Structured Daydreams

In our on-going attempt to record new strains of behavior…

You take quarters out of my change bucket and hide them in my chest of drawers.
When I enter the bathroom you follow me in and lock the door—your fingers snug on the flushing lever.

On october 7th you asked to pee in the potty. Standing over the toilet you couldn’t reach the top so I picked you up and when you began to urinate it split in many directions, mostly over the bathroom floor which I have yet to clean.

You hold the ping pong racket and have me throw the ping pong ball to you. You’re not very good.
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He wanted to see R—n. More as a science project than a budding friendship. He met R—n at the place where they both worked, and when R—n was fired, he vowed to take his number and be active in allowing their familial relationship to blossom. It had been four months and R—n was still collecting unemployment. R—n had a calm energy and one could see immediately that he respected himself and loved the world in which he lived. He wasn’t honkey-dorey about it like some people—going through life oblivious to its suffering or second meanings. R—n had suffered. You (more…)

It was there for the first time, he was spoken to and rather warmly by the strange and unorthodox guard known only as ‘Deathmus.’

‘Deathmus’ was an unusual guard (in that he had a name at all), if not a guy who felt a little different than the rest of the lunkheads who carried out orders. He swung his axe different. Cuffed the prisoners different. He moved to a different set of beats. He wore a mask like most of his contemporaries and wore chain mail like most of his contemporaries and made no sound during the carrying out of the execution like most of his contemporaries, but where he became quite different is the moment before someone’s head went rolling—completely surprising everyone by tugging off his mask, revealing his identity and going “Ha!” (more…)

To be honest is to be stupid. Unless you don’t care about losing.

I don’t know that I can do this anymore and I’ll tell you why. I see you. I like you. I kiss you. I think of you when you’re not around. Then there’s a point in the evening when I just want to go home. I’m done playing. I’m done being the person I am with you. But you’re sleeping over and I know that. So when we get home (more…)

I have no idea why people want to destroy the Mona Lisa but I saw this movie about Jackson Pollack, and Ed Harris was playing the main character and in the very beginning of the film he’s spitting drunk and [barely] going up the winding staircase to his apartment and he is so soused but somehow summons the wherewithal to scream at the top of his lungs “Fuck Picasso.”

I understood the moment as jealousy. At the unfair life Mr. Pollack had so far encountered, compared to the blessed life Picasso was having. He was angry (more…)

I had sex with a man. At least, I thought she was a man.

No, she doesn’t dress like one but her house is just like a guys: dirty, grungy, things misplaced. She had this incredible African Grey Parrot named Elixir that spoke Latin. Do you know what was more impressive? The fact that I was having sex with a man.

She got great legs and is very pretty and sits exactly the way a woman sits in a dress that looks exactly like a dress a woman would wear.

I spent four hours thinking she was a man. She still might be. The only reason I stopped thinking she was a man, was because I thought, “God. I mean, that’s so much work. You gotta really want it. To have to get the right parts and the surgery, the name changing and uhhh, that is a lot of organizing and getting shit done.” Finally (more…)

Rafael locked eyes and he covered his face with his hand toward my eyes so I wouldn’t see him (or so he wouldn’t see me), then came to the middle of the stairs and stopped.

I was behind the door that needed to be buzzed and banged his apple juice against the glass as a war cry or drum medley or just wanting to smash the thing that separated him from me.

She walked down the remaining five steps, put him on the floor as he started to run and stopped again to cover his eyes and (more…)

You took my heart.

I’m talking to you Miss 3 train 72nd street stop downtown bound sitting on the north side of the car between man in grey suit and woman with big arms.

If I were the man you were supposed to fall in love with, I’d be talking to you right now instead of writing this. I would have said, “Are you kidding?” and you’d have said, “Why do I feel like I know you?” and I’d have said, “You do know me,” and you’d have said, “From where?” and I’d have said, “You don’t really know me. I just meant that I feel like I know you,” and you’d have said, “Sit,” and I’d have said, “Yes.”
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What happens when you have a child and that child’s mom moves in with another man and they are very happy together and the father of the child is happy for his baby’s mama and the father’s even happy there’s another man to make the baby’s mama even happier and then out of nowhere or maybe so slowly you don’t see it coming your child begins to resemble the new guy.

“Oops! Cut it a little too short. Gee it does look like Tim’s. Ha, ha. How funny.”

But something happened. A tone has been set. Now the most horrifying experience a father can undergo is about to take place. Your son, may wind up, a hipster.
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So I guess this is an overdue love letter to tonya kostenko. Why now? Perhaps it was written a long time ago. Something happened when I slept that made me wake up and write this. Maybe rafael told me to do it, but i can’t give him all the credit seeing as I barely listen to him (only cause he doesn’t listen to me).
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HER: Because, Ted. If I had an air conditioning. I wouldn’t have trouble sleeping.
HIM: Did I break your air conditioning?
HER: No.
HIM: Did I drop your air conditioning?
HER: No, but-
HIM: I have never laid a finger on your air conditioning.
HER: I’m not blaming you for why it’s broken. I’m saying it’s hot. I can’t sleep. And when you ask if I want to go to hear some concert later, “‘Bad Lands’ is playing.”
HIM: I don’t speak like that.
HER: “They’re the shit…”
HIM: What’s, ‘Bad Lands?’ That’s a made up name-
HER: “They do percussion and bass and guitar.”
HIM: I don’t (more…)