sketches

I don't want a husband or a wife, I just want someone that I can turn to and ask, "Are those gunshots I just heard?"

"My heart is sleepy."
"That means it wants to die."

You passed him by on the street the other day.

One closes one's eyes before being struck across the face. As he moved in to kiss her, she did this: eyes shut, face tightened, mind ready for the blow.

The cold made me feel like I was floating in icy water. The best way to warm up in cold water is to swim.

Her vision blurred, as if by tears, she blinked her dry eyes.

Also, I filled out some questionnaire about being an American and I liked my answer to one of the questions so I'm preserving it here:
"How are you American?": It seems like this could be a question about expressing one's patriotism, or about trying to relate oneself to the many stereotypes of Americans and Americanism out there (Who's responsible for that quote "Everything anyone can say about America is true"?). I've been patriotic in certain respects, as in supporting the troops, voting and, of course, lighting things on fire every fourth of July. I'm also a lazy consumer who tries keeping up with international affairs and often fails. But are these traits of mine strictly American, or are they the result of my upbringing (family and friends in the military, very politically savvy parents) and personality (lazy consumer who tries to keep up with many things in and outside of politics and often fails)? Is it me or my country? Can anyone "act" American?

I only wish I'd had space to write more.

OKAY KIDS I WANT YOU ALL TO WRITE A HAIKU 5-7-5

Helicopter flies
Over your window; it sounds
Like a purring cat.

Noel Murray has been writing about comics lately, the points in his most recent blog post reflect a lot of my own sentiments.

inspired by pteradactyls

"Corey's such a prick, he doesn't deserve that beautiful girl of his," he mumbled into his drink. The smell of gin-straight-up and Marlboro menthol lites mixed in the air outside his nostrils. The tall lady with black hair picked up her drink and moved to the other side of the bar.

the kinds of posters you hang on your wall in high school

Bailee was resting her head on her friend's stomach. Margaret, lying down on her bed, stretched her back and tightened her abdomen.
"Our parents hate each other," she said, and sighed sharply. Bailee's head was dropped slightly with the exhalation.
"...Yeah, but it's not our fault," she replied, looking up.
A pause, thinking what to say, looking down.
"I mean, my mom and dad hate each other. Not that they hate your parents."
"I know, that's what I meant, too."
"Mm," she said, slightly grimacing.
Both tried to find some way to continue the conversation, as if every word they said about it lifted another level of pain. Looking at the wall, then the ceiling, then the wall again, they silently concluded to drop the subject.

empty upholstered chairs

He chased you down the hall and you shrieked and he bit you on the shoulder.
"You're beautiful."
"Oh no, a boy that knows he has to tell a girl she's beautiful!"

I was in an apartment the next block over looking at leaves on tree branches. Splotchy patches of brownish green, breaking up a window of sunlight.