randomizer

loki

Satisfaction is never guileless. Beneath the charming veneer lies the rotting wormwood of pleasure’s true colors. Satisfaction is not seeing your child climb onstage to receive tacky golden awards, or being hugged by someone you cherish. It is neither the diffusing lightness of a sudden stroke of luck nor the surprising reprieve from something one dreads.

Satisfaction does not manifest in simple pleasures like Turkish Delight, warm clothes from the dryer or your favorite food for dinner. In actuality, satisfaction is that sinister glee at seeing your sibling fail at something you easily aced. It is that familiar tumultuous happiness at seeing a rival’s horrified face as realization of his mistake dawns upon him and drags his heart down, down, down – plummeting into ice-cold water in a blink – and he turns into a pained ice-statute. You see him peering over the brink of a precipice and as your heart pounds wildly with furtive knowledge you so quietly

gently

nudge

him over the edge.

~ hannah p

describe

Describe yourself in ten words. Or a hundred and forty characters.

It would be myopic to attempt to simplify your whole self into ten adjectives. Or to try to describe love.

Or to describe us.

What are we? Did our hearts that beat in unison quantify as a new being? Do the nights where you stayed awake just to watch me sleep account for anything? Were our violent outbursts and passionate apologies the keystone to this ineffable connection? The places we visited and shared unforgettable moments with  - do they continue to hold that special badge of sweet nostalgia? The lazy Sunday afternoons with breakfast in bed and whispered sweet nothings. The sybaritic nights with liquor and confessed fantasies. What were we?

But in truth, all sensation is already memory.

We tear into our past like fidgety children with fingers itching to pick at that healing scab. Undoing the goodness that came with the passing of time just to feel the familiar twines of hurt creep into our souls like electric currents.

And so I ask myself the same question: will you stay awake at night longing to see my sleeping shadow in the nocturnal palettes on the wall? Will you have pancakes without thinking of me? Can you fuck her the way you fucked me and not think of me?

Will you miss me?

~ hannah p

dream

She awakes.

The first thing she remembers is being loved. She frantically grasps at the vanishing trails of that vivid feeling to no avail. Fragments of memories swirl around between her eyes, taunting, begging to be remembered. She shuts out the world and falls asleep again in hopes of reuniting with that feeling. She knows it only belongs in the sandman’s domain.

She is the sun. The sun is tired and slowly giving up her right to rule the skies. Like a Machiavellian lover, she now turns her attention to the other hemisphere. In a perceptible instance, she is loved again. She is not alone here but she fears the time she will have to leave this place.

She is the earth. She is enveloped in infinite thoughts, emotions, judgement, ideas, like an unending gust of wind that begins and ends at the same place. Every observation conflates into an unnecessary thought. That she is loved.

She awakes. She turns her head and sees him by her side, sleeping gently, lying in her shade. Affection displaces fear. She smiles as she remembers. She is the sun. And he is her shadow.

~ sean j

tightrope

There’s something about living on a razor’s edge, walking the tightrope of life. There are people in their cubicles at work plugging their umbilical cords into the mother ship and sacrificing some of their freedom for a little more security. There are only two doors in life; the door marked ‘security’ and the door marked ‘freedom’. If you choose security, you end up losing both.

Like the ever decreasing wild magnolias, you either be strong and fight to survive or suffer retardation due to constant nurturing. If you cannot withstand the elements without help and intervention, you wither and die.

~ sean j

stigma

With flushed cheeks she held out the delicate flower, inviting him to touch its soft velvety petals. He hesitated, and she noticed the tiny tremors at the base of his lovely throat, before extending his hand slowly to stroke the pale pink magnolia.

The flower was hypnotizing and beautiful. As he dipped his head forward, he breathed in its dense musk; its intoxicating sweet scent. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? She breathed, eyes alive with excitement. He did not answer, he moved his fingers towards the jeweled center instead, and lightly caressed the villous bulb. The entire flower trembled under his careful touch and his heart stopped. This was it, the ruby epicenter of the loveliest flower in the world.

He could take it no more - he buried his face in its luxurious beauty, reveling in its silken texture on his skin. The alluring savor assailed his senses and he yearned to taste its sweet nectar on his hungry lips. She smiled at him as he inhaled deeply, watching him knowingly with her feline gaze, as he lost himself in the cloud of sweet abandon.

~hannah p

kaleidoscope eyes

Your eyes flash open - shockingly fast, a frightened reaction - and all you see is a brilliant, blinding white. Tentatively, you reach out and survey your fingers, closely examining, ensuring that everything is in place. With a deep, tired sigh, you slowly close your weary eyes and let the overwhelming silence deafen you. And you open them again.

A girl.

Her golden eyes are smiling at you and her dress is woven from the opaline threads of rainbows. Her voice is light and silvery - words gently spill from her mouth like hydragyrum. She calls for her horse and you can hear it neighing from a distance. She gently tilts your head and you find yourself gazing into her eyes - now cornflower blue - and she begins to laugh. Her laughter sounds like the trickling water of a creek. Oh, she sighs, you’re too lovely.

She mounts her ecru stallion and gives you a final look. A silvery voice gently reminds you, “The sky is merely a reflection of the ocean”.

You continue to lie there with a photograph in your hand and mary jane in the other.

The sky is merely a reflection of the ocean.

~hannah p

shape of regret

For every wrong turn, there is an exit route. But as you draw closer to it, you see the folly of going back. Quick glance to the back. Double check rearview mirrors for assurances. Deep breath. Hit the gears, eighty six miles per hour past redemption.

Regret shapes in your heart, but you dismiss it as you steer around that dangerous bend. Regrets are for wimps. Small people with small lives. People who walk. Not you. Not today. You drive everywhere you go. Today, and forever.

There is an ocean of regret and you can tap into it with a teaspoon, a bucket, or a tractor trailer. Go on, dig in. There’s more than enough for everybody. The ocean doesn’t care. You don’t care. You want no part of it. Not today, not ever.

~ sean j