Conversations With In
If you could just drive North 500 miles you would reach eternal Nirvana.
If you picked up the dirty shirts and discarded wrappers on the ground you would also reach it there.
I don’t owe you a smile, man, I run past you but I stare right back.
These muted color bubbled cars are disgraces to happiness. They must take inspiration from business parks. Forever I forget that beautiful people drive cars, that cars just don’t drive themselves.
Do I own myself? If I do, how would I know?
Would I know by staring at the sky for until there is just a black ceiling? What owns my day, why is there a reason to be there in a pillowed bed covered in silk sleeping clothes and in 12 hours managing shiny leather feet against grey cracked sidewalks? If long ago I was sold, what part of me was? It must have happened or else I would be somewhere with a colossal meaning by now... parts of mine would be personally inhabited and intact still, they would be oiled and taken with care, they would be married to meaning but in love with pursuit, free in that everlasting love triangle trap.
How normal it is to enclose trust to mature babies. A mature baby has the power to speak for the world, the one that is above Mexico. I’ll cut the ribbon for the opening day of the next world. I’ll wear lace above my shoulders and that will prevent any weight from topping them. The weight of responsibility, formal attire provides blockage from it.
We are Each Other’s Day
We Are The Crowd
We are the General Public’s Face
We are the Fantastic Normal Monster,
Buying Gas and Eating Hamburgers
We are the Unsettled as we are Seated in Theaters
We are the Lighthouse at the Top of the Subway
In, tell me something and everything while you’re at it. Tell why you were in
a marble clock tower in January with gigantic white sunglasses on to divert
any sunlight from your vision.
What did you see in January?
I thought I saw you, In, I thought we had a conversation below a circle and in darkness. I thought I felt a twig from far away. I just stock up on dreams now, In.
What you saw and what I fear.
We survive until dirt’s thrown over us, don't we?
Forever I’m knocking before public doors.
Forever there’s meaning right there. Forever there's hot water in the heat
and ice in the cold.
Forever there’s a window with a view but rarely is there a view with a window.
I forget that there are two sides of a window.
I’ve been only on one side, In.
Cover image by Hannah Xu @ohshoothannah