prose

Royal Fowl

The golden eagle swoops down and grabs me by its talons and I am the eagle and I am taking a nose dive but I bounce up, right before impact, I bounce up and I soar higher than I’ve ever gone. And this continues—with so much strength the air is sliced open by my beak—diving/bouncing to infinity, like a heart going into frenzy, forever.

 

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June 15, 2017

Today is quiet and I feel other lives touching mine—and they are mine, except I can’t reach [the past] them. Books will steal your brain and leave a kaleidoscope in its place. I am restless and angry with myself. I am going to carry binoculars around so I can see what those trees are doing so far out in the lake—looks like it’s going to rain again. [A rabbit! Behind the fence.] We’ll meet on my neighbour’s roof.

—phone notes, June

Whose Eyebrows????

This morning I woke up and saw a silver coin in the sky—I closed my eyes because I knew coins weren’t meant to levitate—it could fall at any moment—I did not want to be blinded—I had a friend who I saw all the time and—the more you see someone the more familiar they become—she became stranger and stranger. I couldn’t recognize her with her new eyebrows—I was scared—I never talked to her again. You should never make your PowerPoint background white is what I’m trying to say.

Dirty Nails

A woman enters the restroom of a busy café. Eight minutes later a man steps out.

“Out of toilet paper,” he says to a girl.

She nods and turns to the other door.

The man orders an iced latte and pays in cash. The barista takes his money without touching his hands.

“Dirty nails,” he says to his co-worker once the man has left.

Five minutes later another customer uses the restroom.

Five minutes until the scream.

 

Dead Bird Spins on a Smiths Record

Dead bird(1) spins(2) on a Smiths(3) record(4).

  1. There are infinite layers of waking, infinite layers of sleep. Peeling inward, mock-flower blooming in the mind.
  2. The Kaleidoscope is NOT a time machine. It is suspension. Come Spin With Us In The Disco Realm: not all movement is pro/re/gression.
  3. Sing me to sleep (level T5)
  4. Silence is louder than white noise. R e p e a t.

Lost Again

There is a blankness within me. A flat plain of subtraction.

I stumble through a forest where the trees are upside down.

The open wound of memory, I do not want your pain.

But I am sponge. I am vacuum.

I am the mouth of an infinite cave.

I will hold your hand until my heart breaks.