That one time i almost passed out coming up the stairs.

I came up the stairs too fast, and i wanted to die. Quickly. My head had no time for oxygen. My vision had no time for light. My brain had no time for blood. I had no time. I grew to enjoy the pressure in my temples, and the gelid blanket that glazed over the complete of my body. But I mostly hated it. 

Wake up. 

And breathe.

And breathe.

I’m going to make a sandwich. I pulled some Wonder Bread out of the package, and I wanted to replace the contents with the complete of my skull.

And breathe.

And breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Bleached

crumbs.

Yeast.

Carbs.

Complex.

And breathe.

And breathe.

With the complete of my lungs. From the diaphragm, not the chest. Work for it. For once.

Put the sauce all the way to the edges, or else you may get a dry bite. Cover the complete of the sandwich. Drop the knife, and do the dishes. 

Align the ingredients with gratuitous perfection, or with reckless abandon. It won’t make any difference. It’s just going to be poop, soon.

They say your body dies every time you sneeze. I’ve died a lot, then. I like sneezing. Does that mean I like dying? Nah.

The sandwich was alright, thanks for asking.

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Answers.

i’ve been told by several people that i’m good at pretending.

it’s become a compliment, even though such homebrewed, bootleg, moonshine acting skills can get in the way of things.

i never fake how i feel, though.

That would be too much of a chore. i couldn’t keep track of that. i just fake that i’m good at controlling how i feel. That’s a little bit easier.

It’s not a matter of

optimism

or

pessimism.

Strength,

or

cowardice.

Coping

or

hoping.

Life’s not simple enough to just

wish

or

damn.

i fix up a sturdy facade of assuredness even though every piece of prose i write is riddled with the words

‘probably’

‘i think’

‘i suppose’

‘i dunno’

or

‘i guess’.

Yeah that’s right, i’m sentient.

i know that i say those too much.

~oh well.

i’ve spent a lot of time being ‘sure’ about things, convinced that every answer would show itself in a card,

or a series of numbers,

or in a person,

or a palm,

or a cloud or something.

It’s not working.

But —

now that i don’t look for answers in the same tired manner, they’re finally starting to show themselves. Sometimes in the same familiar and delicate ways as before, but mostly in new,

blunted,

ferocious,

and explosive ways.

Sometimes they come out of the grass

like a snake with a pretty face and a smile.

Sometimes they’re dropped like

a nuke, etching your very shadow

onto the wall behind you.

At least i stopped expecting either,

and started preferring both.

Sarahah.com

i live in a day and age where people can only post compliments anonymously on the internet, as to not be tracked down and discovered as ‘nice humans with feelings’. Tell me how you feel without hyperlinks and barriers, or bury yourself in your own weakness. We’re people, not screens.

Remember handwritten letters?

Me neither.

i’m nearsighted, so you better get closer.

Look me in the eyes and remind me that my irises change depending on the season, how i feel about you, and what my wardrobe entails that day. i forget sometimes.

Hazel,

to green,

then right back.

Most of the time, both of my eyes are 75% green, and 25% hazel. Pretty neat, i guess. It’s really only an illusion. Just my pupils playing tricks on you. i’m deceptive like that.

i think.

i dunno.

Heterochromaticism is still beyond me. i’m close, though. Maybe in my next life i can be a Siberian husky, where digging grave-sized holes is just as acceptable as having differently colored eyes.

i’d be a good dog.

They taught us to make eye contact in elementary school. People have a hard time doing that. It’s a damn shame. Eyes are my favorite.

Blue — floors me.

Maybe it’s because i fear the open ocean. 

That’s poetic, i suppose.

Let’s go with that.

s h i t.

Back in the day,

the good ‘ol days,

we would actually have good field trips.

We’d go to zoos.

We’d go hiking in the mountains, and sleep in handbuilt cabins, with rustic, homemade Coloradan food.

We’d go rappelling off of rocks larger than your ego.

We’d visit replica cliff dwelling sites, honoring those before us. I guess.

We’d go to ranches, and pet animals. They were kinda stinky, but damn were they adorable.

And then, you get older,

and i shit you not,

people stop caring.

The last field trip i had before hastily dropping out of high-school with one year left to complete, was the local waste water treatment plant, on the windiest day i’ve ever witnessed.

That’s not why i dropped out, but that would be pretty funny if it were. It certainly affirmed my decision, looking back.

Oh, i almost forgot. We went to Whole Foods right before for lunch. i ordered a chai latte, with a pastry and a salad or something like that. It was probably $73. Then i got some kambutcha, and we were on our merry way.

Needless to say, i laughed in the face of irony when i realized that the entire time —

i had to shit.

When we arrived, i even cheekily asked where to shit, whilst gesturing to one of the many shit-trenches. They did not find that amusing.

i’d be lying if i said i still don’t find it fucking hilarious.

Our lips were chapped, and we wreaked of shit by the end of it.

Our neighbors shit.

Our own shit.

Your shit.

My shit.

Shit.

It was freezing that day.

Nothing like shit-frost to bring out the studious nature in a bunch of fuck happy teenagers with a chip on their shoulder for anything educational.

i brought a scarf for some reason.

i had to promptly discard of it.

Guess what it smelled like?

No, not cardamom.

We pretended to be delighted to see how this rusting machine over here could filter the shit out of shit, and make shitty water.

Only to find out that it can’t filter out everything. Like narcotics, pills, and most chemicals.  

The residents later found out that the local water was in fact, harmful to consume.

Whoopsies.

There was one kid there who actually enjoyed himself. 

i envy that fella.

Anyone who can find happiness amidst a plant of our own collective fecal matter is a better man than i. 

Another kid dropped his pack of gum in one of those giant vats of shit outside. i have no idea why he would want to chew gum, with the smell of shit interupting every minty-moment he opened his mouth. The supervisor at the time had to fish it out like when there are too many leaves in the swimming pool.

Same tool.

Different job.

That made me laugh really hard. i think i almost shot a clot to my brain. It took so long. Longer than a wedding reception, or an after school anti-drug special. Highlight of my day.

At least he got paid to be there.

i got a couple of giggles out of the deal.

That’s good enough for me.

i’m sponsored by Dunkin’ Donuts

i sometimes enjoy a nice cup of coffee.

Caffeine.

That’s my drug of choice.

Well — that, 

and the constant internal firefight

raging on and on inside of me.

Both make my serotonin and dopamine

levels spike more than a diabetic’s

bloodsugar, half-past five p.m.

i put a lot of creamer in it, 

but not too much.

The taste has grown on me.

i probably shouldn’t drink it.

It often makes my blood push so hard

that i feel my veins pressed against the

walls of my skin like a passion-fueled

anger-fuck.

It’s hot.

i’m drinking some right now, in fact.

Sorry.

You have to earn my sobriety. 

adult swim

i’ve almost drowned several times. Enough to see a pattern there. 

The first time was in a pool, but that was just cuz i was a dumb kid who couldn’t swim. i was jumping around by the pool, for some reason. Prolly ADD or something.

So i learned how to swim.

Or at least i learned how not to drown.

Then it happened more at a wave pool. A lot. Like, c’mon Algernon, take the hint.

So i stopped going to wave pools. Can’t say i miss them.

Then it happened on the western beach of Florida; the Gulf of Mexico. There’s a steep drop off where the quaint beach quickly becomes… Hell? I was nearly sucked out into the ocean, whilst scouring the floor for seashells with my mother. 

The waves were made of concrete, and they had the suction of a vacuum. Like one of those expensive vacuums that people go door-to-door to sell you. They struck me like a racket hitting a tennis ball;

Kinetic.

It’s ok. i clearly survived.

Sorry kiddo, maybe next time.

Now i don’t like waves, even though they seemed to be pretty fond of me.

i get tunnel vision when i see ships faring turbulent seas in the dark of night, during violent thunderstorms.

i hate it.

i love that i hate it.