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get the words out.
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ugly truth
We go lightly into dark with the voracity of hospital patients etherized on tables. How often I've wanted to scream boldly into the night's light, to honor and repent the bright layers of ivory with music, to say "I'm here, I'm awake, you may devour me." We scrape by(more)
"Eek!" Jane squeals, leaping onto the maroon couch that squeaks under her weight. She drops her iPhone, which bounces on the carpet twice.
Carson looks up lazily from the bed, his fingers lightly grasping a blue ballpoint pen, an open textbook on his lap. "What is it?"
Stop with the video games. Where are they getting you? Do the journalling that you've always wanted to do. Write every day. If something takes less than 2 minutes, do it now. Time is the most precious nonrenewable resource that we have. It may not be regained, but putting(more)
There is no regaining lost time. You can try, like Proust, but your efforts will only bring forth a memorial of some kind, made of words, of pictures, of thoughts.  Sands through the hourglass are gone, gone, gone.  You can't step into the same river twice.  And so on.

But, thanks(more)
There is simply no way to do so, unless you are a Tralfamadorian.
Memories of melodies. Of that shitty Taylor Swift song that played ad nausea on the hospital radio stations tuned to DJ's that sound more hungover than enthusiastic. The schizophrenic shaking his head side to side on each line. The patient who lived three lives singing off-tune and kilter to(more)
     Compound interest.  Uh-hmmm.  I'm heartsick.  The couple next to me discusses fees associated with early withdrawal.  I'm trying to remember the melody, with no luck.  Mom's going to India on Friday.  They won't shut up, those two, about f(more)
why do we open up so easy? i'm not accustomed to this level of honesty. it instills a warm feeling to know the truth all the time. but then, some truths bring pain and sadness. trust builds and breaks with ongoing honesty. it builds stronger, breaks harder.
people underestimate ideas.

i was standing on the corner of main street and hawthorne when harrison reed's truck pulled up to the gas station, red paint peeling in the dim flatline of october's four o'clock sun and there, in the palm of his hand, was an open bottle(more)
     The last thing I remember is that shape in the alley.  I'd finished my routine and I was having a cigarette outside by the exit.  I was exhaling these big fat snowclouds for Margy's amusement, and just stamping my feet on the pavement, it was so fucking cold.  She fini(more)
it was a planned one-night stand. but not for him. i appeared on the 10:30pm train and appeared in a hip bar in a semi-central location at 12:17pm and appeared on instagram at 12:59pm.

1:07pm rolls around and he texts me. (more)
we got rained out in the winter. my skin  thanked the warm, moist air and the tickling sun after rain shining through the glass.

pieces of stuff and things lay strewn around my room, dusty. why did I need all this stuff? no one can give any of this(more)
When Hana opens the door, she's not expecting Terushima, who has a hood pulled over his head and his hands jammed in the pockets. He hasn't noticed her, and he's still sniffling.
His head flips up and his eyes widen. "Wh-you live here?"
She nods.
"Wrong...wrong house. Sorry.(more)
he wasn't ready for me. he met me at the cliff where reason eroded and dreams flew high. we rejoiced in sacred evenings crowded around a computer screen or gathered around a dying tealight at the dive by his house. i'd order a beer, he'd order a beer. i'd(more)
Comfortable at home, unwillingly
Friday night.
Though the clouds commune outside -
though the rain seems an oppressor in stilettos,
my desire is to caress danger and lick the verdant newness of
A blank slate
no obligations
the will of the boyfriend
to stay warm