Comments Posted By zachmichelini

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Her lips moved as the sea at sunset, with a beauty and randomness of waves clapping down upon her face. Whenever they parted, a dark cavern awoke to accept another dripping olive. I wonder, as I look back upon that moment now, whether she had swallowed them or not, for I remember specifically that she did not spit once in the entire duration of our meeting.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 06.19.2012 @ 10:12 pm


Somewhere between improbable and unjust lies an idea that at first glance seems utterly simplistic, even idiotic, in it’s vehicle for change. These ideas are the million dollar notions of intelligence and virtue, those which make you utterly in contempt of yourself for not being the one to see such an evident and glaring beacon of ingenuity for what it is, a happenstance of creativity. Such an occurrence is similar to quantum activity, more based on probability that of something corporeal or tangible. Yet there are those that try and try, and because of those stubborn personalities there are those that achieve what most can only dream of, actually beating the odds so incredibly stacked against you, and making you, the receiver, better or worse because of it.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 06.18.2012 @ 11:00 pm


Infrequent trips tend to leave a pin-sized hole in one’s reasonably twisted sense of longevity. If one is to believe in such a thing, astrology states that these trips can be affected by singularly being born on a specific day. The trips can be full or empty, tidy or flamboyant, but always short, too brief, too guiltless in their wealth to tip the scales in our favor. We should extend our trips and pull the drawstrings of our intelligence, and in that we will find the answer to lingering questions of soul and philosophy. We can find what it means to have been meant for something meaningful.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 06.12.2012 @ 10:41 pm


We went about collecting the various supplies we needed, a task that long ago became such a chore that sometimes we considered stopping, seeing how long we could last without them just to end the incomprehensibly boring rut of daily life we had created for ourselves. That’s not totally accurate, it wasn’t us that had made this life the only life possible. It was them, them that destroyed everything that had provided endlessly for us all the way back into oblivion. They now had to live this life with us. We happened upon groups of them from time to time, the only possible punishment acting in complete ignorance of them, to us they did not exist. They called out to us, seeking the simplest of human wants, basic conversation, recognition, but we did not budge. Because of them there was nothing left to celebrate. There were no more holidays. There was only survival in it’s most brutal and inescapable form. For that they no longer lived, they, just ghosts marching across the plains, as barren as the Earth itself, forever alone.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 09.19.2011 @ 2:34 pm


A familiar melody played itself out from tinny, under powered, unseen speakers in the waiting room of my soul. I’ve sat here many times, completely absent of any nervousness, apprehension, or fear. The thing is, I hate sitting here. It seems like every time I get in to see myself, I’m quickly ushered out of the office and handed a bill, and boy do they pile up. Just as soon as I think I’ve figured it all out, I’m sitting there in those overly comfortable leather chairs, I stand from behind the overly large desk, shaking my hand and saying that I will see me soon, very soon! Then I’m seen to the overly mahogany door, and it’s not slammed, but imperatively closed as if it had an urgent appointment with carpenter. Another decade goes by and I’m back again, waiting, with as much patience as a stalking cat, waiting to see if I’ll finally transcend this existence, hoping, and waiting.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 09.07.2011 @ 2:49 pm


Instinctively, the slight pressure variation he sensed meant only one thing. The direction of the world was about to change, and like the sunrise every morning inevitably comes the sunset. As if the sky was falling, he began to wonder if this was the last time the tiny bits of sustenance would float by and filter through his rather soft body. Every day was a ball of worry and stress because his mind could really only comprehend a couple hours at a time, if that even. Somehow he came to an idea that could have been new, but as I have just mentioned his brain only remembers a very small window of time, but in any event he decided if this were to his last day on Earth, he should probably attempt to reproduce. So began the internal processes that would culminate in the release of thousands of sperm into the tide, the little guys swimming blind, hoping that the ocean gods would lead them to another sponge, and that this sponge be a “woman”.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 09.01.2011 @ 3:45 pm


It was late summer, just when the unbearably hot days began to slowly give way to a smattering of cloudy days and chilly nights. This was one of those nights, a sparse but cold wind blew the very first bunch of fallen leaves, harbingers of what would come soon enough. I was walking, not with any destination in mind, just out to clear my head and try to forget. Her departure was as sudden as an alarm clock shouting at you early in the morning, although things had seemed right and good, it goes to show that you cant ever take anyone for granted. I was constantly distracted, and for someone whose mindset is ruled by the ability to concentrate in nearly any situation, I was quite unnerved. Now everything reminded me of her, from the ancient street lamp to the crooked sign bearing the name of the random avenue I happened to be walking down, even the damned roses, the dried petals hanging on for dear life.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 09.01.2011 @ 12:17 am


You wear a coat of armor which is shielding below it a chastity belt, immediately surrounded by small wire fence, where on first examination seems to be quite docile but in fact many thousand volts run like raging rivers through its unseen tributaries. Just outside of this lies buried in coarse gravel, hundreds of mines, some manufactured in factories that produce a service that includes death and dismemberment, some crafted by hand, each contributing to the aforementioned ends. Within sight of this field wielding not crops but seeds of pain, exists a brutal pack of pit bulls, irish wolfhounds, and many other manner of third generation feral and hungry beasts, their innate gentleness systematically bred out from underneath them as one would pull a tablecloth from below many earthenware dishes sitting precariously on a table. On more than one occasion I found myself bearing a pack full of tools, each one necessary and designed to combat this defense or that. I stood just outside of the clearing and watched the feral packs through binoculars, waiting for the right moment to make my move, hoisting many steaks and live rabbits from my bag. The rabbits immediately captured the attention of the more apt guardians, running into then dense forest to chase after them, while the more docile wolfhounds remained steadfast in their charge. A few well placed steaks bought me the time I needed to make my way to the killing fields. Knowing full well the dangers of following me into the deadly gravel, the temporarily sated wolfhounds just stood and watched, soon becoming bored and looking back into the forest beyond the clearing, forgetting me altogether. I gently took from my pack, in three pieces, a collapsible metal detector with a useful full color screen, and quickly snapped the pieces into place. Carefully, I scanned the ground while staring at the small screen, avoiding each carnivorous plant before me. Soon I came to the fence, looking so insignificant with it’s tiny strands connected at intervals with small fence posts. From within my bag I pulled a pair of thick, lined and padded leather gloves and put them on, also pulling out the rubber coated wire-cutters that I would be using on the small wires stretched out in front of me. With a few short snaps the once electrified fence fell to the ground, now inert. I saw you standing before me, statuesque in your defensive vigil. I walked up to you and began dismantling your suit of armor one piece at a time, until you stood before nearly naked except for the last line of defense, your heavily constructed chastity belt, and looked into your eyes. You put up no resistance as I pulled the last item from my bag, a large and very old iron key, which found itself in the only place it was ever meant to be, inside of the keyhole on the rugged metal diaper. It turned easily and, almost as if it was never one piece to begin with, fell into fragments around your feet. You still stood and without any malice stared into my eyes, and I slowly put my arms around your waist, not pulling but easing you into my chest. I closed my eyes and held you, finding myself in the place I had always wished to be but never thought I would actually make it to, and I felt a happiness that overcame me. I never noticed your arms, which up to this point hung harmlessly at your sides, slowly moving up to my shoulders, then finding their place and resting for a moment. As I held you I began to feel the pressure, expecting an embrace, instead feeling a gap open between us as you pushed ever harder, the fault line growing until it ran the length of our bodies, and I saw in your eyes the same look you gave me when I reached your inner circle. You kept pushing and now I was at arms length, feeling the first pangs of despair, the ones that start small but soon cause you to buckle over in pain. You pushed until my arms no longer touched you at all, and you kept pushing. I found myself stepping through the fence, no longer helpless and inert, and my body vibrated with each volt that passed through every pathway in my body leaving a charred and blackened trail wherever it ran. You continued pushing and soon I found myself stepping on the first of many bulbs of death, those that did not grow from the ground magically year after year, but those whose flowers only lasted moments, their bright colors and smells cold be seen for miles. I was broken into piece after piece as you pushed me through your killing fields, until I finally made it through the gravel and back to where I had started. The hounds, having already forgotten their previous meal, found those many pieces of me and began to fight among themselves over me, each eventually finding that there was plenty of me to go around, thus lying down in the grass and chewing the parts of me not already eaten by the others in the frenzy. Now that there was nothing left of me, your arms slowly retracted back to your sides and you armor floated from the ground and remade itself anew. I watched you from the hundred points of view I now possessed and realized for the first time, I had lost my chance before I even had it. You knew your defenses were penetrable and you let me through, only push be back through all of the one by one until it was as if I had never known you at all.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 08.28.2011 @ 3:08 pm


Some objects that are used in daily life have a certain connotation, one’s mind immediately finds an image and a use for whatever it may be. We all infer as a product of our mental reasoning, which is and isn’t a bad thing. It can be good when one is in need of speedy decision making, and it can be bad if that fast decision ends up being the wrong one. If you were to wake up and draw your curtains, seeing blue skies and sun, an umbrella would be the last tool you would feel the need to utilize, but, if times were different, and by different I mean of a bygone era or place, that very same umbrella becomes a tool for use in this very weather I have just spoken of, becoming a parasol, transforming into the opposite of what your mind has already inferred.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 08.24.2011 @ 1:21 pm


There was this faint shimmering, so faint that I was barely sure it was real and not just my eyes playing tricks on me. I decided to investigate, so I felt my way along the wall and rounded the corner, coming upon yet another extremely dark hallway of sorts. I could not make out the other wall, but I sensed it, not wanting to leave the safety of the wall I was clinging to. Then the noise started again. Almost like the eternal scratch then fuzz of a record left unattended, but somehow amplified and full of a deep bass. It seemed to be coming from behind me, so I continued forward, feeling with my hands and feet as the hallway gradually became completely black again, then all of the sudden the sound stopped and I saw something. There was this faint shimmering, so faint that I was barely sure it was real and not just my eyes playing tricks on me.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 08.16.2011 @ 4:09 pm


What happened next was as just a response as a slap in the face. Such an insignificant crack in the pavement grew before his very eyes and as he watched in horror his toes hit it squarely, sending him sprawling. Some kind of stored carbonation in his stomach came to life and rushed upward through his body, filling out each limb with it’s million tingling bubbles, bringing his hands up around his face. He did not fall to the ground, but he was left with the feeling of one who had, and he was embarrassed. Awoken from his daydream of loathing he was reminded by the world that everything would be balanced out in the end, even the hateful thoughts in his mind were noticed and succinctly dealt with.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 08.15.2011 @ 12:01 am


A meager smile spread across her face, a face that seemed to struggle to bend and mold itself into the simple gesture of joy. She looked down at the paper I had handed her, that smile sitting squarely on her rather forgettable face, then back up at me. I had played out over and over in my head what she would say to me when I gave her this very sheet, but out of sheer obsession the volume of answers I had given myself did nothing but confuse me that much more. I stood before her, trying to look as stoic as possible, feeling myself losing my grip, wishing she would say something, anything. I watched, my stomach becoming a knot of frayed nautical ropes covered in green slime, as the impossible smile slowly faded from her face, becoming stern and heartless once again. She was mocking me.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 08.04.2011 @ 4:13 pm


They pushed into each other viciously, their wanton animal urges boiling to the surface. For such an advanced race, people tend to retreat back into their wild inner beasts at the slightest misfortune, becoming themselves the animals they seek to tame. The ground was shifting beneath their feet and those ahead of them became no more than speed bumps in the paths of those that lingered near the edge. Below them lay a land shrouded in darkness, not necessarily a bad place, just unknown. And they pushed, some falling under the feet of the more aggressive, falling down and shoved into the oblivion below, their bodies instantly becoming specks of black in the blackness abound. Finally, those that remained became adjusted and stopped in their tracks. With the few that had fallen and the few that made it to the other side, the platform was level again.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 08.03.2011 @ 11:39 pm


He sits at his desk, the water and fluids in his body pump through every capillary and vessel, electrical impulses resonate inside his skull and flow out of his fingertips like a storm-cloud. His pen moves, divvying out black ink onto the bleached white dried wood pulp, relaying a message for no one in particular. The words represent a cooperation of his liquids and his charge, possibly they will excite the same in others but he does not think about this. He writes. Beneath him is his chair, a long stem that extends from his bottom to the floor, spreading out into a star pattern and it becomes his root to what is real and corporeal, his true influence, the earth.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 08.01.2011 @ 4:14 pm


How was it that the sound could be just an underlying abstraction, something which contained both presence and spirit, yet so willfully agreed to remain quiet in it’s splendor. It careened from the wall of heaven to the gate of the underworld, massaging everything it touched with fingers of reverberating force, and yet, passed by as if it was just a tourist taking snapshots of an old fountain, wearing bermuda shorts and sandals. It was, because, well, to put it bluntly, sullen. It always came last. In the eternal dance of the sky it was always walking in the shadow of it’s good looking friend, never causing the awe of the onlookers, but creating instead a repugnant covering of the ears, a crying baby. It was too entrenched in it’s responsibilities to stop now, which only caused it’s depression to grow with each clap of it’s hands.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 07.26.2011 @ 2:23 pm


I was once asked if I believed the sunrise was more beautiful than the sunset. To my knowledge, each scene represents an expressly different mindset. The sunrise is, if you are lucky enough to catch it, a beginning, a daily rebirth where you may find yourself ready to take all comers, a dawn of not only the day, but of your renewed spirit for life. The sunset, on the other hand, is associated with a completion, the end of a hard days work, the last day of your vacation, that much anticipated moment when you will be able to lay your head down and rest, a calm and soothing setting of the light and your soul. I cannot tell you which hold more beauty because with each day comes a new set of emotions and events. To see the sun mix into the clouds on the horizon of the pacific ocean and watch as the clouds come out from their hiding spots and take their nightly throne is just as touching to me as seeing them lit aflame with the St. Elmo’s fire of the early morning, pink only as flamingos on a lawn in the southwest know to be. What I can tell you is that the one natural moment of inclement weather that I prefer above all else is the Lightning. It has as much power to us as the sun itself, reminding those on Earth of the vengeful gods above, the rock gods with their quadrillion pedaled bass drums and ballads of light dancing and flaming and exalting no one. They raze in a split second what takes years to create, and it is not sad. It is truly beautiful.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 07.25.2011 @ 9:39 pm


Introductions, as far as most people are concerned, can very well determine, even at great lengths, the quantity and quality of whatever relationship will follow. They can also create an artificial air, something that seems on the surface to be one thing, but after subsequent meetings, depending on the nature of these visits, can be another completely, thereby making the interactions a sort of staged play, with each actor performing ad-lib their parts, be they perfect or errant. Those of the more sensitive sub-groups, they that are affected more by the actions of others on the surface or not, tend to be part of the first group mentioned, they will make hasty decisions based on the initial wordplay. They seek out those that are calm, sensitive, and peaceful. They avoid the cocky and the violent, they feel as if they were abused by the confrontation, if their soul could be bruised the violet light would rapidly encase their luminosity, needing immediate attention and rest. Fortunately for the sensitive, this is not the case, and most of the time the violet color is no more than that of their cheeks,

» Posted By zachmichelini On 07.20.2011 @ 3:56 pm


His bed was his own private coliseum, the battles fought there won and lost with the knotting of blankets, the misplacement of pillows. If you could call his sleep fitful, you would be laughed out of every academic organization that held any pride in it’s ability to describe perfectly, or poetically, any single action than mankind held itself capable of, except, of course, certain beat poetry open mikes. If there were a word to describe his slumber, it would probably be much closer to a solo free-for-all, or even armageddon for that matter. Suffice it to say, if you had the chance to be inside this man’s bedroom during said armageddon, even a megaphone amplifying Zeus’s thunder would fail to awaken this troubled, though seemingly docile, man.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 07.19.2011 @ 11:23 pm


I followed him as he meandered down each unrecognizable street, hampered only by his evidently bum right knee and advanced age, and wrote in my small notebook each misstep and blunder. There seemed to be no distinct pattern to his wanderings, each day a different location, and each day different meals and rests. If he was going to do what I had been warned of so critically, he gave no outward signs, as if, maybe, he knew I was following him, and maybe, this was an altogether useless errand. But I kept at it diligently, as was the purported etiquette of a private detective.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 07.13.2011 @ 12:19 pm


Factoring the wind, level of the land, and the weight of the load, the foreman made his predictions of future, his own crystal ball made of tree pulp and bleach. The pencil scratched across the page, doing it’s own part for the oracle of the temple of steel. No one can say that they will be affected by this act of a lone foreman, there lives moving to and fro in the world without a second thought to the miraculous acts of others. His calculations made, with everyone at the ready, the act is set to begin.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 07.03.2011 @ 9:27 pm


In less than ten minutes her train would be leaving, but she was in no rush Her sense of time, unusually impeccable, was setting off a thousand alarms in her head, and just as unusually, she payed no attention to them. The train was of the newer diesel variety, large, not like the old steam engines that once ruled the plains, it’s largeness was in it’s utter domination of the new and improved rail system, sitting back in it’s office grinning and counting it’s money as the workers toiled away in the sun below. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her train would chug away, with or without her, and still she sat, tracing each bunch of hair down through her braid with her fingertips, deciding in this moment that she would never be on time again.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 07.01.2011 @ 5:32 pm


In the reflection of the water my eyes beheld the glittering moonlight, sliced skillfully into edible cross sections by the blades of my legs, having the able hands of an old chef and at the same time the creative eye of his young assistant, ever looking on over his stooped shoulders, and not like the water repelled, but like a sponge at it’s driest point directly before falling into a sink full of water. Why I come to this man-made pond in the cold, to put my bare feet into it’s even cooler depths, I have yet to figure out, all that I know is, without it, I would not be able to find the strength to go about my meaningless life, as if I were wading in the very ground of my existence.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 06.30.2011 @ 12:04 am


After he listed off the numerous reasons, in chronological order, of the intricacies of their affections, he looked over the table at her and smiled, knowing full well that she did not and would not ever ask of him a list of that manner, but all the while thinking how much she filled his heart, and being quite sure that without even being required to, he would have a list of wonders that would last on and on, well beyond even Scheherazade’s thousand-and-one nights. Had he been granted the power to sustain his life by telling one story of her each evening, his task would not be difficult in the slightest manner for him to reach an age even the eldest of the vampires would think impossible. As for that mighty force felt by each, that electric sensuality, he could very well sit with the same elder of the vampires, and be compelled to argue which was stronger, the elder’s blood lust or his animal lust for her that filled his every pore, and as sure as the sun rises, the vampire would have to agree that his lust for his woman was the stronger of the two, for blood to the elder is sustenance, and for him it was absolute necessity, the vampire would eventually let himself die, while he would live on forever needing her.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 06.27.2011 @ 11:59 pm


For the remainder of the day we paced along the inner courtyard wall, gazing upon what we already had seen endlessly, noting the minuscule growth of each weed, sparse blades of grass, and ants tirelessly working at a job they would never finish. The ant is often overlooked as insignificant, but with a discerning eye one would see that the ant works without end on a task they know they will have to repeat, over and over, until their short life ends, which could be seen to them as an eternity, or in more likelihood, a lifetime. The ant steadfastly builds without frustration what we kick into dust without remorse or even deliberation. They are pegged as short sighted by those of us whose existence would be shattered if just one other were to misplace the tiniest trinket, only furthermore locking us into our tiny prison.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 06.22.2011 @ 1:10 am


Once a man came to my door late in the evening. He, clutching a plastic bag in his left hand, inquired if I was the one that had requested the fish, to which I replied, no. He then asked if I was the biker, no, the biker lives three doors down, right there, no, that is next door, go down two more houses after that, so right there he said pointing at the next door neighbor’s house, no, literally three doors down from here was my succinct reply. Okay, I’ll try next door. I stepped inside, turned off the porch light, and closed the door.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 06.20.2011 @ 3:18 pm


In a burning second the thought fluttered about in the air and preemptively flew into the light above the doorway, is if stating that the so-called light bulb, indicative of a new idea, was no more a truth than if you actually held, on each shoulder, a devil, who brought about bad actions, and an angel, who brought about good actions. Whatever idea that came to his mind, however important at the time of it’s birth, no longer held it’s weight in the larger scheme of things. He was left staring.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 06.20.2011 @ 12:33 am


Keen senses have the ability to pick up certain omens that exist beyond the bounds of the physical. For instance, from even a large distance one can have the ability to detect, even without the fore-knowledge of this specific persons mannerisms, or normal choice of clothing and posture, that this person may very well be deeply depressed, or elated for that matter. This is not based upon empirical knowledge, nor is it based upon schooling in psychological matters. It is purely intuition, the sense that is often left out of the well-beaten five, and as well, the most mysterious.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 06.18.2011 @ 4:36 pm


Following slowly behind her, completely enveloped and preoccupied, I found the answer I was seeking. Induced into a near-drunk stupor by her intangible miasma, a concept of a kind of sense-based muscle memory bore fruit and I ate of it. It had seeds, and those seeds grew as I realized that my body knew exactly what to do when confronted with her aroma. I jogged up to her and spun her to me, throwing my arms around her comparatively small frame and took her into my chest, sending my own warmth as penance for my unexpected deed.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 06.14.2011 @ 12:55 am


My heart warmed as the bellows blew deep inside the engine room. The sweat glistened on the foreheads of the workers as their shovels gleamed in the light of my fire, feeding and growing the flame with the piles of fuel abound. Huge carts screeched down eternally used tracks filled to the brim, the burnables, made from the combustibles care and affection, so gracefully passed from my woman to me. Her mere presence created such a stir of activity that the workers immediately began hiring on part time help and working through their breaks, for the warmth of my heart was a thing of dedication and work ethic, they wanted her to feel the effect she stimulated within me.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 06.12.2011 @ 11:06 pm


His eyes were a passageway into himself, a certain unknown entry into a labyrinth that may or may not contain a mythical creature of himself, haunting the dead ends like a hungry bear. As he gazed into the mirror, his eyes themselves turned in their sockets and no longer received light but emitted it. He perceived the maze and it’s solution, but as well he saw the animal lurking amid the dark dead-ends. The shining light became brighter and he saw for the first time, another that crept inside of him, hiding.

» Posted By zachmichelini On 06.09.2011 @ 12:13 am

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