contact sickness / september 8th - 1:04 am
i cracked my knuckles against the palm of my hand. "could you pass me the remote?"
you sat in your armchair, back towards me, unresponsive. i admired the way you smoked and continued on with sudoku, as if i wasn't even there. we must look like strangers in a coffee shop inhabiting space.
i think about all the things we stopped doing and the love we stopped sharing. the warmth of your touch now a distant sensation, like the fading ambulance sirens that flood through my open window.
warm, rainy, summer days come in with violent haste. we were plucking grass in the backyard when your dad ushered us into the garage. under it's tin roof, i could hear the constant clacking of water hitting and splashing into the gutters. i stood there with my eyes closed listening to the sounds. you were standing to my left, with your dad and your nonno on my right.
"here", your dad motioned to the lawn chair he just unfolded, "sit babbo".
you kicked up some pebbles. there was a bit of awkward tension in the air with no thoughts or words to fill them - your nonno doesn't speak English. i wanted this moment to last a bit longer, but your cousin pulled into the driveway with her usual aggressive speed. she tossed her bag in the general direction of your four-speed bike and let out an exasperated sigh, tugging on her damp shirt. i shut my eyes again, this time hoping for the rain to clear.
"we should go down to the lake later, if you want".
/^(o.o)^\ /^(o.o)^\ /^(o.o)^\ /^(o.o)^\ /^(o.o)^\ /^(o.o)^\
The California Avocado Commission / september 1st - 8:05 pm
staring at this text that says "sorry i've been out of touch lately" and not really feeling any other emotions other than wishing i could eat an avocado. my current state of being is that moment when you try to thrust the knife into the avocado seed and twist it to gently remove it, but instead it slips out of your hands and the seed goes flying across your kitchen and the knife slices your hand open. when you stare at the blood on your hands and lick it? that's me right now.
haven't showered in seven years. the filth is caked up on my body and forms a protective layer for my gooey insides. my skin is the colour of the outside of an avocado. i'm delicious inside.