https://soundcloud.com/guntown-kid/the-suicide-party

https://soundcloud.com/guntown-kid/in-today

moments are compostable. they go in green bins. the weekly pickup is important; there are a lot of them lying around, just sitting there waiting to be recognized and taken advantage of and remembered forever. but they're picked up weakly, too, because moments can get heavy, and a heavy moment takes a long to decompose itself from the rest of 'em, like the rest of us - compostable moments.

and ramen

walking through town dressed in black like ryan peterson wondering what cool meant to us then, hid behind a re-lit cigarette for imagery.

letting the cool air fill my cavities and that pain that lifts my chin drawing eyes to the target forgetting how small it can become before coming on strong,

and strung out from machine to saddle. a punched-out cookie plucked and prodded walks in a thicket of manzanita and chicken ramen, in black, wondering what cool meant and what it ever did for us now.

when the bus jumps

you'd think it couldn't be done, but it happens all the time. standing and waiting, anxiously as usual, and always surprised when the bus jumps, quite literally into the sky, anxiously as usual. you'd think I'd've gotten over it by now, but it's quite a thing to see a bus jump, as per the usual preconditions of standing and waiting, and quite anxiously at that.

interjection

negligent and angry, to defeated and dismayed, to calmed and clear, to remorseful and broken, to distracted and entertained, to tired and helpless, to today. surprised and thankful, to productive and privileged, to "background in board games" and "top of my list," to getting things done and enjoying the Universe. a lunar phase passed overnight, overhead. I'm all the wiser, this side of the tide.

feels

I cried today. I hate that sound.

I've been putting stuff in mac&cheese for a long time. this time, it's five steaks. with a side of green beens.

with the modified glass-sail carbine that sent him for broke, forcing him into bankruptcy at twenty-four, he lifted his anchors and turned towards the bottom. "this will be most peculiar," he thought. endless white-caps burst on to the deck. had he prepared himself for this? his mother had filled him with enough self-doubt for two, and was eager to shovel down thirds. "Let this be a lesson," she used to holler at him from up the stairs. remembering at once what had got him this far, he turned toward the moon. he wouldn't be needing these any more.

early-onset adulthood, or something. fuck this! they screamed, by themselves, by not screaming at all.

the amoeba slowly awakens to the heavy-hearted sounds of the money-muscle machine tightening its grip on our souls.

starms

the arms of orion outstretched, just above the eastern skyline, falling away. an arrow strung, the string taut, pointed upward, outward, therewards, really. who is going where, from where are they, to who we are.

of all densities

I'm a very big fan of sci-fi, of all densities (though I prefer hard sci-fi). I've been reading "Red Mars" by Kim Stanley Robinson. and it often gets me thinking, about colonizing another planet, sure, and the social structures and dynamics that are redefined within that realm, of course, but also of the nothingness of Space and all that meaninglessness. and I get wrapped into it, down here on Earth, where I am, and are. this Terran form, how it envelopes me! and wholly! and that meaninglessness gets hung up on the coat racks of friends, and that's understandable on Earth. I've been running, looking up even, for a while, maybe. sometimes I have to remember my feet are still on the ground. this ground. for now.

fucklefanger

meticulously poorly crafted and mistook for somebody else. sorry.

he gazed over the horizon. "not much of anything really," he thought aloud and to himself. the landscape had shifted from the pale silt he had once remembered to something... 'dissonant.' "maybe next year," he thought in silence.

wordpaper

when words sometimes go together like sand paper and baby flesh, things are not well. when they slice like the proverbial knife does through butter, am I not better for it?

even closer. looking pretty slick so far.