"Back" by C.K. Williams
First I did my thing, that’s to say her thing, to her, for her,
then she did her thing, I mean my thing, to me, for me,
then we did our thing together, then again, the other way though,
then once more that way again,
then we were done, and we were at dinner,
though I desperately missed the other things now,
and said so:
"Don’t you know I can’t enjoy anything else now?"
and, still love-tipsy, love-stunned,
"Ever," I said: "I’ll never enjoy anything else, ever again."
Except I also meant this,
I mean this being together thinking of that,
or not even her thinking—who knows what she’s thinking—
I mean me thinking of that, of her, thinking and thinking,
but now that I’ve told her , told you, are we then,
back to, again, that?
Yes, and thank goodness I’m back there, we’re back there,
I missed you out here by myself, even thinking of that,
which is why I had to do all this thinking
to take us even in such a partial way back.
"The Pony Problem" (from I Was Told There’d Be Cake) by Sloane Crosley
As most New Yorkers have done, I have given serious and generous thought to the state of my apartment should I get killed during the day. Say someone pushes me onto the subway tracks. Or I get accidentally blown up. Or a woman with a headset and a baby carriage wheels over my big toe, backing me into some scaffolding, which shakes loose a lead pipe, which lands on my skull. What then? After the ambulance, the hospital, the funeral, the trays of cheese cubes on foil toothpicks…
Back in the apartment I never should have left, the bed has gone unmade and the dishes unwashed. The day I get shot in a bodega (buying cigarettes, naturally) will in all likelihood be the day before laundry Sunday and the day after I decided to clean out my closet, got bored halfway through, and opted to watch sitcoms in my prom dress instead. I have pictured my loved ones coming to my apartment to collect my things and I have hoped that it would only be “lived-in” messy—bras drying on the shower curtain rod, muddy sneakers by the door. But that is never going to happen. My dust balls alone have a manifest destiny that drives them far beyond the ruffle of the same name.
I like to think that these hypothetical loved ones would persist in their devotion to dead me no matter what. They would literally be blinded by grief, too upset putting sweaters in boxes to notice that I hadn’t dry-cleaned them in a year. That is, until one of them made his or her way to the kitchen.
”Where are you going?” my father would ask.
”Packing up her bedroom’s much too painful,” my mother would tell him, choking back tears. “I’m going to start on the kitchen.”
This is the part I dread. This is the part where my mother would open the drawer beneath my sink only to discover my stash of plastic toy ponies. There are about seven of them in there. Correction: one’s a Pegasus, blue with ice skates. The rest vary in size, texture, and realism. Some are covered in brown felt, some have rhinestone eyes. Some come with their own grooming brushes; others with the price sticker still on their haunches. If they arrived in plastic and cardboard packaging, they remain unopened as if they will appreciate like Star Wars figurines. Perhaps they are not the dirtiest of dirty secrets, but they’re about as high as one can get on the oddity scale without a ringer like toenail clippings.
what?? piE ? i gotta see this
ohhhh it says “piece” not “pie”
wait a second…
MAKE IT STOPAPAPFDG S
my anaconda dont
Don’t want nudes leaked? Don’t take nudes. Don’t want to be robbed? Stop owning things. Wanna avoid being killed? Buddy, quit living already!
this is your daily reminder to not forget about ferguson. Keep it going!
i looked at an old blog and made myself really sad
maybe i should never do that again
at dinner last night, a coworker was talking about hanging out with his white friends and getting fed up with the racist jokes, and asked them to tell a white people joke. nobody had any, so he googled and found these. after a few of them, people were a lot less comfortable.
white folks, next time you hear a racist joke, maybe lead with one of these in response. tag this “I’m white” when you reblog it, if you are.