The Roman Who Could Not Speak

I can never read enough books; I'll never have enough time. It's pretty unfortunate when you think that at some point you won't have the ability to lie in your bed drinking whiskey and water, books in your hands, books in your hair, paper cuts, book marks, just reading until your eyes fail. I'll never unravel the mysteries of ancient languages, Victorian England, or Midwestern survival tactics. Which is just a real damn shame.

The Driven to Distraction

You can't possibily imagine you'll feel better if you win, can you?

The Isolation

You know, because of electrons repelling, nothing ever touches anything else. You can be naked, pressed up against someone fingers tangled in their hair and you're not really touching them. Not really. Not ever.

You've never touched another human being in your life.

The Disenchanted Youth

Our youth has this desire to be separate, and to be blameless. So they point their fingers and say No, you abandoned us and they drink their drinks and smoke their smokes and say that we don't understand them. And we don't. Because the problem is not that this generation has chosen anger, misery and addiction as idols, it is that the older generations don't understand why.

The Day Time Waited

Oh all the world's on fire in this midday heat. The asphalt glimmers and creates swimming pools that levitate and shake. The sun washes out the colours; everything looks like bleached bones. We stuff ourselves on chain-restraunt food, even the smallest portions are too much. I miss Europe and its digestible allotments, its dark skies, its moody reflections. My skin feels like darned wool. I look at my elbow and there's a string hanging down. I go to pull it away and to my suprise it's not attached to my rolled shirt sleeve, it's a piece of my elbow. I tug gently and it begins to unravel. I look around quietly, wondering whether or not I should tell someone, but decide against it when my lips begin to slip off my face. I collect their stringy remnants and stuff them into my pocket. I tuck my elbow into my shirt sleeve, which I roll down my arm. I sit still on a bench. I watch the birds in the sky. I wonder when it will get dark.

The Stars Are Pylons

The theory of multiverse states that there are an infinite number of realities, each pertaining to a unique set of events, so every possible combination is covered. Which means everything is not only possible, but probable. Which means some where across the cosmos, on a planet just like this one, a person just like you, just stood up and learnt to fly.

The Reasoned Confusion

You don't know what you want. You barely communicate. You say plenty, but most of it's just to fill the silence. I cannot blame you for this, because I know that deep down you don't realise what you're doing. I know that deep down you're scared and confused; you only want to feel safe. To feel good about your choices. To have things righted. But you make some stupid fucking choices. You burn all your bridges, then say it was an accident. You want a quick-fix solution to something that's been breaking for years. You told me that when you prayed, you never knew what to say. You said you never knew how to level with God. Be honest with yourself, maybe that'll help. When you aren't trying to lie to yourself, then you'll know what to tell God. And everyone else. Hell, you might even finish your book.

But I don't have much faith in any of that.

The Fire That Refused To Stop

We watched them kick and beat and abuse until you were lying bleeding in the dirt. Then we watched you stand, open your arms, and hug the entire world.

The Only Certainty

"People died!"

"That's what people do."