(News reporter: “At Ms Swoffer’s home, the seal was put in a net and box but as it was being driven away in the Doc vehicle, it escaped and made its way up to the front of the vehicle, accidentally turning on the radio and ending up on the front seat.”)
Jim returned home to his momma and poppa, out of breath, delirious with excitement.
“Music,” he wheezed. “And dogs.”
Greta’s bottom lip trembled. “We’re losing him,” she said, so quietly that no one heard.
“Listen,” said Earl. “You’re going to get yourself killed. You either stay here and look after yourself, or we say our goodbyes to you. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
He looked so sad. So old and sad.
Jim’s flippers wouldn’t keep still. His head was already turning, to the direction from whence he came. “Music,” he said.
A heart palpitation covered in ketchup
Wrenched up a platform of dumb Os and Xs
The wench up above it adjusts skirt and scoreboard
Exes on battlefields duking it out
Siri: I can’t help you.
Flouting and pouting and severing leeways
Before it began you mangled it up
Wrangle an answer but gloss over quickly
Trick of the light in your eyes in the past
Siri: I can’t help you.
they knelt around the fireplace
“help us change help us change”
their parents said “santa is not a god”
but someone/something heard and
on the morning of the second
their beds were empty
jonathan was grass in naturpark südschwarzwald
christy was an ounce of h2o in lac d’annecy
peter was a stradivarius violin
michael was a sea lion on raspberry island
their parents filed police reports
and grieved and divorced and didn’t
know how cruel their children had been so
Bubblegum, Blueberry, Popsicle, travelling cross-country in a 4×4
Bubblegum dreams about a man named Keel / or Keal
Never met him
Working temp jobs in small towns, small diners, small stores
Their dog, Dog, helps keep them warm at night
In the truck
Driving back to sunbaked climes, long distance hearts and legs
Heat mirages call to them, softer, harder, louder, strong
Dust kicked up
You knew there had to be a cat called Horace. In every goddamned city! Horace loiters in the north of Belfast. He’s a lady killer. Seriously. He kills ladies. I know, and you thought Horace was gonna be a fairly nice, interesting cat. But no, he’s a murderous, hard-hearted cat. He’ll kill you for a sausage.
Ralph is an “artist”. I say “artist” because mostly he tells people he’s an artist, but he smokes bongs all day. He’s cocky, he’s revoltingly saccharine when he wants a favour, he’s quick to anger, he has a limited vocabulary. He lives on scraps and says it’s for his art. But really, he’s just a loser.
Weird name for a cat, right? Mel. Blame her parents, I don’t know. Mel has a sensible job, but can’t decide how to spend her money. Frozen in a state of indecision, she buys very little – the simplest things – and tries not to think too much about her inability to shape her life with possessions and experiences. She watches a lot of TV.
Three is enough. No one wants to read a top 10 list. You might die of cliché.
I like new year resolutions. Some of them travel well (spend money on cool projects) and some not so much (read a book per month). Usually I have resolutions organised by January 1, eager for that faux fresh start, but this year I had no ideas. World in crisis!
1. Support cool projects (Kickstarter/etc)
2. New people/new styles
3. Make don’t buy food
4. God/Paris (secret)