Leave it to the ballroom dancer; spinning around in circles. Driving all the men wild with her hypnotic smile.

One foot after the other. 

[Cai] and I sat awkwardly in the large cubbies (you know, the ones where the tubas go) after band practice and she asked, “Do you want to kiss me?” Of course I did, and then I did. It was dry and ridiculous - kisses by twelve year old boys are. On the walk home, a bird shat on my head and trombone. I went to kiss [N] on the mouth, but instead, I chickened out and moved my lips up to kiss her on the forehead. A rather embarrassing moment of my youth, but hey, on my friend’s bunk bead, I felt her boob. Pretty great, but also awkward. After our first date, [E] drove me home. In my parent’s driveway, I looked at her from across the stick shift and said, “I’m going to kiss you now.” I know, right? From there, we proceeded to kiss like big dummies, as our seat belts were still fastened. I came home for a brief stay and got the chance to make out and finger bang (that term still makes me laugh) [CV]. That was a fun exercise in restraint, if a tad bit silly. I never kissed [H] on the mouth, but she did give me a blow job on her dad’s bed. I believe she was underage, and I was committing a crime. I’m not entirely sure. She did not know what she was doing, and apparently, neither did I. I was led on by [A]. Man, she was super hot. I got teased. I had an enormous crush on [Ca]. I stayed over a few nights, nothing frisky happened. I don’t think she felt anything romantic with me. I was just a warm body to fill her bed. Late one night, when I was sure she was asleep, I kissed her on the forehead, and told her that she was really special to me. That was the last night I stayed over, and didn’t talk to her again for about six years. [L] was a very special lady. On our first date, which was about ten hours long, we watched some stand-up comedy awkwardly on the couch together. Near the tail-end of the special, I gained the courage to say, “You should lay with me.” She did, as if waiting for the chance all day. The rest of the night is mostly a blur, but I remember it being pretty magical. Maybe I wasn’t so awkward after all. Nah, I probably was. Also, my apartment was infested and she got hella flea bites. So there’s that. I drove [M] home from where I was living and she said, “I’m glad you moved in there.” I said, “Me too.” At the end of the drive, I asked her out to dinner; she said yes. On our date, I made the point of not eating a lot of food, so that I wouldn’t have an upset stomach. We watched a movie on my laptop, and during the middle of it, we looked at each other and I went to kiss her. She kissed back and from there we had a wonderful night. Shirts were not involved. Maybe I was getting better, or just in love. On the walk out to the car after dinner, I pulled [T] in tight and gave her an excellent kiss. There was wine on her breath, which makes me go crazy. In a good way. We went back to my place and fucked. I’m not awkward anymore. Three weeks later, I ruined whatever we had going. I guess I’m still awkward. I went on date with [Ka], and at the end I kissed her and gently slapped her ass (I love slapping asses) before planning our next date. Over subsequent conversations, I slowly discovered that I did not like this girl’s personality, even if she had a really great ass. I cancelled the second date and told her I wasn’t ready. That was a lie. [K] was a really good time. We had some fun. I told her we should sleep together. She agreed. We did. Again, fun times. 

What I’m trying to say is this: Even at two-till-thirty years of age, I’m still a bumbling mess when it comes to women. I get retarded around them, and most of the time, I don’t understand them. That’s not to say I think they’re horrible. I love women. I love everything about them. I’m just an awkward wreck that’s looking for the right one. Is she right in front of me? Is she someone I haven’t met before? Was she [Cai], [N], [E], [CV], [H], [A], [Ca], [L], [M], [T], [Ka], or [K] and I just didn’t know it? Did I fuck it up? Will they come home? 

I don’t know - I just want to make a girl happy.

I’ve lost my arm in the battle; digital swipes leaving limbs untied. Versus the Beast, you procure the plasticized. And the church is burned down - a million kids’ static bones charred on the ground. It skinned the young ones down. 

And he said, ”Baby, your lips are red like an apple, just give me one nibble.”

“Now step back, Beast; I am Pixl.”

Little boys turned to plastic toys. And oh how their parents cried from the Sun Beast’s prepubescent genocide. It skinned the young ones down. 

And he said, “I was born, and the earth did tremble.” 

“Bitch please; I am Pixl.”

It’s all done - this’ll end the collection of tiny artifacts.

Grafted trophies suffocated by the fiery fiend. I took a stab in the dark from the blasphemy. Lava like blood was gushing, while I serried slashes liberally. I skinned the bad one down.

And he said, “With everyone you love dead, I’m the only thing left!”

Then I cut, cut, cut the Beast to death.

Mom and Dad, I hope this letter reaches you in the after dark. To place your thoughts on the canvas of remarks: 

“Dear Mom and Dad, I did this for you. I slaughtered the Beast for you. Decorated my sword in membrane for you; I did everything for you. This is the last you’ll hear from me.”

Then I cut, cut, cut the Beast to death.  

It was born into a child like vibrancy. Impregnated with the ocean shimmering. A mother to a babe of blues and greens, smitten in the eyes of a teen.

A mother not ready to carry the beast. But that’s what the traveling man gave her between the sheets.

A haunting growth for nine months between a scheduled trip to a new form of celibacy. And the fire in her chest suffocating the life she deserves cut short from the pretense.

A mother ready and willing to carry the beast. Yet the man threatens to end her life with ease.

Her trip to safety coming sooner than expected. But to the corner of the flight she retreated. Ismaros - a father - fearing for his wife, accused the wrong demon on board and took its life.

Tension and water breaking - hyperventilating.

As the sweat runs down her brow. She’s gotta push from the hips. Push, push from the hips. Biting down on her lip. With a subtle drip of blood running down her chin. She’s letting the love of the beast in.

Erupting from the Mother’s hips, enter the sun beast, preaching stories didactic. Flies move at 6 frames per second. Stop-motion fragmentation. With the knees giving out to the flow of failing anti-bodies.

The story’s spread across the sheet of paper, like a crook without a cause. Twenty-six, twenty-five, twenty-four, now hit the floor. Above the cluster of sticks and twigs, I stand with the game rigged to win. Club in hand, now it’s time to land this one.

Forgive me this day, it was the only way to get things going. Time to board the ship that’s set my path underneath the match.

Number One, let’s get the ball rolling.

“Dodge now!”

They’re yelling excuses through a heart-shaped piece propelling to the front of the cockpit. Insert the key and lock it. Among the trapped ones, pick the kid that looks the most beautiful.

Lift him up, for all the people to see and know that his star is rising. Worship this boy, for you saved his life. Throw your head back - It’ll be in the epitaph. Distortion of time and place has made this bed a grave.

The angels sing, but do you hear it? Don’t be surprised when they come to claim. The linoleum is where the blood was stained.

The metronome clicked and the clock rang - for it’s too late to back out of this fight.

The beautiful boy, you’ve taken his life.

They must shine near fierce fascination, gladly despairing the sympathy in satisfaction. Summoned by catastrophic disease, inside the barrel of a gun I can’t see. R. I. F. L. E. Come on, baby, won’t you rifle me.

Who is the constant? Where is the constant? I am the constant.

Open your eyelids - raise the bar to the maximum degree. Synthesizing this se(a)quence of constant. This wasn’t an accident. It was an event. Wrapped in a cocoon now brace for impact.

They’ll set you up for failure; veil your eyes with the sand from the beaches of the amateur. This was the vision to end all visions.

The pipedream was predetermined. From the first mating call to the tripping of the land mines from the fall. Bouncing Betty gets all the attention, but I see through the ventriloquism, and cut those strings.

Who is the constant? Where in the constant? I am the constant.

I’m alone in the constellation - figure akimbo representation. Freeze astronaut, because it’s time.

Now shine, baby, shine.

I can see galaxies – all the tragedies and earthly falsities. I’m like the piper calling his rats to the streets. Hiding indecision, hiding everything. I know I’ve found the time, whistling in the moonlight. 

Mother, oh Mother, can the children come out and play? I taste the lipstick on my pillow and on my teeth.

I am that striptease.

Your body’s a roadmap, lined with cracks. Slide your finger across to discover all its flaws. What makes you tick, honey?  Lay it on thick, honey. Let your feet touch the floor. Tap, tap, I want you more. I swear I’ve seen this shine, glistening in the sunlight. Lipstick on this flute of mine.

Playing each note one octave a little bit higher. With my eyes on the her/eyes/on.

The cure is in the words on the tip of my tongue unfurled. 

We’re stuck between positive and negative polarity. And the wind will lift us off the ground, for our bones are hollow. Like a mocking bird or swallow… this bone marrow we’ve found will anchor us to the ground.

Like magnets clung to opposing sides, we’ll hold the chest of mine. This mercury boiling in lungs like cauldrons steam up through throats parting lips that’ll hiss:

“Do you see this? Do you hear this?”

“My flower, do you feel this?”

As insects move and work in time, you and I share the same hive-mind. Birds chirping above bears contemplating the sweet nectar of the journey, now stick your tongue in beehive’s honey.

Stick your tongue deep into it; diamond lips - coated bliss.

“My flower, do you feel this? Lay back if you wanna see this. Close your eyes if you hear this. Spread your legs if you wanna feel this.”

I see the ships stirring in the distance. I see the ships setting sail for business. I see the ships transporting the sickness. I’ve been assigned to deliver the package. But what’s inside this box, I have to know. Curiosity bubbling to the point of… no, no I can’t open it. I got to deliver this package to the subconscious mind and everybody will find a way to my insides through my eyes.

And they’ll see the tree roots spew out my mouth as they talk of the legend of the things from the south. As they talk of the legend of the things from the south - roots coming out my mouth. They’re ripping from my sides. You see wood coming out my ears and my nails tearing off. Out my sockets the blood to sap and everything is growing inside me. 

I’m becoming a tree; pseudo-science metaphysicality. With trunks created, sprouting leaves, I’m becoming a tree.

With my roots firmly implanted in the soil, I’ve grown to the highest treetops to see my brothers looking out. I see my brothers looking back, back at me and judging all my leaves. They’re judging all my leaves. I’m a tree-man body.

I’m changing before your eyes. Can you see my epidermis as it turns to bark? Oh, it’s turning to bark - it’s getting harder. And the deer consume me and they’ll rip off pieces to eat. Come and rip off pieces to eat until I’m bare as the day I was born. Until I’m naked in front of my brothers; In front of myself. Can you see my leaves as they wilt? 

This is the language of leaves. They’ll find you with strawberries in your teeth, stirring the tops of my trees.

I was a human being, don’t you see, but now I’m nothing but a dead old fucking tree.

Torching the forensic files to ashes that cover these scars, was the prevention plan obviating the obtuse stars. Fall free from this periphery gone stagnant from the fringe; dangling oh so flaccid. It’ll mend you in a universe that falls in one place, flaunting a well decorated lace of satin masquerading around a face that remarks, “Bleed now, because here come the sharks.”

Communicate at the drive-in and know it was the inspiration behind every word eloquently eroding off a mouth interpreting a lullaby. Transcending from above to below, gently caught in the ebb of the flow - gently caught in the movement, in the voice. You’ve tried so hard, sheltered by sores, but you can’t steal what’s already yours.

Neanderthalic vibrations across stage-right inclinations, and the music will never be fabled so long as the vinyl spins on the record table.

Red eyes in the movement - bright eyes in the crowd. One foot in the water, engulfed in crimson cloud. I’m a fish among the scandals; my gills left marked.

“Bleed now, because here come the sharks.”

Here they come, swimming around my lungs. Here they come.

I’ve been lost in my own thoughts for some time now. Not able to remove visions of the past from my head. There was so much good, yet it’s all been forgotten for something new, fresh, or otherwise not me.

I’m waiting to forget あなた, or for あなた to remember me. 

I’ve all the time in the world, but during these moments I think too hard. Everything I do, watch, take part in reminds me of あなた.

I sincerely think, in all my heart, that certain things were meant to be. Certain stars are in view.

I & U

My body has run out of electricity. I haven’t been able to sleep for days now. The minute I get to sleep I wake up, and then I can’t get back to sleep. I can’t think. When I get like that, somebody has to charge my batteries. Otherwise, I can’t go on living. It’s true.

- The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle

It’s been a rough weak, but I’ll trudge on.

Verdant eyes, love.

I’ve been trying to reach out to others for answers, but no one I know really has those. They’re confused as much as I am. Their own confusions without the need of my intrusions.  

• destruction, madly in <3

These thoughts, I write down for my own sanity. .1

For days at a time, Ehme would vanish for hours. 

“I’ll be back momentarily, my sweet Den,” she would say each time.

But where was she going, it would wonder each time she would depart. 

The leaves had their own ideas of her absence. 

The Doubting Leaf would say, “She’s probably going to see her other lover; she cares not for you anymore, Den. Why else would Ehme leave for hours at a time, with little to no explanation regarding her whereabouts?”

Den would ponder the Doubting Leaf’s accusations.

No. There is no way my sweet Ehme would cheat on me. Her heart is always in the right place. Although I am her first resting place, she must be satisfied with my large branches.

She must…

The Selfish Leaf would offer its own theory: 

“I imagine Ehme needs her space. She can only spend so much time sitting and talking to you, Den. We all need our own personal moments, so I wouldn’t stress over the situation too much. Be patient with her disappearances. You two were meant for each other. Like the very Sun and rain that nourished you, she needs you as much as you need her.”

Den would ponder the Selfish Leaf’s recommendation.

I suppose you’re right. Ehme tells me of her love for me, of her devotion - the way her hearts aches. I will always wait for her, no matter where she goes, or what she does with her time. 

—-

And so, after weeks of Ehme disappearing, Den confronted her. 

My gorgeous Ehme, where do you go when you leave my shade? I’m empty when you are gone, and I must know. 

Ehme answered its question willingly:

“Den, you are my foundation, my sturdy home during the most willful of storms, my temple of pleasure, my love. You provide so much for me, so I thought I would make you something.”

“That hill in the distance? Over it, there’s a massive forest. Many of your brothers and sisters stand there. Over the course of my visits, I’ve amassed a collection of berries - each of different shapes, sizes, and flavors.” 

“Your friend, the Sun, allowed me to use its rays to dry these fruits. With my beak, I hollowed out each one, and made this. For you.”

—-

Ehme presented Den with a wind chime of her findings. 

“With this, my lover, my Den, we will be able to be with each other always.”

“When I am absent, let the soft tones of this gift remind you of me. Let it remind you that I am always thinking of you. That I’ll always be here.”

And when I am asleep or otherwise occupied, let the sultry sound of the wind passing through this chime remind you of me. Remind you of my everlasting devotion to us. 

—-

“I’ll always love you, my Den.”

And I’ll always love you too, my blinding light, my Ehme.

Nights with Ehme were filled with somber whimpering and joyful dreams.

Of which…

—-

A fuzzy blur of light started off most of Den’s dreams. 

But this dream was unlike the others before it. For in it, Den was not alone: 

Skipping up to where its roots met soil, a young girl propped her easel and sighed. 

What is your name, and what makes you sigh?

Inquisitively, the young girl looked around the field wondering where/who/what the question came from. 

Seeing only the blades of grass and the tree, she answered, “My name is Diao; I am an artist.”

“Since there’s no one around, I assume the asker of questions is you, tree. So, do you have a name, or shall I consider you hollow?”

Den thought,

I have a name as much as you, my child. I am the Earth as I am the air. The son of the Sun, and the father of leaves.

I have grown from seed to sapling. I am the warmth when you are cold and the shade when you are hot. I have grown from sapling to thick tree, where others have not. I continue to blossom daily, while others rot. 

When the Sun goes down, and the air begins to thin, I’m always thinking.

But you may call me Den. 

—-

The young girl giggled at its silly rhyme, dropped her paints and asked, 

“May I paint you, dearest Den?”

I cannot see why not. May the horizon be your guide. 

—-

Hours passed and the girl became frustrated. No matter how much talent she had, she could not seem to get Den’s lines right. 

Out of anger, Diao threw her brush to the ground, marched up to Den and began to slide her fingers across its branches - within its many cracks, holes, and indentations.

What is the meaning of this molestation?!

“I need to find your flaws, dear tree. I need to know you - everything about you, if I’m ever to paint you. I need to know what makes this branch sway different from that branch. Why your roots hold so firm. I need to know how deep you go. From your interior to your exterior, I must know you.”

And that is what she did.

For days, Diao meticulously navigated Den. Finding his flaws, and loving every last discrepancy between her and it.

But like everything before and everything to come after, Diao finished her painting. 

“I think I need to add more trees to this painting if it’s going to be complete,” said Diao in a faint voice. 

I did not hear you, child. What did you say?

“I have to go now, Den. I’ve done all I can here. It’s time for you to wake up.” 

—-

With a shudder of its leaves, Den awoke from its dream. 

“Are you ok, my love, my Den?” asked Ehme in a concerned tone. 

No. No, it’s nothing. I am fine. Go back to sleep, my sweet, sweet Ehme.

—-

As its bird - the love of its life - fell back asleep, Den could not help but think of its dream. 

Could its dream, its Diao, be a foreshadow of things to come. Den hoped not.

And as Den slipped back into glorious slumber, a single leaf detached from its branch, and fell to the ground.

To dry up and dissolve away.  

A month now passed, Den had grown. Sadly, leaves had yet to sprout from its gallant branches.

Spending time alone, Den often thought its bare display was a fault of its own. 

Is there something wrong with me, thought Den on more than one occasion. 

Den had gone an entire Spring and Summer without so much as a single leaf grown. If the Sun had such magnificent plans for Den, then why was it still naked? 

Is there something wrong with me? 

Then, on a lonely December night - or was it November? Who’s to say - Den heard the flutter of the softest wings, a noise most breathtaking, without even being seen. 

“Hello? I’ve been flying all my life, and I’d like a place to rest my weary wings. Is that alright?”

A voice sweet like honey, with a body so small and eloquent. Beautiful feathers the shade of orange kissed by curves so delicate. 

Sweet bird, my branches are yours to make home in, thought Den. What is your name?

“My friends named me ______, but you may call me Ehme.”

—-

And so was the meeting of Den and Ehme, of it and she. 

With each passing day, leaves began to take form, making Den’s existence feel all the more warm. 

Den suspected Ehme’s presence to be the catalyst for its change - the bringer of life into an otherwise barren tree.

Days turned to nights, nights led to weeks, months, years. Ehme had made a home in Den, among its colorful leaves, now healthy. 

Each night, before falling asleep, Ehme would snuggle into one of Den’s many nooks, and proclaim, “I’m happy.”

Den would wrap its branches around Ehme, and gently whisper, I’m glad.  

—-

And so it was, a match made in Fall(ing) asleep with Ehme made Den the happiest of all.

In an unassuming field, under an unassuming but all knowing Sun, a seed transported by the backs of bees lands in a sea of treeless greenery, unassumingly. 

Looking around, the field holds nothing, save the memories of past saplings - the ones too weak to hold firm in the unkempt dirt.

But this is where it makes its home. Its home, being here, now, by the grass that surrounds. It being Den, until now not noticed.

Den’s birth is not much different from the other trees before it. This field, though. This field holds a reputation to strangle. However, unlike the others, Den’s life has a future. 

The Sun has plans for Den; plans that will baptize Den and create, in it, something the world has never seen. 

For the Sun knows there’s potential in this one, in this seed - to make it into the best den for all leaves. They’ll speak and share their stories; the rooting of life’s murmuring.

And Den will listen, as its branches creak and sway with the breeze, the stories here told, by the language of leaves.