l o n g i n g f o r a l i f e i n s u l a t e d f r o m e v e r y t h i n g e l s e
Always looking out the window,
really just here.
The hard part about publishing a public journal is practicing restraint. There just has to be a rule about telling everyone about yourself; a protocol on self-indulgence; a ceiling that marks an
entry as 'this is too much, delete it.'
Boulevard Avenue is
Editor's Choice @
Promise it to the wind,
write it on water, and
hope someone will remember.
"I want to record how the world comes at me, because I think it is indicative of the way it comes at everyone." (Phillip Lopate)
Love thy neighbors,
or at least try.
One of these days I will arson my stupid neighbors to death. Nothing like a wall of flame to induce an infectious wave of panic. I've thought of poison, but there there are too many mouths
to stuff it into. It's not like how it was in provinces of old, where people drank from a communal stream. My neighbors drink Coke, and tap water. No, I'm good with fire. Fire is cool.
Notwithstanding Me
The last person you want to confide in is the guy in the mirror. When you confess, he's not interested; he knows it already, whatever it is. When you confess anyway, he gets bored and
shoots you accusing looks: you're being melodramatic. When you close your eyes, he's gone, but he's really there, seeing you for the sham that you are. When you turn the other cheek, you
see exactly that cheek, and not the other one. When you so don't care for his approval, he can't even begin to feel sorry for you. When you do feel sorry, he magnifies your self-shame. When
you approve of yourself, he grins, because by then only he is approving of you. When you're so into yourself, he mimics every move you make, and then you notice he's faking it. Living with
a shadow is better: you at least don't have an image and likeness of you sneering.
A veiled woman walking down the street caught my eye. So still were her shoulders when she walked. The air around me thickened. A breeze unveiled her face, undressing her long hair and I couldn't breathe or move at the sight of her. "Shoot to kill!" my captain roared from behind me. "She's the infidel we're looking for!"
Abi
She poured a spoonful of the skull-marked bottle and swallowed it. Bitter. Just a slight sting in her stomach. She expected nausea but it didn't come. But then, that's me, she thought. I can take on anything. Except him. Him was the he walking back from the men's room, dodging other restaurant customers, flirting, with his brown eyes, with the waitresses. She took a menu from a waiter passing by and propped it up on her table for two, shading the gestures of her hands. She emptied the bottle on his coffee. "Hi, love," he said and she glared at him, and then she looked away. "I'm sorry. Old habit." After a thick silence, he said, sipping his coffee. "You sure there are no hard feelings?" She put everything she had in that smile.
