Posts tagged with ‘stories’

2: Interrogation

  • “Why do you think you are here”
  • “Can I have my phone so I can Google the answer I want to get the words just right”
  • “You miss your phone”
  • “Would you miss your dick if it was torn viciously from your body”
  • “You think of your phone as part of your body”
  • *closes eyes, breathes*
  • “You think of your phone as part of your body”
  • “Thinking implies rationalization and deliberation. I do not think. I see and accept what is”
  • “A phone is a physical object. A tool. A machine for communication. It’s made in a factory in China. They break, they get lost. You get a new one”
  • “You understand very little about the universe”
  • “Enlighten me”
  • “I cannot enlighten the unwilling”
  • “Enlighten me”
  • *sends emotional feelers out to befriend and gather together the angel-ghosts hiding in the corners of the room*
  • “Please”
  • “A phone is not a device it is a conduit. It is a channel through which energy flows. I can direct it. Away, out, in every direction, towards all that I am, or back, inward, toward a more physical manifestation. It does the work that my body and being require of it, the same as my brain, my eyes, my heart, my veins. A phone can be a mirror or a window or a weapon or an emotion or a story or The Truth, so how can it be a mere device. How can it be a physical object”
  • “A phone does all that huh”
  • “I described you as unwilling. With every fiber of your being you prove me right. In your head your job is to see the truth, yet you do not possess the ability to reckon the nature of things. This experience we share is not binary”
  • “Amanda why do you think you’re here”
  • “‘Here’ is a problematic concept for beings made of stars”
  • “Why do you think you are here in this hospital”
  • “What happened to you in life. How long did it take to build these walls between what you experience and what you believe. The person you see in the mirror is not you. You are fundamentally at odds with your true self. Your death will be a release”
  • “My death”
  • *asks the angel-ghosts to lend a portion of their energy*
  • “Are you threatening me”
  • “A threat implies alternatives and agendas. I’m just sitting here watching linear time unfold”
  • “Amanda we are trying to help you. No one wants you to stay here, no one is trying to hurt you. You had a good life once, a successful one, by any measure, and we want to help you get back to it. You have family and friends who care about you, who are worried about you. We want to help you develop the tools you need in order to take better care of yourself.”
  • “But you’re stressed about me having a phone”
  • “Stop talking about your phone. You are going to be here a very long time unless you start taking this seriously. You need to understand why you are here.”
  • *the angel-ghosts acquiesce*
  • “I will tell you why I am here”
  • *the angel-ghosts rise up from the floor and begin tearing the man to pieces*
  • “I am here because life is difficult. I am here because I refuse spiritual constraints. I am here because my voice causes fear. I am here because I am unaffected by negative systems. I am here to manifest beauty. I am here to transmute ugliness as part of a larger facilitation of a universal creative process”
  • *the angel-ghosts dematerialize, having released the energy of the man*
  • *closes eyes, breathes*

1: Weapon

Emotional Transit

When I was young my family went to Ocean City Maryland every summer. There’s a boardwalk along the beach, and we’d walk different parts of it every evening as the sun set and the beach cleared out and the lights came up. I remember: french fries with vinegar, terrible haunted house rides that we went on multiple times, tourist shit-shops filled with pink & fluorescent yellow t-shirts (it was the 80s), sea shells with glued-on googly eyes, watching sand artists sculpt inspirational bible quotes into their castles. It was the best.

There was a little shuttle you could ride if you were tired from walking or wanted to skip to different parts of the boardwalk. One night we walked all the way down to the very end, and decided to take the shuttle back to our hotel. A few minutes into the ride a pair of young couples got on, cramming into the seat behind us. Probably what happened is my dad started making dumb jokes and they laughed politely, but what I remember is all of us having the best time on the ride home. My mom and dad laughing with them, everyone saying funny comments about things we saw along the way, strangers immediately connecting and bonding, on just the perfect night, the best time, driving very slowly along the beach at night.

Eventually we came to a stop and the couples climbed off the shuttle. I called out: “See you back at the hotel!” and they stopped and turned and my mom had to explain, No, they’re not staying with us, they’re going to do other things.

And I was like: We’re never going to see them again? Like, ever? I was not just distraught or sad but immediately inconsolable. These were our friends. How are these people who we just met and who we like so much, who we’ve had so much fun with tonight, going to disappear from our lives forever? We’re all ok with that? We’re all ok with going off into the night and never seeing each other again?

But of course that’s what happened. They walked off and we went back to our hotel and I’m probably the only person in the story who remembers any part of it happening, and none of it really matters, except that I still feel the sense of missing those people whose faces I don’t even remember as acutely as I did back then.

And I would love for the ending of this story to be: And that’s when I decided I didn’t need my heart anymore. But I do. I hate it, but I do.

A child’s name, on some level, reflects the parents’ hopes and dreams for the child. It is a kind of stamp on the thin envelope of their journey through life. They named their daughter North. They gave their daughter the language of direction, of adventure into the unknown, the hope of something better, something far away and potentially magical and interesting and better. They gave her elsewhere.

Kevin Fanning, “The Complete Biography of North West.”

For a few minutes, I felt something about Kanye and Kim that wasn’t weary resignation.

(via embfitz)

I wrote about North West! Kind of the unsung celebrity baby of the summer, imho. Also it’s about Trayvon & reproductive rights & #teens and a lot of other things too

(via embfitz)


For the warrior princess in us all. #nytimes

This is so good.


For the warrior princess in us all. #nytimes

This is so good.

(via jennifersky-deactivated20130910)

Matthew Salesses fanfiction

This is a fic based on the movie 25th Hour that I wrote about author Matthew Salesses, who is moving from Boston to Texas. I read this at his book launch party last week. Everyone cried because my words were so beautiful & true.

I was standing on the Cambridge side of the Mass Ave bridge, watching the sun come up over Boston. It was always one of my favorite places to watch the city wake up. A few commuters and joggers, maybe a brave sailboat or two spinning lazily around the Charles, and just the wind and the sky and the low, constant waves.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see noted local author Matthew Salesses coming towards me. He smiled, or tried to. 

“Thanks for meeting me here,” he said.

“Of course,” I said. “Anything for you.”

He looked out across the water. “My last day of freedom,” he said. “Tomorrow they ship me off to Texas. I can’t go in there like this, kfan. I need you to make me ugly.”

“Make you ugly?” I said. As if that were even possible! I mean look at him. He was majestic in the early morning glow.

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Today On Twitter →


A short interactive story about Twitter by Kevin Fanning.
It is wonderful and true.

Here is a thing I made! Please check it out!

(via alanapost)

—The Person Who Lives

This is me, reading “The Person Who Lives” from Touch Anything Except Me.

Works best with headphones, I still haven’t figured out how to record vocals like a normal human.

Joru's Hand →

My brother Joru lost his hand. Lost is the wrong word. We still know exactly where it is, at least for now.

Here is a new story I wrote. I read this at Dire a few weeks ago and people were into it? So maybe you will be too. Thank you in advance for your time & attention.