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. […]
Category Archives: Books
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 […]
On vultures, and other winged things
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
A vulture almost killed me the other day. Doing 80 on 70 and it rose slowly from the side of the road, its wings, as wide as the car, flapping uselessly at the hot dry air. I looked at its red bald head, into its surprised eyes. And an updraft pushed it up and over […]
Say goodbye like you mean it
Monday, May 30, 2011
That night, standing on the cliff listening to the ocean and smoking a joint, watching the blinking ships moving down the coast, he wonders what it would feel like to fall. To step off the edge and plunge into the traffic below. And he knows that he has come too far. He flicks the roach […]