  20.53

tonight you sat on the porch awaiting a storm that had nothing to do with you & therefore could love it. the boy next to you, stoned so wholly, stammered if i died no one would notice. confused, you asked isnt that the point? to be standing in the courtyard at school, undoing yr braids, shaking a pound of bound hair loose. & no one noticing. & if by chance, now, a strand strayed, no one would notice either. the strand would rest in a puddle in the left hand corner. & everyday for a month, when you come home drunk, barely able to climb to stairs, you would not notice the hair or the moon spitting its anonymous light or even the dead bird strung in the oak as a neighbor's cruel joke. you would simply unlock the door, forget to remove the key, then fall asleep to the tune of someone's clumsy piano. & you would never again think of emptiness or of talking to yr cat with your hair wet from the shower. you would simply exist as a movement that, while moving, never ventures further than redundancy. you see yrself as the dull air that gets caught between the leaves of an oak tree at night, during a february storm, that means nothing.


  2005.11.30  19.42

up! up!


  2005.11.29  00.05

sluggish when waking. bones must rememorize their casing.


  2005.11.27  22.30

the secret's both the event & its nonexistence


  2005.11.24  15.11

dark but festive


  2005.11.19  20.22

all afternoon blink & hear the shift of eye against lid.


  2005.11.15  09.52

back to unbearable


  2005.11.10  09.34

the wild impossibility


  2005.11.05  12.50

eating salt as not to be sweet


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