memento

the clarity of diamonds, oceans untold,
lurks under the glass and behind the frame of your favourite picture.
photographer's remorse sets in,
drunk amongst a black and white collection of stills,
darkroom fingerprints,
and perfectly exposed shots.
a thousand words gush forth, oxidizing in the chemical air and withering away forever,
proving once more that
nothing stays real for more than a second.

advice for the discerning traveller.

pack light.

wear comfortable shoes.

keep your passport and money in a safe place.

avoid travelling with sickly-looking individuals.

beware of incoherent strangers.

generate a possible escape route at every new destination.

remember! encounters are rare, but they do happen.

should you or a loved one become infected, contact the local authorities immediately.

due to recent administration, it should be known that the term 'zombie' is politically incorrect.

henceforth, the undead shall be collectively known as 'steve'.

steve will not die without a well-administered headshot. bring a collapsable baseball bat everywhere you go.

should you become 'steve'd', please be sure to eat your children immediately.

remember, their is a high risk of infection when traveling abroad! protect yourself.
Stay alert! arrive alive! beware of steve!

staycation.

the hotel hallway yawns on
for miles,
caressing the dingy terra cotta complexion of the
poc
kmar
ke
d
stucco walls.

there are no doors, no refuge to be found in
withered saltine matresses
or minifridges
or pay-per-view pornography.

you are deserted, an island lost in translation,
adrift in a sea of royal blue high-traffic carpet tile.

a most fitting purgatory.

the 4am fever.

i went to the mall last saturday. the air was thick with people, last season's coats and vegan-leather wallets lined with crinkled dollar bills and scrimped ideas. there is a safeness in this sea of demography, as if the glass doors were magnetized to strip you of all deviance and coddle you safely in a sterile cocoon. even if you go with someone, you're always alone in a shopping centre. you're only thrown off by the occasional smog of the pan-asian cuisine booths in the food court, the hot MSG-tainted steam drifting languidly into your mind, seducing you and your $8.95 in change.

i went to the mall last saturday, and all i could think about was what it would be like to smash it to pieces. to throw my body against the 10 foot glass windows at the Gap. to completely trash the Applebee's in A14. to shop for shoes in privacy because holy fuck, the mall is on fire and there's no way in hell the Aldo staff are being paid enough to work through it. it's a private dream, but it gets me through the designer [waist]land without spending too much of my hard-earned cash. precious dollars that never seem to add up to a social equivalent. why can't $100 cash buy you an unconditional 5 minute conversation with a normal person? it seems like a fair trade to me. but then that would be prostitution, and it seems a little desperate i suppose. they say that streetwalkers get a sense of emotional emptiness. well, so does my wallet. it's called PURSEtitution and if you charge your cards right, you could enjoy it too.

I went to the mall last saturday and i asked the information desk if i would ever find someone that comes even close to being in love with me. the white-haired man asked me if i'd lost my parents. i found it more advisable to peruse the bleached hallways until i came across Build a Boy, the Frankenstein Affiliate of Build-a-Bear Corporation!. it seemed promising, but their stock was significantly depleted. other girls had pillaged it in a sale the day before.

"See girlie, whatcher lookin' for is a grade-A specimen. we don't get meny-a those types 'round these parts, so wurr usu'lly fresh outta them there thinkin' brains until friday. 'speshully right before the prom and all. as for the joke-tellin' add-on, i gotchu nothin'. sorry darlin', looks like you're goin' it alone or compromisin', and you ain't gonna like much-a either." The shop manager chewed noisily on a deathly mix of hayseed and chewing tobacco, commanding his snake oil with an indescribable poetry. it was admirable.

i went to the mall last saturday, and i think i'm just gonna chalk it up to pleasant loneliness and call it a day before i hurt myself. cocoons may be lonely, but at least i won't wither while i'm gestating.

happy black cloud day.

the opening chords still churn stomachs, tighten muscles, string beads of seat along my goosebumped arms. mountains melt. five thirteen oh six was a consummation. the hum lingering around the amplifiers generated a fine electricity when it lingered with our tears. our tribulations were snatched from our bodies, ripped away violently and molded into bridges and drum beats. i am a warrior, a fleshy cell holding the chassis of an organ together, thrumming with energy. i disappear and couldn't be happier about it. i am closer to infinity than i have ever been, and i have the ticket stubs to prove it.

thank you. without that day, my head wouldn't be the same. my pulse wouldn't quicken, oh no, not like it did on that night. but most of all, i wouldn't feel the swell of my chest every time i hear your voice, or see your smiles, because i know that you care about my nameless cell structure somewhere in that clouded mind of yours. you are my safety net, my last stop, my sanctuary, and no one will ever be able to take you away from me. thank you for the time.

happy fall out boy new year. let's make it a good one.
05/13/06

city of castles.

...and as the escaped parasol slithered across the night breeze, unseasonably floral fabric ironically faded to perfection, that's about when i realized i could never leave the beach. wet sand curdled between my bitten fingertips, clinging to the shallow indentations in my skin. my fingerprints seemed to melt back into the earth, leaving a strange new not-person that suddenly needed a warm sweater and some advil.

arguably, i was home. i just didn't know the blueprints quite yet.

the moonlight washed over me, pooling in my head, providing a new set of teeth that i didn't quite have room for. i tasted the stars, million-dollar pinpricks in a velvet tapestry. lavish indeed. and inviting. yes, definitely inviting. and warm. nothing like the starchy checkerboard picnics in the park i'd become accustomed to attending every sunday at three.

and then, in the most perfect of all perfect moments, the sky opened up and rained thousands of coloured balloons. every shape and size, for miles either way. the tranquil sky was thick with latex souls on a seaward pilgrimage. it seemed to prove that as long as you had patience and taxi money, you could find your way home. and home is the best place you will ever feel.

but then the winds kicked up and trillions of balloons danced across the sandy pavilion. they followed my parasol, eastward towards morning.

...and as the escapees danced across the air currents, transparent spheres frighteningly close to the truth, that's about when i realized that it didn't matter whether i could leave the beach or not. because a parasol is a parasol, but you'll never see a night like this again.

sick.

you're a user
and i'm a loser
it's okay, you'll just have a party on your own.

by the end, your mouth feels like wool from all the yarn you've been spinning
you stumble and mumble some stranger's name
and wake up tomorrow with a sweater that doesn't fit you

i'll try to stay sane
but it's just so damn hard without motivation

the rabbit's caught in the trap
you're a sap for his velvety ears and sticky red fur
pulse spilling everywhere

you've gotten to my head
it's funny how every man is an island and a liar
you never could believe in the sandbars, they move all the damn time
and the water's too deep and far to get there

inside out, pieces of you like broken glass
he'd call it bonkers and send you home,
like a drugstore cowboy, with all of it in a bottle
i don't even know what full throttle is anymore

everything dies.
monsoon millionaire.