Coming Soon

CSI: Antartica

Does the polar opposite of a germaphobe exist? Someone who likes to roll around in filth, never washes their hands after defecating, and buys germs and bacteria in capsules via the Internet and ingests them like tic-tacs?

I like his salt and pepper hair and his voice. He makes me want to slowly go gray, smoke a pack a day and wear white track pants. He's not old but his daughter treats him like he's forgotten everything, including the really important things.

"Diana," He says from behind her, inspecting her walk the way you would produce at a supermarket, "We need to do something about those legs."
"Dad, I've always been bow-legged."

She steps off the curb, moves towards the driver's side of a crookedly parked white sedan.

"Who parked my car like this?" He says because he really doesn't know.
"Dad, you did..."

Inspirations

My denim shirt, photographs of Japanese celebrities in postcard form, conversations where I am sober but the person I am speaking to is not, the mug that I took from my grandparents' summer home in Pennsylvania with the portrait of a native american chief on it that is currently being used as a pen holder, smelling lavender incense while drinking hazelnut coffee, uplifting text messages from people who have put me down in the past...

Fantasy #17208

On stage in front of a crowd of 4,000 and they all reply 'NOISE!' whenever i say 'MAKE SOME!'

I've decided to open a business.
Sadly the slogan 'Get your daily dose of caffeine and christ!' has already been taken.

Spring

If I held some political position today would be the day I would resign.

At a dive bar in Hoboken

"The poor oxen! What do they do without their tails?"

She's talking about borsch.

She’s sitting 4 stools down from me, singing 'fly me to the moon' louder than the jukebox, louder than everyone else's conversations. Her cell phone is permanently in a state of flux, going from opened to closed in timed intervals. Her cigarettes are longer than her fingers and it figures.

I call her Norma even though the bartender says, "Alright Christina." It doesn't fit. Hers is a name for a young girl with a life full of tender and sweet moments yet to come: beaches, benches with panoramic views of skylines, boys with first names like Jared and Jonathan. My name is better suited. It brings to mind eyes trailing mascara, stumbled, crooked walks home early in the morning, a car permanently going in reverse and accelerating into the same roadblock.

Her phone is blinking and vibrating on the bar. I feel obliged to go outside and tell her but I think better of it and wait for her return.

When she walks back in the first thing she does is open her phone, exclaiming to everyone, "9-11? What a terrible time to call!"

Now the x-mas lights are talking to me,
Saying kind things like
You're a king,
You can have whatever you want,
You'll always be happy.

All of her husky, whispered sentences ended with 'though.'
It was as if all her thoughts were punctuated by uncertainty.

"You do all you can to live pure and true
but sometimes it seems that your fate
ain't really up to you..."

Dear Mark,

When the ocean recedes
and the earth and moon
have gone away
we'll stand together
us horse-headed mongrels
singing a ballad or two
on a piano that's on fire.

Sound advice on how to live

"Let's walk with our heads down."

The Graduate

The squeaking sighs of Benjamin
represents the singing chorus
of a million uncertain youths.

Thoughts on Success

The flags of
all old triumphs
blew in the
sedated winter wind

So smoothly
So proud

Until they touched
the frosted ground
and had to be burned.

Patient #1

She clutches her purse like a crying newborn: against the chest with occasional pats to its leather back.

Her perm is failing before me, gray curls losing their life and prominence, becoming absurd abstract shapes brought together by cheap hairspray.

She talks about her job. Though I hear what she says the words have no meaning, a foreign tongue spoken to no one. I get the feeling this happens to her a lot.

I take notice of the large circular frames resting on her nose and study the thickness of the lenses. I know that if she were to lose these, to have a ‘Velma moment,’ she would be lost and I envision her wandering around some strangers' backyard, bumping into kiddie pools and swing sets, begging for someone to help her find her glasses.

Now I’m worried. I want to walk her home. I want to help her cross the street and buy her groceries.

She opens the door to leave. "Take care!" and she means it.

I say it back and it's one of the few times where I mean it too.