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.

photos by Jeremy Bishop

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

- Kevin A. Velez

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

fin,

for now


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