Statement of Record
Like cans with expired shelf lives, stored away at the bottom of a box of old books, I happened upon my father’s journals after moving to a smaller apartment with my son. I took them into my hands, hesitated, then placed them gently aside. The next morning I began to leaf through this strange shorthand of lived life written in a “Top Scholar” composition...
I know the tidal pull of the blood; that a mere glance can send plumes of fire curling through the nerves. After J. arrived: the sudden, mind-controlling molecular saturation of pheromones in the air, a maddening inability to concentrate, to think of anything at all. Intoxication, situational insanity, delusion. An attraction so fierce it made...
Few noticed it at first, the initial wave of deaths. Perhaps there were a few less Deliveroo drivers clogging up the streets. A dearth of mocha-choca-calorie-free-free-range-organic-fairtrade-edamame-latte pop up vendors. A few less online quizzes.
He thought back to the motionless blue eyes and the almost inaudible crack of the skull as he stood on the pebble beach and watched the young woman’s body rhythmically emerging and then disappearing back into the waves.
For as long as he could remember there were two of him, like an evil twin. They looked identical but were fraternal in behavior, though this other person wasn’t necessarily a villain. His intentions were neither bad nor good. Like the couple times he smoked...
S had landed not long before our decision to leave the place of eternal screenings. She had flown, trying to be aware of her being off the ground for the entire four hours of the flight she attempted to turn her awe into a skin filling paste of awareness. And deeeeper. S would meet us by the tilted slope of beige and green in the afternoon.
Larry could practically see the dishonesty rippling wildly out, a toxic impression his behavior stamped into reality and would eventually, he just knew it, kill this relationship as the substance had killed so may emotions inside him.
Forgiveness on one shoulder, a killer on the other.
I’ve got AIDS, man. Not sure how it happened. Life’s cheap, here. It’s funny, ‘cause this used to be a pretty vibrant neighborhood. Then they starved it on purpose, swear to God. Powers that be, the bankers, Mayor Koch, probably the Fed. NYC, Drop Dead, exactly right. They don’t give a shit.
He took his time, enjoying the prep and process. He was in no hurry. It’s like getting high was as narcotizing as being high. Striking matches and relishing sulfur smoke and opening rubbing alcohol bottles and smelling ethyl fumes were its own kind of rush, a flood of natural adrenaline and dopamine ringing euphorically in his limbic system, an irony that did not go...
"And now?" Gregor asked himself, looking around in the darkness. He noticed the motion of a small insect reflecting the sudden light of his cell phone, having received a text from Gertrude, his occasional lover, asking to see him tonight. She has news. The insect flew beyond the screen when it darkened on its timer, the locked phone's setting being short...
It was more than casual, The Desire. And it wasn’t “desire” strictly speaking, he had to grudgingly admit. Larry’s girlfriend Liz, on her way from Brooklyn and stuck in LIE traffic, texted him during the traffic’s ebb. He was sick and he’d told her he was sick, making vague reference to a weird virus going around Long Island and moaning about back pain as he lay on his...
In a galaxy far, far away, Larry lay dope sick on his parent’s couch.
This was before addiction had taken hold, flu-like, in the early years when he was immune to addiction — he was born free of the congenital disease — his immunity built by witness, by inoculating revulsion to his own family members’ personal struggles with the condition. He was a dope head romantic.
Statement of Record