Life is always going to be unfair.
The sooner we realize this
the sooner we can seize the means
of our own manifestation by
accepting nihilism.
Claire Keane
I'd rather be in outer space đ¸

Janaina Medeiros
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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YOU ARE THE REASON
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@wolf-dad
Life is always going to be unfair.
The sooner we realize this
the sooner we can seize the means
of our own manifestation by
accepting nihilism.
Today In Three Parts
I.
GREEN IS A GOOD ANIMAL.
Rain is a good flavor.
II.
Sitting by a fireplace feels a symphony.
Sleepy eyed afternoons ask questions on last night.
Closing doors to smoke in the open air courtyard.
III.
I am not a businessman and that is none of your business.
I sell treadmills by shooting the commercials on city rooftops.
The upside down kissey face emoji is for unresolved, romantic feelings only.Â
This is why it does not exist.
Thank you.
The Cohens
The Cohens had just returned from the city. John was thirty-three and his face was tired. His face was tired from working more than he slept and being paid just over the cityâs minimum allowed wage. He was married to a woman who kept him aliveâ not as a chore it was more symbiotic. Abigail was 27- she had once been happy but now there was too much grime covering her to see her as a happy person. Between them was an empty pram that they were rolling along. They had had a child- it was only briefly their child. They came to the consensus their home was not a place to raise a child. They hadnât the money nor the skill set required of parents. Their own had been cruel and loveless.
Instead of allowing the child to suffer with them because of their own hurt they took the harder road and gave their child up. She had been a beautiful baby- her motherâs brown, curly hair and her fatherâs soft eyes. She was a peaceful child, a good sleeper. Abigail swears she never bit when she fed. They had named her Lily Anne Elizabeth Cohen.
The city they lived in was run down. The streets were littered with cigarette ends, horse droppings, and the handles of mugs. The streets were almost all in disrepair, the cobblestones were janky and looked like teeth in need of bracing.
Fifteen years ago the city was a gem in a the countryâs crown of industrial relevance. It was also the crown because the city was located in the northernmost region of the country. John had just started working then and it was then he met the Prime Minister of the country, Elliot Kearney. Elliot Kearney called him âa shining example of how people in the country should work and actâ. The Prime Minister was assassinated two years later in a coup. It was then that Johnâs wages were shredded to the smallest percentage of what had previously been a living wage.
Abigail was only twelve fifteen years ago. She was in primary school in a wealthy county called Beltworth. It was the same state where nearly all the coal mining was done and Abigailâs father owned the largest mine in the state. She lived comfortably and was passionate about her studies. She was the middle child in a family of seven. Her brothers all older and her sisters all younger. Dewitt, Declan, and Darwin were all proud of their family and didnât stray far from the place they were born until they joined the war effort. Declan became a decorated war hero. Dewitt and Darwin were both killed in the Battle of Cosa, the bloodiest battle of the civil war that followed shortly after the coup that killed Prime Minister Kearney. Abigailâs sisters were all promised to sons of other rich coal families. Abigail made it certain from the very beginning she would not be used as a bargaining chip in the rise and fall of wealthy families. Abigaillâs mother was wicked and cruel to her because of this.
It was raining and Abigailâs brown overcoat had become saturated with the wet and the cold. Brown was her favorite color- overall this is an unimportant detail but it is uniquely her. A small puddle began to form in the pram where there would normally be a child. John and Abigail walked in silence looking down at opposite parts of the sidewalk. Surely some wealthy, happy, older couple would come along and adopt beautiful Lily. Surely there could be a young and loving couple who would scoop Lily out of the orphanage and into a warm home. Surely, at the very least there would be someone who was more prepared than they were.
They were not bad people. They were just bad at planning ahead like so many of us. They returned to their block in the city. Everyone was out and no one said anything to the Cohens. John felt self-conscious and welcomed the silent treatment from the other people. Abigail was beside herself and full of doubt. She needed the reassuring words of one of the wiser, older women. When they arrived back at their run down flat, John attached a âFREEâ sign to the pram. It was waterlogged but it was still in perfectly good condition. Give it a good day in the sun and it would return to peak conditions.Â
Abigail watched from inside. Her mind was already worrying about who would adopt Lilyâs pram. She hoped it would be a family that would use it. She hoped it would be a family who was ready for a child and needed a pram. John lit his pipe and stood at the curb. He could not bear to look at his wife yet. He would not let his wife see him sob. From Abigailâs point of view John looked like a shaking dragon. Shake, exhale smoke. Shake, exhale smoke. She thought of how this would have made their daughter laugh at an older age. Then she never thought of her again.
An Idea
Write a love letter to someone youâve never met. Guess their name. Approximate their address. Put it in a bottle and toss it into the nearest body of water. Write about your first kiss. Write about their first heartbreak. Donât stop loving.
The Bunny, The Cat, and Babyâs First Lesson in Mortality
We had cornered the attacker in the rear of the Sheridan familyâs garden. It was crouching against the house, behind a bush. Any attempts to advance were met with a fierce hissing noise, like a punctured oxygen tank. It was myself, the Harrington children, and the youngest of the OâNeill clan. The cat held a small animal in their mouth. Shiny, wet insides hung out and the cat showed no remorse. Michael Harrington was a high schooler and was chosen to confront the attacker based on his superior size and intellect.
âIt doesnât look good.â Â Michael was freckled with red hair, sharp cheek bones and wild hair. He was said to have looked like his father. He cradled the small, bleeding life in a pouch he made by pulling the sides of his shirt up. I leaned closer to get my first glimpse of mortality. I only saw a tiny instrument squirming.
âWhat is that?â Â I asked the impromptu medic. My pointer finger only a hairâs width away from the organ in question was answered with a slap to my hand.
âDonât touch, little dude. Thatâs the heart. You could kill it instantly or later from infection.â he said, as if to reassure me that all things die eventually no matter what.
His younger sisters were horrified. Their skin looked much paler than usual. Shannon looked almost green. I wondered what would make a person look green. She then vomited and this immediately answered my question.
âShannon! Gross!â yelled Kerry, the younger Harrington. Michael was unamused. The OâNeills were as silent and unmoved as ever. I have never since met a more stoic family. The father worked at the fire house. The mother worked at the hospital. The children went to school and went home.
I felt intense anger at the cat for acting so callously against an innocent agent of nature and yet I also knew the natural order of things. The bunny shook, bleeding out in Michaelâs t-shirt. I chased the cat. If I couldnât save the small bunny I would avenge the animalâs cruel, yet natural, death. I darted in and out of streets, through back yards, over fences until I had chased the cat into the sand pit.
The sand pit was an interesting landmark for the fact that it was where neighborhood disputes would be settled for it was neutral land. It was unable to be developed into additional housing so it was untouched. It was the kind of place you might find dinosaurs when you are young and your imagination is most powerful.
The cat was finally cornered. The beast was just out of reach. Blood was still matted in the fur and whiskers of the monster. Breathing heavily, I lowered my body to the floor matching the catâs posture. He hissed and I hissed back. I lunged first and the cat gracefully moved out of the way of my attack. I slammed into the fence like a poorly trained sack of potatoes. I turned around to watch the cat slip away through two fence posts into the Ghirajmaâs backyard.
I sat in the sand defeated and seething. I was always a sweaty child, but this sweat was pure anger. I made my way back to the group without anything to claim success.
âDid you find the fucker?â asked Shannon. She had recovered from her nausea and was back to her usual self. âShannon! You canât talk like that.â He said. Shannon was unfazed by her older brotherâs reprimand.
I hung my head and uttered a barely audible âNo.â
Micheal was unsurprised and was already moving toward my familyâs house. We three followed him. The OâNeill group had a short, silent meeting and sensing that the outcome would be less than favorable they gave us a non-verbal goodbye as they peeled off towards their own home.
We marched ever closer to my familyâs house. Down Kingâs Lane past houses that were clearly related but hadnât spoke in years. Ours was two stories tall and the color of camouflage green with a bright red door. I opened the door and we all paraded in. Michaelâs shirt was saturated with the creatureâs blood. Kerry was following us mopping up the dripping rabbitâs blood with her hoodie that was actually Michaelâs.
My mom turned around from her current activity to look at us and shrieked. She was a nurse who had seen the worst to ever ravage human lives yet a bit of wildlife disgusted her for some reason. I never understood this. She shooed us out onto the back porch and returned with the torn corner of a blanket and an old shoe box. We demanded water and also carrots. She obliged. We set the bunny, who had stopped moving altogether, into their cradle. The shiny insides no longer shinning or squirming. The bunnyâs chest no longer moving. I realized it was a coffin.
We left the bunny in their coffin. I remember their eyes open. The permanent look of terror. The eyes open and unmoving. The offal looking more like movie make-up than real. My mother dragged me inside and shooed the neighbors away. I had soccer practice. I was loaded into the van with my other siblings and we were driven away.
I didnât tell them what I saw that day, I think I had already forgotten. My brain had already buried the small bunny that died in fear and pain. My youngest brother probably wouldnât have cared as he was currently going through a phase of obsession with llamas and alpacas for a reason beyond any of us. My sister surely would have cried. She was always the the most caring of us. I think my other brother would have caught and crucified the cat always being the most interested in playing âthe copâ in cops and robbers.
Animal control came at some point and grabbed the bunny and took them away. Animal control left the shoe box and the blood stained blanket. A misguided attempt to teach my friends and I about mortality I assume. We all took the disappearance of the animal to mean that the bunny had healed up and rejoined their family. I sat with the box for a while. It was a quiet summer night and the tree line was full of animal noises. I was sure the bunny had made it.
I forgot about this entire incident until today. It has been around fifteen years and yet I still assume the bunny was Jesus Christ himself and saved all the bunny sinners by dying for them. Yet I know that to be a lie too.
I am writing about this to resurrect the small animal we lost that day. Iâm sure the cat is dead now too but; fuck that cat.
In Love With Exodus
Screaming inside yourself; something mumbly. Not knowing what would quell the noise you run never one for exercise, but in love with exodus. A study in fleeing as a defensive mechanism. Or staying in a constant state of motion but never finding a home base state where your roots grow out and you feel safe type state. You are not welcome to feel the failure. Let it pass. Let it leave. Watch as it wanes. Stay flexible, stay feeling, keep stretching.
So I Continue
My sadness is not wet and passionate. It is long and dry. I do not think of suicide as a release but as a mess for someone else. I've started to mark events in my phone when I feel like dying. When it passes I can look back and remember all the 'almosts' and keep going. I am bad at talking but I can write. So I continue.
Floundering and flailing
Is better than wondering and wailing.
Itâs raining again
and itâs a good day to be sick.
My snot is neon green
and itâs a good day to be sick.
I left my house once
and itâs a good day to be sick.
I havenât showeredÂ
and itâs a good day to be sick.
Drinking with Depression
âSit down.â
I tell the man who looks like me. He sits down. He looks like me but he is not me.
âA drink?â I ask him.
He smiles. We both know that question rarely is answered with no, or finished with just one.
We order and wait. We size each other up. It is like looking at a mirror but then looking past and through the mirror only to share a beer with your reflection.
About Today
even on autumn nights with a rain so light it looks like snow i will think of old crow
no signs of nostalgia only a night in georgia the dirty old town without a smile found
lungs yelling lyrics from the national fully embracing the irrational donât look back donât look back
put on a smile hold you near the fire put on our crowns so they wonât see the frowns
i am so drunk stuck in this funk let me go let me glow
look at the lights thatâs all for tonight look at the lights weâll be alright.
Weird Things About Being a âGrown-Upâ at Your Parentâs House When Theyâre Away:
Youâre no longer wonder:Â How do I have a great party, become popular, AND smooch the babe/dude without any consequences? Â Instead you wonder:Â How naked can I be all the time? Should I wear pants while I make breakfast? Exactly how much sleeping can I get done? How do I get out of plans I made with friends for drinks?
You realize that âhomemade or comfort foodsâ donât taste the same when you make them yourself For me, I think I forget to make the dang food with love.
You tell a telemarketer from a Solar Energy company that they should âBomb the shit out of the house with pamphlets and  educational brochures.â
You realize that you will never be able to provide for a child the way your parents did for you and your siblings.
I spent forty hours without sleep. A half pint of Evan and a sixer. A bag of jerky, some pretzels for supper. At an airport alone, but I wasnât the loneliest one. I spent forty hours without sleep. Slowly making my way west, on every lift off holding my breath. When we got into bed, I could have wept- all desire to sleep was gone I wanted to reconnect. - wolf-dad
Dear Mom,
I want to thank you for making me the man I am today. Also for literally making me.Â
You taught me to love and you taught by example. You raised four kids and thatâs one hell of a feat.Â
I apologize for anytime I have disappointed you and for my large head and broad shoulders which I canât imagine was fun to push out.
Please know in everything I do I try my hardest and itâs all for you. I hope I make you proud even when I donât, please know Iâm trying my best and I hope you forgive the rest.
Today is for you, but really, everyday since I was zero has been. Enjoy your day and I hope Dad bought you some nice things because your broke, artist of a son forgot to mail you a card so he wrote you this instead.
Love, Son #1 (Chronologically)Â
What is this?
The blinds are open and I am home but the lights are off.
The tv mouthes ârhubarbâ repeatedly in the background.
I am thinking deeply. I am thinking heavily. Shit. I mean drinking.
âWhat else is new?â says my mother but it is unrelated.
I have to pee I can wait. No I canât.
âBe right back.â When Iâm gone do you stay? Does anyone hear you?
I hope no one hears me. So I can cry and pee simultaneously.
I do not recommend this lifestyle, mental state, or constant state of desire.
I do recommend drinking with recklessness and not feeling badly.
Wait until morning. Wait until tomorrow. Wait until it passes.
If it hasnât passed you just haven't waited long enough.