Falling Slowly
October 31, 2017
I tell myself that time goes by faster around this time of year, end of October. November zips by, solid block of cold, fades around the middle. … More Falling Slowly
Month: October 2017
Ephemeral
October 30, 2017
Wearing the familiarity of home like something skintight. It’s easy to forget that soon I won’t be watching sunsets in tinted car windows anymore, that in place of lazy comfort will be sprints through quiet city streets in slush and rain and snow. June 2015
Sleeplessness
October 29, 2017
From last night’s play. Turns out it wasn’t just based on Haruki Murakami (one of my favorite authors who writes trippy dreamy stories that almost always feature some character dissociating from herself) but Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina as well. Coincidentally, I invited the friend who I’d befriended in a class on Anna Karenina exactly three years ago. … More Sleeplessness
Date Night
October 26, 2017
Anniversary. We’d gone out to a comedy show, watched two groups improv-battle it out over dinner and drinks. I remember the guac–partitioned from the salsa, of course– cheesy enchiladas, peering at his eyes, room erupting with peals of laughter, looking towards the stage to see funny girl #2 in pink toppling backwards. I felt buttery, … More Date Night
Ethereal
October 22, 2017
like water like dust dew-periwinkle rain like pebbles like stones ribbed broken porcelain
Oxymoron
October 10, 2017
Things I might be certain of: We’re swimming in norms no one person decided. Maybe the sky is blue. This may or may not be a dream. I like writing incoherent text posts at one in the morning. I deeply suspect that a part of me secretly enjoys–thrives on–the stress of procrastinating … More Oxymoron
C’est Octobre
October 8, 2017
The cold make me nostalgic. Tunnels me into a tube of miss, insomnia and memory woven together. Heavy rope. … More C’est Octobre
Gossamer
October 6, 2017
time-wrapped memory hangs suspended in the grainy unchanging film of twilight, defined: a state of obscurity, of gradual decline, of soft rays / scattered light when I close my eyes I see the flitting wings of a moth, its luminous wings bleeding light
my tiredness
October 4, 2017
is dividing the number zero is a forgotten cigarette in between two slabs of sidewalk is a depressed piece of cotton in the bottom of your medicine drawer is the fog on mornings when my mother hasn’t read where the wild things are to me is a fishing boat with cracks in the fiberglass is … More my tiredness
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