How have you dealt with the possibility that you are nothing and belong to no one?

Maybe you’ve already dealt with it and came to some compromise.

Go wherever the devil tells you but only for a while.

A story where someone can’t keep a secret.

Rots your teeth.

Rephrase that.

Absolutely not.


A story where anger is old, or sold.

Your so-called friends.

Your mother and I.


The bell has no bell in it; that’s what makes it so powerful–total silence–gag toothbrush and toothpaste turn around plastic rings grandma overheard night night eat night complete digestion of night suck chew smack communicate a suggestion + choke turn around move yr chair–don’t let them I will help you open a page it doesn’t work if you are done I got you a pen.


Wednesday not Monday.


The german teacher doesn’t teach us he reads the newspaper.


Nine. Changes my mind. An interesting. Hillside. My brain. Is of canada. She is. Coming back. Thank you you. Are dirty. Eighth grade. Is ridiculous. Six is green. And. Upside-down. This. Is mine. This is my mom if. We could only get. The dreams down.


I’m going to write about you ok. I need to copy this. How does naughty spell her name?

Dots on a page. Close my stuff. I get mad I feel like leaving I got beep beep color of my phone.

Alright well aint this sweet–are you writer enough–don’t know you sorry I don’t care space.

What are you listen space to I accept space cool cool he would space space later expel me even though I thought we were close.

Means green ha ha no hitting no touching ice hard I’m faced scratched out face got blood in it today sand sand sand I’m going home on time.


100 small books instead of ten huge ones.

I lost custody.

What was the reason for anything?


The semicolon appears more often in his brain.

He is.

A stammerer.


He sees little joys on the stairs.


Abdo the cashier said, “Thirty was rough; I spent the whole year depressed.”

And I said, “yeah well my girlfriend turned thirty a few years ago, so . . .”

And I went on, “. . . she’s thirty-three now, and I’ve felt that old for a while.”

(But when I said “girlfriend” I meant “wife.”)


The streetsmith.

Senior citizen the.

Unintelligibility is part of its charm.



Soils can be built upon.

The snakes there go their whole lives without raindrops.

Salt by itself.

There are no papers.

Just a guy who’s bad at his job.


A lesson in not doing that.


It’s a shame you want things in a different way from me.


Evenly matched at chess.


It will boil a cold room.


Everything is inappropriate for something, I’m sure.

Geography, pulp.

The versions don’t agree.

Starved man.

I put the cup of coffee down.

But it fell through the earth.


Maybe I can think of something.

The first boy to crack his head on the pavement makes it safe for the second boy to do so.

The second boy to crack his head on the pavement isn’t a boy at all, he’s the atheist professor.

He’s doing it to get his next job.


I don’t see love when the car is cloth.

I don’t see love in the mind map, the imperfections of an internal art form.

You said, I don’t see love, and now the self is exposed to it, it’s exposed to anything it doesn’t see.

In order to reach mediocrity I don’t see love.

The longer its perfection lasts, the less I see love.

No one sees love as a perfect X anymore.

The boy’s head goes through the pavement and into the sand.

I don’t see love as someone else’s conscience–Jim Boeheim’s conscience.

I’m not in the eighth grade anymore.

I don’t see love in town.

I don’t send the same text again, “Hey r u in town?”

The rain is not just your life; the rain helps your house grow.

I don’t see love helping your house grow.

I don’t see love changing the subject when you pause.

When you know you have to do a lot more work on it.

And you say as much.


Where does it hurt?

I don’t know.

Well probably it doesn’t hurt that bad then.


I’m watching you.

I’m watching you with my mind’s eye.

We’re over here getting yelled at and you’re in there with hot chocolate and videos.


The professor’s head goes through the boy’s, and into the girl’s.

I need you to hold onto this for a second.

She was my favorite but y’all never knew.


“Earth Science”

You can’t choose to be upstairs.

But you could have if you were downstairs.

My mother didn’t choose for me.

That’s why we’re moving.

But didn’t you just move?

That’s true we did.

I’m gonna change you then, before you go.

No more “bouts to”.


I’m not going, though.

People are dirty.

I’m going to tell my mom I’m going, but I’m not going to go.

[K sneaks up on N with a handful of lotion but does not slap her in the face with it.]


I don’t have time to write about her; somebody died.

I’ll be damned if this is a journal entry; don’t ever call it that.

We like to pass around random inhalers and complain.


If he had asked me, it would’ve been different.


Care cause I don’t: A story where no one is even curious about something strange.

My Jits: A story where rayquan wants to spell beautiful and then does.

Shake out: A story where you learn to like it.


The secret lung.

The sex box.

The test at the end of the year.


Strunz: A story where “the door was open.”

Strunz: A story where “your mother and I.”

Strunz: A story where “for your health.”

Strunz: A story where “I’m older than you.”

Strunz: “you little shit.”


The girl heard everything until her head grew too big and had to filter it all just to accommodate all the impressions she was getting.

Then she heard a lawnmower start and somehow the lawnmower sound needed to be kept secret.

She pressed herself between two mattresses, becoming part of the secret of the mattress.

Then someone sat down on top of the mattresses and even started singing about sitting there.

A piece of food worked its way into my sinus cavity and came out my nose.

Grass grew overnight, around all the houses in the neighborhood except one.

It was the desert, or had been, and therefore the wide sand dunes now looked like an island surrounding all sides of that one house.