@flaming-sapiosexual / flaming-sapiosexual.tumblr.com
will I clank like a sheet metal press? will I hiss like a pneumatic piston? Does it come standard, or are there options packages? Are there attachments, maybe a solid cup holder? will I move smoothly, or will the gears sometimes jam? while we’re at it, is it automatic or stick? are there airbags? Can I choose the color or is it model T black? are spinning rims, tinting, or a wrap I can…
Many ropes were holding you back from being the new you you so desperately wanted to be. You cut the politics – and said no You cut the festival – that was always theirs, never yours You cut the home ties – and became a downtown girl You cut the Club – because it was always theirs, too and the ties that bind You thought you were done, but you forgot one So you got the hipster lumberjack…
Differentiate and separate compare and contrast it doesn’t matter. When one is so much better than the other, there’s no comparison. The next thing you know you’re reduced . reused . recycled . repurposed Into something new still useful until the upgrade becomes the standard, then you’re just nostalgia and taken out to the bin.
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For the fathers, sons, grandfathers, brothers, uncles, cousins, aunts, sisters, grandmothers, sisters and mothers. For entire lineages, generations. Dating so far back that cars were new Capone was a boy, and Twain and Edison were old men. Gathered together, woven through time, hard luck, goats, and curses. A game whose love and symbolism transcend the designated hitter, multimillion dollar…
The world wakes up to find I’ve beat it by an hour again. The dogs sleep. The girl sleeps. Here I am awake for an hour. Apparently 3 hours is all I needed. Not that I didn’t want more. Take meds for more. Wish for more. Like father. Like son. You don’t always get what you want, But sometimes you find, You get what you need.
I have a memory I share with Brett Bernard about Jerry Doyle. It was Marcon and the hall he was in was much too large, so he gathered all 200 or so people and shepherded them down to the con suite where he could enjoy a scotch and a cigar and properly recite the stories people had come to hear. It was an unbelievable security nightmare but it was an unbelievable memory, and he gave me that with a…
This isn’t right. Today doesn’t fit. It feels like I’m wearing someone else’s Ill fitting life. There should’ve been cards and gifts, tearfully accepted in their sincerity with whispered words obscured by bear hugs Thee should be the smells of cooking Salisbury steak with all the favorite trimmings. A small absence while beers were dank at an old bar filled with brothers in arms before coming…
A blink of an eye A flash All at once Or in dribs and drabs. It takes longer for some than others, A life flashing before one’s eyes. Sometimes it’s recalled in the blink of an eye, for some it takes a whole season. Only coming to a close as the last memories mimic the leaves, falling from the tree. When the last one flutters to the ground and comes to rest so does the body both ready for winter.
This morning, I made myself breakfast. Not poured milk into a bowl, Popped something in a toaster, Or nuked something in the microwave. Nothing fancy, I’m not a cook. A simple egg sandwich With cheese on toast. It wasn’t something I could do A year ago Nine months ago Six months ago Three months ago Last week. Too many memories In that kitchen. Too many meals I watched my mom cook Or smelled…
He was never really allowed to stop fighting He never knew peace From the jungles to the rice paddies from paycheck to paycheck to the hospital rooms Every day was another fight Every day was another struggle From the day he first drew breath to the day he drew his last He fought others He fought himself And in the end when he won he lost For when after he fought for those last ragged breaths…
It’s finally winding down, The firsts. Save two. One soon, Another later, That will serve as The start of my real new year. When I will stop saying “A year ago at this time..” Or “This time last year..” While tracing the lines of memories Filled with ghosts. Nothing will ever take the pain away, But maybe time will dull it. And someday I will look back and say “That was yesterday.” “But maybe…
Are the words easier to say than they are to hear because the time and space isn’t for you, but for them, because it makes it easier to keep polite distance while you wrestle with the time and the space?
Dear Mom and Dad, Well, I managed to weather Dad’s birthday as best as I could. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I cried most of the day. I missed you both horribly and ruminated on what I was planning to do for dad this day as far back as May. I’m still hurt and annoyed I didn’t get a level chance to ruin dinner or have a beer with him on his birthday. Mostly, mom I’m writing…
Most days, but every night, there’s a voice that echoes in my head. I am indeed the best and worst of my parents. I know what I want, what I desire to do – but my hand is stayed by obligation and responsibility, I am needed for now. But that won’t always apply, and I was raised to have a cool hand. Hurt
Art by Heather Theurer
That amazing LILO one though, with a secret appearance of nemo…
It’s lonely here today. Memories and shadows fill each corner of the room. I hear the echoes of years gone by, the discussions and arguments, the debates, and the laughter. If I squint hard enough, I can see your shapes in the wisps of smoke. The dogs occasionally sit at the foot of the stairs, or by the back door waiting for the sound of shuffling footsteps downward or the turn of a key in a…
