10:03 I touch people like a monsoon lover nestled in the folds of shiny valleys. I touch them where the water runs dry, where God settles down at night. Flit around a fruit market, pulp of a ripe orange spilling out of velvet lips and splitting concrete. I touch the fruit but they don’t touch me back. The papaya feels like a slick leather forehead pulsing beneath my spindly black legs. 13:22 My mind can’t help but wander—it’s part of my nature like flight and hunger. The birds have it good, they’re all up there and scratching holes in space while I’m heavy and hunted like a goddamn whale. Colors drip out of my peripheral vision, blending together like mother’s fingers as she weaves the spindle round and round, round and round. Everything spins fast and it feels like blindness. 20:28 When night comes, the lanterns descend and I’m scared the fire will escape and swallow the sky. Look at these humans, look at their skin glisten pale gold under artificial lights like ghosts, like skinned scallops, bodies stacked on bodies, tide washing in and out, in and out. My God, they tuck their secrets away so well: in the caves in their nose, the hollow of their neck, the crevice between their legs. I hide so well with their secrets but it’s a shame there’s nowhere for them to hide. The moon is full and my stomach is empty, yearning always yearning.
i. teeth on gum, grinding. on the oc making minty-fresh topography with the wad in between my molars. catch a shadow in the window of a girl fading into frozen under the dyslexic reels of eclipsing terrain. wonder whether there is a word for the shiver as the panorama of landscapes fuses together across the lacquer. or is that the tremor of being torn apart? ii. before every class i wrap a coarse-knit bandage around the cavities that adjoin each appendage. smash my limbs into their sockets & sacrifice a cm of length off each for assurance. my fear is tectonic. maybe that's why i sit so still. iii. ravens have been winking at me all week. googled psychosis then passerines. found that these wooly mammoths among birds are engineered to perch (phalanges arranged to point, three forwards, one back.) do their twig-like toe-knuckles grow as grey as my cold feet worrying about in which direction to fly? iv. it has only been 3 lectures but the pile of smoke-black feathers that litters the ground beneath my feet has disintegrated into gradient plumes of ash. i shed statically, a tropophobic, a tree, a gum-stuck bandage-wrapped bird's-nest effaces my reflection upon the windowpanes of the oc.
ORIGAMII am origami, And though complicated, My skin is thin delicate paper. I unfold in your arms. And when flattened out, You can still see all the lifelines I’ve been hiding. You may have crumpled me up and tossed me away. But instead, You shaped me into a different form, The most beautiful I have ever been. WATERFALLYour tresses flow from your scalp, A waterfall of ribbons, pooling at your neckline. I submerge myself underneath the cascading curtains, Lamenting in the transience of this endless chute. I find refuge in your collarbone cavern And dream of staying past winter and into the spring.
purity; a child in white lace purity; a child in reverence purity; a child bride to christ purity; a child in white lace has a question purity; what is purity? why am i wearing white? why does god need so many children, hands stretched out stretching us out stretching us thin, can lace be brittle and break? children can. purity; when man says original sin, man means woman. so, little girl in lace, are you iridescent? your little wedding dress spun tight across you, suffocating your chest. white for innocence white for pure white for washing. turn her over and see her muddled knees. she’s been on her knees. she’s been praying for purity. little child brides and grooms ready to take a mouthful of a holy man, ready to start confessing. purity; a child wrapped in gauze. a child who opens her mouth, not for men, but to light a spark, to spread a fire, to burn white lace.
My room. Four walls Of slumber. Sucking my fist, I am here As a threat to myself. My friends And I Sit here sometimes And we play Recital. When I clap my hands People behind the glass, they laugh (You bitch, you bitch). Sometimes I stop and I think, “Wait a minute, This is my future.” O God. Now I must go back.
I just mean the tallest fences. I’d felt myself splintering through the cracks in the wood, coming out brick-dusted and opaque and still I couldn't recognize the thing on the other side. Not those limbs, or my limbs, or the flesh of the trees. I'd forgotten neck from spinal cord, misplaced trachea for the hollow bones of a bird. I'd tried to make voice from metal, bit down hard the cool sting of copper; my tongue nothing but trace fragment. I was split thin to collarbone, but this whistling storm outside, how it wanted to be in my throat, in my breath. How I caught lungs until I forgot myself, saw the blade stuck in cheek, not the blood on the floor, just the glint from the lights overhead. How they rung in the quiet, but I'd gorged on all my voices and now the silence was a lakebed & / I'd found myself / shipwrecked at the bottom.
Hu-bump Hu-bump Hu-bump With every turn of the tire, I feel the hu-bump. KILLER RUBBER SQUASHES BIRD the headline Resounded like a choir, a reverse echo, one that Gets louder with every hu-bump of the bird murder Rather than softer. I ran over a bird. Involuntary bird-slaughter. Accidental. Pile of concrete colored feathers thunked the hood Of the neighboring car at red-light. Green-light. Bird slid off, perfectly coincided with my tire, And hu-bump, then sobbing. October 20th, 2015, the day I murdered a bird, Also the day Ohio delayed executions for seven Death row inmates: 2017 would be their death year. My previous theory that Ohio Held only four people within its borders Was proven wrong. Meet Robert Van Hook. Setting: Gay bar, Cincinnati, 1985. Robert “Bobby” Van hooked David Self, unsuspecting. Strangled David Self. Stabbed David Self. Murdered David Self. Homophobic Panic, self diagnosed. Bobby will be injected on July 25, 2017. He will be married a week before To an Australian pen pal. He has waited 31 years to die. Meet Sr. Helen Prejean. Born: Baton Rouge. Occupation: Nun. But none of her nun occupation Would endorse death penalty. Do you know how the death penalty is performed? Performed, they say, as if it is a show or talent that we can watch, that we can clap at the end and say, “Bravo! Again, again!” Three rooms, separate. Four if you count Bobby’s, who will be imprisoned on a gurney, a word I hate for how it comes out the mouth, like regurgitating a word we can’t remember from long ago. Gurneys, wheeled beds who roll patients to their saviors, or bodies to their graves, now also used for those in between, those being rolled to their final living destination; straps will coil around his wrists and legs. Patches and heart monitors will pepper Bobby’s chest. His lungs will probably expand in, out, in, out, in, out, rapidly, as if they know that soon, their job will end. Two needles will prick and enter the epidermis. They will slide into place with trouble at first. Poking, poking, poking until the right vein pops. Enter Isotonic solution. Harmless. There will be a curtain call because an audience will have gathered to watch the “performance.” Spectators loved ones of both Bobby and David. Curtain between Bobby and his spectators, and curtains separating the other three rooms. A second injection will slither in, rendering Bobby sleepy. Button One. Sodium thiopental. Anesthetic. His unwinding will be unknown to him, unless they do it wrong. If they do it wrong, his stomach will swell in unknown hernia, and his gasping for air will penetrate the glass in between him and his spectators. Button Two. Pancurium bromide. Liquid will ink into veins, muscle relaxer—if done right. Button three. Potassium chloride will stop his heart. Some will say his heart stopped long ago, in 1985. Sr. Helen Prejean is the one who told me how; the three drug givers will sit in separate rooms out of view of the audience, of Bobby, of the doctor present who will only be required to announce when Bobby is dead. How odd will he feel? A doctor, there to make sure death is safe. How odd will he feel? There is a button for each injector. There is a light above the button. When it comes on, Injector must push their button. They do not know which of the three they are. Who delivered the final dose? I murdered a bird in 2015. Hurt, bobbling, painful rasps exuding, probably, from its chipped beak. It was a pigeon, the scavengers. Did it plunge in front of my car to end its suffering? What’s worse, the dying, or the waiting?
Surrounded, I feel suffocated This murky bar, club, whatever you want to call it People are packed in tight like canned mandarin oranges But none of them will ever be as sweet I see them all, and they stare back one by one The hunger in their eyes Thirsting to quench their loneliness If only for a night The music plays on I don’t know how to be hungry You see to that You make me feel assembled You make me feel full I think about going home Because crowded spaces make me nervous And I don’t people well Hello my name is Awkward The music plays on I don’t know how to be confident But you open me up You show me how to grow You show me how to thrive I think about drinking more Because liquid courage is supposed to help, right? My anxiety is noxious Greetings from planet Getting Drunk The music plays on I check my phone once, twice, thrice Maybe you got caught in traffic? A pack of bros bump into me and I spill my drink The big one shoves me “Watch where you’re going Fag.” My throat knots and I wince at the last word My shirt is soaked and stained My eyes lower and I turn to leave The music changes Suddenly big, hairy arms wrap around my wet torso “Hey beautiful, where’s the fire?” Your beard tickles my nose as you kiss me A tear rolls down my cheek I lean in and kiss you back I stare into your eyes as you backpedal us onto the dance floor I don’t know how to dance You know all too well You try to sway with me romantically But I stumble and we laugh at my two left feet
2.14 ~ ~ FIRST QUARTERi walked with marissa and her roommate the few blocks from their house in riverwest to bremen’s cafe. when we got there we could hear a band in the back that was covering pedro the lion songs. it was an event marissa’s friend was putting on and marissa seemed to know the majority of the people there. i rarely go out and even though marissa introduced me to most of the people she talked to i still felt uncomfortable. we watched the band for a little bit and then got more drinks. jake was sitting at the bar and he bought the three of us a round of rail tequila shots. i went back in the room where the music was playing and a my chemical romance cover band was setting up. i didn’t know where marissa was and i was starting to feel extremely anxious and upset with myself. i’d really been looking forward to tonight and going out and being social again but i think i’ve spent an irreversible amount of time alone and instead of enjoying being out i just wanted to cry and be teleported back home so i could pet my cat and listen to beach house in bed. i took a sip from my beer and still felt exactly the same. i didn’t know where to look so i looked down at my feet and instead of seeing my feet i saw a large black dog with brown markings looking up at me. i pet the dog and asked if it was having a good time. it wondered off and shortly after that marissa found me in the crowd and then jake found us and we all danced and sang along to songs i hadn’t heard in years. 3.17 ~ ~ WAXING GIBBOUSzuul is a 7 month old pug whose owner is staying with us for a few days. he's basically the naughtiest dog in the world but so adorable he gets away with everything. this dog could literally murder me and i'd still love him. 7.18 ~ ~ FULL today’s my last day in the midwest, i fly back to arizona at 10pm tonight. it took a long time but i convinced jake to wake up early this morning and walk down to the lakefront to watch the sunrise over lake michigan. i used to do this all the time by myself when we lived together in milwaukee but i needed him to come with me otherwise i couldn’t get past the security checkpoint and back into the dorms. on our way back we stopped at walgreens on state and roosevelt to get some food. when we walked out we had to wait to cross the street and standing in front of us was a medium sized white and dark brown pit bull. its owner had his back turned to us and i pet the side of the pup’s happy face and it licked my hand all over. after we crossed the street jake said “sneaky dog friend.” 8.6 ~ ~ WAXING CRESCENT tonight was the second night of ‘this lil lit fest’, a 3-day event for small publishers in denver put together by catch business. spy kids review’s showcase reading happened tonight at a nice bar. catch, scout, and steve all read. a lot more people showed up for it than i thought were going to. afterward catch had an open mic style reading in her backyard and a lot of ppl showed up for that too. someone brought a medium-big white lab and i don’t remember what his name was but it was something wacky and adorable like booper. i was in the living room with a few other people when the dog walked in by itself and i said i was really happy it was there bc 1) i love dogs and 2) it meant i could write about tonight in this journal. someone asked to hear what i have so far so i took out my phone and read condensed versions from the beginning up until zuul and stopped there bc i thought that was the funniest entry so far and i wanted to end it on a high note. 10.5 ~ ~ WAXING CRESCENT a couple weeks ago i started working at a call center for verizon wireless and i made friends with a lot of the people in my training class. one of those people was emily and after she found out i’m vegan she insisted she set me up with her best friends krista, who’s also vegan. i dm’d krista on instagram and we talked for awhile and made plans to go on a ~6 hour hike as a ‘first date’. when i got to her house she walked outside carrying a tiny and super skinny rescue pup she had adopted ~5 days before. we walked in her house and 2 small adult dogs started barking. one was a lil wiener dog named rigby and the other some kind of chihuahua mix named mordecai. after the hike we were exhausted and sweaty and she asked if i wanted to go hang out with her friends and i was like, “okay.” we went over to her friend brandon’s place and he had a small and energetic dog that i kept referring to as “pristine”. krista told me brandon named the dog toulouse bc he’s obsessed with ariana grande and ariana grande has a dog named toulouse.
gonna save myself for Jesus and marry a butcher. gonna burn dusk like a spliff. gonna fuck with my body till it feels like something. gonna fuck with my body till it falls out completely like an egg yolk. i can break it hurt it throw it out all i want but i get to keep my soul. - maybe i don’t deserve it but i’m tired. i would like to just stop. i don’t really know what that means and i also feel the exact opposite. like i would just like to go. to any where. i like feeling night time on my skin wandering but going some where it doesn’t matter where. and then when it feels right to stop. and then stop. - paradise is an old highway with a motel painted pink with fake palmtrees out front and printed onto a postcard taped on the wall next to my bed that i look at when ever i pause from reading some thing and the lighting in the photo takes me into some one else’s short story not one i’ve read but feels familiar enough with out knowing how it ends so it’s probably my short story that i’m writing The Paradise Lost Edition is the new, greatly expanded full-length edition of Alexandra Naughton's 2015 Bottlecap chapbook, My Posey Taste Like. It is a concept album inspired by Lana Del Rey. Surreal landscapes and insincerity masked as sincerity and vice versa and limbo is always a place on earth with you with you with you. https://products.bottlecap.press/products/paradise
|
Archives
March 2020
Categories
All
|