2023 - 2024 / 2018 - 2022

inpatient / outpatient

stray strands of cat hair that glistened in the morning light on my bed. i sighed and rolled over to my nightstand to pull out a pack of menthols - three left. i guess i'll have one. a pensive mood flowed over and filled the room. two years prior i had removed the smoke alarms in my condo, which was a direct violation of not only of the lease, but of my own safety. put my ashes in a Sanrio ashtray i bought off eBay.

i glanced over at my phone that was haphazardly tossed on the sheets beside me. three unread messages from my brother-in-law asking if i wanted to go for drinks tonight. i'll respond later, maybe with a thumbs-up emoji so he knows i'm serious.

give_me_the_white_russian.mov

you silently picked me up and put me on your shoulders while your friend stood beside us, looking down the three story drop to the bottom of the empty mall. a nearby art installation made of thousands of LED lights lit up the specks of grey hairs on your head. counting the hairs made me drowzy, so i closed my eyes. i could hear the clicking of your friend's Nikon camera, the rustling sound of your jacket, and the heartbeat in my brain.

we ditched the mall for a park, where i got caught up in the overwhelming feeling of admiration when i saw a well taken care of dog. i am drunk on 8 year old scotch i found in a kitchen cabinet at your cottage. when i was 8 years old i wanted to marry you. i'm 18 now, and all i want is to see you more often.

blanched potatoes

"how long will they last?"

i paused before clarifying. "in the freezer, i mean". nothing lasts forever.

following your instructions meticulously and without critique. nothing is too complicated, but i notice my body tensing up and my breathing becoming shallow. my hands shake to the rhythm of my heartbeat, making it difficult to hold my santoku knife.

ah, that's why, i knew i forgot something. my laughs echo in the kitchen and fill the space in between the steam from the stovetop. i put down my knife and close my eyes.

deep breath, exhale -

"happy belated birthday"

my stomach disagrees with my life choices

blue cheese leaves a weird feeling on the roof of my mouth. the piece of popcorn stuck between my teeth hurts and it reminds me of you. piece of bread covered in mold that i ate in the dark at 4 am while getting ready for work. empty bottles of Zywiec scattered in my room and piling up in my garage. boiled eggs and tuna sandwiches in the break room.

sequoias in the dark

thought i heard a tree whisper your name,
but it was another place, another time.
dreams where i'm being chased through the bush,
getting caught on twigs in the dense forest.
scents of pine fading,
now empty in my mind.

welcome to 2021, bitch

pounding headache and a strong resolve to never drink again. any and all food i consume today must be starch-ridden and terrible for me. i will disappoint my yoga teacher.

i checked my call log to see how many times i tried blowing up your phone at 11:59pm, 12:00am, and 12:01am. we've fought more times than the Russo-Turkish war. tell Ossip Gourko he was a good boy that didn't do anything wrong!! back on my bullshit. my iCloud storage is full of images of various eyebrows of people indicted in the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia. which Glossier brow did Pandurevic use?

sitting on a hill, watching the fireworks go off in the adjacent town. Лепа села лепо горе. kiss my forehead and tell me i'm beautiful.

Austin Powers: International Man of Misery

incredibly sad blob of flesh somehow makes a meal and eats it - what happens next will shock you!

i want to pull off my skin and throw it on the floor and stomp on it when someone looks at me the wrong way. i want to say that i miss you and appreciate you but i can't move from my bed. i can't peel open my eyes or find the strength to hunger for anything that isn't alcohol. i want to be a better human being and not just some irl morose BuzzFeed article.

i think the fucked up things that i have witnessed have transferred on to me like a transfer paper art project gone wrong.

i like Dante's Purgatorio more than Inferno. mostly because of how Virgil explains that each of the deadly sins/three terraces come from deficient, misdirected love. i think about this a lot. i also think about how not even Jesus' death could absolve the sins of Satan. Mark Twain, or someone that he ripped off, once said "who prays for Satan?". i'm trying to think of what Austin Powers character would be the closest to Beatrice.

#ISurvivedHighSchoolBy

pulling off my limbs like spooky Halloween props and whipping them at my opponents. crouching down in the hallways and crawling in between legs, gnawing on shoelaces for dietary purposes. shoving battle propositions in the lockers of my foes, written on Doraemon stationery.

floriography

all my months have been cruel.
spring arrives only to dampen my clothes.
you arrive only to dampen my spirits.

summer is a brutal transition.
petals from my cyclamen wilt in the heat.
i wonder how many of your words are learned from others.

sometimes i wonder what our future would have looked like -
morning sunlight creeping into our kitchenette,
dusty rose painted walls surrounding our bed.

a stone path leading to nowhere,
yellow hyacinths blooming in our backyard.

[this user has been banned for diary posting]

got motion sickness from the lady in front of me who had a full graphic t-shirt of fleurs-de-lis rotating in different directions. i found the nearest washroom to vomit in but i did it in the trash can and not the toilet so i got a few odd looks. washed my hands 12 times and then tried to remember if i had to go left or right after i exited the washroom. it was left, i think.

made a bee-line for the veggie platter in the center of the room. twelve pieces of dry cauliflower shoved down my throat. a clock that reads 14:17. thought about going to the washroom again to vomit but didn't.

vacation itinerary

jumping off the edge of a curb dramatically, knowing all the lyrics to every Diana Ross song, plotting ways to kill your neighbour, only having one usable hand, drinking mixer with no alcohol, writing math equations in ink, huffing lighter fluid before biking uphill, grabbing free pamphlets wherever you go, rubbing your body down with Lysol wipes.

veuillez trouver ci-joint

i had a dream where my face was plastered in post-it notes. i tried shedding them, but they kept growing back. i thought i saw your shadow through the paper, so i tried making a joke to lighten the mood.

"funny how this keeps happening, huh?"

you didn't respond, but what can i expect from a dream? i thought i could smell the menthol on your clothes. scent is a powerful memory jogger, i read that on Psychology Today once. the post-it notes started to leave little lacerations on my face and eyelids. i put on my best smile to attempt another conversation starter.

"it kinda hurts"

dead air, the only sound was my own breathing. is it futile to converse within a dream? but it's you, so i try again.

"i want to go home"

insufficient desires

the nights spent with hues of pink and blue. grasping at straws, trying to find some meaning in this distance. everything feels so far away when you haven't slept properly in years.

your drunken quips circle my mind. my jail cell has a mirror. the warden gives me a coffee and a slice of bread (120 calories). arrested for crimes i don't care to understand. beyond these concrete walls is you, Her, and my interference.

i'm given my belongings back as i shuffle into the light - an ill-fitting pair of cargo pants, baggy Metallica shirt, orange Converse, and a pencil sharpened down to a nub. i stand silently at the edge of the ocean, reflecting upon my deformed body in the tide.

an attempt to articulate the ways in which my brain destroys itself

the illusion of self-control was brought upon me by the Dyson vacuum in my basement. from the moment i learned to clean, i learned to self-immolate. the origin of 'cleanliness is next to godliness' only holds true in moral purity (which i lack). i clean and clean and clean and clean and i'm left staring - not at the face of God - but at my own reflection in the bathroom mirror.

in an empty room i mutter, "the Samanas are telling me to clean the floors twice this week to reach enlightenment"

the Samanas will forsake me eventually, as they did with Siddhartha. my compulsions simultaniously ease me and stress me out. if i can't have mental freedom, then i'll at least have clean couch cushions!

taking a break from cleaning to snack.

once again, the creeping desires to control the waves and tides of my life return - this time in the form of the muffins above my microwave. eating, though a necessity, is tedious at best. at worst it consumes my every waking thought, punching down ideas and desires until they are nothing but mulch. inedible mulch, at that.

"i control my own destiny!!", i shout, as i devour a box of Cheez-Its.

i'm in control. i'm... in...... control? at the end of the day, all my desires and actions are simply manifestations of the emotions that preceeded them. i am being held captive by my mind in the worst possible way.

based is how you feel inside

was looking around the room for a familiar face, but my head was swirling. noses and eyes and chins were hazy, as if my view was painted by Cezanne. the poetic appeal of bathroom graffiti is more evident when i've had a few rum and cokes. what am i doing here? sitting in the stall, analyzing the backs of my hands, echos of high heels and vomiting girls. suddenly snap out of the temporary coma i'm in when i hear our song, Times Blue - Lil B.

when was i the happiest? i tried to recall as i danced around and weaved through strangers holding their drinks. my most recent memory was downloading Lil B albums as they came out on DatPiff, biking to the convenience store for a slushie at midnight. nothing but me and God's Father. i want to go back to that, but i don't know how. i press the ice cold Stella to my head and try to disappear into the crowd.

f/22

try to recall the feeling of peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth.

now imagine that sensation inside of your heart, your arms, the nerves in your fingers.
are you allergic to peanuts?

God has cast me aside, perhaps. a solitary goblin trudging thru the waves of life. i used to see moments of beauty, only my lowered gaze away from the camera showing me reality. now i can't find any interest in what the mirrored body reflects.

i see your smile in the viewfinder and all i capture is pain.

snooze button

tried lifting my body up from my mattress but my left arm is heavy and my right arm is numb. lines from my pillow etched on my face. i can hear my heart beating in my chest and it's radiating in my throat and head. managed to get the laundry done before heading out to see you. didn't care when i washed my pants with a cheque for eighty bucks in the back pocket.

i pulled up to your house in my dad's car, only to have you break up with me with the keys still in the ignition. i am the keys to the car and you are whatever is above this closed sunroof. i'm going to drive to the ocean and turn my back to the water and let the seaweed whip my back like a modern day Jesus.

mess me up

laying in my bed, entangled in barbed wire and bed sheets. wire spiked into my flesh which begins peeling away layers and exposing muscle as i struggle to escape. the more i move, the more it hurts.

"you have beautiful eyes", you said, as you cut out my irides with an exacto-knife.

i try to scream, but nothing comes out. it's as if my brain is incapable of processing this level of pain, unable to react appropriately. my fingers move frantically around the mattress, looking for something to grasp onto.

"your lips are so soft", you said, as you bit down on my lower lip with enough force to draw blood.

a pool of sweat in the shape of me on the bed. my senses are heightened and yet my mind is blank.

contact sickness

i cracked my knuckles against the palm of my hand. "could you pass me the remote?"

you sat in your armchair, back towards me, unresponsive. i admired the way you smoked and continued on with sudoku, as if i wasn't even there. we must look like strangers in a coffee shop inhabiting space.

i think about all the things we stopped doing and the love we stopped sharing. the warmth of your touch now a distant sensation, like the fading ambulance sirens that flood through my open window.

warm, rainy, summer days come in with violent haste. we were plucking grass in the backyard when your dad ushered us into the garage. under it's tin roof, i could hear the constant clacking of water hitting and splashing into the gutters. i stood there with my eyes closed listening to the sounds. you were standing to my left, with your dad and your nonno on my right.

"here", your dad motioned to the lawn chair he just unfolded, "sit, babbo".

you kicked up some pebbles. there was a bit of awkward tension in the air with no thoughts or words to fill them - your nonno doesn't speak English. i wanted this moment to last a bit longer, but your cousin pulled into the driveway with her usual aggressive speed. she tossed her bag in the general direction of your four-speed bike and let out an exasperated sigh, tugging on her damp shirt. i shut my eyes again, this time hoping for the rain to clear.

"we should go down to the lake later, if you want".

The Blog That Owns Itself

my blogs all have legal ownership of themselves, i have deeded them as such. 8 digital feet (that's something like 9215 pixels) surrounding my blogs is owned by, my blogs.

i'm listening to the pitter patter of my dying cat running around upstairs. listening to the sounds of something and you know it's decaying. like when the fights between your parents go from passionate to careless, or when the leaves on the trees become audibly crunchy in the breeze.

did you know a river in New Zealand was declared a person with legal guardians?

it’s leo season, baby

hard to access the bigger picture when human minds have a necessary boundary.

i'm at a party, mixing tequila with kratom tea - not an easy journey on my tastebuds. i am loafing around, staring at the beer pong table, when someone asks if i want to join in. i turn my back to the eight cups. the night sky illuminates the back porch sliding door. outside i notice a few ashtrays, a couple making out, several bottles with three of them knocked over. i am fixated on the things that brought me here. i'm so engrossed in my own spiraling, dramatic thoughts, that i don't notice my friend offering me drink.

the humidity of the summer night reaches my mind, fogging my thoughts.

shopping list

Avril Lavigne poster
fly swatter
dryer sheets
Tums
self-respect
2lbs of walnuts (bulk)
cheese grater
fur swatches