writing - Kill Your Guru (Page 2)

writing

Kitchen Memories

i'm not always sure if a story in the archive is a memory or a dream

Blurry and grainy photo of a lone, tall palm tree towering over a tomb and several gravestones with crosses. The image is spooky and mysterious.

writing

Buried Alive

Could those human bones we dug up that time have been cursed? Could I have been cursed? Could we have been cursed? We put them back, but maybe that didn’t help. I did everything I could to avoid digging up the bones of my assault.

Black and white photo of two concrete feet atop a gravestone. The body that once stood there is missing.

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Ariadne, Amazed

i was touched by you i was torched by you you put your boot on my face

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Random Encounter

As we wept—my father and I—I wondered if it was for his friend, after all. I wondered if it was for him. I wonder if it was for me.

Photo of distant hills with a single, tiny, lost tree. The sky is dramatic orange, fuchsia, and turquoise. The image is so grainy it looks more like a painting than a phjoto.

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Anguinum

The original trauma was birth and everthying that follows is but preparation for the trauma of death. Of letting go of all that we have learned. It is only through remembering that we can die because remembering is to forget.

Black and white photograph of ancient stone columns against a dramatic, cloudy sky.

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What We Love Is What We Hope Is Who We Are

The thing I remember most about being young is the longing I felt, though I knew not for what.

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My Vertical Interrogation

I believe I am the figment of a little boy’s imagination. He’s trying to imagine himself in the future. In a different future than the one he expects. I am ten years old imaging I am sixty-three.

Vintage and grainy black and white photo of a bunch of tree branches in silhouette. There may be a bird perched on one of the branches, but it's hard to tell.

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M.A.L.ediction of My Offense, Many of Whom are Entering Us

Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, by millions and millions more subpoenas, to wash it white as snow?

Grainy and blurry black and white photo of a flock of birds sitting in a tangle of sparse branches.

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eagles toppling mountain goats

he came up on an eagle on a sandbar looking over his shoulder bloody beak dripping with dead cormorant...

Washed out photograph of a wooded cemetery with long shadows on the ground. In the center is a cross that has fallen off a gravestone onto the ground.

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We Begin

that was how it started, this is how it started, that death, this death, two points, on an imaginary line, only one point, on a circle, a clock...

Very dark and high contrast photo of a large rock. The image is abstract and frightening.

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The Custom of Violence

In the earliest grades he was a bit of a bully. If his family hadn’t moved he likely would have continued on a trajectory towards becoming a very bad person. However, and somehow, the move to another state affected him in such a manner that he effectively began learning how to be a human being.

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The Saddest Piss in the World

i’m standing in a dark closet dreaming / dreaming like a monkey / what a monkey sounds like / what a monkey sounds like when it stubs it’s toe