Officer Stramatt steps into the room. “I was the responding officer. You were in really bad shape. It’s good to see that you’re on the mend.”
Mike responds with various gargled words.
“Before I ask a few questions, I wanted to make you aware of this letter I found stuck in your pocket. We did find your I.D. and your wallet, but nothing else. Your Mustang Cobra was found in the parking lot of Bath and Body Works. Would you like to read the letter?”
…I should be meditating.
No more pontificating!
Faking, shaking, making an image.
Masochistic,
aware I’m a statistic,
simultaneously believing my mystics,
“Your problems are severe, but have fixes!”
Going through the motions but
I believe I’m God down deep in my gut.
From the artist:
This piece is the result of deconstructing and reassembling my usual creative process with the intention of observing how the pairing of new mediums and a more experimental approach would affect various aspects of a given creation.
Previously I relied solely on geometric forms and flowing lines to convey subtle variations of calmness and balance. While I’m still very fond of that simplicity and the results it gave, I’m now more interested in exploring elements of randomness and play within my work.
…Blast beats of the sort that few will hear.
Operate that machinery.
The beep of the long tail.
Observe with all your might.
Riffage of that time clock.
Twin guitar in the lower register.
Those evil chords at the start of the workday.
Chug chug chug.
Corpse paint at the 15 minute break
Paid for by the company.
Non union binary bass runs.
Forced exposure and forced overtime.
…
Sketches + Paintings by Emma Eaton
View more of her work @gba412 on Instagram
While the train remained still with its doors open, the crowd stopped in disbelief, as they stared, fixated on his strange appearance, waiting for clarification of his statements, because they wondered what would make someone speak this way, and was it a cry for help, or performance art, so the people decided to discuss his rationality, wondering if it was an obscenity, but the people eventually gave up trying to figure him out so they resumed their activity, chattering noisily as they went about their business, but he became saddened because he didn’t hold their attention and gaze for a few moments longer, so Blue Beard began to commence the next phase…he opened his guitar case…
Women wore funny hats and men rode on bicycles everywhere. There was a sense that this was a homely little town (one got the feeling they fancied themselves as such anyway) and yet there was too much extravagance. It was too frenzied, too exotic. There were too many people and they were all moving in all sorts of directions. There were too many houses and they had too many eccentricities. The noise – cacophonous – came from everywhere as all spoke and laughed at once. You couldn’t tell if they were even communicating but they made as if they were. Occasionally, little coordinated dance numbers would break out. Suddenly on the horizon a great flood of deeply dark, viscous liquid rolled towards the scene. It was so all-encompassing it seemed it might blot out the whole midground of the sky. The people rushed frantically in one direction, away from the oncoming wave, trampling many as they went. Finally one shouted, “The high ground! Get to the high ground!” and following his epiphany the…
I was on a bus, as were many of my comrades. The bus was huge and packed full but not uncomfortably so. After all, our leaders were humane and modern. Boxcars crammed to the point that occupants suffocated were a thing of the distant past. Other buses like ours were going to and fro throughout the city outside our windows.
A nuclear bomb dropped to earth on the horizon within the view of our windows. The occupants of the bus, including myself, stared in shock but complete silence. It was not necessarily surprising that our country would be at war. Cut off from the activities of our leaders as we were, we knew their proclivities. Nonetheless, we were still caught off guard at the magnitude and the abruptness. Knowledge and belief are often separate. We watched in awe and resignation as the mushroom cloud formed.
I was struck by a deep, bone-deep, sense of doom. It arrested my senses and held me in a vice-like grip from movement of any kind. That was not surpris…
0.
I wanted to write something
quaint and coded, but
all I could manage was the letter “I”
on one side of a page.
1.
When I was your age
I never felt whole;
I only learned to
when I learned to
feel my divisions.
0.
If the body were a sentence
how would we know
whether the heart is a coma
or a semicolon?
0.
When I was your…
