Characters

Astrin & Estelle. Two "just friends" that end up rooming together in my new comic, internet is for lazy. Once I finish refining to first several I've drawn/written, I'll start looking to post them online somewhere.

The She Character

  And while  she's busy singing   hymns to  Him
 we are  slowly   swallowing  Lithium
You  laugh about  the bunny  on the battery
  and I   pass out     counting  scratches on your ceiling

Heaven   would be out to get us     if it existed
  but there's no  God   just love     no one   just us
 no comprehension of sin     just and endless amount of time
     to explore our emptiness

Girl With Dragon Tattoo Played With Fire

Watched The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo toady with Antonio and Cody. 'Twas awesome! Then we went to the Music Box to see The Girl Who Played With Fire. Also awesome. All-in-all, a great day.

(s)Existence

It's so easy to sleep next to you, which surprised me. I figured the nerves would devour my exhaustion, keep my wide eyes wide all night. But the entire essence of our whole situation has forced me to turn away, advert my eyes; but not shut them, just see thing differently. It's fucking philosophy, but a new angle gives new insight. We switch angles all the time, trying to hit new highs. Hit to get high. And every time we do, we screw--in your too hot apartment. The drive to it--to Pilson--is our lame attempt at foreplay. We seduce each other with aforementioned consent and a bottle of Jameson. Your shaky hands are clumsy, so I remove my pants myself, with my shaky hands.

If We Are Ever to See It

You said we must become the change if we are ever to see it. And we changed, became everything we said we hated. Everything we were afraid of; now it defines us. We are our own monsters, bred in childhood bliss and ignorance. How often those two overlap. Change, we must. And not because of our fucked up past, but because of our fucked up future. We can't escape the present. The one time we tried to plan ahead, we broke every promise. I never wanted or meant to, but I had no choice; you wanted to see the change. We became.

This is Healthy

I thought I was chasing love, but I was just chasing you. And though I was obsessed in a zealous desperation, I had never been more honest. I squeezed and dripped more drops of truth into those three words than they should have been able to hold. Build up one thing and strip all others. And all the fragmented bits of personalities--the fractions that are supposed to form a whole, don't. There is an almost person with a missing piece the size of you. You used to crawl inside. I'd stroke your tiny ears, protect you from the rain. Until one day, you no longer fit. Not entirely. Not perfect. It was a struggle for us both. I tried to understand, tried to keep the panic tucked away where I thought it--and you--belonged. But I learned you can't keep yourself a prisoner to yourself. Not forever. I was holding on in a hopeless hope.

"If it means anything, I think I fell first." "Nope, doesn't really mean anything."

Trembling and alone in the Wal-Mart parking lot, you read every word on the package of Trojans you bought. You wrote me once you got home safe in your ’88 Camry and said that the expiration date was in 2008. I thought at the time that that was a weird piece of information to include, but looking back now, it’s all I remember, and only for the irony that they lasted longer than our relationship.

Our love was outdone by a box of lubricated latex.

It’s hard for me not to laugh at that sentence and lose faith at the same time. Possessions are supposed to be the things that fade on this temporal plane, and love is like a diamond: forever. Or at least until it is thrown aside by an irate ex. Forever doesn’t exist, it’s just a primitive misconception, like perfection.


Still, we tried to push all the fucked up shit from our past to the back of our minds and focus on the happy. Tried to be that perfect couple, strive for that non-existent perfection. But autumn breezes came and blew change, not kisses. I always get pissed when seasons live up to their connotations.

Fall is for falling out, and things starting to die.

In the spring, we didn’t see a rebirth or any new growth, just the same slow decay of last year. Everything else was starting fresh, growing out of dirt, but not dirty. Like there was no sin last summer to be reminded of. I hate it even more when seasons don’t live up to their connotations.

The First Time

Even though it was summer, we were shivering. Our white knuckles interlocked like the couplers of a train car. It was so early but we were so young it seemed so late. I tried to be patient, but you hadn’t taught me how to yet. My foot bruising the concrete.

I kept secrets from you. Never told you that I knew what it was you wanted to say almost every time you couldn’t—or wouldn’t. This time was no excuse. I knew, as soon as your Kelly Clarkson eyes looked up to meet mine. You were struggling to form the words, choking on their absence. I wanted to help you out, and say them for you. I knew, but I knew that I would ruin it. And I wanted it to be perfect for our first time.

So I waited—I was learning—for you to chase the fear away and come clean. You could still keep your secrets, just had to let out your deepest. And yours and mine overlapped.

I repeated. Repeated. Rinse, lather, repeated, until our smiles made kissing impossible. We were so young that we were whole. So I ran the eight blocks home. My feet bruising the concrete.

The graphic and text for the chapbook cover.