Fraternities, sororities, young people everywhere. I am young, but not there anymore. The wonder of college is lost when the world expands. I want certain things that I did not want then. The engineering student, my guide, her friend. We walked along the dark path down the mountain toward the campus. Talked about the school, engineering, literature nerds. I described Oates’ themes and they cringed. She writes it beautifully, I said. She writes what it is to be human. That is the gift of a good writer. Show how ugly people can be, but show that they are people. Show who we are. Dark campus, lights on, people sitting by windows. The first person I asked was lost, headed to the same place I was. She seemed shy. I asked three people we met along the way and she followed. We found the hall. They made room for us on the floor, and I happily sat. I do well on the ground, open all around, no walls. It is flat, even keel for all. Gave me room to stretch my legs when I would have had to bring them in close in a seat. I like having space. I have large shoulders and long legs and a spare tire and am not subtle nor spry. When she speaks, she smiles, composed and yet not perfect, just there. She spoke with affection of having met Samuel Beckett. Not a laugh from me, but some smiles, and mostly I don’t remember, I was too into the listening. It ended too quickly, she’s human. On the drive home there was a guy named Zack on the radio speaking about his gay parents and the pointlessness of legislation that tries to keep them apart. He spoke of love, family, and made good points. Tears welled in my eyes. Emotions get to me, loneliness, the potential in people to love one another. Pride and ego hold it all in check. I learned it from my father. I will be his biographer, I will pray to the sky. It is not in me to do otherwise.
Month: February 2011
the engineering student
Fraternities, sororities, young people everywhere. I am young, but not there anymore. The wonder of college is lost when the world expands. I want certain things that I did not want then. The engineering student, my guide, her friend. We walked along the dark path down the mountain toward the campus. Talked about the school, engineering, literature nerds. I described Oates’ themes and they cringed. She writes it beautifully, I said. She writes what it is to be human. That is the gift of a good writer. Show how ugly people can be, but show that they are people. Show who we are. Dark campus, lights on, people sitting by windows. The first person I asked was lost, headed to the same place I was. She seemed shy. I asked three people we met along the way and she followed. We found the hall. They made room for us on the floor, and I happily sat. I do well on the ground, open all around, no walls. It is flat, even keel for all. Gave me room to stretch my legs when I would have had to bring them in close in a seat. I like having space. I have large shoulders and long legs and a spare tire and am not subtle nor spry. When she speaks, she smiles, composed and yet not perfect, just there. She spoke with affection of having met Samuel Beckett. Not a laugh from me, but some smiles, and mostly I don’t remember, I was too into the listening. It ended too quickly, she’s human. On the drive home there was a guy named Zack on the radio speaking about his gay parents and the pointlessness of legislation that tries to keep them apart. He spoke of love, family, and made good points. Tears welled in my eyes. Emotions get to me, loneliness, the potential in people to love one another. Pride and ego hold it all in check. I learned it from my father. I will be his biographer, I will pray to the sky. It is not in me to do otherwise.
TMI
“You’ve been really TMI lately. What’s the matter?”
A beat. “I’ve just been horny, I guess. This is my kind of weather.”
“It’s gloomy as fuck.”
A beat. “I’m gloomy as fuck.”
TMI
“You’ve been really TMI lately. What’s the matter?”
A beat. “I’ve just been horny, I guess. This is my kind of weather.”
“It’s gloomy as fuck.”
A beat. “I’m gloomy as fuck.”
The Zine is a Spaceship 001 – Homeworld
The Zine is a Spaceship 001 – Homeworld
The Zine is a Spaceship 001 – Homeworld
The first issue of poetry zine “This Zine is a Spaceship” explores the meaning of home amongst a myriad of possible explanations. Contains writing from members of the Tumblr community featuring Victor Romero, Harley Foxwall, and Sebastian Lubbers.
The Zine is a Spaceship 001 – Homeworld
The Zine is a Spaceship 001 – Homeworld
The Zine is a Spaceship 001 – Homeworld
The first issue of poetry zine “This Zine is a Spaceship” explores the meaning of home amongst a myriad of possible explanations. Contains writing from members of the Tumblr community featuring Victor Romero, Harley Foxwall, and Sebastian Lubbers.
Chopped
“We have so many,” they said. “We have so many trees!”
John told them he would chop the trees with his ax. He chopped trees in the morning when some of the people went to work or school. He chopped trees in the afternoon when the people returned to their homes to read and sit and eat. He chopped trees in the evening when he used his large oil lamp to light the trees so he could chop them while people ate and slept. He chopped starting from the bottom. He chopped from the sides. Sometimes he chopped for many hours just to chop one tree. Most of the time, chopping did not take very long.
John never did anything with the chopped trees. He left them where they laid and collected his money from the people, which he needed in order to pay for his room with the cot, the stove, and the toilet. He liked to cook oatmeal on the stove, and he liked to sleep on the cot. He found it comforting to sit on the toilet and look at the chopped trees that his walls were made of. He could see when they used an ax to chop them.
He lived in the room with the cot, the stove, and the toilet for many years, and he never stopped chopping. He chopped every tree as quickly as he could and the people were happy to see the land. The trees were no longer in the way.
John liked to chop trees and it made him happy.
“We love you, John.”
One day, when John was older than he was in the beginning, there were no more trees. John walked everywhere and no one had trees. The lands were empty and he could see every building, every mountain, every car, in every corner, of everywhere. He looked for a long time and John found no trees.
They told him, “You have chopped all the trees. There is nothing left.”
He went home and sat on the toilet. He wondered what he would do now that there were no more trees to chop.
“I could chop people,” he said out loud. “There are many people.”
He walked outside with his ax in hand and found an elderly man in a brown overcoat walking a half-bald dog. John lifted his ax and chopped them where they fell. He found that chopping a man and a dog was not the same as chopping the trees. He returned to his room and sat in the bathtub full of hot water until his skin was clean, then he washed his clothes until they were clean, and finally he scrubbed his ax until it was clean. He placed his ax beneath his bed and slept on the cot until the next afternoon when he heard the knocking on his door.
John looked through the window and saw the police men, standing in front of his doorway. He stepped outside and felt the warmth of his bare feet burn.
“I chopped that man and his dog.”
“Why did you do it?” they asked.
John looked at them and said, “I want to put my shoes on.”
They let him go inside to put his shoes on. When he reached for his shoes under the cot he found his ax. John knew they did not like that he chopped people, and he was in trouble. He put his shoes on and walked outside to chop the police men so they could not take him away.
It was cold but John’s feet felt good. He held his ax and walked away from his room, the cot, the stove, and the toilet, and the chopped police men. John walked away beyond the corner of the land until he was not on the land anymore.
Chopped
“We have so many,” they said. “We have so many trees!”
John told them he would chop the trees with his ax. He chopped trees in the morning when some of the people went to work or school. He chopped trees in the afternoon when the people returned to their homes to read and sit and eat. He chopped trees in the evening when he used his large oil lamp to light the trees so he could chop them while people ate and slept. He chopped starting from the bottom. He chopped from the sides. Sometimes he chopped for many hours just to chop one tree. Most of the time, chopping did not take very long.
John never did anything with the chopped trees. He left them where they laid and collected his money from the people, which he needed in order to pay for his room with the cot, the stove, and the toilet. He liked to cook oatmeal on the stove, and he liked to sleep on the cot. He found it comforting to sit on the toilet and look at the chopped trees that his walls were made of. He could see when they used an ax to chop them.
He lived in the room with the cot, the stove, and the toilet for many years, and he never stopped chopping. He chopped every tree as quickly as he could and the people were happy to see the land. The trees were no longer in the way.
John liked to chop trees and it made him happy.
“We love you, John.”
One day, when John was older than he was in the beginning, there were no more trees. John walked everywhere and no one had trees. The lands were empty and he could see every building, every mountain, every car, in every corner, of everywhere. He looked for a long time and John found no trees.
They told him, “You have chopped all the trees. There is nothing left.”
He went home and sat on the toilet. He wondered what he would do now that there were no more trees to chop.
“I could chop people,” he said out loud. “There are many people.”
He walked outside with his ax in hand and found an elderly man in a brown overcoat walking a half-bald dog. John lifted his ax and chopped them where they fell. He found that chopping a man and a dog was not the same as chopping the trees. He returned to his room and sat in the bathtub full of hot water until his skin was clean, then he washed his clothes until they were clean, and finally he scrubbed his ax until it was clean. He placed his ax beneath his bed and slept on the cot until the next afternoon when he heard the knocking on his door.
John looked through the window and saw the police men, standing in front of his doorway. He stepped outside and felt the warmth of his bare feet burn.
“I chopped that man and his dog.”
“Why did you do it?” they asked.
John looked at them and said, “I want to put my shoes on.”
They let him go inside to put his shoes on. When he reached for his shoes under the cot he found his ax. John knew they did not like that he chopped people, and he was in trouble. He put his shoes on and walked outside to chop the police men so they could not take him away.
It was cold but John’s feet felt good. He held his ax and walked away from his room, the cot, the stove, and the toilet, and the chopped police men. John walked away beyond the corner of the land until he was not on the land anymore.
trust me
You’ve got to know a one for trust to flourish. And I know some folks are good on feeling like they trust someone, but feelings waver and wander too much, to and fro, like air and water, the natural state of chaos. I’m a knower. A flaw, an asset, both. My feeling is underneath an ocean of certainty. I do not feel trust. I know it, or I don’t. If I know it then we are on a personal level. If I know it then I will be with you ‘til death, whether I am present, whether I am right, whether I am good, because I will trust you to let me know when I am failing. If I know it.
Trust me, or don’t. Allow me my certainty.
trust me
You’ve got to know a one for trust to flourish. And I know some folks are good on feeling like they trust someone, but feelings waver and wander too much, to and fro, like air and water, the natural state of chaos. I’m a knower. A flaw, an asset, both. My feeling is underneath an ocean of certainty. I do not feel trust. I know it, or I don’t. If I know it then we are on a personal level. If I know it then I will be with you ‘til death, whether I am present, whether I am right, whether I am good, because I will trust you to let me know when I am failing. If I know it.
Trust me, or don’t. Allow me my certainty.