this regret machine

  hop and skip and don’t needto look at herto know. what she’s thinking.  orange all over and front facing, front. looking but two ofus and one of him. hungry or confused but either way he is thirstyso. we take a drink. hopping and skipping around the pool we. move quick onground. she bounces and i. hop not allowed to go this far. my mother never goes. anywhere so. neither do i. drink. bathe alittle. he can’t watch both of us. she can’t see me now, but she’s with me. my partner we. find ourselves naturally. in yellow season with orange and fox and cold. the wateris cold but feels. nice. on our feathers.  he makes a move at me. i wing out. too close. she jaws and lunges and peck at hischin. he didnot like that. too close he. bites back and she. moves. swift and quick i am watching her inthe water fly up the tree. the game is. over. she’s found. something. and asks to fly away.  he makes ago again and i. wing. he jaws and i scream. why did shego that far? i thi...

  OUR FATHER OUR FATHER OUR FATHER OUR FATHER, WHO LIVES WITH US NOW, RESTS IN HIS SUNDAY BED. HE WILL NOT GO ANYWHERE TODAY, OUR FATHER. HE WILL NOT REST, HE WILL NOT LEAVE THE HOUSE. HE IS MADE OF WOOD, WHERE MY MOTHER IS MADE OF STONE. OUR FATHER, I LOVE HIM MORE, FOR WE WILL RETURN TO THE EARTH QUICKER, QUICKER, QUICKER. THE SALTED GROUND WE STAND UPON IS MARKED BY THE WORDS HE HAS PRAYED INTO THIS EARTH. YOU WILL UNDERSTAND WHEN YOU MEET OUR FATHER. THE WORDS HE WILL WHITTLE YOU WITH WILL NOT LOVE NOR LEARN YOU. YOU WILL BE THE ROOT OUR FATHER GROWS FROM, BUT HE WILL LISTEN TO YOU. THE WORDS OF A STRANGER ARE WELCOME TO OUR FATHER, FOR YOU ARE NOT WOOD NOR STONE BUT A FABRIC FOR HIM TO DEVOUR. TELL HIS LIFE TO HIM IN TWO PARAGRAPHS AND THE GLYPHS OF YOUR BODY WILL BE ETCHED UPON HIM. YET I AM SUFFOCATING, TRAPPED IN HIS BARK. HE HAS OUTGROWN ME.  OUR FATHER, WHO ART IN HEAVEN, HOLLOW BE HIS NAME.  OUR FATHER DOES NOT RESPOND TO ACKNOWLEDGING HIS CHILDREN, RATING KNOW...

  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...

    Their body chose to wake up. From billions of shattered and fleeting fragments, consciousness came back to her like liquid honey, sticking to her gums, spilling through their throat, sickening in her stomach. Their skin became aware of itself, the sweat and the quiet and the space they all filled. Breathing came next, a slow, needed exchange between the body and the bedroom. The air was heavy wet velvet on her tongue. She was awake, breathing, and real.  This year was the first year I started working. Properly working. Full time, seven days a week, zero hour contract work. I’m living the student experience, tossed between three jobs. The hours are nonsensical and shifting. From January to June, I would have a 05:00 start, 06:00 walk, to make it for a 07:30 start. On the same day, my shift could end at 16:00, and I’d start another shift at another job at 17:00, until 20:00 before walking home.     Too, fitting seminars, lectures and reading into this lab...

    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...