late night fiction

You can't say you love me for all the things I do for you And stop loving me when I do things for myself

#love #mini

the presence of death— always present: motivation suddenly words flood my brain this could be your last. make it beautiful, pick something and don't amble languidly in wait or driven by my visceral heart infinity in the finite— that's what we are forget your mortality and you won't welcome new scars.


There is a sage that appeared one day, emerging from some unknown place. When questioned on his origins, he never found it important enough to answer; the same when asked where he'd traveled and what he'd seen.

All that was in his mind was calm contentment. The people around him saw nothing but wide, glowing eyes as he stared up towards the sky, or stopped in the middle of a path to look at the leaves on a tree. They wondered what was going through his head — the ones curious enough did, anyway. Others were mildly irritated to see a man walking so slowly in front of them, or stopping in the middle of a moving crowd to watch a bird.

See, though he could blend with any crowd of creatures in the world (including humans), the crowd of humans never blended back. In the human city all are expected to be dutifully on their way to somewhere important. None amble or loiter — if you do you are marginalized. The streets exist only to serve the busy or affluent. The cool, air-conditioned buildings are only there for your use if you have official business to conduct. Parks are to be enjoyed by all, but run on the time of humans, and the sage didn't wear a watch.

He wandered the public squares, but they contained more automobiles than humans — they never seemed to loiter there as much as those monoliths of metal and glass.

He never told anyone, but he'd noticed everything speed up as he approached the center of this human city. Even when their mechanical carriages were slow, the humans could be seen inside, their emotions moving fast toward anger, their impatience and intolerance of slowness overflowing.

It was less strange to him, observing this, than it was profound. At the sight of it he saw a time in his past where he was no different. He had lived at that speed, relishing it, feeling comforted in his solitary quest to hurl himself into the future in a seat of a car, right next to his fellow city dwellers. He had lived with and among them, without speaking to most of them.

#stories #thecity #thesage

Pages, flat, wide mossy teeth just the inside a gut storing leftover unnecessaries quickies of joy—now lard simple devices: a pen creation: create or conserve your energy? make some great shit that I can read in 5 years never know or care for its greatness now just give me a reason to live THEN, when I need it. creativity [excitement] constrained to a glowing screen world: send your leaves falling your cold into my bones your waves into my ears show me something again I can love.


2 more weeks

an open field of free choice, a goal in mind. a dog, a cat, and some things.

stay in the city? stay in the woods? whichever is more pretty.

Dr. Society misdiagnoses, prescribes me the wrong medicine.

so in two weeks I'm off it. medicating with dreams, sights, and a leap.

PLANS FOR THE FUTURE Eyes will still see and hearts will still beat With a title for the ensuing musings a purpose is suddenly clear watch a movie to distract from scatterbrained reality without an over-arching plot—motive sometimes only little chunks of life can remind that this can be as great as all the things you're afraid to be better than and a little motive theme single universal truth trumps in understanding trying to keep track of all the little half-truths that litter your brain


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