My words, your potential problem

They are my words, thousands on thousands of them—but my name is nowhere to be found. For upwards of twelve hours a day, five days a week, I slave over lengthy pieces, only to send them off into the world as the words of another. I knew as much when I took the position—I just did not realize that the archaic structure, rules and constant time constraints would drain me of my desire to put words on paper. If I were more skilled, I would find a way to break out of the traditional, but I am a conformist, deathly afraid to rock the boat and make my superiors question their decision to put their reputation in my hands. For me, no matter how painful it is to watch something I have written walk out the door without so much as a mention of my existence, it is more painful still to know that any possible disaster will have a minimal impact on my career, but could quickly thrust those that trust me into an unflattering light.

Almost there

Seventy-seven minutes left in my twenties; somehow I expected something different, I guess I was wrong.

Welcome to the neighborhood

All I wanted was a cigarette on my terrace. It was late. I was tired. She lives across the street. I do not know why, but I was drawn to her open window. Nothing outside of the ordinary was occurring—she was fully clothed, sitting on her couch, seemingly watching television, stroking her dog—but I was transfixed. I fully intended to look away if she noticed me; she did; I didn’t. In a moment of panic, I ventured off my intended course, hastily concluding that by nervously averting my eyes, my innocent gaze would appear as something sinister, so I maintained eye contact; plan deviation has always been my downfall.

For the first time since the incident, I ventured back out; her shades were drawn. I fear that I am now the creepy guy across the way. . . . I moved into my apartment five days ago. This is going to be a long year for the both of us.

Food tales

I received the following email the other day. I found it quite humorous, so, with permission, I am reprinting it.

***

i think only you would appreciate these thoughts. i was eating blueberries and as i was placing yet another handful in my mouth, careful to only eat the ones with the crunchy taught consistency of fish eggs, i glimpsed one that had been squished open. a wave of revulsion cascaded over me as i saw the white grape-like flesh inside. i had imagined that, like their outer layer, the insides were a resplendent deep blue, almost black. i imagined a skull opened with the brains showing in my moment of disgust as i placed this lone broken soldier to rest with his soft and structural integrity-compromised brethren. the feeling passed and then i finished the box.

i also cut open an organic red bell pepper only to find a poor mutant half grown pepper child living within the guts of its healthy yet heirloom tomato shaped host. i imagined the movie "the hills have eyes". then i threw it away and proceeded to eat said host with my fingers.

Off the radar

Sorry for the extended absence, the past few weeks have been hectic. If all goes as planned, things should slow down soon enough.

In the mean time.....

what happened to all the fun we were supposed to have together
How the fuck am I supposed to know
but you promised
I know . . . and
I hate you
I know that too
you’re a bitch
always have been
do you even care
I quit doing that years ago, I thought you noticed
I need a drink
I beat you to it
why does that not surprise me
go fuck yourself