“Nowadays happiness it seems comes with a receipt, sanity comes in a bottle, and beauty comes from the leather around your feet.”
In twenty-six slashes of an angry pen, I enact my bloodthirsty revenge. An indigo insolence five thousand and twenty-six years in the making, a cuneiform callback as old as anger and ink and implements. A brilliant crescendo of rage, all staccato and forte and I’m the conductor, and for twenty-six seconds I feel strong, and there, just there on the seat, the culmination cut in the cream:
I woke up on the 26 bus It goes straight to his house 26 is also in his number And in mine Maybe it’s the universe telling me something Maybe it’s just a coincidence But I hope its not His hands reach out When he’s single 9th grade We made out in the movie theatre … Continue reading Passenger’s Story, by Tsuko Johnson
It’s like growing old, you don’t realize it while it’s happening, but one day we all will wake up and look in the mirror and merely notice with sudden surprise- we are old. The surprise is unexpected, but the change is gradual.
Most people think Xavier is crazy. Misinformed arrogant people often think he’s “retarded.” More understanding people simply describe him as “different,” and they certainly wouldn’t be wrong, he is indeed very different.
To the ones taking deep breaths, and to the ones with exasperating sighs. To the ones gasping for air, their mouth just above water.