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the sky ablaze with a sunset the color of flamingos.
life is shorter than we are, she says, so why beat around the bush?
Be brave. Be bold.
But being a moon goddess, a more highly evolved artist, a being full of nothing but love and tropical shore (though she is Upper West Side via Charleston), she’s going to tolerate it, love me from a distance all the same, wish me well on my stunted little path where I clutch my rage close like a book or a pet rat.
Poor Cinderella, Ava says when I tell her this story. Where are your anthropomorphic mice? Your cinder-encrusted frocks?
Fake white trash by the overeducated. The worst kind.
Because books are dead, Smackie, didn’t you know? Because almost no one comes down here but you. I
Every day they dog me, little furred shadows.
Sometimes it’s good to take a break
Read. Be a guest in other worlds. Perhaps you’re growing. Evolving. Trust, Samantha. Patience.
He’s not a lion, he’s a lemming.
A little fall never hurt anyone, you know?
Don’t trade one kind of blindness for another.
“Your beauty is nuanced and labyrinthine like a sentence by Proust.”
The toothy blade of saw dissolves into silvery, light-kissed waters. I float on their buoyant waves.
She’s holding a flute full of fizzy pink water upon which I am now drifting, thrashing a little to keep afloat.
“So do you really want to be a passenger in someone else’s narrative?”
“You want to be empowered.”
“You want to fuck, not be fucked,”
I will not fall, I will float. Up into their high blue sky full of fluffy clouds and rainbows. Up, up, up into the pink mist and the laughing light.
nightmares dressed as daydreams, about trading your soul for a kiss.
he realized she was a woman of flesh, that awakened all sorts of other sordid appetites.”
Books, they’re like old friends.
Do we want sadness around us? We’re suns, do we want clouds?
The truth is I saw nothing. The tall watery form of a stranger with a black cloud for hair. A woman blurred around the edges. The Dead.
They tried to eat her soul like a placenta.”
“We think we are alone. We think we are so special. We are deeply mistaken.
“And you know, when you go too far, not even your friends can bring you back.”
the future is a question mark,
