A Moving Time

A morning unfamiliar; in a house outside of La Crescent, foundation holding tight as the light drew near and around my fetal positioned body.

Companions were no where to be found, a couple years earlier a suicide happened above where I lay; she was wrapped in tarp, strapped to a bed, wood planks about, needles stuck in her arms, pornography splayed at a leisure fashion; this information came to me through family members.  The room empty, except for sparse fixings and furnishings wrapped in plastic to be left and forgotten.

The new day had begun, as I strolled to my vehicle I was awakened more by the rising sun, and the feeling of alcohol in my stomach; fermenting as I lamented on the previous nights passing and lost belongings.  The ring which I found was then lost again.  The gravel below my feet made a sound, Chuck Taylor’s met crushed rock, key met lock, door handle met hand, foot met clutch, and I am off to a new beginning.

7 years older and wiser, I found myself remembering this move.

I drove up with my second youngest sister, my youngest full sister actually.  We rode in my blue Civic, my mother and stepfather in tow inside of a moving truck.  And I thought, unsure of what I was about to do, had I made it?  I thought of the suicide and wondered if she made it as well.  We were both on to new things.  I thought of the empty bottle of rum I woke up with; I thought, what a companion.  I finally got to the bottom of her.  


Slide the Tom’s on his feet then to the street to teach the fleet of young discrete.

Commonsense logic, above the new day, a new project.

Project that, in a building for the thrilling idea of prospect.


I am most likely dodge this endeavor.

Avoiding assumed facts.



Straight out of Minnesota, straight out of Wisconsin.  I get stressed sometimes.

Fuck it, straight out of the Midwest.


Much sun, little rain.

All the same, like LA.


Holding tight to reign on the day.

Won’t move to clouds to see a coast.

Won’t leave the house, I want to see a ghost.


Of about realistic ideal, substantial appeal, and great sex.

Aspects flawed, but what do you expect from the rest?


Never rest, thinking on big breasts and progress.

Ready, set…

Then off with her dress.

Off with morals, no regrets.

And then off with her head unless she forgets.


I bet.


Much impressed with characteristic antics, authentic to the best of my abilities.


To the best wishes.

And then I exit.

With respect.




The new Bond flick is playing torrent on our plasma.

We are flying remote control helicopters in this bitch.



“Security through Obscurity.”

Bond, James Bond.


Frozen split peas, a bargain for a meal.

Dinner time, winner time.

This winter is real.


Feel the cold, be bold in the snow.


This icy globe spins as my day begins.

Contacts in and then I become frantic.


Pretending to be a student, fluent in bullshit.

Free pass to the gym, excellent, physically relevant.


A bullshit day at work, so more drink, and more dessert.

Loathing; hurt and insecure about self-worth.


I am 25, I drink, I wash dishes and sell donuts.


My day is done and forgotten.  Her’s was over before mine began.

Now I think in the moment.


Suicide ends all progress.

Why do some people race to the end?


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