A Long Wait in the Churchyard

The terror of cognizance in the face of having to live the rest...

Fri, 24 May 2013 06:53:14 -0400

The terror of cognizance in the face of having to live the rest of one’s life in the shadow of mental illness is a terror that is beyond words.

On the drive to work this morning I gave right the fuck in to...

Wed, 22 May 2013 18:42:00 -0400

On the drive to work this morning I gave right the fuck in to impulse buys spurned only naturally from the multitude of mesh bins or plastic tubs packed chaos-full of sale items. I picked up a gallon of bleach and a two-gallon carton of powdered laundry detergent. Our office takes up one full floor as well as a good portion of the floor above that, and despite it being a Thursday, when most standard accounts were being wrapped up while the newest ventures were in phases of being marginalized and substantiated, I was able to cover every fish tank in the company, adding in a shot-glass’ worth each of the sale-item cleaning agents purchased earlier from the department store. Inside of one half of a shift, every single fish inside of each tank was dead.

I was buried in a pinewood casket with my sisters, beneath the...

Wed, 22 May 2013 00:44:25 -0400

I was buried in a pinewood casket with my sisters, beneath the grandstand of Town Square, which was the center of our small-town universe. We lived in the casket together until the end of eternity.

Broken lamps were situated all around the set-up apartment...

Tue, 21 May 2013 16:59:58 -0400

Broken lamps were situated all around the set-up apartment atmosphere. All said, these rooms gave off the appearance of occupancy. Or the idea of livability.

I care about nothing and I live my entire life expressly for...

Fri, 17 May 2013 04:37:00 -0400

I care about nothing and I live my entire life expressly for you.

Diary.

Fri, 17 May 2013 04:15:56 -0400

Diary.

Alternative Prescriptions of Orcavia A film by JARET FERRATUSCO....

Thu, 16 May 2013 16:19:38 -0400

Alternative Prescriptions of Orcavia
A film by JARET FERRATUSCO.

In the back stairs that have led, alternatively, to various rooms on the first floor of the institution’s museum of treatments and measures, there was a nurse who discovered a frail wooden key. It appeared to be near broken, and so fragile that upon picking it up from the step, it cracked in two in her delicate palm. During a meeting with the other nurses in the basement of the wing, the key was passed around and discussed in great detail. Carrying it back to her office—which could usually be found somewhere in the length of a shifting hallway painted the color of jaundice—she placed the two pieces of the fragile wooden key with great delicacy beneath her pillow. And it felt as if every day from there on, she grew closer and closer to discovering what the key might unlock. Each day passed more slowly than the one before, so that time stood still in a purgatory of hours and days; in timelessness and trials, she transcended in her constantly spinning dreams from nurse to angel in the shifting, windswept offices of the jaundiced hall of Orcavia Institution.

Dividing The Sky A film by JARET FERRATUSCO. The apartment...

Thu, 16 May 2013 16:14:40 -0400

Dividing The Sky
A film by JARET FERRATUSCO.

The apartment courtyard grew damp with descending shadows, which crawled about the trees like insects discovering new corners not yet touched by erasure, only to erase them perfectly under blankets of more shadow. To create a seizure of the light as it would frantically find itself chased out into the open, the shadows chased and chased, and they hunted the premises entire. The courtyard died of light and you died of light too, once the saints had filed past us and away. We didn’t know where they had gone and would never know. With the courtyard gone I might never even know what happened to you. It’s just dark. There’s a limit to what the courtyard can take and it’s had its moment. Did you see the dead family? I did. I did?

Saint Skin And Skyrise.A film by JARET FERRATUSCO. The saints...

Thu, 16 May 2013 16:05:14 -0400

Saint Skin And Skyrise.
A film by JARET FERRATUSCO.

The saints were followed about by floating tears that would hover around them as they walked the open courtyard of the police scene. I reached out to touch one of the things’ tears but my hand only slipped right through. With taped-off areas covering just about every inch of the property, there was no spot left available to sit and watch this ghostly parade of the saints. I held onto your hand, squeezing enthusiastically when I thought the floating tears would become snagged on a branch. But the saints neither encountered nor became encumbered by any such simple obstacle, weaving through the the mess of slumped figures of dead family members as though browsing the aisles of a tired curio shop; their eyes would alight upon the headless father or the ravaged son, the strangled mother and the badly crushed daughter; keeping a sauntering pace, they covered the entire courtyard, blessing each body with promises of release somewhere among the ghosts. I kissed you on the cheek and we took sips from a flask and marveled at the curious, semi-transparent saints of this unexpected holiday weekend tragedy.

Without you in the house anymore, the unrest that would have...

Tue, 14 May 2013 12:13:54 -0400

Without you in the house anymore, the unrest that would have kept me coming to your room at night is now left to have a mind of its own within my bedroom. It’s been months since I have slept in my own bed, and even longer since yours. I’ve been sleeping on the floor instead, beside the bed, pulling down the blankets and the pillows each night and then solemnly making them up again in the morning. Through the floor I can hear the hum of the silence from the room below it. Somehow it feels haunted to sleep in a bed anymore. The house is now very quiet and empty, and the beds hum with silence too. Often now, on the street, passers-by will ask, “Where’s that lovely sister of yours?” And I can’t believe that people could be so insensitive as to not notice you’d passed. “That lovely sister of mine is no longer with us,” I’ll admit every now and then; though, because such things always have a way of dampening the mood—and I’m not one to willingly call out for such gray clouds to catch me—I’ll keep your death to myself and answer instead, “She’s with our parents for the while.” Which is not necessarily an untruth.

The average median lifespan of the victim of a violent crime is...

Tue, 14 May 2013 03:33:00 -0400

The average median lifespan of the victim of a violent crime is between morning and twilight.

I found the answers to everything you asked me. I stitched...

Mon, 13 May 2013 14:56:52 -0400

I found the answers to everything you asked me. I stitched together a good conversation out of the pieces and parts of things I knew you’d want to hear.

Wandered through a hopeless home, with the doorknobs loose and...

Sat, 11 May 2013 14:24:01 -0400

Wandered through a hopeless home, with the doorknobs loose and rattling from force, with the chairs kicked over.

Teardrops started to fall from out of the ceiling over the old...

Fri, 10 May 2013 12:37:00 -0400

Teardrops started to fall from out of the ceiling over the old woman asleep in her bed. Still reading aloud to her from the diary of her comatose husband, my eyes began trailing off from the pages, but somehow the words felt memorized—as if I’d written them myself—and they flowed freely from my mouth in a steady, conversational stream. Talking to her with words I swear I’d never read from the book before this, with the teardrops sprinkling her gentle, sad skin from out of thin air, I sat beside her in a plain wooden chair, nearly falling backward from it, in awe of what I was seeing and feeling.

thinspeaux: I know it could take a few more years to kill me, but working to die seems better than...

Thu, 09 May 2013 18:08:00 -0400

thinspeaux: I know it could take a few more years to kill me, but working to die seems better than...

Bright violet droplets of blood sprinkle down on the uncut...

Thu, 09 May 2013 16:33:00 -0400

Bright violet droplets of blood sprinkle down on the uncut wedding cake, describing a chorus of howls and horror of the guests. And by the end of the night there are more paramedics and police personnel around than anyone that I can actually recognize.

Almost out of the woods.

Thu, 09 May 2013 13:20:09 -0400

Almost out of the woods.

Subliminal ideas are implanted into the whole of the conference;...

Thu, 09 May 2013 12:41:31 -0400

Subliminal ideas are implanted into the whole of the conference; the business trip of the season shows no sign whatsoever that it will degrade into lost time. I sat there with my briefcase in my lap, mesmerized, controlled.

Here, it’s never anybody’s fault; we’re always...

Wed, 08 May 2013 17:22:19 -0400

Here, it’s never anybody’s fault; we’re always so one-step-ahead.

Burn victims, Mencit Ward, Harris Debby Hospital, 1998.

Mon, 06 May 2013 16:20:06 -0400

Burn victims, Mencit Ward, Harris Debby Hospital, 1998.