what isn't?

outside it was raining. i stood in the hall, next to the locked office door, reading my book. a man walked down the hall, in his late 50's, wearing a suit and tie. a week earlier, the same man had asked me to help him forward an e-mail. he always said hi and made sure we knew whenever the board room caterers had leftovers. as he walked by he looked down at my sandals and commented, no socks today? no, i said. it's always more about culture for you kids, isn't it, he said as he went in his office.

the way you want to be loved will change.

over time things become unrecognizable. we hope this brings us comfort.

fucking rockstars.

it was a birthday party. the family and friends were there, the friends mostly for the food. it was her seventh birthday and all the kids seemed between seven and fourteen. one of the girls was very pretty, but had a large belly which seemed out of place, yet curiously attractive. her mother was also in attendance, though a worn looking woman, much younger than she appeared. the parents at the party were busy keeping the kids organized, which seemed to go against their breeding.

it was time to cut the cake. the birthday girl sat in front of the chocolate cake that had her name spelled out in candy. everybody sang fake, then the wind blew out the candle first. her mom had to light it again, so she could make a wish. then it began to rain before presents could be opened, so everyone ran inside.

uninterested parents looked on as the seven year old excitedly showed them the seven dollars she recieved. minor conversations took place in the small living room. the mother who had been in labor only seven years earlier, bragged about how much more self-esteem her husband has had since he got his new teeth. he was on the other side of the room talking to another parent, not listening to his wife's conversation. then one of the parents asked the curiously attractive girl, so you're married? yes, last August, she replied. and then we separated in march, two months before the baby's due, she said loudly, as if telling a good joke. the expression on her mother's face didn't change, as if she saw this all coming a long time ago.

the rose bush

there is a lonely rose bush hidden from public view, behind the chamber of commerce. my only chance of finding something beautiful is if everyone else has overlooked it.

the joys of cutting grass

petting the cat, it struck me how delicate things are. with his head in the palm of my hand, his neck would snap with a vigorous twist. it's both empowering and humbling to know something can trust you while you imagine it being destroyed.

heads growing bulbous and heavy to the point of discomfort

the problem with getting smarter is being aware of it. also, losing sight of how insignificant your intelligence is. otherwise waiting for an idea to hit like a static shock. i'm sorry for this.

$90 just for thinking eight hours.

meanwhile, overseas, people work sweaty miserable days for pennies.

a bottle of cabernet sauvignon aged perfectly to regret.

those people from your past, who you don't talk to anymore, and don't think so much of you. you've probably been think too much of them. not that it matters now.

remember sitting at the park bench, while children ran around us. then one stopped to ask me, "is she your girlfriend?" i think we both laughed then.

everything is far away. as life goes on this becomes increasingly obvious. we die no closer to anything.

fishing poles are a weapon.

the philosophical burnout of a deserted college town. it only felt like home in the summer. not because of the weather so much as the memories that came with it. the only concept of freedom that withstood the turmoil of the 'I' that is adolescence. the dionysian splendor of sunshine and not knowing necessity. it seems a travesty that such a thing exists to ruin people.

romantic visions of the apocalypse

it might not end so soon, but sometimes it feels like it's already gone. nothing of us lasts forever. it's not so commonly accepted as one would think. it's more like a birthmark we've tattooed over long ago. to have it pointed out makes us quite naked. naked and beautiful despite or because of its meaninglessness?

wishing away the past 24 years.

same problems, same laughs. years to come it'll still be the same problems, same laughs. frequency and magnitude, that's all that changes.

no stories to tell, except this.

they busy themselves so that everything's a wash. at the end of it all, they look back and think to themselves, i really lived. somewhere in there, that's what living is.

on becoming socially awkward.

i find when friends are unavailable i substitute them with the arts. i drown myself in personal culture and literature when i am alone. if i should die a well read man, it will have been because i was lonely.

remember social obligation?

pretending to be interested in things you aren't. caring what others think of you and acting accordingly. pretending most of your waking hours, just to appease people who don't have to. family gatherings, educational facilities, work atmospheres. it is probably one of the first things we are taught as children. limitations and conformity. without them who knows what would happen?

wednesday at the public library

the old men play games on the computers, the young ones look at porn. no one wants anyone else to know.

vicodin and things catching up with you.

he was sleeping, sprawled out on the floor, under a web of computer wires extended taut across the room. his cell phone was next to him, open, next to piles of papers and books that littered the floor around him. how he managed to fall out of his chair and land under the wires, onto the only relatively empty floor space available, would remain a mystery. a few hours earlier he was driving. a pretty girl caught his eye on the side of the road and he honked his horn. "hey where you going, you need a ride?" he said to her. "hi. no it's ok, i'm just heading over here," she said pointing across the street. "well i can't drive you there," he said, laughing out loud at himself. "you need to call me," he said before he drove off through the already green light. she smiled and sort of nodded. when he first met her she was strung out on cocaine. she told him she heard she could go to vegas and make $700 a week as a prostitute. she wanted to know if he thought it was a good idea. he didn't. he would later joke to strangers about how much more she could have made with how pretty she is. joke, in a true, depressing kind of way. he was sleeping, sprawled out on the floor, under a web of computer wires extended taut across the room. when he awoke, he blamed some medicine he took. but maybe it was life, just wearing.

digital bird chirping.

i love you more the less often i see you.

hard like wood.

some people just have better lives than others. some never even think about things others worry about daily. even within our own lives we can realize a deviation between life being good and bad. when it's good you don't worry about things as much. when it's bad, that's all you do. but even when it's good, it doesn't make any more sense. you just don't think about it. so shouldn't the key to happiness be not worrying or thinking too much? that sounds easy.