you check your phone periodically
wait in line at baskin-robbins at 2 in the morning
your parents used to make love in the shower
it’s a thought that’s crossed your mind
soon enough someone will check your potassium though

we follow attractive men to brooklyn
are open-minded 
how many fathers would sit their sons down to watch hellboy ii
the first man to make a map is oil on canvas now
turn your brightness down, they say in unison
we are never happy enough with the stage direction
are defeated

a present from an ex-lover comes in the mail
the green steps covered in someone else’s slime
who cares, you think, who cares if i shaved off part of my eyebrow
you used to wait at the bottom of the water slide
a bloody-nosed fiend
and the boy who would draw all over your face 
nothing is open for delivery in 30 years from now

we press ourselves to the on sale mattresses
someone is always irritating someone else’s carpal tunnel
fillet every single fish
we recycle our tissues and ask for green burials

you’re sorry for the way you left 
a naked man next door is watching fantasia 2000
graphite is always being pushed into skin
you can’t afford a chiropractor right now, but no one else will step on you
the neighborhood becomes familiar 

back in ny and ready for good things to fucking happen

Not Much Has Changed

There’s a man who stares up at his ceiling. Years ago, in an attempt to make him more comfortable, the man’s father bought a putty that glowed in the dark. The father brought a ladder up from the basement and stuck pieces of this putty onto the ceiling, which, when dark, took on the appearance of a night sky. Unfortunately, the man, then a boy, was not too excited about this. “I’m even more scared,” he told his father one morning.

The man returns to his childhood home for a few days. He brings his lover and they share his childhood bed, which is now covered with a new (and cheap) set of burgundy sheets. “I’m even more scared,” he tells his lover the first night. The lover turns away and immediately falls asleep.

The man doesn’t know what to do. At home he sleeps. His mattress is firm and he never has to wait long. So he sits up, looks at the wall to his left. It’s been painted over, but one can still see bruises—pencil marks, nail holes, and newspaper clippings. A man had once walked on the moon.

He sits up and then plops himself back down onto the bed. He is cold and silently berates his father for buying such a strong air conditioner years back. He finds himself looking at the ceiling. It’s been years, but he remembers most of the dots. At first he is indifferent, perhaps a bit resistant to the passage of time. After all, most of our fears, the things that keep us awake at night, dissipate over time. “I’m ever more scared,” he suddenly whispers to everyone and no one.

I don’t need any declaration or grand gesture. Sometimes it’s just nice to know that you are able to share a powerful few hours with someone wonderful and beautiful.

And then I asked to kneel down with the pack—
to quiet the death choir
which hissed through my teeth.

My mouth—I let him lash it.

And watched while his panic slowly became us.

The seventh time I threw myself at him
something else took me.

-Alex Dimitrov, “Seven Chambers of a Wolf’s Heart”


Every once in a while it’s important to look at our actions, the way we behaved in a certain moment. Last night was special, difficult to describe, but an important moment in my life nonetheless. 

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the baes

Flash Review: Fury



Writer/director David Ayer has an unusual track record. He wrote the screenplay for the Oscar-winning Training Day, wowed critics with his bold cop drama End of Watch and then disappointed with the Arnold Schwarzenegger-starring Sabotage. His latest effort, big budget World War II drama Fury, lands somewhere in the middle. 

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