#moisheposts

[nomorethanaboy]

DOES ANYONE WANNA HELP ME TRY TO COME UP WITH IDEAS FOR MY STORY? I AINT REALLY BEEN WRITIN IT

[nomorethanaboy]

Book Topsters post!

[nomorethanaboy]

And Paul Simon’s running from the big city, little Bobby Zimmerman’s running to it, Lou Reed’s shouting mom, can you pick me up? into some shit pay phone in the loudest, hottest room in the big city. Me, I’m just running, I don’t know why. Take me anywhere, throw me away.

—stupid WIP poem I been workin on for like a week and am so stuck on 😭😭😭

[nomorethanaboy]

Between (or Moishe wants to be Dennis Cooper SOOOO bad) part 3

The butcher sold a bag of miscellaneous bones every Monday. Before anyone could get to them, Robin would arrive. $5 and talk about his dog. He had never had a dog.

By Sunday, he would have something new. All week, he would work. Sharpening, hollowing, putting on necklaces, sewing to shirts, breaking into shards. When his new creation appeared before him, beautiful in its ugliness, obtaining value only from the way it could discomfort, he went out.

He had no specific haunt, no answer to the question so, where can I find you? He walked the streets aimlessly, the bones on his necklace clicking against those on his shirt collar. He imagined it as a song on his piano. He had quit the piano years ago. It took up too much space, was too much to remember to practice, etc.

His heels were tender and his nose dripping from the cold by the time he found the right place. One of the college frat houses, bustling with activity. He went inside. Shit, he needed to tidy up. He rushed to the bathroom, threw water in his face, fixed his hair, flipped his necklace around. He emerged, butterfly out of its cocoon.

Everywhere, there were boys and girls. A girl sitting on a boy’s lap. A boy leaning in to give a girl an impassioned kiss. A girl giggling at the shameless words of the boy beside her. Was this really the place?

Like always, Robin started no conversation, made no moves. He drank juice, nothing else. When a young man approached him, he kept up his cool, careless façade. That seemed to lure people in further. Why is this kid so empty? He could see the question in their eyes.

“Hey,” the young man said. He had the early workings of a beard, cold, gray eyes, stringy, colorless hair. He wore a smile, but it seemed automatic, no response to the situation. Societally preconditioned niceties.

“Hey,” Robin echoed dully. “M’name’s Robin, ‘n’ you are?”

“Kevin. I saw you across the room. I hope I’m not being too forward, but you wanna go home with me?” Kevin produced a fat wad of cash from his pocket, flashing it for a moment before returning it.

Robin shrugged. His face remained impassive. “Okay.”

Kevin wanted another drink before he left. Robin wanted to say he shouldn’t, that drinking and driving was a bad idea. He couldn’t say that. That would show he cared about something, and anyway, fuck, who wanted to sound like a PSA?

When Kevin was ready, he grabbed Robin’s arm and began pulling him to the door. Robin went almost-limp, at least enough to let himself be dragged along. He got in Kevin’s car. A BMW, but an old as shit one. Did he get this shit from his grandfather?

The car ride was tense, silent, almost clinical. Robin was thinking about the wad of cash in Kevin’s pocket. Kevin was thinking about Robin’s big, brown eyes. How he wished he could keep them to himself. “You’re so beautiful,” were the only words spoken, by Kevin, soon before arriving at his towering apartment building.

The apartment was shit. Sparsely furnished, lacking decoration. Not only did it seem this man had no friends, it seemed he had no life. Robin kicked the leg of the only chair in the place hard enough for it to crash to the ground. He suppressed a laugh, played it off as an accident, picked it up with an oops.

Once in the bedroom, Kevin closed the door. No one was coming—for longer than he would expect—but it was an extra precaution. Robin should have known about Kevin, even if his aunt and uncle had never pressed charges. The man began to strip, waited for Robin to do the same. As soon as Robin’s shirt was over his head, Kevin reached out and wrung his hands around his neck.

Robin panicked, thought shit, shit, shit! grabbed at one of the bones sewn to his collar. He pulled as hard as he could. It came off, with a bit of fabric. He stabbed Kevin’s eye, slit his throat, panicked, panicked, kicked his stomach, his head, stomp, stomp, stomp.

He lost track of time. He lost track of his own body. His thoughts were an endless string of no no no no no. His eyes were blurred. His ears picked up only cracks.

His eyes cleared. The body before him was the ugliest thing he had ever seen. Inhuman. A pool of liquid above a broken mass of skin. He watched the blood flow and mix with…he should have paid attention in biology last year. He left the apartment with brain matter clinging to his shoes.

He got a new outfit. He prayed no one had paid him any mind—but why would they? He was just a skinny, black-haired, sickly-pale boy, like 30 other people he knew—he sharpened another bone. When the article appeared in the paper two weeks later, he cut it out and put it under his pillow with his List of Names.

[nomorethanaboy]

I saw the tv glow or whateva

[nomorethanaboy]

Bathroom graffiti, May 7th, 2025 (not mine)

[nomorethanaboy]

Gallery Fire Pit, 2024

[nomorethanaboy]

I bet you didn’t even look so immaculately frightful while you bummed a cigarette. Kurwa.