chaos zine 01
Falling slowly in two
One half me, the other you
All the postulate games that we play
All the smokes billows on
Echoes of all the songs we’d sung
As we bathe in our masochistic ways
I saw the flames pouring down
I saw it all disappear in(to) the clouds
We all burn as it burns to the ground
All of our words buried in our shroud
With all the lingering haze
We have numbered our days
We grit our teeth and join the bloodstained thieves
It unravels our skin
Showing charcoaled veins within
But we’ll all sink even though they said to swim
I saw the flames pouring down
I saw it all disappear in(to) the clouds
We all burn as it burns to the ground
All of our words buried in our shrouds
Let all the walls of the empire fall
We’ll hold the gold as it pulls us all
Deeper into the flames
Deeper into the flames
And we go deeper into the flames
Deeper into the flames
Tangerines
The tangerines at the top of the tree are the ones we rarely see. Leaves gently cover the orange color, if only to say, “not for me.” Pity the rodents who pick up the fallen fruit, question those who pluck from branches at arms length to quench hunger pains. All the while I stand staring at the tangerines at the top of the tree. Climb to the top and bring one down? No, for the desire to do so is not in me.
It is the mystery of the taste that makes me leave the tangerine at the top of the tree. A fight with branches could smite me, and the sun could ignite me. All for a bite of goodness that may not even be.
Reward is found in speculation, and risk is not a game to be lightly taken. Why taste and eat, when wonder is free?
A mystery they will be. The tangerines at the top of the tree, I’ll choose to let you be, my travesty.
it was like coming home.
the smiling eyes,
the warm embrace,
the glowing bugs in my stomach.
a once open door that now remains locked.
not even the windows welcome my reflection.
yet still,
it remains.
and so i sit in the street,
gravel between my feet
and the comfort of your front porch light
accompanying me.
Dani
Little Moments
The path to defeat racism is not to write the most clever post, to show up only when things are loud, or to even judge those who remain silent. The path to defeating racism is in our daily interactions with people; it’s in our conversation with the barista and the questions we ask about another’s experience.
Even though they are valuable and necessary, the best picture or the most dramatic post does not defeat hatred. Those who consistently fight against the weight of prejudice know that the path towards reconciliation comes through small moments of courage practiced every single day.
It’s in the way we talk. It’s in the way we think. It’s in the moment at the table when you hear a statement that was meant to divide. It’s the moment at work when the powerful willingly humiliate the weak in a joke or comment that is designed to embarrass. It’s in the moments where you desperately want to judge but instead choose to empathize, listen, and engage with compassion. It’s in those little moments we have throughout the day where we get to decide the type of people we want to be, and the impact of our change.
GOOD GRIEF:
this stage prescribed tinder sex
three days after my sister died
i was a freshly shattered heart
trailing fragments everywhere I went.
i could barely carry all the pieces of myself into her room that night.
she closed the door and i had nowhere to put myself;
her scattered clothes piled alongside virgin books balancing on a cheap desk like zen stones
i think there was a keyboard somewhere under the clutter
i didn’t mind the disarray–i actually felt at home
considering I was in shambles.
we undressed as the Conjuring played on her space gray macbook air,
sitting dispassionately on the bed next to us –
a voyeur filling the void with images and sounds of terror.
i didn’t mind this either,
it played alongside my own horror story.
nerves rattled our breathing
or maybe the nerves were all mine
would my sister be doing this if i were dead?
as soon as we started, she said it hurts
i said me too
I think we meant different things.
she placed a pillow under her lower back
tilting her hips up slightly –a better angle
if i could adjust the angle life was fucking me at,
my heart would’ve stopped on Monday and i wouldn’t be here.
still, it was the first time grief felt good.
this good grief:
the euphoria it invoked
the pain it rearranged
it wasn’t love. it wasn’t intimate. it wasn’t passionate.
it was nothing at all
a blissful refuge from the torment of loss.
when i was with her
i pretended i didn’t lose anything
i pretended I wasn’t losing myself.
i recall that short layover
wondering if she was hurting like me
just looking for something to numb the pain
just looking for good grief
Isn’t it odd
When you’re attracted to someone
That you didn’t expect,
That you know it would never work,
That you know it will never be.
But for a moment,
You can see it,
And you’re in love
With the idea of it,
In love
With the idea of them.
In that moment,
You believe
In what love
Really is,
But know
That it will never be with them.
- Dawn
That day in the park,
You always loved being outdoors,
Me not so much,
But I wanted to see you
After so long
You sat next to me
On a picnic table,
We chatted and you
Listened to me – like always
I don’t know what I said,
But you gently asked me
If I could be on the Spectrum
And my world stopped
My past came flooding back
In those milliseconds, because
No one had ever asked me,
No one saw me like you did
Right then, I realized
That, not for the first time,
You were right
Because it made sense
Your sight,
Your care,
Your love,
Scared me
I didn’t think I was worthy,
Even though
You never stopped trying,
Even when I did
I lost you,
But that day,
You helped
Me find myself
And I can’t help but think,
What greater love
Is there,
Than that?
- Dawn
Her Heart Was A Screen Door
Her heart was a door
But a screen door
The one dad only let us use in the summertime
Flung open and closed again
Quick enough to pretend we didn’t hear them say “be careful” as we ran
away
Our conversation was chlorine
In the eyes underwater
Sneaking against-the-rules Marco Polo peeks
That we thought no one else saw
The sting of laughter well worth the glimpse
Her kiss was a dare
A literal dare from a friend
I was the willing recipient, hanging upside down from a low branch like Peter
She ran away after she did it
But there was a moment I swore our eyes met
Her body was a budding flower
Her breasts came in the Spring before
And I caught her admiring them almost as many times as she caught me
From the other side of the pool
She wore them proudly before the world made them a burden
My mind was a fantasy
I lay in the grass where I used to make-believe
Imagining now of unspeakable, unknowable, untouchable things
The lump in my throat told me I’d be in trouble
If anyone knew what I wanted to touch
Our time was a popsicle
Sweet, but melting fast
As the sun turned from yellow to orange to blue to black
Our time ended as quickly as it took you to grab your towel and run
After the rhythmic double honk from the front driveway
Someday will be the last day
Someday will be the last day I think of you
But not today
Today I feel you like a stepped-on Lego
Someday will be the last day I think of you
I’ve heard my uncles approach this day themselves
“Ah that girl I used to date... what was her name?”
Today I hear you like a shattered plate in a quiet diner
Someday will be the last day I think of you
Your name will fade, then your face, in my old age
Until a perfume only reminds me... of something. But not you.
Today I smell you like the cologne I put on to greet you.
Someday will be the last day I think of you. But not today.
don’t you want to come home just past midnight from a holiday dinner party
with your lover and rest your coat on the seat back of your mid century
modern leather chair in your bedroom then lightly tug the chain of a single
end table lamp as your lover coolly slips out of her black gown and lays on
the bed as you pour a glass of bourbon and loosen your tie while the freeway
below your building ambiates in constancy like the ocean while you lean back
against the leather and whisper poetic evening analysis across the room to
your lover as she laughs with no self consciousness whatsoever while you
take another drink and place the half empty glass on the dresser with no
coaster underneath and guide your hand up the front of your lovers thigh and
into forty three minutes of stylish gentle lovemaking breathing trebly airy
breaths all the while and then fall asleep deeply with nothing charged and no
alarms only the applause of the thoroughfare below and the distant lights
across the expanse ever burning the midnight oil as they wait and wait for
any semblance of what you have?
it was like coming home.
the smiling eyes,
the warm embrace,
the glowing bugs in my stomach.
a once open door that now remains locked.
not even the windows welcome my reflection.
yet still,
it remains.
and so i sit in the street,
gravel between my feet
and the comfort of your front porch light
accompanying me.
Dani
the embers are still bright tonight
so why can’t we burn a little longer?
Dani