Friday, February 14, 2025

2 Minutes. Go!

There's frost on the memory. It flashes cold, but bright. It finds a way to get inside of you. You take the memory out and inspect it every once in a while...see how the years have been treating it. See if you can still make it bounce off the wall. 

Memories can be smooth or they can have sharp edges. They can be a worry stone, or they can cut you to the bone. Memory is something you shouldn't fuck with. Memory is your lifeline. Your shield against the world. 

We try to categorize memories into good and bad, but they can switch categories. Memory is fickle. Memory has seasons. 

The sun will warm you. The sun will melt the cold. The sun won't erase the memory, but it is a momentary solace. 

So, bask in it.

Friday, February 7, 2025

2 Minutes. Go!

The whistling sound you hear is the other shoe dropping...it just takes a while. Something about wind resistance or inertia. Some seventh grade science thing. Point is, you know it's coming, and you can almost feel it. The slap of sneaker tread against your face.

Shoe aerodynamics aside, this is not altogether a crazy occurence...shoes are falling all the time. Sometimes they're little and don't make much of an impact. Sometimes they're combat boots, and the steel toes can kill you.

Still, you can't go around dodging shoes that might drop. You'd drive yourself crazy. You'd crimp your back up. It would be bad for your spine and posture. Your friends will find you odd.

Maybe I'll just walk on my hands. Catch those shoes on my feet where they belong. Or maybe the euthanasia shoe is coming, and I should just smile and wait. 

You never know. Maybe this time it will land on the other foot, and I'll get to watch.


Friday, January 31, 2025

2 Minutes. Go!

The witches switch it up sometimes...they come in the daylight. They come in pairs and alone and in small groups. They are silent in their power, but the children don't fear them. They are not evil witches. They are the ones that protect people from evil. 

There are old timers in the village who lick slick lips and yearn for blood. They are predatory. The children know all about them, which is why they love the witches.

I am not a witch, but I know them. I see them. I see what they do. 

Someday, I will reward them. Someday, the witches will be celebrated. 

Someday...

Friday, January 24, 2025

2 Minutes. Go!

It's the expectations that are killing you. You expect the world to be something it is not, and then you are disappointed. How could you not be? Your feel good moments don't matter, but you think they do, and you are shocked that things always work out the way you think they shouldn't.

Who are you to ask the world to not be cruel? Look around you. Life IS cruelty. You want to think you can rise above it because you have a bigger brain than a deer has. But it's the same shit. Same game, different arena. In ours, it is easier to convince yourself that things should be good, that the world should make you smile.

Look at the hyenas. They don't expect shit from life, and they are doing great. Lower your standards. Subvert your expectations. Expect the ugliness that is sure to come. Then, you won't be surprised - you won't be thrown off. Expect the worst and you're never wrong. You can manifest anything.

That's the animal in man.

Friday, January 17, 2025

2 Minutes. Go!

I didn't see the sun go down. Didn't feel the cold wind as it scuttled the dry corn scattered across the floor. I didn't hear the hoot owl when it hooted. And maybe it hooted twice which is a voodoo that I don't fuck around with.

I didn't love her at first, but I quickly grew to tolerate her. She was a force. She whipped the tops of the trees when she left the house. And she was never comfortable inside. I would find her, late at night, curled up under the moon, making puppy noises in her sleep.

When the fire started, I couldn't find her. I could sense that she was gone. I stood in the damp grass and watched that old wooden house burn to the ground.

She came back a few weeks later, but it was never the same. She was haunted in a new way. She trusted no one. 

Not even me.

Friday, January 10, 2025

2 Minutes. Go!

You put your hand through the glass and the skin parts and the blood comes...it's like a magic trick. Through the thickness in your eyes, you stare at it, amazed. The cause and effect are so swift and narrow. There is solace there. No unexpected consequences. If only the rest of your life would behave in the same way. 

The blood, the thinness of the blood, disturbs the feeling. It is too pink, and it runs too fast. It's like your blood is missing some crucial component. Some life force. Like you're running on unleaded gas. 

In the morning, none of it will make any sense. You'll judge yourself and your lack of restraint. You'll accuse yourself of grand delusions. You will feel thin and sickly like your blood. You might even still taste it, along with the stale smoke and the recriminations....the frantic search for recollection. 

You'll do it again. That's the stupidest part of the whole thing. You can't wait to do it again. You have to because the alternative is even worse. 

But dog hair always tastes awful.


Friday, January 3, 2025

2 Minutes. Go!

I wrote this because I felt the words inside me. 

A burning sensation. It called for a reckoning; a bloodletting. 

A murder of black, night crows…you are shivering in the moonlight, insoluble, protected. 

When the sun rises, the truth rises, too. anyhow. 

anywho.