all, inspiration

We were hollow

In the beginning,
we held the universe
in our mouths and
stardust dripped bloody
from our lips.

We were celestial and
we were hungry and
we were magic.

In the beginning,
we loved like monsters,
splitting our bones wide open,
setting our broken bodies on fire,
licking poison from our wrists.

We were hollow and
we were titans and
we were terrible.

In the beginning,
we reveled in our unholiness,
in the freedom of our sins.
We never asked for forgiveness and
the world burned and
burned and
burned.

We were wild and
we were wide-eyed and
we were forgotten.

We will rebuild the kingdom out of teeth.

—  Emily PalermoGenesis

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all, prose & poetry, thoughts

Cast away

You put a spell on me. Not with your words, which self-destruct like coded spy notes. Not with promises made in a haze of smoke and ice cubes cracking in your whiskey, which melt away with morning fog at first sunlight. Not with your lips, which are greedy and selfish, which pull me in, your stubble scratching my skin and your tongue rough, like a cat’s. Not with your eyes, which pierce and enchant, then look away when my own rise to meet them. Not with your music, which randomly shuffles into my life, usurping the soundtrack of my moments, disrupting the equilibrium of my thoughts, beating along with the throbbing of old wounds, as if your pulse is the same as mine, our blood flowing as one.

But that night, as we walked through the city of a million strangers and a dozen friends, you took my hand and held it so gently, so surely, never letting it go. You held my hand and I floated over the cobblestones, higher and higher, in disbelief and enchantment, joining the blossoms soaring in the city’s winds.

And then the night was over, and the day came, and the next, and I’m still here, floating with the fallen flowers and the plastic bags and the stray feathers, lost and off-course, getting stuck on branches and lampposts before the wind gusts rip me off and carry me higher still, possessed by the memory of your hand holding mine.

Where are you now that I am so high above, spell-bound and cursed, no longer even human, not knowing how to bring you up to me or how to come back down?

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all, thoughts

Not for us 

Writing and deleting. Minimizing and re-opening programs. None of this is worth it. Neither you nor I. Just a spec of dust on a spec of dust on a spec of dust on the great open plains of the universe.

3,000 years from now, when the nuclear-enhanced cockroaches evolve into a highly civilized society, some rogue team of nuclear-enhanced roach archeologists is going to dig out a couple of badly erroded database servers labelled “WordPress” from one of the great ancient pre-nuclear-cockroach-era craters. They’ll spend some 20 years more figuring out how to decode the binary code into ancient English and that into Modern Nuclear-Enhanced Cockroachese. And then they’re going to collectively wonder what on earth we were thinking, recording utter drivel on those silly primitive discs. Especially on April 17th, 2015 of the pre-nuclear-cockroach-era, when our efforts could have been much better spent offline, preventing the inevitable extermination of the species and overall-type apocalypse. And then they’re going to have a good, hard, nuclear-enhanced laugh, and thank us for that nuclear part of the deal.

Just remember who you’re writing this for. It isn’t for us.

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