OK, so I was riding my bike when I dropped it.

I know: listening and riding is a bad idea; I'm lucky I'm not the one that broke; at the very least I should have stopped to change albums (damn you, Van Halen, for only making half of "1984" worth listening to!). Chide me all you want.

But I'll never do it again. And not because I learned my lesson, but because I'm not going to replace the damn thing.

So marks the beginning of my steady march toward irrelevance.

i've thrown up five times this week
a lesion has erupted on my lower cheek
all i can think of is how i will die
all the news shows assure me that it could be
any time at any place

NO PROMISES

an eaten dinner, poorly made, lodging in my throat on its way up
i choke
no one to hear me
lose
my
breath
my face peels itself away
as i lay on the cold tiled floor

i'll eat some cookies just to see
if i feel any pain.

Do not turn on the news, my vote says, Please, anything but that. I say But there will be recounts. It says None will matter. I say We will never allow men with swords to ascend our mountaintops. And my vote laughs in the way that one must laugh precisely because nothing is funny. We do not, and cannot, speak to one another. When I wake the following morning my vote is gone, along with my credit card. Go, I say aloud, have some fun, return when you feel better.

[to read installment two click here.]

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