Tag Archives: Drama is the Opiate of the Masses

like the egg

Posted on October 14, 2021 by istsfor manity

“So I’m interested in where love goes awry or where people use violence as an excuse for love. And I’m interested in seeing how that comes out in my poems, because it’s where I can keep asking myself questions.” — … Continue reading →

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whimper wimple woman

Posted on September 17, 2021 by istsfor manity

Like They was Family Whimper wimple woman, he said. This ain’t Asgard. He held a fork upright in his right hand—a knife in his left. I want to strangle you blue, she said. I’d like to see your eyes bulge … Continue reading →

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straight-line gash

Posted on August 19, 2021 by istsfor manity

The Walkman Chronicle My father disappeared into the basement in search of the wine. Lois and I stood in the vestibule staring at each other. Silence. “Oh, darling, come here. I got some schmutz on your face,” Lois said. She … Continue reading →

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riddles and baffles

Posted on August 15, 2021 by istsfor manity

Queen Travis Meets Whit Fictions Queen Travis declaims that feculence has nothing to do in this affair. She says: “I was bequeathed a third rate hand me down in consignment and inquisitiveness—a loan from dog. I’ve got the scrabble tiles … Continue reading →

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boxful-o-reverie

Posted on August 11, 2021 by istsfor manity

Muted Video Feed Fugue No need to look at me while I write, she thinks—and what’s this mass of entropy floating next to me? It seems most people go off-camera for the writing bits, then so shall I, she said … Continue reading →

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you there, psychonaut

Posted on August 9, 2021 by istsfor manity

1.5 Degrees Celsius “Maria, chica, it’s not about the damned orange juice, it’s the principle of the thing,” Garcilazo says. “Maria, hey! Earth to Maria. Are you there, psychonaut? What are you doing?” Maria is rapt staring out the balcony … Continue reading →

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dissolution was set

Posted on August 8, 2021 by istsfor manity

Dream of Fire My husband dreamt the sheets were on fire, and I wouldn’t come in the bedroom. He called and called for me, but I would not come. When I finally walked in he asked, why didn’t you come? … Continue reading →

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soggy piss-chips

Posted on July 31, 2021 by istsfor manity

Building / SILENCE Building fictions is an addiction not easily quenched. A need, psychological and physiological that renders one a hamster inside the wheel—no stopping until you’re ejected into the corner where all the soggy piss-chips accrue. Bring pleasant talk … Continue reading →

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nice marmot, man

Posted on May 10, 2021 by istsfor manity

Overheard at the Bison Watering Hole Marmot: We don’t need no stinking Bison! Bison 1: What’s with him? Bison 2: Nice marmot, man. “The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your … Continue reading →

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