Timeout. A word please.
Folks, you seem a little tense. I know you were cooped up for a bit, screaming with your fingers from inside your cell. I know you feel there are abundant reasons to be angry. The comforts that have become god are slipping away with the ground beneath your feet, others are constantly doing things you cannot abide, and the pain that comes with existence sometimes seems too much to bear. But before you lash out at a stranger in the real world, remember remember remember…They suffer just like you. They are flawed just like you. Life is hard for every single one of us no matter what privilege one may or may not enjoy. If my words seem like trite, melodramatic platitudes then try these before you loose your temper and a tooth. Do not treat the real world like simulacrum. You might get your ass kicked, and you might deserve it, so be cool.
That being said, we decided not to publish the works initially produced for this month: they were too revelatory of our darkest selves. We decided to remain thematically consistent and effuse about our typical lighthearted subjects: loving things to death.
Music
Arc by Matthew Bailey
Words
By Ryan Stout
Neither Of Us Can Say Anything Nice This Month:
So We Said Nothing New At All
These new sounds within phosphorescent accordion-scope inveigle retinas within a windowless soul’s isolative demise and renders us all knowers of nothing.
I struggle to successfully combat my perceptive zeigiestal demise.)
An anvil falls on frozen glass, which turns crystalline structure into dust pile shards of powdered transparency.
One day soon, none of us will wake up.
I once agreed with Camus’ stance on capital punishment when he referred to it as, “...revolting butchery,” in his essay, “Reflections on the Guillotine.”
Disgust’s dank odoriferous innards, tendrils, and viscera clear a safe passage: but a meadowsweet fragrance resides inside the remnants of dead colors - colors do not lie.
This handoff lands on serendipity’s shared tongue to provoke sentiment’s corralled crooked spine.
Sometimes carving a path through water with a chainsaw feels like a great idea.
An intricate beauty capable through imaginative love: mountaintop safety quickly grows lonely.
When one jumps and survives, is it because they miscalculated: either the height required to complete the task or the strength of their miracled existence?
a definition
By: Charles Bukowski
love is a light at
night running through the fog
love is a beercap
stepped on while on the way
to the bathroom
love is the lost key to your door
when you’re drunk
love is what happens
one year in ten
love is a crushed cat
love is the old newsboy on the
corner who has given it up
love is what you think the other
person has destroyed
love is what vanished with the
age of battleships
love is the phone ringing,
the same voice or another
voice but never the right
voice
love is betrayal
love is the burning of the
homeless in an alley
love is steel
love is the cockroach
love is a mailbox
love is rain upon the roof
of an old hotel
in Los Angeles
love is your father in a coffin
(who hated you)
love is a horse with a broken leg
trying to stand
while 45,000 people
watch
love is the way we boil
like the lobster
love is everything we said
it wasn’t
love is the flea you can’t
find
and love is a mosquito
love is 50 grenadiers
love is an empty
bedpan
love is a riot in San Quentin
love is a madhouse
love is a donkey standing in a
street of flies
love is an empty barstool
love is a film of the Hindenburg
curling to pieces
a moment that still screams
love is Dostoyevsky at the
roulette wheel
love is what crawls along
the ground
love is your woman dancing
pressed against a stranger
love is an old woman
stealing a loaf of
bread
and love is a word used
too much and
much
too soon.
*The quote in the subject line is attributed to Mike Tyson. If you want to see something truly terrifying, watch this.