I had a dream about Muni the other night. It was scary. The bus, of course, was late. And packed. And going the wrong way. And everybody was wearing a costume. And puking on the seats. And I got off at the wrong stop. And had to walk all the way home. Which is probably […]
Yearly Archives: 2011
On semantics, and other unconstitutional things
Monday, October 10, 2011
Congress shall make no law But your local municipality may require you to obtain a permit allowing you to peacefully assemble, to petition the government. And the supreme court says that these requirements for permits are okay. Because the state must be free to sanction free speech. And without a permit to gather from the […]
The letter writer
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
In the city, the street always loud and bright with light. At two in the morning, stumbling towards home from Tenderloin bars. Buses and fire trucks. Hundreds of thousands of people. Sleeping, snoring, yelling, fucking. Noise surrounding noise. Now, deep underground. No streets. Only railroad and highways. No people. Only metal and glass and cargo. […]
On free will, and other predetermined things
Monday, September 26, 2011
Sitting here in this clean office, his books arranged neatly on their shelves, his computer humming on his desk, his phone flashing with messages, he tells me about free will. I look around the white walls, stare at the poster of blue and black Alaska. I’ve never been to Alaska. Maybe I should go. He […]
On cicadas, and other screaming things
Monday, August 1, 2011
This morning there was a dead cicada waiting for me at the front door. It disturbed me greatly. The creepy, prehistoric thing. Its eyes bright and red and seeing nothing. And I tried to imagine what it’s like to be a bug. To sleep underground for eighteen years. To wake one night and push yourself […]
A year ago today
Monday, July 25, 2011
for you. you know who you are. My dreams are all fog and falling, all blood and screaming children. Cars and radios and guns and flashing blue lights. And I never can get my boots on in time. And it’s always night. Or early morning. That in-between time when nothing is asleep and nothing is […]
Ignorance is bliss
Monday, July 11, 2011
I wish I could unlearn these things I’ve learned. I hate all these people. I hate being alone. I feel lazy when I sleep. I feel worthless awake. I hate being drunk. I hate being sober. I love you. If all these trees burned down and we were the only things left standing, I could […]
On independence, and other exploding things
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
It’s like a contest around here. It’s like you all have gotten together to see how many American flags you can buy down at one of the WalMarts. You stick them in your front yard, spaced every three feet, so stifled they can’t even wave in the faint breeze. At dusk, you pretend to honor […]
On prayer flags, and other fading things
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
I get away from here, away from all this noise of people. Their lawn mowers and cars and explosions. I go to where the only noise is the birds, the trains, the moon. Here I sleep for hours, dream vivid dreams, my mind drilling deep. Mining forgotten memories and bringing them to the surface shiny […]
With a gun and a pack of sandwiches
Monday, June 13, 2011
Purple sparks dancing at my feet. The last Union Pacific heading east. All the wheat put to sleep. At three in the morning, I’m gasping for breath, a bag of rocks in my chest. The bed vibrates ever so slightly. And she’s standing beside me, glowing red blue green. I explain to her that the […]