In Tromso, Norway, the sun has gone down and it won’t come up again until January. This period of time is called Morketid. Children mark the beginning of this period by lightning candles and setting them out in the town square ( Read more... )

I’m a demon made of crayon with a bass-drum throat whispering the stars down to play with them in a one-piece orchestra. A four-person one-man band strung like popcorn on a string for the apocalypse. Three roads met in the wood and I stood in the middle of that intersection, feeling the last-stair impact of three journeys collide at my heart ( Read more... )

I won’t stand here and say that the colour green is actually August wearing a thin dress on a beach, facing away from you so you don’t see her tears. I wouldn’t say that green is hurt that you’re leaving. Leaves know they’re part of nature because of that colour and here you are dying. It’s saddening to this colour, this middle band of the ( Read more... )

Basketball-court halos hobble the ankles of streetcar villains that started out as heroes in their own narratives. Turtleneck mob bosses dictate the rules to a forgotten section of the population. Poverty is pulling pork off of human bones to make sandwiches. Too many people are on the wrong end of the current equation. Change has been coming ( Read more... )

I’m not a force of gravity but I play one on t.v. The devil’s background check is a yellow-paint promise given to children on the wrong side of a needle to string them along, Christmas by Christmas, to a flash gordon future that will not be what they were promised. All predictions are fake beards. Every halo is just as good at cutting bread as ( Read more... )

It was that day, that birthday, where you became a metaphor ( Read more... )

The realization came to me on my own personal highway in the darkness like a wild mustang. The horse that drives my life is a living creature. It’s a symbiotic relationship. Am I driven by my horse or does it lead me? It has to be both. My hope is that my horse is allergic to cliffs, a fast runner, and has good night vision ( Read more... )

Responsibility is the new black. The watchword that lets us know that even though we are men, we are still people. That even though I myself do no control the world, my brothers do. That even though I can lift the heavy things, I cannot push a relationship into starting. Finesse is something I need but possess only in spurts. We can leash the ( Read more... )

The stairs that fall up themselves in a timeless inner-tube whirlwind of moebius change. The streetlamps that pull up their tights and adjust their skirts after the last customer’s warm money changes hands. Aucht tober. The upside-down painting of reality on the back of each eye and it’s not that I feel stupid, exactly, just radioactive with ( Read more... )

Even death can be laughed at. Should be laughed at ( Read more... )