She sat with her feet upon the wall. He looked at her, "You seem nervous." She stayed silent. He took out his camera and took a picture. "You know, you look like Dorothy, with those on." She sighed, "When's the last time you've seen the Wizard of Oz?" He looked down. She's never been the same since her parents died. Her father was a firefighter, but he didn't die of a fire. Neither did her mother. They died of a car. A car with one passenger. One intoxicated passenger. He went up to her and whispered, "I know it hurts."...
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. She shielded her eyes from the flashes of light that arced across the blackened sky, her face soaked with tears, her heart pounding in her chest as the cacophony of noise rattled her skull.
In London, a family huddled together in a corner of their living room, across from the window that had blown itself out from the force of the first impact. They held between them the grandmothers crucifix, praying to their God as if he could save them.
A man stood atop the Eifel...
In hindsight, the solution was obvious.
Anyway, that's what I thought when I awoke, face and hands already sweaty, the dark and humid air beginning already to claw at my face.
There was no light. I didn't have one on me. Didn't think I'd need a phone, with no reception. No, that wasn't part of the plan. And I don't smoke.
So, unlike the movies where there is in-scene lighting when the hero is trying to claw his way out of the coffin, it was nothing. It was dark and moist and stiflingly, oppressively silent.
The plan had been easy:...
Water. I wish I were drowning in it now. That my car veered into the canal while I was driving home. Somewhere I shouldn't have been. A blue-house, now painted tan, that I've visited 100 times. A house where I rang the doorbell, felt stupid there was no answer, and drove home. On the way, I turned into an oncoming lane by complete accident... Cars beeped, and luckily no one was hurt. Startled, I made a U-Turn, and headed home. I wished there was a thunder storm, a hail storm, something to cover my windshield to make my car just...
And why shouldn't they? For ten years they worked to instill their beliefs, ritualize my family, and remove any lingering signs of hillbilly. They begrudgingly looked past my slow drawl, crooked teeth, and ragged clothes for the opportunity to have me hit a ball with their community adorned on my chest. Oh what sacrifices! To bring in such a heathen and educate him and trust him around your daughters. And what did they get in return? My car in the wall of town hall with a needle in my arm. Your fears were realized, your stereotypes were dead on. But...
This dream was better than waking. I was slim. Looked beautiful in the ivory vintage silk dress Mama had worn herself. Stepping out of a two horse carriage festooned in thornless white roses. Flash of cameras. Walking down the aisle holding Papa's arm, relatives crammed in the church, sitting and standing, heads turned to watch the procession towards the altar.
I couldn't see the bridegroom's face for some reason, something often goes amiss in dreams, but I knew he must have been hadsome.
I woke at the sound of footsteps down the hall, heavy, slow, echoes reverbrating into my consciousness....
He sat in the truck parked on the gravel drive, his arm hanging out the window, a cigarette dangling from his finger. The radio was on and Bon Jovi's Bed of Roses was blaring.
She watched him from the behind the closed screen door.
He lowered the visor so she wouldn't be able to see his reddened eyes. Def Lepard's Pour Some Sugar On Me came on next, and he tweaked the volume nob. He could tell she was still looking at him.
He finished his cigarette and flicked it out the window. He took a long drink from the...
ANONYMOUS CONFESSION. I am a car thief. This photo shows just one of the cars I stole last night. I am not just an ordinary thief. I only steal for really interesting people who do extraordinary things with them. It is a big secret but I think it is time to get a few things off my chest. I can't keep this to myself anymore as it is getting dangerous for me. I know 'they' are making plans to get rid of me as I know too much, it's just a question of when.
I have an escape route. I...
the birds on the telephone line have heard me talking
the birds on the power line have felt me typing
one bird two bird
the wind that bristles the oily feathers
the light off the moon through the black air
have all heard me
I can't remember what I've said
I've said so much
but the crows
I hear
don't forget a thing.
Pollution is an artist
and poison is a poet
Death is the brightest of colors
Noise is the sweetest song
Pollution won a grant
and poison won a fellowship
We're meeting for drinks downtown
to celebrate their well-deserved
recognition.