Breadcrumb #38
@333333333433333
312
11:28 PM unsure, theyre ending up there eventually
11:30 PM why do you feel shitty and stupid
11:31 PM im sorry you feel shitty and stupid
11:31 PM youre not shitty nor stupid
11:34 PM do you want to meet up
11:40 PM dont
11:42 PM it sounds like you dont want to see me or else... youd... see me... like
11:53 PM i feel terrible
12:11 AM i feel like i would have a better time with you
12:12 AM yeah i want to do that
12:14 AM like not hanging out is more of a bummer, idk, ok
12:16 AM yeah
12:19 AM jesus youre just laying there and not seeing me
12:26 AM just invite me over
12:29 AM yeah thats fine with me
12:33 AM yeah can i come over
12:36 AM i could take a cab
12:38 AM this is dumb
12:39 AM i mean like this is dumb i want to go im cool w it
12:43 AM cmon
12:46 AM please tell me where to go or directly tell me to give up
12:50 AM i feel like i wouldnt see you again if i dont see you now
12:58 AM i feel like i would be fine with me, i would know what i was getting into, i feel bad because i only saw you for like two hours, feel very disappointed
1:02 AM yeah i mean i feel hurt
1:03 AM i know youre telling me not to take it personally but i like, idk, cant not
1:07 AM youre saying it's not worth it when i feel it is, so yeah, hurt, but im not going to bully you into liking me
1:08 AM feel embarrassed now
1:11 AM i wish you said that before we texted for two hours
1:12 AM i mean maybe you did, whatever, ok get some sleep
631
when i was on mushrooms i wanted to “make it stop”
when i was on mushrooms i wanted someone to “yell facts at me”
i threw up in my bathroom to make it stop and hallucinated my vomit swirling, i saw gifs behind my eyes in the bathroom
i put myself to bed
at ninth avenue saloon megan said take the whole bag and gian showed us a picture of his mom with her head split open and sam did coke on the open table
i’m twenty-four
in the bed you said “talk in facts”
when i buried my head in my covers
and “you can talk for three hours something that shouldnt be three hours”
i said i was thinking out loud and you said when do you not
i sat on the scaffolding while you smoked, holding the cigarette in the corner of your mouth, holding your phone, walking backward,
you came back, shaking your head - “head down, awkward smile”
you said
you need to eat weve been hanging out all day and you havent eaten
we ordered and you kept on saying you’d leave and you tried to take a picture through the window from the balcony of me at the computer but i ruined it but you stayed over
you called me an old soul at rudy’s bar and grill at 627 9th avenue, 10036
you said
there’s something about you
youre cute
Did you know that you told me you “really liked me” in your sleep last night?
and when I asked you if you were asleep or not you said about 2 full sentences of pure nonsense
in the beer aisle you said “ my pictures dont go online”
“in the beer aisle you said ‘my pictures dont go online’”
you sent me the three pictures in a text message
and i cut you off to kiss you we were drunk
i changed my facebook profile photo and got twenty-four likes
we smoked weed on my terrace and i leaned on your shoulder my ears popped
i felt that too, you said, that change in pressure
say said that i did that thing with your mouth to pop your ears
you said youre kind. the harshness. you come off as. you dont come off as i said, i come off as harsh, you said, the harshness is just confidence
coughing i went inside to get water and came back barefoot on the concrete and said my moms last wish would be my inability to smoke
i wish i was still 23
Not me
I would never have met you. 23 is gross.
you said say facts
you said you should grow herbs
i said i wanted to my mom grew herbs
you said you grow herbs on your balcony
peppers basil tomatoes
you said “pretending you dont know how to smoke”
on the balcony you also said i was brash and kind, but my harshness was just confidence, that i am kind
you said “when did i say that”
we were falling asleep to pete and pete and i asked you if your reply two weeks ago to my text message was sarcastic and you said no
You also told me I was perfect in your sleep last night
i fell asleep in your shirt and you didnt notice and woke up with you and thought “medicine”
last night i woke up at the ring of the two minute reminder of your text sent at 1:32 am and i said hi i dont hate you
i dont know is it that i want to do whatever i want
im unsure if my cat is peeing in my bed when im away or asleep
and im unsure if it’s because i put a lid on her litter or took her off wet food
so she’s stop expecting it
every morning and every night
but now whenever i pee she jumps into the tub
stares at the faucet
and runs away when i turn it on
last night on the balcony he smoked a cigarette squatting on his knees and laughed and
Breadcrumb #37
DANIEL GRJONKO
“Humans are social creatures”
and so much so that
it’s actually quite difficult
to inflict self-harm.
Empathy or family
absorbs
and takes it on.
That is the true terror.
Isn’t it?
Even alone in a desert,
should someone hear of
your pain,
they would take it on.
That is terror.
We could not be solitary
creatures
until there was only one left.
And even then,
the moan of the toothache
would be for
oneself.
Breadcrumb #36
PETER SCHRANZ
All of the judges in the park have fallen asleep even though the only three competitors left are a blind woman, a child, and a clown.
The blind woman's name is Martha and she's been craning her neck for the whole six hours, not because she can see her Archimedes screw or its high canine prancing but because the straw in her gigantic soda is periscopic in height and if her goals are 1) to stow it in the lawn chair's near-the-mouth cup holder so as to avoid handing around for it every couple of minutes, 2) to sip soda from the cup so as to hinder fatigue from seizing from her the Most Stubborn division win and its concomitant gift card-style 50-dollar prize, and 3) to buy that $49.99 Braille copy of The Kite and Its Human Lord, then she has no choice but to crane her neck. She feels minute wind-impulses in the plastic kite reel that she switches every so often from hand to hand for perspiration-wiping purposes.
The child is named Danny Junior. He is 4 and doesn't exactly know the difference between winning and losing as much as he prefers his kite in the air over anywhere else. His father is lying next to him on his back, arms and legs spread in starfish formation, body inside a compass rose of empty beer bottles. With his final conscious breath that afternoon Danny Senior had made his son promise not to sink Vanessa, their box kite, which is named after Danny Senior's ex-girlfriend. Danny Junior's mom is named Penelope and she didn't come.
The clown is named Sprinkles and aloft before him is a crepuscule-colored Bermuda with balloon animals tied all over the tail. He is a talking clown and is hard up for gigs because the children in this town no longer believe clowns that can talk are real clowns. Real clowns can't talk because they're born without vocal cords. They don't wear makeup or come from Earth. In wrath Sprinkles has wedged into the squeaking joints of each balloon animal a number of well-positioned razorblades that nobody but him can see for all these different reasons. Once he cuts down the other two and wakes the judges up he will win and get his name in the paper and then the world will see that fake clowns are real and real clowns are nothing but some nightmare that lamentably escaped its brain of origin and seeped into the children's lore.
“Real clowns can’t talk because they’re born without vocal cords. They don’t wear makeup or come from Earth.”
The judges are asleep, Martha is blind, Danny Junior is small, and his father is insensible. Of them all, only Sprinkles the clown's eyes perceive away.
Martha will feel a strange light tug as Sprinkles' Bermuda's tail's balloon animals' razorblades sink into her Archimedes screw and send it spiraling into the grass. Any second C.P.S. will probably part Danny Junior from his kite forever. Sprinkles' Bermuda will sail lonely and free through the sky of that acre in which the parks department had decided to convene the kite competition by a tense, malicious, and nail-bitingly narrow vote.
Breadcrumb #35
BOB RAYMONDA
Dear Alexa,
I really wish you would come back and visit your mother once in a while. She’s awful lonely in there, and I can only make the trip so often.
When I do make it, she seems to have improved. Propped up in her chair with a thin blanket draped over her knees. Of course, she still cannot speak, but that is to be expected. We tuck a small bunch of napkins in her shirt collar to catch the spittle before it ruins her clothes. Even so, she is in high spirits. Especially when compared to her roommate. That poor woman has no one. No children or family to speak of — a true ward of the state. Some days I’m convinced no one comes in to check on her for vast stretches of time. So she’s left to wallow in her own filth, silently bracing herself for a finite and daunting future.
And that, truth be told, is why I write. I know your mother wasn’t always perfect. That sometimes as you grew up she spent more time nursing a bottle than paying attention to you and your needs. But she still deserves better than this. You always had new clothes and three hot meals a day, which I promise is more than your grandparents ever did for us. You had it lucky, in a way.
Isn’t your husband some kind of fancy doctor? Couldn’t the two of you, together, afford a single room for her at the least? A place she could move around in, with a view of the patio, instead of the parking lot? See, we would if we could, but your cousin just had another baby, and we’re helping her and her husband build a new addition on the house. Speaking of your cousin, have you called her yet to congratulate her?
And, besides, we’re the ones who visit her. We remember her birthday and bring her the pictures of the kids. You could at least kick in a little bit of the costs. Has she ever even met your little Rudy yet? Christ, he’s three years old — he should meet his grandmother before, God forbid, she passes away.
Heavens, thinking about it now, I realize we haven’t seen you in years. I know airfare can be expensive but, how long has it been? Five years? Six? Since your father’s funeral, or your sister’s? I know we haven’t always been the closest, but a family is a family, no matter what anyone says about it. Especially not those fancy therapist types.
“I know we haven’t always been the closest, but a family is a family, no matter what anyone says about it.”
And, for chrissakes, if you don’t plan on ever coming back, if you plan on severing all ties from your history, at least give me power of attorney. I’d like to take a look at her charts, and the cocktail of medication they force-feed her every day. I’m convinced she doesn’t need all of it. Because even though she’s better than most, sometimes when I come to visit, she’s in a fog. Her eyes are glossed over, while she stares at one of those hideous off-white walls. She even ignores the jazz station I put on for her, and that usually gets her dancing. It isn’t right.
I really hope I’ve changed your mind. She lights up when she looks at old pictures of you and our sister — even more so when I show her pictures of your little Rudy on the Facebook. I know that I can be dark, and even heavy-handed, but it’s only because I love you and your mother so much. I want you to remember where you came from with pride, not disdain.
Please, just come home this year for Christmas. Bud and the kids would love to see you. If only just for a day or two. It’d do all of us some good, even you, you’ll see.
With Love & God’s Blessing,
Aunt Elsa