I have no clue what’s going on, but these are some of the smartest people on campus, so I wanna stick around.

The Graduate, 12:30PM, 2/8/2025

there is a lyricism in our thought process that cannot be accurately transcribed. in linguistics class they teach you how hard it is to explain the grammar of your native language. our way of thinking is shaped by the words molding our subconscious. if you slice into the brain you will see sheets of flesh–sheets of metal-rippling, wrinkling. the brain is not proof of a deity, just as the goat is not proof of the devil. the others grow pale. they vomit, they always turn away–but i am used to blood.

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I’ve been working here since 1987, which means I’m as old as dirt but I don’t remember anything…

Ann Arbor Thrift Shop, 1:30PM, 3/10/2025

it pains me to think that i dragged you down, an anchor dropped in the middle of the ocean. perhaps i must birth a child and continue the cycle–i have wasted my potential on my youth and now it is my responsibility to move forward. to settle. a term used for dust, for sandbanks, for pioneers on conquered lands. a snake of a word, writhing on my tongue. i lick my teeth and purse my lips, like you and your mother and your mother’s mother, a branch of coral crystallizing in the cold. a deep breath–the kind that comes before a deeper lie–and you take the plunge.

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When you start digging, you’ll start finding things you never knew. Like even just right down the street from me there’s open writing workshops. I had no idea! It’s in the next block!

Duderstadt Connector, 1:30PM, 3/25/2025

i pick and pick, your face a scar to remind me of the slit, of the risk. of the consequences–it will hurt every time i sneeze, or fall asleep on my side, or draw a sharp breath. the heart is a forgetful organ, though it might insist otherwise. it will pulse frantically at every outline, every shape and figure and song and recipe. like a dog leashed to a pole, wagging its tail at every passerby: hidden underneath, a cry for help, in the only way it knows how. the heart knows nothing except expansion and contraction, so it beats and beats, and cries, and cries. i pick and pick, until there is nothing left.