I want to be a firefighter which could mean setting fires just so I can put them out, but that’s stupid, isn’t it
I want to be a firefighter like that guy who said, it was a pleasure to burn
I want to be a firefighter because I can see fire, it lights up in the night, and it’s easy to tell when it’s dead
I want to be a firefighter 
I want to be a firefighter because everything worth fighting is just a glow that your hands won’t ever grasp, until maybe some day when you sift through what it’s left behind
I want to be a firefighter because I said it in second grade
I’ve wanted to be a firefighter ever since the teacher saw me, running around the schoolyard, putting out all the fires
I’ve wanted to be a firefighter since the moment I said “I want to be a firefighter” and throughout the entire time after I committed my life to it, even when I one day began to doubt that I could ever be a real firefighter, a good firefighter, a great firefighter, all I really ever had was to be 
a fire fighter
I want to be a firefighter because 
I want to be a firefighter

The Television Shows You Should Care About In No Particular Order

1. Girls- The characters in Girls, as many people say, are easy to hate. The same way that you hate your bitchy coworker who still always whispers your name and gossips to you in between customers at the service desk, or the way you hate that overly smart and sarcastic girl from high school who always comments on your Facebook statuses saying that she so agrees with whatever, or the way you hate some rich bitch who used to bang your brother even though she insisted on buying you shots that one time you ran into her at the bar. It’s like, the characters on Girls are blankly looking into your soul through the exclusivity of their HBO slot. These girls suck the way that real people suck. And even if you talk shit about it, Girls is where we live, and Girls is the people we know. Delusional idiots pretending they’re adults who are up on their shit one day and calling their mom asking for money the next. People who go to rehab when they aren’t even drug addicts. Gay guys who fuck girls when they’re drunk and then cry about it. Kids who are really bad at being existentialists. Girls.

2. Friday Night Lights- High school students have the worst fucking luck. There are little things in this world like high school football games, secretaries at car dealerships, born-again Christians, teenagers, beer bottles. They become invisible to those residing in suburbia. You stop seeing the real face of these things, and what’s more, you stop seeing the inner workings of them, the cataclysms. Friday Night Lights makes you see them again.

3. Broad City- I remember once I was watching a tv show and I was young enough to not know anything about civil rights or whatever, and some guy was acting really stupid. I guess I would compare him to that kind of shorter more ridiculous character on Workaholics. And I remember laughing, but there was a woman in the scene, and she was very pretty and composed, and the only time I laughed at her was when she said something very witty. I was imagining if she was acting all stupid and ridiculous and fucked up like he was, and thought “no one would laugh at that.” It just didn’t seem funny. Then I was like, “why is it so weird for me to imagine women doing really ridiculous raunchy humor!?”. Nowadays there are a few women who are like, in that zone, and I kind of get it but I still don’t find a lot of them funny most of the time. The bitches in Broad City are fucking dumb and pathetic and drunk and stoned and eat weird shit and have ridic conversations and do weird physical comedy type things in the show and it’s like the best shit ever. Someone called it the female Workaholics and I was like bitch I don’t even watch Workaholics. Like, when it’s on it’s ok. But Broad City is a show that you go out of your way to watch because it’s focused on actual strange personalities and inconsistencies.

4. American Horror Story: Coven- There’s a lot to be said about aesthetics. This show is a graphic novel. It is intensely image based. A gif makers wet dream. Witches and voodoo and ghosts and visions and blindness. 

It’s fitting for
Western New York (the geographical area which I’ve always found fundamentally unsettling, almost unbearable)
to feature slowly eroded, deeply cut gorges as its spectacular offering of nature.

Much like many people I’ve met here,

who allow their lives to be turned and turned on a crank,

and as they age they begin to display a great schism. 

A sort of hollowness becomes worn into their so(u)l[e]s by a relentless eroding river of routine.
Complacency splits them, their thoughts and emotions dissonate.

They are the earth, strong and seemingly solid, born into minds and bodies.
Time runs its rivers into them. 

The radius of the smell spread up to four feet away from the state park bathrooms. Urine and heat and stale air. 
An elderly couple sat on the bench in the gazebo across from the bathroom, their backs to the parking lot. 
A teenage girl walked down the trail towards the bathrooms, quick, sweaty, red. Outside the doorway she winced at the smell and stopped walking. She started to rummage in her bag, a large crossbody bag she had once used for textbooks in school. In it she had open-air containers of edible berries she’d collected during her day out of doors. She counted  four total, mixed in with her cell phone, wallet, iPad, headphones, and car keys. In the bathroom she could see a large brownish puddle not diminishing into the drain it surrounded.
She turned to the couple on the bench.
"Will you guys be here for a minute?"
They looked at each other, then back at her, nodding simultaneously.
"Sure will," said the woman.
"Would you mind watching my bag for a minute?"
"Sure don’t."
And so the girl smiled and thanked them and hopped over to lay it at their feet by the bench, then braced herself for a hopefully quick and minimally nauseating pee in the park restroom.
She didn’t even take her usual 30-second handwash to look in the mirror, but when she came back out, the old couple was gone. 
Not on the bench, not on the trail. A vehicle was small and disappearing out the parking lot exit. Her bag was gone too.
"Son of a bitch," she said.

ink microstory

We were watching television together.
 ”I like her tattoos,” he said.
"Yeah, they’re cool," I said. 
"I have kind of like, a tattoo fetish."
"Yeah," I said, my attention focusing once again on the body heat I could feel resonating between our thighs. We sat side by side on the sticking leather couch. Each tiny movement I was a millimeter closer to him. 
I said, “I mean, I wish I had a big tattoo like that.”
"Whoah." He turned, he was looking at me. At my eyes. "You have a tattoo?" he asked. 
"A really small one, yeah, on my back."
He didn’t ask what it was.


After walking for four blocks I finally found what I was looking for. A little bell rang when I opened the front door. A metal-faced girl at the counter blinked at me, 
"Hi, I’d like to get a tattoo."
She smiled, “do you know what you’d like?”
"Something small. But profound. And pretty. On my back."