this regret machine

  I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to change my mind. I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to change my mind. I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to change my mind. I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to change my mind. I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to change my mind. I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to change my mind. I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to change my mind. I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to change my mind. I have the right to change my mind. I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to change my mind. I have the right to change my mind. I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to change my mind. I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to change my mind. I have the right to make mistakes. I have the right to change my mind. ...

  What are her insides made of? Are they technical? Too technical to comprehend or take apart? Why does your curiosity have to overstep somebody’s boundaries? Are they intrusive or intuitive? Where does the soul come into the mechanical? How does the soul affect the mechanical? Where do the two intersect? Where do you learn that by questioning it, you’re still indulging this way of thinking?  Worst, and best case scenario, I admit, I think I have killed you. You’re there, sitting idly, watching me panic over you. I’m pacing confusedly about your assumedly dead body. You are fine. I will be fine. Your body is dead. The soul of you remains, patiently not yet reanimate. All things inanimate are full with soul, and this soul is built from the carbon of patience. I hate how you wait. Find something better to do. Don’t look at me with dead eyes, I’m busy. I’m making myself busy. I have things I want to write. Femnist literature output, high frequency. Nonsense writing, aff...

    How did you get in contact with me?                                                                                             We built a radio from parts of the old ship. Nobody pays it much attention, but I like playing with the frequencies. Why are you here? Bored. The mountain is melting, and the sun is setting, but this is all I like doing, really. What else do you do? I cycle from home to here, on somebody’s bike. It gets me up to the hill nicely. Where is your ship? Frankly, I'm not allowed to say. Though, I'm not clos...

it is too dark outside to know the time. the summer never stops to breathe, a constant exhale of music and vibrance and drunk teenagers, shifting from party to party. everything is so much more colourful. but not now. it’s night, the darkest night that he could imagine. he is standing in the automatic doorway to a spar, the doors spread and kept apart. he feels as though he was in their way. the humidity melts away his drunken worry — though giving way to something else. the air conditioning settles on his skin like anxious kisses, pecking the pale hairs down his back. he’s thinking about that scene in after dark , where the two characters sat in a denny’s, mumbling about nothing. he feels like nothing and everything at once, the cold air bringing him down from wherever he’s been for the last week. he walks into the spar. the fluorescent lights greet him, dousing him with the inescapable anxiety of being seen. the shop is obfuscated. he’s looking for a specific place to be. he...

(alcohol, domestic violence & gun mention ) Hurt, 28 years old and wrapped in Vermont thicks Standing on the edge of a field, where corn moves the wind like a whistle through broken teeth Not enough to stop shaking, While waiting at the bus stop They hold their bag close and root through the essentials Passport, purse, change of clothes Pen and paper for postcards, maybe even apologies The bus comes They ride The miners give them strange looks but pays them no mind They recognise one as a drinking buddy, who seems just as blabbering Sober as drunk They retract into the corner a little further They run off two stops early with a clattering down the aisle because they saw a car up ahead And assumes him knowing They get off the bus and run across the road The only person about at this hour Into suburbia, where they always saw themselves headed The houses all look the same in the unwanted dark All blue and all grey They have no idea where to go The cold becomes unbearable Very, very...