Murray Hill

We broke up on a street corner in Murray Hill. I feel horrible, like what recovering from surgery must feel like. From the center of my chest to my tongue is tight and heavy. I want everyone to feel love, but there are so many intentions in the world, and not all of them result in peaceful evenings sitting on the couch watching television.

Do we ever grow beyond the 2-year old who throws a tantrum to get what he wants? The President starts wars. Corporate takeovers. I run away from a certain but unsettling future.

Getting…sleepy…

My company has pioneered the use of a colorless, vapor form of caffiene that we gently spray into the atmosphere of our office via the ventilation system.

Awe

It replicates so fast I can almost feel it inside me, warming my blood. It adapts so well to the environment, reproducing new strains that live in spite of our best efforts to end it. And when I pause the treatment it reverts back to its original, wild, form. Always killing. More efficient than the shark and the lion and the scorpion. The virus is so awe-inspiring I feel honored to be infected by it.

Pride (sin of)

I fantasize about confronting someone full of hate and who hammers me with every dumb thing America has done in the past 50 years and I grin and then I laugh and I say, ‘I love you, you have no idea


how much I love you.


One day you will get tired of hating and you’ll rest and let your defenses down and you’ll feel loved.