best friend

Vines eat trees and that's metal af

I want to write you a song. I want to sing it so loud that my upstairs neighbors smile at how much I must love you.

I must love you so much. It's hard to reconcile with reality.  I've stopped looking around corners and under the rug for feared outcomes, and have since settled into being dumbstruck and feeling lucky.

Its meaning is simple.  It's joint, it's connective tissue; it's delicate and fallible and growing and utilitarian. At once an electrified socket and a sturdy, grounded plug. This love receives and delivers. Your love for me and mine for you, like a healthy vine turns, stabilizing as it extends.

My impulse is to pause.  To breathe through the swelling.  To surf the wave (cowabunga, dude). Do you feel this too?  Do you feel unsteady at how much I love you? Is that how everyone I've loved has felt, I wonder.

I hold on tight.  I vine.  You match that mechanism.  Dumb, lucky, and happy.

  • Current Music
    is all white noise machine generated, she asked to no one certain she didn't care about the answer one way or another, but would just like it to stop
  • Tags
best friend

absent present

wind blows through a chasm
pitting itself against a cool stone face
its beaten body belted
age stretched and beaded
a supple hand gropes at knobby rock
violet veins throb, pushing fingers
past clefts
wiggling up and forth
sand sticks in stealth to paisley palm prints
swirls with all the wet naturalness
OF heaven or earth contained
OR instead adjoined
  • Current Music
    basement beehive
best friend


Shuffling even
I couldn't know

Walking soft, quick
the pads of my feet
slide against the soaking sand
my shins carving the current

Prickling salt spit
coats all of me
makes caverns of my hair,
reaches the hollow of my folded ear

I step
the thin skin beneath my instep pierced
Sliced by a sharp thing
Neither of us are supposed to be here

My blood swirls in
to the sea water
their richnesses complementing each other

Forward, my face meets cool air
I pull the pink foot to meet my gaze
A tooth, my own sharp canine, uncanny
pioneering out my arch

My body falls away to salt,
To dissolve in the ocean
best friend


as the frame shook,
i fed it worms
once it grew tall,
but now thick

pulling worms
plump and slimy,

a barrier
broken outside
i build it a fat lining
closing in the space
between us

we fuse,
the worms crawling inside
we close,
compact cube
engorged worm bodies feeding
on us
  • Current Music
best friend

(no subject)

i could not sleep last night. i cannot sleep tonight either. last night he rolled to me and asked me what was wrong. what was wrong? i'm not sure. he was moving out of his room at the metro extended stay hotel and back into his house the following day after school, late in the evening because he had to entertain needy parents at open house.

this wasn't the first time he had to move out and back again, and i knew it would only be for a week, to take care of his daughter, and it wouldn't be that bad. i tried my best not to seem needy. i'm not needy. but anticipating a week of loneliness - of him not touching my shoulders or kissing me or feeling his warm breathiness on my ear, whispering - i guess i didn't want to sleep. it was a sad feeling, but i also felt fortunate to be there, to be awake.

he asked me what was wrong more times, and each time i didn't know, and said so. i asked him to tell me something i didn't know about him, but sleepy, he couldn't think of anything. finally, remembering something about myself, i asked if he had ever had mono. i am guessing this was about 4:30am, we were awake after just having fallen asleep an hour and a half earlier. we both had work in the morning, but i didn't care. i couldn't care.

"never mono, but i had mumps" his tone rose a little at the end, a lazy exclamation, "do people still get mumps?"

i said no, i don't think so. there are vaccines, MMR, measles mumps rubella. i got them when i was a baby, and had to prove this to my college when i first started. i remember calling around for the paperwork.

we talked about times when we had been sick, he doesn't get sick as often as i do, but it turns out we were both sick last winter. i had to go grady, the public health hospital, because i don't have insurance and i am poor. he has a general practitioner. of course he does. we are both allergic to penicillin.

we talked for a long time, very foggy from not sleeping. the room was pitch black and i could tell it was hard for him to stay awake with me, but he wanted to keep talking as long as i did. and sometimes it was quiet for awhile. one of these times i broke the silence with a tiny, crackling "please don't hurt me."

he didn't say anything.

"i know i seem tough, but i am not tough."

more quiet.

and now with confidence, "i know that it's a possibility that you may change your mind at some point. and that's fine," trying to be diplomatic, "that would be good for you," - then finally whimpering, "but it would hurt me."

his arms still around me, as we lie in the darkest dark, he took a breath and i could feel him taking in air and turning it into what he would say. then, carefully and slowly, he said, "i never thought i could feel the way i do about you. and i haven't felt this way in a very long time."

i sunk into him and kissed his hand which was settled on my shoulder. it was enough for that moment. it was a little after 6am by this point and his alarm would go off at six thirty. he reached and turned it off preemptively. we made love while gauzy, blue light began to peak out of the top of the lone window's heavy curtain.


half dressed, i sat up in bed sipping an iced coffee he made for me while he made trips back and forth to his truck. his bike, duffel bag, dry cleaning, a growler of iced coffee, several cans of seltzer in a grocery bag, laptop case. he gave me the two remaining beers from the mini-fridge, "i would get a note in my file if they saw these with my things, and they'd just get warm in my truck."

each time he'd come back up he'd sit on the bed for a moment and kiss me. "good kisses," he likes to mumble. on one trip up, as he walked back into the room, he asked, "do you ever think about us being so far apart in age?" i considered it. i said no, and that was true.

"do you think it's because you're really mature and i'm incredibly immature?" he said gathering two more handfuls of things to take downstairs.

i paused, and said "yeah, that's probably it."

we both smiled and he came over and kissed me again before he walked out the door. good kisses.
best friend


From Futility Closet :

On the morning after Jack Benny died in 1974, his wife, Mary, received a single long-stemmed rose. Another arrived the next day, and the next. For the first few weeks she was too numb to wonder where they were coming from, but eventually she called the florist to inquire.

He told her that Benny had visited the shop some years earlier to send a bouquet of flowers to a friend. As he was leaving, he suddenly turned back and said, “If anything should happen to me, I want you to send Mary a single rose every day.”

She continued to receive them every day until June 30, 1983 — when she herself passed away.
  • Current Mood
    thankful gooey
wake up

see you in two months, NYCers

gage is wiggling and twitching in his sleep. tiffany is sitting up in bed, applying for internships, and listening to itunes genius mix generated from lisztomania. cold-footed and poppy.

i spent five hours in the library today. that's almost definitely a record.

in spite everything, i am happy most days and nights.

are you happy?

safe with me

every stringy vein in him
twitching like the wings of a hawk
beating their red feathers
against his rib cage

the meat of my palm
grips his wrist and pulls
his arm over me, my voice woolen
i whisper, shhh, it's ok, it's ok
  • Current Music
    re:stacks, bon iver
best friend

social moth

i'm not sure if i have friends or not, but i had a few different people to call when i realized i was bored as fuck today. that is a first for me.