~ untitled ~

sometimes i know that my plans with people won't come true
even as i'm making them

in relationships, i can feel their death before it happens
i feel it early, but not fully
so when it does end, i've already felt it

and it doesn't hurt as bad
but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt

when people don't contribute to a conversation i'm having with them
i feel worthless

send me another text saying
'okay'
'that's sweet'
'no way'
'ya totally'

pinching my heart with every indefinite clause
i wonder if i would feel better if you didn't respond at all
we'll find out soon enough i'm sure
...
that didn't feel very good

The Beach

            Two people lying on a beach towel are tanning and they fall asleep. They will probably get sunburns because they want their skin to be darker. They will probably get cancer some day and doctors will be depressed/smug as they cry in a hospital room with their beautiful darkened skin. They are sleeping on their beach towels dreaming about laying on the beach getting a sick new tan. In their direct vicinity is a trench dug by two screaming children in bathing suits, a poorly crafted sandcastle (with a complimentary stick lodged in the top of it), and a French Fry container – 

currently resting on the top of their cooler.

            A seagull with shitty feathers flies down and slowly hops over to the water cooler. The bird pines for the French fries. The people rest. On top of the cooler, a chipped beak glistens in the sun. “Hey wait, don’t eat those,” a second seagull says, flying in from above. They both sit on the cooler 

staring at one another. “Hello, I’m Joanie the seagull.”

            “Hello Joanie, I’m Chachi the seagull.”

            For some strange reason, the seagulls always felt the need to clarify that they were seagulls to one another, because of some social norm or something. At family gatherings seagulls would always say things like, ‘oh hey, this is Rus the seagull’ or ‘yo Janet the seagull!’ Someone said something about it once and they were made to feel very stupid about it.

            Chachi looks at Joanie the seagull and asks her about the French fries. “Why shouldn’t I eat these? They look very delicious and I have a low-self esteem.” Chachi’s dumpy feathers were reminiscent of a sock found on the beach near a garbage can, which, as one can probably easily discern, is not very ‘top-shelf’ or ‘wicked-sick’. In a sense however, this opened up Chachi’s world, granting him a multitude of trashy choices (normally not present to the bourgeois seagulls that hang out by a nearby Olive Garden), which includes eating sand-covered French fries by two smouldering individuals.

            Joanie the seagull caws at Chachi regarding their predicament, stating that she would also like to eat some of the French fries – regardless of the ever-present sand – if Chachi is open to the idea of sharing his newly found treasure. His black, bulbous eyes glance at the French fries momentarily. “Okay but let’s keep this quick before the flock catches wind.”

            Immediately, the two of them plunge beak first into the container of French fries, choking them down their narrow throats. Their eating, a syncopated dance, is brief and quick, characterised 

by jutting, repetitive, upward thrusts of their heads – the locking and unlocking of their necks pounding toward the sun, like pistons in an engine.

            The skyline goes dark as a ring of seagulls notices the nearly empty French fry container. The flock begins to swivel with birds diving down, albeit briefly, as an intimidation tactic. However, the two remain unmoved by the gesture. The flock lowers itself several feet with birds swooping more frequently. The two continue to feast. Lower. Feast. Lower. Feast. Lower. Feast. A cycle, not unlike 

the physical nature of the flock itself.

            The moment culminates with a French fry that is several inches long. Both Chachi the seagull and Joanie the seagull feast on this French Fry, starting from either side, their black globular eyes interlocked. The flock narrows in with extended wings. The swelling of their throats in tandem resonates on the beach – the final beat of an unwound clock.

           “Oh what the fuck! Get the out of here; Goddamn it…” a voice emits with flailing arms. “Yo, wake up!” The arms cease their flailing and a deflated expression paints itself across their recently singed faces. “These dumb fucking birds ate our fries.”

Fin.

short story

maybe some bugs grow too large to crawl out of the holes they've crawled in to

it seems the only way they can live is if smaller bugs crawl into their holes with food

the little bugs never stay because they will grow and get stuck too

i fell asleep and then i died

            I catch myself staring at a fuzzy television, fixated on the binary nature of each pixel, and how each pixel flickers between light and dark for no apparent reason, regardless of its surroundings.

            And each pixel is existing in a way that is disconnected from one another, sometimes becoming one with an adjacent pixel due to a partnering of colour, which is a result of (what can be accurately described as) thoughtless happenstance. There is something frustrating about the screen – which is currently reflecting the windowed view of the rainy streets outdoors. Focusing more on the reflection, water droplets look as if they are gliding down the street and it feels like there’s never anything good on TV.

            Rolling over, off of my stomach, the tv shuts off and i'm frozen, staring at the blank unified screen. The strange peeling noise of a remote control being severed from skin feels amplified in my silent apartment.

            Leaving my shit-hole apartment, i check my phone and it’s empty, with the exception of a memo that reads, ‘you are two hours late for work, and you suck’. 

me vs. my roommate's mom's dog

me vs. my roommate’s mom’s dog

---

my roommate wants to buy soda, but i don’t go with him

i’m sorry, i need to write this paper or i won’t graduate and my life might be ruined as a result

he leaves

i’m sitting on my bed listening to music reading clips from school-work and interviews about musicians

a faint whining is heard over my laptop speakers

my bed is propped up very high (approximately three feet off of the ground) so i have to adjust myself to investigate

there you are, dog

there you are sitting there, waiting patiently for my roommate to come back

he scratches the door and i tell him to ‘knock it off’

he scratches the door again

i turn up my laptop speakers

i win

i go back to reading the articles that i have already lost interest in

i hear garbage shuffling at the bottom of my bed and i assumed the dog is eating garbage

i move forward

he has stood up resting his front paws on the side of my bed, staring at me longingly

he wants to join me up here in the big leagues

not a chance dog

he tries to jump up and then he falls down and is probably embarrassed

i pick him up and plop him on the bed

he stares at me for three seconds, then the door for two, and then he notices the three foot drop to the floor

do it

i dare you

he dives off of the bed in a manner that can only be described as ‘floppy’ and he lands on his paws doing a weird little jig

the audience claps

i boo silently

he whines out loud at the door

i don’t finish my essay and i fail my courses and i don’t graduate

you win dog

photo of my roommate's mom's dog beside some garbage on the floor staring at the door very attentively

update

giving up on my tumblr

going to start slowly updating this again

also who gives a shit