Comments Posted By Parka

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A lack of inspiration is what keeps me grounded. My feet, firmly planted on the dirt of such a comprehensible world, are testament to my static life. One day it’ll sprinkle rain and I’ll breathe, realize, charge.

» Posted By Parka On 10.20.2012 @ 5:20 pm


Uncivilized. Neanderthal. Inhuman. You don’t belong here–here being society, civilization, the world of people the color of ebony and toilet seats. These words, once thrown in the air, are permanent, and what they leave behind is incredible. It is a sort of stink that never fades away. The stench is like something that has rotted at the bottom of a fetid puddle of steamy, diseased rainwater for too many months, something that would be alarmingly sweet and sour if you were to put it in your mouth–like really old feta cheese, she imagines–which makes her wonder how a human body could produce such matter, such trash, how someone could spit that out with a human mouth and taint someone else instead of himself. She comes to the conclusion that hate is a magical thing, this strange thing that, first and foremost, rots the hater’s insides–but you would never know, because the most obvious harm is done to the hated. Hate. When he throws it at her, it lands on her skin, on the sides of her arm, her shirt, a little bit on her hair, as fragrant as throw-up and as toxic as industrial bleach. She feels the sting for long afterward and knows it will leave a scar. She feels like a hunted ape with an almost fatal bullet in its backside and hates herself for it.

» Posted By Parka On 10.16.2012 @ 2:05 pm


In reality, he had bought the ring at a Kay’s long ago, in a different time, when summer was in full swing but the only heat he felt was the kind deep in his veins, the kind that surged violently, ridiculously, at every mention of his lover at the time. He hadn’t known then, that that heat would disappear with the heady air and the brilliant sun of a July in Chicago; that it would frost over and disappear.

He had learned, and although he was smart, he was stubborn. The heat had returned, and he refused to recall his lesson; he brought it out from its dark hiding place in the most obsolete corner of his closet, and thought of her only briefly before he remembered to go forward with the present.

» Posted By Parka On 03.11.2012 @ 6:28 pm


She saw his humanity when she saw the yellow stains on his collar. He was tired. Even if he was cruel to the core, he was only another animal in a dog-eat-dog world. He was not at fault for his evil

» Posted By Parka On 01.26.2012 @ 5:19 pm


The blankets were shaped in the form of a crime scene, as though only moments before had they been abandoned by a lover as passionate as he was insane. Red from the bone-white beauty of what peeked out innocently underneath her raven locks dripped like goo, looking almost comically fake, and it was everywhere. Life was a cartoon then. A still-life cartoon.

» Posted By Parka On 10.28.2011 @ 3:10 am


Fresh red throbbing
How could anyone relate
All he could say was that everything had been done under the veil of apathy and detachedness

That’s what he was

» Posted By Parka On 10.20.2011 @ 11:04 pm


Everything came to a still. The mark was so cold; so, so cold it burned, and she saw it eat her shirt and then, for a nanosecond, come to a standstill before her flesh, as though hesitant about whether or not it should–could it? would it? It would, and it did; it bit her, sunk her teeth into her, slapped her warmly and silently into an obedient quiet.

She looked up; he stared; an unreasonable anger made him believe that this was okay.

She fainted.

» Posted By Parka On 10.10.2011 @ 12:55 am


Pressed for a deadline, backed up against the wall, breathing hard with nowhere to turn, nowhere to go. She cried alone in the office after hours, sometimes, and once she took her break to smoke out in the back, even though she had promised herself she would never pick up a Marlboro ever again. She looked in the mirror and felt terrible, awful, disgusting, inhuman; she missed the person she had always been, the self she had sold in exchange for a career.

» Posted By Parka On 09.25.2011 @ 5:06 pm


She couldn’t believe his nerve, how he could be so bold, so utterly selfish and so shameless about his motives. She watched the ice cubes in his tea clink together as he stirred them with a spoon, and she wanted to kill him.

Suddenly they looked up. It was initially a speck in the sky. Closer, closer; it was a plane, it was coming too close, its nose faced the cheek of the Twin Tower across the street from the cafe where they sat.

At the last minute, the plane became a bird, and the bird collapsed. In the second before the bird lost its consciousness and it kissed the buildings, as it hovered in the reflection they watched, she looked across the table at him, and saw only his fear.

» Posted By Parka On 09.11.2011 @ 3:59 pm


And everything that had been bottled up until that moment came forth like the village flood last spring, when lukewarm water, full of dirt and dead flies, washed over houses and farms carelessly, recklessly. What Juli remembered the most about those few weeks was finding wet insect carcasses everywhere–in her coffeepot, on the spines of the books she managed to salvage from the wreck, in all of her clothes, even inside her mattress.

Juli stared at him, this insignificant boy. Suddenly his eyes began to grow; his arms appeared smaller, smaller, smaller; his head was huge, he was sprouting paper-thin wings.

Juli was disgusted.

» Posted By Parka On 09.06.2011 @ 5:26 pm


Pepper Ann, Pepper Ann, Pepper Pepper Pepper Ann

I guess I’m uninspired today

» Posted By Parka On 09.03.2011 @ 9:51 pm


My braid snaking down my back, do you like that? Stay here. I’ll pretend I don’t like it but I hope you know I do. The end is so near, but you are nearer. We’ll stay this way, walking until the ground gives way to a bottomless pit. A thousand footprints we’ve left behind and will never again remake. There’s no time to look back, so don’t

» Posted By Parka On 07.01.2011 @ 5:18 pm


A thousand freckles, but this one wasn’t one of them. She zeroed in and she couldn’t help but leer. After a few moments it became clear to him that she had found It, which had caused him so many problems before he’d learned how to hide It, and suddenly he started to panic. He felt himself breaking out into a sweat, beads of fresh wet dripping onto his temples. The world began to melt around him.

» Posted By Parka On 05.18.2011 @ 9:47 pm


Feeling stuck, helpless, and this is so good but this is so bad
Everything you want me to be I’ll be
I’ve blindfolded myself and listened to every thing you’ve uttered
and put myself into this cast
I’ve lost me but I’ve got you so
despite a heart made of metal fringes
I feel solid
the way plastic must

» Posted By Parka On 04.19.2011 @ 10:13 pm


Something shouted from top of your lungs; something shouted at the top of that hill on that foggy day, your words turning to mush, dissipating in the cold gray wetness of a young evening. You were honest, but not enough and too late. Integrity means nothing when the damage has been done and what you look for has already left.

I thought you were stronger.

» Posted By Parka On 04.08.2011 @ 4:58 pm


She was obsessed with the idea of building the perfect kitchen. It was a last-ditch effort to save what was left of her sanity, she was well aware, but she pushed this thought to the back of her mind as she debated marble and granite, the pros and cons of a kitchen island. And as he came home later and later, as he became more and more irritable, she became ever more obsessed with the placement of the window and the faucet of the sink. She was never satisfied, because if she ever were, everything would have to end.

» Posted By Parka On 03.12.2011 @ 7:05 pm


The thousand ticks before the ring–they seemed to last the longest. She had woken long ago, but knew that only the bell could get her out of bed. And finally it rang.


Just that. One giant bing, and she hopped out of the comfort of her silicone blankets. She looked around at her fellow suitemates, the same eyes, noses, and lips staring back at her, and together the clones dressed for another day at the factory.

» Posted By Parka On 02.07.2011 @ 10:12 pm


She was blinded by the flash of a thousand cameras. They held out microphones, video recorders, hands, blank t-shirts–anything for her touch, her words, her being. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. This was what success felt like. This was how being President felt.

» Posted By Parka On 01.03.2011 @ 5:07 pm


It was funny, the way the road seemed different today. The green still grew through the cracks; the black spats of gum still sprawled in dots across the sidewalk and onto the blacktop where you couldn’t see them or any other germ amongst the freshly laid blackness. He looked and looked and couldn’t find a thing different. Eventually he slipped his feet onto the pedals and started off on his daily route, his bicycle speeding over pebbles and ants and dead grasshopper shells.

» Posted By Parka On 01.01.2011 @ 7:12 pm


Freezing to the bone. She stood between the dictionaries and the encyclopedias, the musty smell of yellowing paper washing over her like a tide that also enveloped her sorrows, her fears, everything she felt in this small enclosed space. She breathed in, out. In, out. Another day among fictional friends and real people who became too vibrant in her memories and fantasies. Another fight for another day.

» Posted By Parka On 12.31.2010 @ 12:26 pm


Change. She stood in front of the mirror and looked, one last time, upon the face she’d had to encounter each morning of the thirty years of her life. I’m ugly, she thought. Her nose was flat; her eyes, too sharp against her soft features; her lips lopsided, her cheeks pockmarked until they were no longer flesh.

Good-bye, she told herself. She slid the curtain back over her face and waited for the alterations.

» Posted By Parka On 12.23.2010 @ 1:23 pm


The sound of tree branches as they hit her window during the night–that was what she remembered the most clearly, background noise more prominent than foreground noise. But the storm couldn’t deny the screaming from down the hallway. She knew, in the morning, they would all be gone.

» Posted By Parka On 12.07.2010 @ 5:25 pm


Enamel. White. Blinding. She watched his teeth as he spoke, his lips red but not femininely so, his face flushed with the excitement of talking about a subject in which he had a Ph.D. She enjoyed his words as they entered her ears, their meaning seeping through her mind like a red wine stain.

» Posted By Parka On 12.06.2010 @ 5:36 pm


The coin sat flat on the sweaty palm of his hand. Henry stared at the rust; at the fading royal profile on the front, its aristocratic nose giving way to age–then at the face of him who held this king in his hands, the crooked nose shiny in the glow of the streetlight, the eyes bright, like beetle shells, clawing into his insides.

» Posted By Parka On 11.29.2010 @ 8:28 pm

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