Connective Cube
Connecting the hard edges
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Category: Fiction
Mostly made up.
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In my youth, I was a crier. A crybaby. Someone who cries frequently at inappropriate times. In class. In the hall. In a teacher’s classroom office. In the family living room. At dinner. I got deemed as a sensitive, a particular crime in the pull yourself up by your bootstraps loving suburbs of Atlanta in…
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Any performing art, really, would have to forgive my ability to completely forget the difference between right and left on command. In space and voice. Yet on a screen, or a flat surface, the difference is clear. A hug, it hurts when I realize I squeezed extra hard on the shoulder where gramps needs surgery.…
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I need a nap most days lately. My naps aren’t for sleep. A mental sigh from the current moment of zinging from climate change, the multiplicity of wars, inflation, and Roe vs. Wade. In my naps, my mind wanders, and wonders. I drive, shell-shocked by all the re-movement. It is a continuation of stillness over…
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How does the word look today? When I see an assemblage of words that carry me back to the thrilling loneliness of my 21st birthday on a mountain ridge. What voice does color have? Silver, mountains, even though in reality, those mountains were the usual leafy bark. Do you feel what you are thinking? All…
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My shadow, long in the trees, casting over homes from the first world war post-era. What memory conjures as I stare at this long shadow? Right now, none, all I can do is appreciate the long contoursthe odd middle part of my hair, poofing up towards the sky, electric blue headphones don’t show in the…
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Here we go again The dance where I avoid talking to anyone todayif I can help it. There are at least 5, maybe 20 others with their headphones on, faces soft behind florescent glows. I find comfort in our mutual silence: Why would I want to talk to people who think they know me so…
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A horse, with some friends – I feel closer to them than, well, most of those I can possiblycaress. Amusing myself to deathover the pig who knows how to get people to talk. Is trying to talk enough? I don’t like to talk, except, people trust the word in the moment. It’s okay, I try…
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Tea. Fizzy water. Another day of coffee, pulpy orange juice and nibbles of chocolate. And that bottle, another new one with good ole H2O. The recycling now whittles down to cans of grapefruit soda water. Beer, he calls it. He can down six of them as quickly as the high gravity beer of the moment.…
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The imperative to source Tesla’s and Ferrari’s makes me want to go to the marble palace and listen to the echoes of my own wretching. The CEO is now gone, and has been for two weeks. His words, ‘we are in the business of hiring Tesla’s, and Ferrari’s, and Porsche’s. We also need some solid and…
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Oil lips with the tips of taste buds Liquids clashing Just her own tone Of sticky rose fuchsia colliding With my slimy mushy banana texture Mint flavor mouth How do I get lipstick off my face? When did I last wash my cheeks with something besides shampoo trickling down my face? Quit overthinking. Kiss, make up…
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