This is how a young flash fiction writers bio looks

Identity, identity. Absurdity 

Cradle me just a little bit longer

Treat me like a child 

Brush the stray hairs out my face when I'm lost in a book

Or sleeping 

Wrap a blanket around me 

And buckle my seatbelt 

To fold me back into the womb 

Where time is suspended un fluid

Is the fluid

 that embalms me

Kiss my forehead

Tell me not to Worry my pretty little head

Cause every little thing is gonna be alright 

There's nothing your briefcase and biceps cannot solve

So I can be clueless and careless 

But charmingly, childishly 

Culplessly 

You are what you eat

Zadie smith said something like this

So if you want to be a writer eat words be obsessive about the writers that inspire you, figure out everything that has been done before your diet should be mostly good, but some bad because ying yang 

Photography same

Jewelry same

Food same 

Dream Diary Post 16

I had a Harry Potter / Being John Malkovich inspired dream 

Eating bento boxes in a cafeteria riding a ferry to some academic building.  Somewhere along the line everyone wanted to go to this cute secret Korean restaurant the only way to get there is to go to my friend's house go to the bathroom and stand in the toilet tank and wish yourself there.  The hole might seem just big enough for one foot, but the momentum of your wish will propel you through without harm.  

But like Platform 9 3/4 or travel by Floo Powder or transport from a tiny door to the body of John Malkovich, mishaps occur.  After I realized that the window had closed on the present toilet I was standing in, I tried a couple other toilets, always with the image of the adorable wood-floored bistro with a fireplace on the right and a quietly steaming stove on the left.  I never got there before I woke up. 

It starts with a pet goldfish dying

We were in China and the tour guide was describing all the gruesome things that happen to you in chinese he'll.  like getting your butt cut off.  Some where along the line you drink a tea to forget about the Life you just finished living 

My mom asked me what I'd like to do in the next life, I said I wanted to be exactly the same 

She agreed this life is pretty nice, it'd be nice to live it again

I imagined us like horses a mama horse and a baby horse, with the same human thoughts but unable to speak them

We were sleeping in the floor of the excercise room because my room was being painted 

Somehow the question arose would you want to die before or after your pArents?

At the same time.  Yes, at the same time would be nice

Fear of being a contrived writer

What if you were anticipating the poop before you even tasted the food?

On unhappy enemies

Fuck why don't you save to draft if I'm not finished?

While I certainly despise when my enemies are happy, unfortunately their despair brings me no joy.  It's as if their unhappiness undermines their evilness.  Which makes sense, it's less fun beating a mopey asshole than an arrogant one.  

It is embarrassing watching an asshole fall, I don't know why.  Perhaps because they have farther to fall, from the peak of their bullshit mountain.  De-antlered, de-maned, stumbling around as they attempt to recompose some semblance of a poker face.  I want to look the other way and pretend to not notice their swagger has been replaced with a stumbling shuffle.