Tag: fiction

LOG_036_CANYONS

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The canyons were remarkably similar to certain geological formations found in southwestern North America: great sentinels of stone and rock, worn down by wind and water over eons, amber and ruddy in the afternoon light. Alero felt almost–what was it? Nostalgia? Disappointment?–for something they’d only seen in pictures. This was the closest they would get to seeing the original, light-years from the cradle of human civilization. They tipped their face towards the star, feeling warmth seep in; then restarted the engine, trundling ever onward to the next waypoint.

aSoSS 32 | Skeptic

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I don’t think any TV sold within the past six years has had any sort of DVD player in it…

Traverwood Library, 6:30PM, 9/11/2024

[an excerpt, or a cry for help]

there is small comfort in the whole truth, but there is no comfort in a half-truth, because your honesty is shielded by your shame. just because you can tell a story doesn’t mean it deserves to be heard. are you not shameful? we are growing old, novelty ripped out and replaced by convenience. perhaps i will write today, because there is also a small comfort in a whole lie, a brazenness mistaken for bravery. an undiagnosed feeling squirms in my stomach. it takes a lot of half-truths, a summation of sins and sorrows, to approach the mirror, speak the words–

You can drive for two or three days in Texas and not leave the state.

Yeah, it’s one of the biggest states.

Alaska is even bigger… look at that. Too big.

Pierpont Commons, 2:00PM, 10/31/2024

—it’s nothing, really, and it’s true, because nothingness–emptiness–inflames the mind and plagues the soul. i lick the envelope; it is empty for now, though it will carry the weight of a novel in its folds. i think of emily dickinson and susan gilbert, tongue and glue, attraction misattributed like an incorrect citation. the quote wasn’t theirs, did you know? it was written by carolyn forché. you are beaming. of course i knew, but i tell you otherwise because this is your moment, your gold nugget that you sifted from the crevices of memory. how would forché put it? tenderness is in the hands? that means–

But that’s just the way that I have to communicate with some of my relatives, just to let them know that hey, I’m still here!

Ann Arbor Thrift Shop, 1:00PM, 11/18/2024

–the heart is the toughest part of the body, though not for good reason. graphite needles puncture skin, drawing blood from vein to inkwell. you’re stationary–letters leaking, fingers bleeding, arms wound like a clock: forever crooked, never on time. the wire, peaked with clothespins, is slack and sagging. to allow for miracles, you say, even though you don’t believe in them. i believe in you, though. what does that make me?

to the right, the maxilla quivers. to the left, the mandible spins, closing the gap. hot breath, pulsing gums, the proof of life staring at you–do we make our own miracles?–as you stare back at the scythe, at the split decision–

midnight strikes. the gator’s mouth snaps shut. the clothesline pulls taut and the pins are falling, falling, gone.

LOG_035_MONOLITHS

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The mysterious structures were an old source of gossip for Torish and his friends: seven hulking anvil-shaped blocks of concrete, featureless except for their numbers, the buildings loomed over the magrail line that cut through the heart of the city.

During fits of boredom, they’d play a game to see who could invent the most outlandish story about the people who used them; sometimes, they would sit and watch from the street over for people who went near, or even dare each other to see who could get the closest to the buildings. Torish was the proud record holder of that one–he’d gone all the way to touch the facade of Number 5. Disappointingly–or thankfully–nothing had happened.

Torish had never seen anyone go in or out of any of the buildings, and if there were any cameras or windows, they were cleverly hidden or disguised enough to be unrecognizable. Sojarav had claimed that his father’s colleague’s sister had seen one person enter once, but Sojarav was also the most inscrutable of their little group and often sneaky when you least expected it, so who knew if it had really happened.

aSoSS 31 | Paradox

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[pointing to a bag of psychedelics] You laugh at me but you support it. Look what happens when you support it!

UniQue T-Shirts, 1:30PM, 10/16/2024

your face turns, a sunflower in september. a starburst of seven streams, blending together, repelling, intertwining. you grab my hand but i am already gone, a trip distilled into its core emotions. a fairytale nightmare, a frontal lobe stunned, or stunted, only time will tell. an infection, a parasite, a host and a contestant–the grand prize a great flood, for better or for worse? the earth swirls and sloshes. mud becomes bronze becomes clay becomes tar. i am trapped, anchored to a moment, watching the world spin forward without me, the present freezing into the past. i watch the drops of sanity peel from my skin, feel the beads of blood coalesce beneath my tongue–a ribbon, a pulse, a dream.

Like, I get it! Harassing me is only gonna make me want to vote less, you know…

East Quad, 6:30PM, 11/5/2024

we are always running to a graveyard or an office or a sunset that we will never reach. why would you take a golden ticket for granted? keep duties away from indifference. your voice, silenced, cut like a stem, put on display–oral histories drying up in your parched throat–and for that i mourn your loss, your vowels sharp as the glass that imprisons it, the enamel behind your teeth ground away like whetstone. this is your fault, your victimhood, your desire. we have split the atom and put it back together, you and i. it hurts to breathe, but we breathe anyway.

I need to lock in but the minute I get home… the minute I see my bed…

Chem Building, 9:00AM, 11/6/2024

wake up, you’re going to be late. now is your chance to tell your story. see the camera? smile and wave. your achievements are not interchangeable; your memories are not replaceable. you’re scared? i don’t care. everything that can go wrong might go wrong. life is full of might-go-wrongs, it’s how we built the pyramids, planned the skyscrapers, chipped rock from the moon. might is a powerful word, it indicates strength, it predicates possibility–trust me, there’s nothing stronger than a word that tumbles around your head. internalize your worth and wear it like an accessory. scratch that itch, spit it out, shed your skin and leave no trace behind.

wake up, you’re going to be late.