Wednesday, November 30, 2011

The Chest Cavity








“It just creates and then fulfills a series of needs.”

“That’s all it does?”

“Yip.”

“So why is it so sensitive? It’s not like it’s conscious.”

“It has a degree of choice but not nearly to the same extent as a certain other machine.”

“How do you mean?”

“It creates lists.”

“Lists?”

“Yes, lists. It orders the things it wants to do and then does them, in order of what it defines as most important to it.”

“It doesn’t sound terribly impressive.”

“It is the most important machine here. In fact, it creates importance. It decides whether or not you consider the taste of something more important than the effect of it or whether the feeling of a song is more important than how tired your legs are. It decides whether or not it’s more important to you to spend time with the ones you love than it is to be at work. It decides whether or not it’s more important to you to pay your bills than do the things you’d rather be doing.”


“Bloody hell.”


“You know what the worst part is?”

“What?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been called down here to fix it.”

“It breaks often?”

“Not often. But it does break. I’ve seen ones that have broken too often or too much. Held together with bits of tape and string. A great sheet of nothing wrapped around, just so they can hold it together.”

“Could that happen to this one?”

“It has the words ‘Anything Can And Quite Often Does Happen.’ inscribed across the front. What do you think?”


“I think it’s insane.”



“Correct.”

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

The Time Served













This one is about how music gets ruined by the people you're no longer with.

This one counts seconds between moments.

This one desperately dresses wounds with logical statements.

This one only makes sense to the person who says it, until someone else, understands.

This one is here just to fill all the space that's left.

This is one you hear everyday.

This one is six words long.

This one, hates the last one.

This, is the sentence you still haunt.

Friday, November 25, 2011

The Fact That I'm Just Not Perfect














(The highways are filled with the dead inside).

The highways are filled with people on their way to other people.

(Look at the way they're looking at you with glassy eyes).

Look at how lonely they are and desperate for another human.

(The world needs to be burned down. Look at the news).

The world is filled with beautiful people. Look at the news.

(Never apologise).

I'm sorry.

(I am me).

No.

You're not.

Thursday, November 24, 2011

The Last Meal Request













You don't get to yell at me for being dead, if you're the one that killed me.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

The Room Is Nearly Empty















I already know what your plans for the weekend are.

I've been thoroughly briefed on the weather.

I've extrapolated your metaphors to illustrate your point.

I've heard your dissertation on what's wrong with the world.

I've paraded along next to your monologue.

So please. For me

Fill this silence with the words you promised to say.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

The Art Of Breathing













And in the beginning, my lungs had too much air in them, whenever you were near, like I could never breathe out enough.

And in the end, my throat closed, whenever you were far, like I could never breathe in again.

Monday, November 21, 2011

The Flock Of Humans















I am with you, from Johannesburg, to Japan.

I am with you, from your first word, to your last.

I am with you, from your cracked ribs, to the corners of your smile.

I am with you, from the hotels, to the streets.

I am with you, from a raised fist in a crowd, to a single white dove.

I am with you. I am with you. I am with, you.

Friday, November 18, 2011

The Way Water Flows








"What a beautiful day." You said, as I died.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

The Invisible Postal Service






















I keep thinking you already know. I keep thinking I've sent you letters that were only ever written in my mind.

Monday, November 14, 2011

The Protestors In The Park















And all around, people fall like leaves in the snow. But those who cut you down, do not know, they are planting a forest.

Friday, November 11, 2011

The Forgotten Feeling













I know there was something before you. I just can't remember what it was.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

The Future Of Text Books















Should any child be reading this in a history book, you should know that we loved. I hope that hasn't changed.

Monday, November 7, 2011

The Garbage I Became













Now the TV's on at 3am and you're sleeping on the couch, because you can.
Now the plate is where you left it, no one else is going to move it for you.
Now the politics of blankets are gone.
Now the people on the radio sound so far away.
Now you've got no plans when you wake up, just keep on keeping on.
Now the morning fades to light, to twilight, to night.
Now you rinse and repeat.
Now you remove the sleeve and remove the film.
Now you remove the sleeve and pierce the film several times.
Now dinner takes exactly 2:30 minutes.
Now the earth hurtles through the universe around a giant ball of fire.
Now none of your acquaintances know they're really your only friends.
Now none of your friends know they're just acquaintances.
Now you've got to get used to being alone, like when you're born, like when you die.
Now you're free.
Now you can do whatever you want.
You just have to do it alone.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

The Rain Thieves













Someone has stolen the music from the rain. Now it's just a distant noise. Playing for you. An audience of one.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

The Dark Room






















In this room. With the curtains drawn. With the lights on. The sun shining outside. This is where you hurt the most.