The world has left me alone today

Because it knew I’d be here with you.


It’s very quiet up in my head. It’s calm, which I didn’t expect. But why ask for a fight, why go in depth in what sucks. Just pass and be alone again.


We’re not grabbing wine to make use of the complimentary

We’re not sharing a tub in a bathroom without a door.

We’re not placing any pins in the maps that envelop us.

We’re not both staying here anyway.


But you’re still as cute as you’ve always been

So goddamn cute as you’ve always been.

Smart and ever watchful.

Better than 

Where I am.


But there ain’t no other place I’d rather be. Even rain soaked in the nosebleeds as the tempest and the memories roar. Life just ain’t the same without.


But you’re a woman, that never lets me feel like a man. Never feels quite right like a man. Even though I rile like it.

Not the kind of man you’d want anyway.


Your cheeks are always so playfully round. It kills. And you’re always so monochrome.


I love all your stupid curves. 



Let’s start the show.


It’s Thursday. I’m listening to couples therapy. I think I wrote about it earlier, but never published.

I couldn’t confess this anywhere else though.
I wouldn’t want to tell anyone else. 

It’s a pretty nice day to spend alone, here in space city. Pull up a chair and watch me screen print, and let’s talk if we feel the same. 




Save it.


It’s 2:03 in the a.m., I’m not a fan of the usual textual breakup when I try and write verse. So forgive the formatting.

It’s 2:04. I am alone. When last you saw me, when last I came into this little space it was a manic version of myself. Bristling with anger, and sadness, fear- like a hedgehog. Defense mechanism. Lashing.

Better will come hard. I have no disorder. I can not empathize. Nor soothe, sufficiently. It’s 2:06, and I ain’t been to the beach in a while, but I’m not ready to rewrite certain memories.

It’s 2;06, and I could cry, because it has been very easy to do so, and I like it. I don’t mind it, bringing myself to the brink at every moment of the day, constantly reminded. Pricked. Bristling.

I feel, after the wedding of my sister. I felt the shadow of marriage lurking- the reality of it. And now it’s the spectre of divorce, & kids. I’m going through the motions of changing diapers and fearing debt and disappointment of not being the best mom, of not being Pinterest worthy. Of all the suburban shit.


I vibe through my family. Me and dad fight, but banter, but without the separation anxiety. I’ll make him proud yet, but he’ll have to face how I’m willing to do it. Hell and high water. 

& Mom writes. Someday I’ll flex this space. Someday they’ll see their son. I can wait. 


But I very much am my sisters. And now I have brothers. And I have gained more brothers. 

& i can still feel dreadfully alone. 


And right now I’m.not the best son. I’m not the best anything. And maybe you’ll see me trying, and give me the credit. Maybe the people who should see it aren’t- but does it change much?


And someday my family will deal with this space. With my _____, or otherwise. Someday they’ll have wanted to know who I really was, even when I barely was. 


It’s 2:15 and I still can’t sleep. 

& making peace with it.

Because someday you won’t be able to sleep either, they won’t be able to sleep either. Some day it’ll help to know it’s never really any easier.

So save it. 

Because this is still something too. 

So save it
& Be present.





I’m not angry but well alive,

You can’t fault me for that, right?


It feels easier not to say a goddamn thing, you know? My commeuppance is nigh enough. 

It’s weird watching the dam break, I think, of Hollywood. Just today was a story about David Cross accused of racism against Charlyne Yi (Paper Heart, Apatow films), and the dam seems suddenly wider. Every showbiz injustice and inequity come to light.


I feel myself to have cruelly abused the little power I once held. It still eats away at me- I let it.

I do very much question my role in maculinity 

I do very much think I am getting better by it. 
But work;


The Sirens are Going

The sirens are wailing somewhere in the background of the neighborhood, but I’m far more into the evening’s radiations instead.


Em. Âm. M. El. Mill.

Am I not meant to be angry?
In the chrome tab beside this one lays an unregulated thirty minute scrawl against society and culture as I feel it; and it sounds so dumb.

Shouldn’t I just shut up for a while?


I took the first of many
practice tests over the Quantitative Reasoning portion of the GRE Math Workbook (9th Edition)–
and scored a 66%?

That’s no bueno.


And I got my copy of Fear and Trembling back. Thank God.
oh! and a Fabiola book.

And a book on love that I loant out already


& I’ve been well.
I’m glad you are too.


and this is going to be a very fun month.