Broken Open
Chapter 8: One thing is certain: the phenomena seems to be tethered to me, or more correctly I am inside it, engaging in a world that moves when I move.
1001
Hi, It's OA. As I write this Swim and Bruce are planning to take me out. Or more precisely they are planning to make such a plan and, in the meantime, constructing elaborate defensive maneuvers; meditative shields for the mind missiles they believe I’ll send.
Gathering Stage
Chapter 7: Maybe just the bodily part of them was gone...while the real part of them–the force that worked from within–remained here, unfettered and free to move through floors and walls at will?
Happy Hour
Chapter 6: What a blessing to have figured it out, to be here once again at The Roses for this evening sun–though it’s funny I hardly remember leaving last night. Scratch that I don’t remember at all–was I really that wasted?
unhome
Chapter Five: “Wait, wait…” I said. “Are you calling the police?” to which they nodded, the phone already pressed to their ear.
“No, please don’t do that. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” I said, “I’m not totally sure it was real.”
Dean & The Golden Ratio
Chapter 4: The place would either be a claustrophobic closet or a palace of unimaginable dimensions, expanding and contracted according to its own specific physics...but there was also a feeling, unshakeable at times, that something was pushing back at me.
a stone in a stream
I lay there, feeling other versions of myself on other timelines that rippled out and occasionally intersected with one another, stretching into infinity.
love is telepathic
Instead of coldly calculating the correct emotional response, the most human among us are laughing out loud at the saddest parts and living strange lives as they forever reach for the golden string.
Nada & the New Style
Chapter 3: No news, no obligations, no parties to try and pull myself together for. Just the two of us, me helping her create a revolution with art, like lassoing a satellite spun out of orbit, and beaming its frequency into the darkness.
casper [at] the roses.
Chapter 2: There are times when I think about going somewhere new, somewhere I’ve never been before where I can learn to write again...
But if I left Brooklyn, I wouldn’t be able to drink at The Roses every day.