Wicked Wisdom

Stomping Ground
February 25, 2010, 1:53 am
Filed under: Fiction, Microfiction, Writing

I’m mentally begging you to walk over here and kiss me. I would settle for you just acknowledging I’m alive, even that would make my heart skip several beats.

I always throw my cigarettes to the ground and then pick them up for one last puff before tossing them again. I’ve decided that this is because I am simply not able to allow myself to let things go. I’m not allowing you to go, I’m telepathically forcing you to stay exactly where you are.

You start to turn your head but something, perhaps my eyes piercing your skin like needles, stops you from doing so. You remain facing forward, and I keep using my mental powers to not allow you to leave.

I toss my cigarette to the ground. I don’t stomp it out, but I also don’t pick it back up. Instead I just light another.

Your girlfriend looks over me and then stands on her tiptoes to speak something into your ear. She’s probably saying, “Don’t look now, but that crazy girl is staring at you.” I don’t break my stare, and I don’t the hold I have over you. Don’t look now, but this crazy girl is controlling your every thought, movement, and response. Whether you want to admit it or not. Don’t look now, but this girl is in love with you. Don’t look now, but she’s going to make you love her back.


Night Renaissance
February 25, 2010, 1:35 am
Filed under: Fiction, Microfiction, Writing

It’s after midnight but I’ve met you at the park, our park, for another one of our secret rendezvouses.

This makes the fourth time we’ve done this in the two weeks since we’ve met. You’ve made it clear that you’ll fuck me all night long but you’ll never be able to kiss me. You cannot kiss me, because that would be cheating.

You can kiss my neck, but that’s not cheating.

You can remove my shirt, but that’s not cheating.

You can whisper in my ear that I’m the most beautiful thing you’ve ever met, but that most certainly is not cheating.

You just can’t kiss me.

I push my hair over my shoulder and lower myself to sip from the fountain. I press the button and slowly the water bubbles up and then eventually becomes a constant stream. I close my eyes.  I always close my eyes when I drink, I consider it rude to do otherwise.

The ice cold water hits my lips and I open them slightly. I drink until my thirst should be quenched, and it’s not, so I keep drinking.

Suddenly I feel not the ice cold water against my lips but the warmth of his own. My thirst is quenched, and I open my mouth slightly once again.

And nothing will ever be the same again.

Video: Reading 2/22/10
February 24, 2010, 6:15 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Reading “Freedom” & “The Baby.” at The Evening Muse in Charlotte NC.

February 19, 2010, 3:44 am
Filed under: Fiction, Microfiction, Writing


“Come home. Please, come home, right now.”

“You know I’m busy right now…”

“There’s been an emergency. My mom died.”

You hesitate.

“I’ll be right there.”

I sit the phone down and return to pacing outside of your bedroom door. This used to be our bedroom. Our situation is interesting. We were together for six years and then you dumped me. Now we just live in the same house, but you spend most of your time at your girlfriend’s.

I hear the front door unlock and I run down the stairs. I’m always a very cautious person and almost never run down the stairs but tonight rationality escapes me. Before you can even shut the door behind yourself my arms are around you and I’m burying my face in your chest trying my best not to let tears escape from my eyes.

I know this is usually not okay. But right now, I feel like you’re willing to make an exception. I know this is usually not okay, but right now my mother is fucking dead. Right now, you’ve moved on, but right now I feel like you can make room for me. Because you did love me. Because right now, right now I need you.

You don’t shy away from me, you don’t remind me that this isn’t okay anymore. You just hold me tight. We stand like this for several moments, and then I release my hold and grab your hand. Avoiding eye contact I silently pull you up the stairs.

We stand outside of the doorway to the bedroom that was once ours and is now your own. “I need you to open this door, and I need you to lay on the bed. I need you to let me lie next to you okay?”

You open the door and take me by the hand.

Reading 2/15/1020 (Video)
February 16, 2010, 5:47 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Here is another video of me reading at The Evening Muse in Charlotte NC. This week I read “No Conclusion” and “Raise Your Glass”!

Reading. (Video)
February 9, 2010, 12:43 pm
Filed under: Writing

Here is a video of me reading Hell To Pay (Again) & Mom and Tom at the Evening Muse in Charlotte NC last night.

It’s been a long term goal of mine to actually go and do a reading somewhere, but until last night I had never had the guts to put the dream into reality.

It felt great.

Out of Love
February 7, 2010, 12:57 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Last night we both realized that we are falling out of love. Neither of us mentioned it, but we both know that we know.

Maybe it’s because you’re sick of me throwing things in your face, and maybe it’s because I’m sick of feeling like I have to throw things in your face so that you remember how much you owe me for putting me through all you have.

Or maybe it’s just that we’re not meant to be.

Part of me, a very large part of me, wants to mourn this love. A smaller part wants to be glad that things will probably be ending soon.

We’re both tired of laying in bed facing opposite directions, wondering if the other one is asleep. Wondering what the other is thinking, since our telepathy recently stopped working.

Maybe you’re put off by the bad habits I’m picking back up. My smoking. The drinking. Crying in the bathroom floor.

It’s probably best that this has happened, because now that we know we soon won’t love each other we won’t have to keep fighting.

We can just admit that we are separate people and go on with our lives, trying to salvage what might be left of some great connection that we once had and see if it translates to a friendship.

It probably won’t. And as much as I won’t love you, I also won’t be able to bare to sit across from you while you talk about how well you’re moving on. I won’t be able to deal with picturing you laying next to someone else, even though laying next to you brings me happiness no more.

It’s probably best that we split our things and go our separate ways. I’m tempted to return to Europe so I don’t have a chance of running into your friends that I don’t know who will have heard stories about how miserable I made your life.

Staying here would mean fearing that every barista, homeless, and stranger is silently judging me and feeling sorry for you as I walk past.

My home country of Sweeden isn’t sounding too bad in comparison to that.