Brutal Solidarity

here's some stuff i wrote recently.. Hoping to get some feedback.

Much Love,


"brutal solidarity"


"Economic Disadvantage"

  The sun sets and she sits in a small cell, a modest chamber in the stomach of a world that is eating itself. The sun rises and she slowly dresses her body in a khaki uniform, clearly announcing that she is but a mere appendage in a vast and hideous organism. Some call it god, come call it a dream, still others call it progress. As the sun sits high in the sky she stares out a barred window to a landscape of concrete and concertina wire. She has known this place before, in her childhood, in the form of certain traumas suffered by her soul. A friend commits suicide. The numbness spreads as she discovers that her father is an abusive drunk. There are the boys who taunt her and threaten her with vicious sexual assault. How can she afford to remain sensitive to the world, she realizes, if it is but a freezing storm without relief?
  As the starless night sky still manages, somehow, to conjure memories of better times, she stares out across the gray barbed nihilism of this world, objectified.
  She shudders with futility, enveloped by loneliness.

"Partial Invitation"

  He has slept alone every night for the past three years. Not quite alone, but the only one in his bed. He curls around his pillow in a tight embrace. Sometimes, as he sleeps, one can hear a faint whimpering, as if the pillow were not enough -- as if the vast reservoir of tears refused to burst forth without a warm someone there to receive them.
  In three years, he has cried three times. The world invites him to forget how to weep. A real man whimpers.

"Chemical Discrepancy"

  She cannot understand why, yet she has little choice but to accept what she's told.. The water is poison -- don't touch it.
  That was in kindergarten.
  In the third grade her mother died of cancer.
  In the fifth grade her best friend stepped off a very high cliff. Later the same year her uncle stepped in front of a train.
  In the seventh grade she stopped taking adderal and started taking oxycottin.
  By the end of the tenth grade she had had one abortion and two miscarriages. She didn't care much if the pill was an upper, a downer, a goner. The world had long since become a gray line.
  She had dreams of immense storms roiling through the oceans, as a child. Around eight years old she thought of the world as an ocean of suffering.
  When she was twelve a vision came to her, of a beautiful fawn in a forest (had she ever really known a forest before?). The fawn somehow conveyed to her that she should go to a stream at the end of the metro (green line), and listen. That she should always pay attention to her dreams, to the birds, to coyote. Her children would be great warriors.
  By the time she was eighteen she had forgotten this vision. She had given up on the idea of love, or children. She was adrift in a tranquil sea of misery.
  She stepped off a chair.


  He lays on his back, staring at the ceiling. What was this overwhelming dream that had swept him up into excruciating ecstasy? He grins, throbbing, lifting his legs into the air.

"Vertical Fall"

  He became acutely aware that he is an animal. The crisp cold air floods his nose with purpose, with power. The bare trees are attempting to blend in with the tall grass surrounding the construction site. Train tracks and the occasional lightpost perform their duties without hesitation: prophets, harbingers. The pure air beneath the starless heavens carries its own clear message: resist, smash, burn. But a single coyote stands little chance against the god of progress.
  And yet, they don't stand a chance against our prayers.


  She stares at maps of the future. What is this impression overtaking her? It has been so long: she feels good about the future. Yesterday she wept at the thought of so many millions of displaced and drowned children. But today her thoughts are of rejuvenation, of the Earth Mother healing herself.
  The situation is one of inevitable defeat, as it currently exists.
  Yet things can change so very quickly.
  Her dress falls to the floor, exposing bare skin to the refreshing winds of mid-August.