Emanon's profile

a dried out flower rests on my brown dashboard

My old friend and I have a long history of fuck-ups, fucks, and mental breakdowns together. Our most recent was over winter, when we had a brief afternoon swing that later on would end up screwing us both over. It happened one afternoon in January when I showed up at her door. I walked in, got myself a drink, and sat in her kitchen for a little while. We started talking, and talking, and talking, and the conversation picked up a bit, and I moved closer to her as she leaned against a door fram...

32 miles later, my legs are sore, the sea smells fresh on my back ... covered in garbage, John smiles my name ... my car breaks at my friends home, the smoke could be seen for miles ... maggie called to tell me her grandma was dead. i hung up the line ... cigarette between my lips, books and crayons and instrument slung over my back, walking at midnight to my home

"wait for me!" cry my children in the fog, playing under the white moon

What we write down is never as important as what we hit, because a lasting handprint on a noize, ass cheek, wrist or what have you leaves a swollen red reminder of the years to come, another yet another shallow matriarchial note on your sketchbook, foot note to explanation, our pages will only be around so long as there is to keep them, but you'll never know this, our memory is already faded in infinity, and if it is truly expanding, we shrink and shrink as the days go by, my tiny face still ...