like nuclear physics or pottery ovens

366 days of writing: take two

[lunchb0xes]

162

I opened a can of beef and potato soup and scraped it into a bowl. It looked like dog food, gelatinous and all one colour. I let it heat in the microwave until it is piping hot. It tasted slightly tangy, as if it had taken on a metallic quality from the can, even through the heat.

[lunchb0xes]

161

she and her friends had a collection of odd jobs; dog walker, receptionist at a hypnotist’s office, remote administration for a pornography company, researcher, bookshop clerk. they met at the same bar every thursday night and shared stories of their work over platters of lukewarm nachos and pitchers of lager. pitchers were half off on thursdays, which was the only reason they chose that day. those who had work on friday mornings had something to complain about via text the next day, and those who kept different schedules made fun of them for their inevitable hangovers.

[lunchb0xes]

160

there was a stopper in me when we met and it must be made of metal and she magnetic. when i’m close to her i breach, leak, the words that have been pressing on the back of my tongue my whole life suddenly come spilling out. ‘i love you, i love you, i love you’ i never get tired of saying it. being around her pulls that stopper out of me.

[lunchb0xes]

159

we meet and it's beautiful, just like it should be.

we are somewhere dark and loud and it's late and i'm drunk. i'm dazed on it, my throat and cheeks are stained red with it. i collide with a table, leave a thumb-sized bruise on my hipbone as i ooze into the bathroom. the stall doors are all unfinished pine and the toilet tank doesn't have a lid. when i'm finished i have to reach into the tank and pull the lever to make it flush.

i'm washing my hands in the glass sink trough when i first see them. they are pressed into the furthest corner of the room, tucked away from view. they have their hands all over each other like they're looking for instructions, like they're hoping to find braille in the patterns of each other's freckles, telling them what to do next. that's intense desperation.

i wasn't asked to join but i didn't need to. they saw me staring and then i was on my way over to them before i even knew i was moving and then we were there the three of us and it was just us and the empty room and it was skin and breath and skin. i didn't need to look for instructions. i could see what they needed in the wide glass of their eyes and their half-open mouths, the crowns of teeth and plummy lips.

[lunchb0xes]

158

ive never been with anyone who makes me want to spend time looking at every tiny part of them. i want to spend time looking at her feet, the back of her neck, her hairline, her nailbeds. i want to know the shape and feel of every single bit of her. i want to know her reactions to things, her expressions, her nervous habits. i want to be as familiar with her as i can be. i want to walk right up to the line where two people become one and just hover there, with her.

[lunchb0xes]

157

i was utterly without myself for a brief moment in time

then found myself on the principle of the thing

the precipice of the matter

the cliff-face of your indifference

[lunchb0xes]

156

i've had an 'i love you' thick in the back of my throat for as long as i can remember. it presses itself against the back of my teeth. it chokes me with want. every 'i love you' i say is a tiny fragment of the big one that refuses to go away. i need to let it out soon or it might suffocate me.

[lunchb0xes]

155

it's antiquated and suffocated,

stuffed full of epistolary pulmonary arbitrary fictive

cherries

and like most thing in the world we live in

ephemeral

[lunchb0xes]

154

we're stumbling around the basement of a used bookshop. it's quiet and empty and the ceilings are low. the shelves are sagging and the books are dusty, and you brush against a stack by accident, taking a layer of book-binding crumbs with you. it's kind of oppressive how still it is even though we're both laughing helplessly. sloshing words and sounds over each other to keep the momentum going because we're not sure what will happen if we stop. we lap the basement once, slowly, turning round each other, circling and ducking around tables and chairs, dancing in and out of each other's space. you're blooming red across the bridge of your nose, the tips of your ears, the apples of your cheeks (i want to taste the red, i want to touch it until it burns me) - your eyes fold into crinkles when you laugh, your whole face is bright with it. "i like you too, obviously," you say, and im choking on my own smile.

[lunchb0xes]

153

she sits under the maple tree and she lets herself look at nothing.

sometimes the nothing looks back.

--

sometimes she eats a spoon made of sugar. other times she just sits and eyeballs the nothing. usually the nothing wins.

but not always.

[lunchb0xes]

152

the sky cracked itself open along the apex line of roofs and spilt lightning out over us. we were transfixed for a single instant to the tiles at our backs, pinned there by the intensity of the light. it sent twin needles into our eyes and a needle into our hearts and we were helpless for those few moments, completely at the mercy of the brightness.

then it was gone and everything was dark, even the things that were light. the bright flash echoed in our vision like the skip of a stone, over, over, over, splash. but repeated on a loop, no splashes.

[lunchb0xes]

151

blooming

&

ribboning

[lunchb0xes]

150

there's no clear indication that anything we do in this life or any life makes a speck of difference.

split me sideways like a grass-roots. don't tell me it ain't so.

[lunchb0xes]

149

i'm rolling joints on the side of the bathtub, sitting in a cool five inches of water. the day is uncomfortably hot, with still air and cloudless skies and a punishing sun. i have a portable fan standing next to the tub set to oscillate, laving me from head to toe with mild relief. i keep the joints just under the air flow, time my movements so they don't blow apart in my wrinkly fingers. i roll five. four go in the empty soap dish. i light the remaining one with a barbecue lighter, since i ran out of matches and bics sometime last month. inhale appreciatively, exhale against the breath of the fan, watch the smoke puff to pieces against the backsplash tiles.

[lunchb0xes]

148

My friend eats a spool of fishing line while he is high on something pill-shaped and dangerous. It pools in his throat and stomach, and when he chokes he can’t make a sound. He dies with the plastic spool balanced against his lips, trembling in suspension with each aborted inhale. Pulled back towards his teeth by the traitorous muscles of his trachea.

  It’s a mistake. The pills, the way he is found – tipped against a toolbox in a stranger’s garage – the fact that nobody recognizes him when he is carried away by the EMTs. Nobody at the party knows him.

  I find out he’s dead on Facebook.

  I take up fishing. Something about how morbid it is, it appeals to me, makes me feel closer to him. I master the thing that killed him and there’s some sort of comfort in that.

[lunchb0xes]

147

i could've growled

you don't mean everything to me

but you mean enough for jealousy

[lunchb0xes]

146

her skin was lacy with freckles. she glanced back at me, saw me watching, smiled her little turpentine smile with just a hint of too-much-teeth. she pulled her veil of freckles from her shoulders like removing a shadow. it fell in a puddle around her white feet. she shone like an exposed bulb. my eyes, they burned.