By | 5 December 2019

Think about reason – bonk bonk. Well, at least let me tell you
about biography – bonk. My heaven is slight, eager to appear,
a lung full. I love my friends and some days I hate them, spirits
suddenly replaced in the night like the great changeling
of folklore. A week and I could make them pay for this. In a
Yankee state all of the citizens lilt their heads upward at certain
sounds, for certain parts of speech or syntax. They take pride
in it being a Yankee state, claim they’ve erased racism, yet
the schools still load honors classes with idiot white kids, white
teachers still say Detroit and Chicago are “dirty, dirty places.”
One school has an emergency plan for every possible contingency,
including nuclear attack, dirty bomb attack, biological weapon
attack, and stranger on campus. Determine what the stranger’s
nationality is, first, says the book. The principals, when I sub,
ask me where I’m from and look disappointed when I say
Canada. Sure I know what they meant but fuck em! Where are
they from? Bradenton? Aidenton? Thomsonton? My friends,
they’re nice people who would support me at a moment’s notice.
My heaven, it’s just silence, ice, and dark. Some of my friends
believe my successes were helped by my a) name b) “olive skin”
c) nationality of certain members of my family who are strangers
to me or d) all of the above. Those friends, they are close friends,
and some only think this from afar. The car, it needs another
expensive procedure. It has a taste for blood. I wish it to be
crushed at night by a tree branch, something quick and non-
injurious. Car heaven, is that dark too? Next to, I imagine,
cat heaven. All the heavens adjacent but I want them empty if real.

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