35
If this poem was a rapper
It would put out a mixtape and create a strong underground presence
It would garner acclaim from blogs and independent newspapers in hip cities
Like the Village Voice
Its first commercial radio single would be about how much it loves to smoke weed
And the second commercial single would be a “song for the ladies”
About commitment
But in that pseudo sexist way that rappers sing about independent women
Where really their claim is kind of that female independence is sexy
Perpetuates a misogynist ideology suppressing true feminist autonomy
Anyway
The rapper would put on weight
Inadvertantly, and claim that it was part of an attempt to look more like Rick Ross
The rapper would start having visions in the early afternoon
Where the word “prosciutto” could be seen floating above a crowd of people
In gigantic helvetica print
These visions felt apocalyptic, but also confusing
Because prosciutto was a hard word to spell
And what if it wasn’t prosciutto that was hovering over the crowd
But a different word altogether
That the rapper failed to recognize?
34
If this poem was a groupon it would be a coupon for a free blooming onion at TGIFs
You would save it as a PDF file on your desktop and tell yourself that you were going to print it out later
But then a few weeks would pass and you’d forget about it
Only to get an insatiable desire for a blooming onion, seven and a half years later
As you walked down the aisle on your wedding day
33
Sprinkles
One thing that i’m proud of
That I can probably only write about here after drinking
Is my mute immobility in the face of seduction
Mid conversation
Someone moves out from their sleeping bag and kisses me on the mouth
I pause for several seconds with a neutral facial expression
And then resume the conversation without missing too many beats
Inside my mind, nothing is happening, nothing is registering
Over beer and tomato juice
Someone leans over and chews on my ear, running their tongue along the top of my earlobe
I am mute like a golem
Maybe mildly confused, slightly sad, slightly weary
I think of Rick Ross and wonder if he was really a prison guard
I think about what that might mean for the future of hip hop
So
It’s only right that I annihilate any trace of modesty that i’ve modelled
By writing a poem glorifying how prudent i am
32
Motor City Dum Ensemble
Having tried cigarettes in nightclubs in Japan and noticing that nothing fell from the sky and my lungs felt the same except for a “cool mint” sensation in one of these circumstances, i decided to try buying drugs in Thailand, on a busy street full of hostels and bootleg t-shirts and Ray Ban knockoffs. Amidst the dubious Viagra and Cialis packages that’d pretty clearly been photocopied on, there’s a piece of paper with “Valium 10mg” written on it in black marker. i ask how much, it’s cheap, i nod without thinking much about it.
And i pretty much think it’s cool while a husky Thai salesperson presses the package into my hand until they make a sudden jerking motion indicating that i need to put it in my pocket immediately. i stare at it for a second and then look back at them, as if to say “really? i thought everyone did this”
Then i look away immediately and shuffle down the street;
stupid stupid stupid tourist.
i go to an internet cafe and use a computer and it only takes seven minutes to discover that crossing the border back into japan would be problematic with all of this. i go back to the hostel. Robocop is on, on the only english channel. There’s a nightclub across the street that’s blaring dance music, and i lie there immobile to the sound of LMFAO’s “Party Rock”.
At 2:04 am the music abruptly cuts out, like someone paused an iTunes playlist.
I feel the back of my neck pressing into the pillow. The compression between the pillow and my neck felt like the physical sensation of chucking discount Thai valium into the bushes near the highway as i walked towards the water market to look at fruit to calm me down. And that was the best metaphor that i struggled to use to describe my post-university feelings of uselessness. And even then it felt lacking, like a balloon with a slow leak being squeezed out in the hands of some dumbass child.
31
Danilo Plessow
Three years in twitter status updates . I’m waking up half sentient, panicked and disoriented and sending text messages to my friends that make no fucking sense.
Yesterday at 7:21am I texted “Zee zombie is your way” to someone
Look at your life
Look at your choices
New zine “Motor City DUM Ensemble” coming soon.
30
NEET
“Brendan, NEET = young people Not in Education, Employment or Training.
he said “I went to convini every night cuz I dont have anything to do. sometimes my friends ask me to hang out but I felt ashamed so i didn’t”lol “
29
Ryoma’s Dream
I saw funny dream. There were a lot of people in someone’s house. And we were drinking. Seems like party. Molly said “I would like to show it” to me. So I followed her. We came to bedroom. Brendan and Erin and a couple of people were talking at there. There was a double bed. And dresser next to it.
Also there was something that was covered by cloth under the dresser, Size is almost same as single bed. Molly took that cloth off. There were so many ironed shirts and they had been stacked properly. I was surprised and I was about to touch one of them. Suddenly Brendan screamed “Don’t touch it!” and then he started crying,”please please don’t touch it please….”.OH BRENDAN.
28
4Chan’s Motiviational Thread
The Dream logs onto 4chan’s “advice” forum and downloads a thirteen page word document from a motivational thread. The document is called “lifehack”, and 79 people have left comments talking about how revolutionary it’s been in molding themselves to change their ways. The Dream scans it for three pages, headache slowly developing in the back of his temple. He reads advice on how to get free water bottles if he’s at a rave, how to get an elevator to go directly to the floor that you want it to without stopping at other floors, and how to hack into Coca Cola machines (but only the older models) to get any soda you want for free. He finds a document called “suicide note.pdf”, a thousand page dissertation written by a Harvard Student who committed suicide after its completion. The Dream downloads it, reads the first four paragraphs, and then skips to the ending, which says:
“Who is to say that the life of a saint, an artist, or a philospher is superior to a life spent sniffing glue?
He reads more and more, and while The Dream skeptically reads about how some “swipe card or pass to open” consoles can be tricked using a strong magnet, the sound of the hired help mowing the mansion’s front acre is audible, kind of like a gnawing groan rising and falling from outside.
27
Fader Front Cover
Chuckling to himself in his Miami studio, The Dream eats a piece of cherry cheesecake that his assistant Tammy brought in from a boutique down the block.
“There’s a piece of cake out there for every hit I made” The Dream tells FADER magazine correspondent Peter Macia, who’s interviewing him at the moment.
Roughly six weeks later, The Dream is strolling down Main street in Miami sipping a Starbucks matcha latte. Louis, The-Dream’s rather large, slightly poofy poodle, bounds faithfully behind him, eyes filled with manic chaos.
The Dream passes a Standard Bookstore and stops in because his publicist hasn’t sent him that FADER copy that he did an interview in. Louis waits outside, tethered to a fire hydrant, plotting the destruction of the universe inside his tiny skull. The woman at Standard lets The Dream have the magazine for free when she sees his face on the front of it, and when she hands the magazine to him her hand lingers on his for a few seconds longer than is necessary.The Dream untethers Louis and reads while he walks.
“during our photoshoot, he points out that the reason his slim T-shirt looks extra slim is because “there’s a piece of cake out there for every hit I’ve made.” That is, no offense to Dream’s physique, a lot of cake.”
“Jesus Christ, Louis” The Dream mutters under his breath. “They’re pretty much trying to crucify me in this thing.”
Louis bounds along, oblivious to The Dream’s concerns, focusing all his energy on summoning the destruction of the poodle across the street through using psychokintetic energy.
