Wednesday September 10, 2014 at Great Dane Coffee
Let’s not pretend we’re above low blows like “I hate your face!”
Let’s not pretend that we’ve actually figured out how to get out of a bed without making it messy.
Let’s not pretend that we like those Internet slangs like “FML” and “LOL” and “OMG”.
Let’s not pretend we don’t go through our cigar box of trinkets when we’re feeling particularly alone.
Let’s not pretend if someone knocked on our door we wouldn’t invite them in for leftover pancakes and a talk about the Arctic and performance art.
Let’s not pretend that we like taking the bus.
Let’s not pretend that we can afford organic cucumbers.
Let’s not pretend that we like making small talk, making tiny tiny talk about things like neighbourhoods and preferences in music and wine.
Let’s not pretend that we’re comfortable.
Let’s not pretend that we’ve let go of things we haven’t – I see what you’ve got there, chained to your waist and you see what I’ve got around my wrists.
Monday, September 30, 2013
from the bottom of a gift from Bowring
We’re laughing with our mouths open. We can see each others tongues, and fillings and spit. We’re laughing with our mouths open because you said something funny about the gift you gave me, the trinket box, you said something funny about “trinkets”.
“Did you read about that girl that got arrested for making a science experiment that her teachers thought might be a bomb?” You’re pretending to do our taxes. “No,” I say, working on the mittens I’m knitting for our niece. “Yeah, she was handcuffed and everything! This nerdy, fifteen-year-old girl!” You’re charmed by it. “Huh,” I say. “Isn’t that crazy?!” You want a reaction from me. Like usual, I’m not giving you the right one. “I guess…” “I mean, she’s a kid – ” “Kids do a lot of terrible things, sweetie,” I say, dropping a stitch.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
If you leave, will you please take the star-shaped welcome mat from the front hallway and burn it in the yard? I always hated that thing, and I only kept it because you like that weird freaky shit that sort of makes you look like a wizard, or a Larper. You know? You just collect all these annoying little figurines and you put them in every corner of every room and like, sometimes, I’m not gonna lie, I’m worried that you’re gonna make me pray to them, or look at them when we’re getting it on. That shit is too weird for me. So take the mat, and take the lavender that you’ve pulverized and stuffed into my old pantyhose, or like two pairs at least, and whatever else you’ve armed the house with. I wonder if you’re trying to get rid of me, there’s so many fucking trinkets everywhere. I mean, I’m all for little jars with twine or whatever, but I do not need tiny satchels of a “Pixie’s promise” to haunt me in my own home after you’ve gone and cursed everything I’ve ever even touched. So. When you leave. I guess, is the thing. When, not if, because in stating all of this out loud, I’m fairly certain you’re a lawn gnome that’s come to life to try and kill me in my sleep.