TRAIN COMPOST

train compost

a collection of thoughts from underground by william sisskind

A BRIEF ACKNOWLEDGMENT To my sister and brother To my parents To my best friends To my new friends And to you Thank you.

This book was written in 2014 in Brooklyn, NY. It features poems and writings from June 2013 to February 2014 and other select pieces from 2011 and 2012.

The following material is not actually copyrighted and may be used in any way for free; however, association to this chapbook (the original source) would be kind. Thank you for reading this block of text. http://twitter.com/socratescloset http://socratescloset.tumblr.com http://facebook.com/william.sisskind

i am constantly in heck and so are you. one day i’m going to run myself into the ground, and if I do, then it’s okay. that was probably my goal all along. does anyone ever stop by those bible booths to find out what the bible really teaches? i get off the L at 14th and 8th and see these two guys all the time. “was jesus real?” they ask. “do you believe in jesus christ? do you know what the bible really teaches?” i don’t know, but if it’s “love thy fellow man,” then these dickweeds blocking the staircase are committing a cardinal sin. i see a girl with braids. they look okay, but not great. maybe she didn’t even need braids in her hair. maybe she just needed something to do. i get on the a train at 14th street. someone farts. i get out of one car and go into the next. i regret leaving the other car.

seth green is on my subway train. what do i do? i think. i would like to thank him for his time on buffy: the vampire slayer. (bonus points if you pronounce the colon, by the way. buffy colon the vampire slayer. or better yet, buffy vampire the colon slayer.) the train is delayed underground and i think, “be happy the train exists at all.” a dad in a red peacoat flips a matchbook around in his hand. i think, “a matchbook is a book because a single match can start a fire just as a single word can ignite a spark.” i do not think i made that up, but i can’t remember who said it first. at chambers street the train becomes too crowded. i do my best to write things down. an older woman tries to squeeze on but gives up halfway through. i tell her, “come on, get in here. life’s a party.” the words just come out naturally.

how many stars are in your personal space? stand tall if you are not tall. if you are tall, help the people who are not tall stand tall. a mispelling is a raisin for suicide. “a raisin for suicide” is god’s new plan to see who really wants it. “sure, you can kill yourself, but first i’m gonna need a raisin.” “a raisin for suicide” is a new death punk band from saskatchewan. their first single is based off of the john steinbeck novel “the grapes of wrath.” it’s called “the grapes of wrath.” i look at a man in a suit and see what he does. i get off the train at hoyt-schermerhorn streets and transfer to the r. the ratio of people wearing yellow on this train is not high enough.

i look at the poles on the subway and wonder which one tastes better. i think that i will start dancing the polka. almost any life issue can be solved with anime. a little girl is watching an episode of pokemon on her mother’s ipad. i catch a glimpse and feel better about myself. like the main character in any anime, you are the one who will save the world. a girl in leggings kisses another girl in leggings before leaving the train at atlantic avenue. i follow her, but don’t really follow her. i just happen to go in her general direction. i can hear black eyed peas from a gentleman’s headphones. what world would it be like if the national anthem was sung by the black eyed peas? i get on the 2 at atlantic avenue and my pen breaks. i dig through my backpack and find a pencil covered in old cake. i have no clue how the cake got there.

i pry off the cake with my finger. a lady in a mink coat glares at me and i glare at her. she looks away as if she does not want to look at the guy with old cake on his hands. i run off of the 2 train and wait for the 4 train instead. i’m in no rush to get home. in my left pants pocket i find my pen. the 2 train has some kind of malfunction. in the midst of a thousand people packed into that train i see you. the subway platform fills with dark-suited men and high-heeled girls fresh from the Brooklyn winter. i smile because at least i am alive, and so are you. i realize that i have not taken the 4 train in quite a while. it’s always good to revisit old friends. i look at the gay couple kissing by the door. one of them catches my eye. “your time will come,” he seems to say. “i promise.” at eastern parkway i see a homeless man by the exit. i give him a dollar in change and my stomach growls.

i am ready to bash my head against the doors. scream out your lungs, man, woman! scream like the barren brakes of an underground train! for your voice is the conductor of your soul. cry out and refuse to stop. i alone am fetid meat. i exist as fetid meat. there’s something to be said for fetid meat. i look at my nails and consider painting them blue. one day i’ll grow to be so old that i will be diseased. i’ll throw myself into the tracks and think that i am laying on a bed of grapes. i’ll drink the bloody water and i’ll eat the week old new york times and subway sandwich and revel in my feast. and then a 6 train will come and turn me into paste and i will die. but at least i’ll think i went out swinging. on the 2 train a boy sells snacks. i don’t buy anything. but god damn, do i appreciate his willpower.

just to have shelter, food, a bed — is that not enough? can we be grateful for the things we aren’t always guaranteed? see the sunset color the verrazano bridge the shades of cheeks in bloom. watch as the rain drips from the molting awnings over clifton station. take the train down to new dorp and realize what a silly name that is. then know that somewhere out there, there is a man with that name.

i sit in a crowded room and begin to sing. no one joins in. i keep singing. i watch the city grow from the hurricane deck. up and further up the city’s towers rise, through gleaming waters i ride, above the murky sea where secrets lie. in winter night the breeze is more like spring. in winter night the clouds hold back their tears. out from the ferry i go, out, towards the skyscrapers which have become the heights of giants.

sometimes i feel like kissing someone. then i remember not everyone feels that way. sometimes i see a baby and think, “gosh!” sometimes i see a baby and think, “one day you’ll learn your name.” sometimes i see a dog and think, “it would be cool if you knew algebra.” to dance! to dance upon two feet, too hapless, too happy, to be without spirit — there is such a thing. sometimes i feel like i’m not going to make rent. sometimes i have a panic attack on an crowded subway platform. somehow i live. it’s strange what the human spirit can do.

i have twenty-six cents. what can twenty-six cents buy me? there is a time for everything in heck, a time to live, a time to die, a time to wake up, and a time to frick. i’m glad the word “frick” was invented. when you feel like it’s hard to go on, sing the opening to “the lion king” as loud as you can. look at a woman in a scarf. is she a grandmother? think about it. chew off your own face on the ferry. learn how to make cheese fondue. i listen to the man talk about jesus and appreciate him. he has clearly had a lot of practice.

always know where you’re going before you get there. or don’t. plan a few surprises in between if you want to. maybe a man is selling stocks. maybe a man is buying socks. come eat the green m&ms with me. come let me treat you to skittles. i’ll pick out the colors you don’t like. come let me buy you a kit kat bar. i’ll let you eat the whole thing. i won’t ask for your love, but i want you to smile. i want to you smile.

i see what i did here heck to the friends in this car who not paying attention. heck to the friends who aren’t thinking. your brain is working 24 hours a day. appreciate your brain’s work ethic. a lady just said the name “sheila.” i like her hat. this man just did a full 360 trying to balance on the train, and i applaud him for that. i saw you again on the express train across the tracks. sometimes i wonder if the people that we see for a split second can become our best friends. sometimes i look at old white men and wonder what they’re thinking. i never do this with children or girls. i’m bored of boring people, but find that when i think of boring people, i myself am boring. i should get to know people better so that they don’t seem boring to me.

life’s too short to be so tired. all day i sit and watch the trains move in move out move in again let people off let people on and past the turnstiles they are gone but then the next train flurries by to travel down the wooden ties a flock suits in patterned ties a herd of them aboard the trains ship out ship on ship off again and through the dark they rumble on their eyes afixed a second gone another second passes by a husband tells his wife goodbye the wife makes sure he’s fixed his tie he and his children board the trains while several more shove on again the brakes light up the green light’s on a screeching chorus they are gone.

and only they know where they’ve gone though i do wonder time goes by and still i watch the sea of ties fly in the passing breeze of trains fly in fly out fly off again the city’s heart beat thunders on a girl in black dress tiptoes on i hate to think she’ll soon be gone too often do i see go by fine folk with whom i have no ties these strangers my friends board the trains and i remain alone again i smile though i’m alone again and though i could i shan’t go on these trains because then i’ll be gone so long as people pass me by and hold their skirts and smooth their ties i’ll watch them as they board the trains the next train rumbles over the ties move in move out and pass me by the green lights on and i am gone

i hope you like my collection of seventh grade limericks i have quite a lurid condition to tell you i’ll need your permission it’s all about cocks and maybe some rocks and a terrible lack of precision. i once went to visit the bronx where i then met a man who’s called stonx he showed me his rear i shivered with fear as it clattered and made the sound clonx. an evil man once said to me he could grant my dark wishes for free. i got topless nubiles and money in piles but all that i wanted was tea.

now i know a girl named the juice who is — in a single word — loose but she doesn’t sleep round when she comes into town but she frequently does drop a doose. i once knew a lady from boone who knew all the lines from platoon for impressions i begged her to do schwarzenegger but arnold was not in platoon.

everyone should have one person whom they feel comfortable talking to within a ten block radius i want nothing more than to be there for my friends. even if my job is to say nothing, that is what i will do. i am their friend. i must be their friend. i must stay alive. i am alive and well on planet earth.

kill yourself but stay alive sometimes the world is dark, but when i see into the darkness and find one pin of light, i know i will survive in both this world and the next one. there once lived a lady from weston who had nothing to put her large breasts in she went to a man and placed them in his hands and said “this is a good place to rest in.” now here is a slime ball from knox who will do anything with his cocks yes for cocks he has two and they’re both watching you insult them and you’re in the box. i once knew a good air force pilot in love with his plane he defiled it when they found him at night nude and humping the light they said “son, you don’t have to be violent.”

now here are two teens on a couch one’s quite simple and one is a slouch though they’re not very bright they will frick through the night although both of them may utter “ouch.” the virgin of bonn is a liar his experience screams pants on fire he has sat on a few quite unscrupulous prudes now his asshole’s as big as a tire.

ideas from the Q train sometimes i get the awful sensation of being an awful person. sometimes i fear that i’ll never get close to anyone. then i see two teens at the canal street station. they just finished up a date. they seem strange, and so am i. a good man just boarded the train. he yells, “if you don’t slam the door on people, then people can get on the train.” he is missing half of his teeth. i like this man. this other man is wearing beats headphones. he bobs his head and stares directly at the empty seat in front of him. there is a woman next to me who sits next to her four year old daughter. the woman looks at a crayon drawing which her daughter drew in pre-k. the girl is wearing blue shoes and looks very proud of herself.

a couple left the train wearing matching red coats and jeans. that’s cute. they’re cute. i transfer to the 4 at union square. a man gets in my car with a guitar and an electric amp. he sings “do you really want to hurt me” by boy george. i hope that no one does. he seems like a cool guy.

a study of balthus at the met french painter balthus aka balthasar klossowski painted his whole life. mainly his subjects were girls and cats. at least that’s what i’m getting from this exhibition about girls and cats. this mural on the first wall of the exhibition says that balthus painted “girls on the threshold of puberty” which “may be erotic to some viewers.” well, some viewers are pieces of shit. while modeling, seventeen year old sheila pickering delighted twenty-seven year old balthus with her “exuberance and mischievousness.” in this one picture balthus has a girl sleeping on a couch with her hand against a cat who’s sleeping on the floor. in another picture balthus takes out the cat and leaves the girl. the girl looks dead. the cat of la mediterranée is a painting i should find and post on tumblr.

i leave the met and forget to check into foursquare. i think about jumping on the third rail. a man wears a 49ers hat and has a sweet beard. a man wears a knicks hoodie and does not have a sweet beard. do you ever stare at a couple for one second too long, and then fear that you look like a serial killer? you know, i am probably a real asshole. i have not had vitamin c in weeks. i’d like to turn this subway car into a swimming pool full of pudding. there was a young girl from gilgool who frequently peed in the pool she liked the chlorine as it touched her vageen the sensation was — in a word — cool.

wikipedia article of adult entertainment legend linda levane she was born linda margaret keane on april 11, 1963 in santee, ca. she was the daughter of robert keane, a san diego police officer, and florence rodriguez, a secretary at a santee law firm. linda’s brother alfonse was born 22 months later in 1965. the keane children attended public school and showed talent in music. linda went on to become first violin the junior high orchestra, while alfonse looked to become a promising actor in the school’s theater productions. in 1979, robert was shot in the head in san diego. alfonse ran away from home and was never seen again. linda suffered nervous breakdowns and turned to alcohol. she started partying at the local university and became notorious for her antics out in public. in 1980, 17 year old linda began to send out pictures of herself to adult magazines. her mother

found the pictures quickly and threatened to kick linda out. linda begged and florence told her daughter to give up all earnings from her porn career. linda refused, so her mother forced her to pack a bag and fend for herself. linda moved in with steve barrowman, a ucsd student who worked at an adult entertainment store in downtown san diego. day after day, linda checked her mother’s mail. she worked at the store and studied new vhs tapes as they came in. in april of 1981, two weeks after linda’s 18th birthday, linda was picked up by valhalla video, a small production company in la. her first scenes had no nudity, but she eventually progressed to solo nude scenes and then scenes with other actresses. that was when she met amanda “panda paws” adams, a fellow actress and struggling comic artist. the two of them became inseparable in film and public. by 1982, they were appearing in big name productions and making ten thousand dollars per scene, a hefty sum for newcomers. though only 19 years old, linda fought to assume

creative control over the films she appeared in. her argument that porn “should be for both men and women� became a controversial topic in the press. it skyrocketed her to fame, and by 1983 linda levane was one of the biggest names in the business. but as the fame usurped her, so did the access to drugs, specifically cocaine. her addiction grew as she turned 20, and stories about her public drunkenness and strung out nature hit the gossip wires week after week, no matter how much she or her contemporaries tried to protect her. linda continued to act in features, and eventually won the award for best female actress in video in 1985 and 1986. after winning her second award, linda announced that she would take a break from acting to explore other opportunities in the industry. she spent 1987 and most of 1988 out of the limelight. but the press would hound her day and night. in august 1988, linda announced her new production company, openwide productions, with her business partner and friend amanda adams. their studio in beverly hills was the first state of the art facility to

cater only to adult entertainment. linda and amanda each owned 25 percent of the business, with private shareholders owning the other half. the company released a few notable films in 1989 and 1990 — specifically the spoof film “honey, i shrunk my dick” — but stress and constant drug abuse forced linda to sell her share in 1991. shortly following her leaving openwide, she overdosed on heroin and nearly died of heart failure. at the bequest of amanda, linda entered rehab and stayed there for 30 days. after she left, she removed herself from the public eye. not much is known about linda over the next two years, since amanda successfully held off the press from bothering her. however, amanda’s desperate plea made headlines around the world: “she’s suffered enough.” in 1993, linda returned from her hiatus to announce that she was pregnant with a baby girl. she would not reveal the identity of the father, and to this day the father is not known. linda gave birth to lexi anne levane on february 13, 1993. over the course of the year, linda raised lexi in the public eye, and pictures of the infant spread in gossip magazines around the

world. in early 1994, amanda found linda strung out on cocaine in her beverly hills home, with lexi crying on the floor. amanda called child protective services who took lexi into custody. linda was sent back to rehab for “an indefinite amount of time.” she grieved daily over losing her daughter. she would skip meals and activities. she often talked to no one. meanwhile, lexi had suffered developmental issues during her first year. she moved in with “aunt amanda,” and with the help of an occupational therapist, lexi was showing signs of advanced brain function by age 2. her interests at the time — according to a home video — were dancing and “french fries.” linda left rehab in september 1995. she was determined to rebuild herself financially and spiritually in order to regain custody of lexi. she jumped on the internet porn fad and founded openwide.net with some old business partners in 1996. the website quickly grew and gained thousands of subscribers per month. by 1998, it was

the number one adult website on the fledgling world wide web. after openwide grew, linda pressed amanda to return custody of lexi. family court got in the mix, and controversially ruled in favor of linda. torn by the decision, amanda moved away from california and never spoke to linda again. she now lives in charlotte and draws cartoons for the observer. linda raised lexi much like she had in her daughter’s infancy. she often mugged with lexi for paparazzi and would often call her four years away from lexi “tragic.” meanwhile, lexi — then five years old — kept silent and often looked sad in pictures. in one rare early interview, lexi said that she liked “books and jazz, relaxing jazz.” the popularity of the movie matilda caused the media to draw comparisons between lexi and the roald dahl character. but linda often tried to quash her daughter’s interests with feminine things. she entered lexi into three beauty pageants between 1999 and 2001. lexi’s lackluster attitude caused her to lose every one. linda would respond with violence

and verbal abuse. while lexi was not unaware of her mother’s drug problem, she refused to speak up about it, in fear that her mother “would certainly kill” her. linda did not enter lexi into more pageants, but would use these failures as reasons for her abuse over the years that followed. as linda’s stress with openwide grew hotter, she once again picked up cocaine. once lexi entered junior high, she stayed out of the house for as long as possible. this gave linda free reign, and often lexi would come home to find the house a stinking mess. linda’s final downward spiral came in january 2008, when she overdosed on cocaine during a house party at her beverly hills home. two drunk paparazzi tried to break into lexi’s room. she had locked it from the inside. they left the house and crawled in through her bedroom window. despite her attempts to fight them off, the paparazzi sexually assaulted lexi and took pictures. they fled the house soon afterwards. the pictures were never leaked, and the attackers were never identified. no 911 was registered after the event, but when

linda awoke that night, she found lexi and her wallet missing. lexi now lives in ithaca with her old school friend, jimmy finkle. she plays bass in a band and attends classes at suny cortland. a few days after the party, linda closed openwide after losing millions of dollars in revenue. she sold the business to the website pornhub and most of her possessions through craigslist. but even that was not enough to pay off her debts. linda spent the last years of her life grousing around her home and watching old movies of herself on tv on demand. on october 21, 2010, linda levane died of a heart attack while playing her daughter’s cello. she was 47 years old. in an act that shocked the press, lexi returned to california to deliver her mother’s eulogy. her words were published in tabloids around the world. “what’s the point in making your life better if you make other people’s lives worse?”

six am on flatbush avenue i am sitting in a coffee shop on flatbush avenue at six am with a small coffee that i don’t want. i shouldn’t complain. at least i could afford the coffee. i should be grateful. my hands feel weird. this is the longest i’ve been awake in weeks. flatbush avenue is beautiful at sunrise. i don’t want to worry anymore.

thought piece about the tv show daria in times of desperation i never try to rush things. if i forget my pen, i never use a sharpie. this man looks like bill gates if bill gates was nothing but bones. count the people in the subway station. then divide them by their willingness to wait for the next train. you cannot do that. you cannot divide by zero. this man has no neck and looks upset with his life. whenever someone criticizes me, i just smile and hope that they have a wonderful day. it’s snowing outside and grey and i feel sad. but i’m happy because these feelings are short-lived. i cannot be sad forever. why is it called “bowling green” if no one actually bowls there?

and the dwindling! dwindly dwindling! but the racket and the clacking and the hissing and the moaning! time marches on! let sound be your voice! your battle cry! let it stretch and squish, and beat the ground with your fists! these people want to know! where in the world is carmen sandiego?

top ten pube trends trim your quim — quaint taints rule in the new year. january 16 is pubes appreciation day. i’m planning my float for the parade. hey you, old man in a suit with a fricking briefcase. have you groomed your pubes today? say, filipino man with a century 21 bag sleeping on the n train. do you have pubes at all? public survey: full bush, landing strip, peach fuzz, or shaved clean? can a strange puss profit from a beautiful bush? hide your flabby lips with this hair-raising trick!

look! pay attention to your surroundings! smile at those you see every! single! day! life is too short for us to sleep! life is too short for us to stop doing the things we love! love life! love you! i want to die knowing that you are loved.

is moving to bushwick called “going full bush” this girl just went into the bathroom and now all i can smell is lysol. but it’s adorable. the most interesting places will never be right on the train lines, or the main avenues, or the hot neighborhoods. you have to look. the barista’s reading tarot cards. mason jars sit on the drying rack. i think about the thrill of credit card debt. i drink a packet of salt. names for a small press publisher: butt house, bütthaus, heinie house. masturbation station. anal junction. junk trunk. the 1975. the old 97s. 311. s club 7. the jackson 5. the four tops. gang of four. tommy tutone.

hold me baby, we’ll take it to the end of the tracks and beyond. even when the trains fly through the sky like chinese new year dragons and people wear silver jumpsuits made of bulletproof alloy and the fare for a single ride is more than a week’s salary of a low-paid barista job at a coffee-flavored soma bar, people will still not give a shit about the man with a notebook on the train. they will sit with their heads held high, staring into space, making eye contact with nothing and no one. the man with the notebook will sit and observe them.

a man holds three bags from bed bath & beyond. nothing in the bags is from bed bath & beyond. another man in a puffy coat stares at the map behind my head, but not really at the map. i don’t know what he’s staring at and do not care to ask. a girl with red headphones hides behind the new york times business section. a woman stares into the void and clutches her bag. she sees nothing in the void. i wonder what it is she sees when she sees anything at all. she gets up at the barclays center station and stares out the door. she does not look at anyone as she leaves the train. her legs move almost too perfectly. everyone looks too sad. my hair is too good for this train car.

one day i will lead a subway car in an aerobics class a gentleman opens his camera on his phone by mistake. a woman gets up and shouts at him for filming people. what his real intention was is unknown. i want to set up a puppy play pen in the middle of a train car. this 71-year-old gentleman is wearing a leather hat in the shape and style of an army helmet. he seems not to know where he needs to be. he is probably a good man. do you think that if i think hard enough, somebody close by will think about the same thing? do you think i’ll intercept their brain waves? should i go to the museum this weekend? credit cards. groceries. rent.

this whole subway car will die someday but in a way that is satisfying to them a gentleman reads from an ipad mini. he picks his nose. one of these days i’m going to bring a bullhorn on the train. i’m going to shout “which is your favorite generation 1 pokemon” and “do you think daft punk deserved all those grammys at the 2014 grammy awards.” i will do this until my science is complete. an old lady stares at the back of the arts and leisure section of the paper that a younger brown-haired woman is reading. i can make out the word “greece.” the three people directly in my line of sight stare into nothingness and hold the poles much like they would hold each other’s hands. a woman in a russian hat looks like she does not trust anyone.

if you call yourself kind, don’t brag or boast about it. ask yourself the questions that led you to reach that conclusion in the first place. and if you come to the same conclusion, ask those questions again.

education doesn’t have to be a rich man’s game what does a creative asshole like to make? shit. this gentleman has luggage. this young lady has a yoga mat. someone is wearing deodorant. a middle aged man holds a plastic bag from a duane reade. this woman wears a rainbow scarf. that woman writes a list of indeterminate things. next to all of the things she writes the number 2. this man is wearing a red coat with a grey stripe along the top. he stares at my notebook. he does not stare at my notebook, but rather in the general direction of my notebook. it looks like he is looking at my notebook. the way to improve your mood is to move around. for that reason, all subway trains should be dance parties.

i have forty dollars in my pocket the mass exodus to brooklyn never ends. i have a thought about a female construction worker named debbie, but the thought fades quickly. a woman who got on the train at high street holds a book. she flips through the pages. the book faces away from her. she does not actually read the book. a man in a cowboy hat has an unfortunate mustache. a couple who got on at canal street sits barely holding hands. they look down at the floor. they start talking about nothing of value. the f train tracks descend below us. the woman next to me taps her foot impatiently.

make friends who matter. make friends with whom you can connect with. make friends who you can tie back to a beautiful memory. make friends who you know have gone through your shit or can understand your shit and will ride your shit out with you. make friends who can last if you all really try.

today’s twitter handles are the aim screen names of yesterday i run on four hours of sleep and five cups of coffee. i am down twenty dollars in my bank account. last night i wrote some empowering words which i hope to never forget. i am in the 7th avenue brighton line station. i am listening to an electronic album that i wrote in my senior year of college. i am impressed with the things i did in the past that i did not appreciate back then. i wish i had appreciated them more. i miss certain people and i hope that they are well. i ate well for the first time in a while last night.

i got on the train and kissed a girl my throat hurts and i don’t know why there is no order to the projected path, nor is there any cognizance of a projected path. there is only the path. i love sitting by the hare krishna circle in union square. i never join them. sitting and meditating are of no use to me. creation is my meditation. i find that my most inspiring moments are in union square. every moment is a chance to begin anew.

please bother me with your personal issues. i mean it sincerely. a guy in a red shirt stands behind a girl in an earthtoned hat with braids. he does not stare directly at the back of her hand, but he does, and when he does he appears to stare right through it. they are essentially hugging. a couple of guys — friends or more, i’m not sure — are cut off mid-conversation by a woman who squeezes between them. they stand and stare off into space. at borough hall the girl in the earth-toned hat shouts “excuse me” to no one. if you’re going to be alive, at least look like you’re having fun.

every kid is worth fighting 4 i thought i saw a guy from my old high school but it turned out to be a more boring looking guy. not many people board the 2 train at atlantic avenue. a man has a beard like the actor zach galifianakis. he wears a hoodie that says “every kid is worth fighting 4.� i wonder what he does for his community. i smell mcdonalds french fries and feel sort of sick. i’m waiting for the day that someone tells me to give up writing just so i can disrespect a hater. i refuse to stop. this train has no brakes.

sometimes i feel closed in but then i’m happy that i’m not alone i can’t remember what i was going to do tonight. a man in front of me pulls out 3 dollars. i’m craving food from a taco truck. i shouldn’t spend money, but i read somewhere that not spending money makes you depressed. i shouldn’t worry so much about my finances. a guy by the door wears a pink tie and has a haircut that makes me think that he was in the military. another guy runs onto the train through that same door, even though he was not close to that door at all. when i purchase my taco truck dinner, i will wait until i get home to eat it. sometimes things are sweeter when you wait.

i don’t know why you need an app for that i walk around in manhattan. i go to staten island. i get lost at my sister’s wedding shower. if i don’t lose myself, i won’t be myself anymore. this man has the most concrete nose i’ve ever seen on a man. a woman powders her face and neck. a girl with a long article about math flips to a chart with triangles and circles. each of the circles has a number. another woman sits next to me and wears a red coat. she pulls up an email on her phone. the subject line reads:

re: egypt she realizes she has no service. then she pulls out her blackberry. she tries to send the same email twice.

my handwriting seems better when i eat halal food the ferry terminal is doubling as a sauna. a girl in jeans one size too tight stands so close that her butt is in my face. i don’t mind. a man tells me that i can’t sit on the floor. the ferry terminal is empty now. i get up and lean against the doors to the slip. people surround me and check their watches. i know that in their minds they are a little jealous of me because i’m the first one by the doors. a man in a beret and striped sweater plays a concerto on the violin. he finishes his song and people applaud him. a lady gives him a dollar and says “thank you.” then the ferry doors open and that same lady knocks down a small child to get on the boat.

hug me, i’ve caught a cold everybody looks like me at this poetry reading. i think i know these people from the internet. a pool of water forms underneath a power strip. my toes are going numb. everyone is talking about death. i see ice crystals forming on the floor. i have never learned the true nature of an artist but right now i think i do. i’m staring at the side of a chair. i’m never not working on something. somebody next to me says she is tired. my whole left foot is numb. in this big world of eight billion people, i wonder how many billions of them have made “a thing.” i wonder if they’ve sold “a thing.” i wonder if they’ve launched a social media campaign about “a thing.” i wonder if they live next door.

a poetry reading is like stand-up comedy in that everybody laughs but also cries. somebody sneezed and i said bless you but not loud enough. it smells like the inside of old books now. my right foot has gone numb. if i placed my hand against your face, you would shiver and think that i am dying, but i’m not. not yet. if i do die tonight, i think, remember this:

always push to be better for yourself for the sole purpose of making other people’s lives better i don’t know who i say that to, but i decide it doesn’t really matter. i feel like i’m the youngest person here again.

i am sitting in the brooklyn library. two books on zen buddhism sit next to me. i thought about zen buddhism because i watched a video on youtube.

i live in a world where most of my big life decisions are made because of things i see online. a train is full of noise but silent. a library is silent but full of noise. both of them get you to where you need you go. the sound of traffic down on eastern parkway rushes past outside the window. a horn honks in the distance. across the street, a glass apartment building rises toward the sky.

the question isn’t how to quit the question is how to keep going i tried searching for music by “god is an astronaut” and hit enter on the autocorrect too early, so i got “god is an awesome god.” that was the opposite of what i wanted. i tried searching for “black beans” but accidentally typed “black bens.” sometimes i think the internet is racist.

edited excerpts from the outline of an unwritten novel “we’re not trying to make this city a molehill. we’re trying to make it a mountain.” “mountains are made of molehills, mayor. you ought to know that.” “you will never see your true potential. you will never know what you can become.” “i don’t care. this is all for you.” “this life ruined me, and now it’s going to ruin you.” “it’s okay. i’m ready.” bullet cracks against the rail. the little girl goes up in flames.

cool breeze, leaves. everyone looks great. it’s been a while since i sat around and took in the elements. most of my time is spent in dusty rooms and bars or in the furnace of employment or in subway cars, or on the go too fast to really stop and think about how good it smells outside. like apples, cinnamon. a hint of cardamom. hot chocolate. i’m unhappy with this chicken. i’m very unhappy with these vegetables associated with this chicken. now vlad was crying on my hardwood floor. “i don’t know what to do,” she cried. “i’m just so lost. i’m sorry.” this makes me wish i had a dog.

your personal enjoyment of a thing is no one else’s business imagine a toothless man in a situation where he needs teeth to survive. this toothless man will die if he doesn’t eat this whole entire apple. a man without legs dreams of dancing. a man without arms dreams of playing the violin. a man without a face dreams of smiling. “collecting at the door, the bloody stumps asked for the morning brew. the last remaining coffee shop on houston street was open.” from a distance, maybe she looks like katy perry. your fan fiction is bad and you are bad. pop punk is great because you can just take stuff you wrote in your notebook at 1 am and set it to some power chords. i don’t care how drunk you are. don’t frick that lizard.

it’s a couch, just sit on it. come on, it’s not gonna kill you, it’s just a couch. for god’s sake, just sit on the goddanged couch. find your center and immediately shift yourself three inches to the left. i sigh and watch the candle flicker as you pass by. i’ll never write these words again.

yes, here are my press credentials. here is the address to my blog four hundred dollars later, they had done it. they had beaten big buck hunter. when it comes to work and partying, you can have both. always appreciate the power of both. the chasm of uncertainty is not bad — just weird. your body and mind aren’t sure whether they’re alive or dead. you live somewhere, then you live somewhere else. that’s how life’s supposed to go. no one is made to sit forever. when i become the number one blogger, i will use my fame to highlight other bloggers. then we can hug and hold hands and blog about how we are all friends.

your 8-bit style glasses are kind of weird, but you definitely make more money than me. we play berzerk and you get the high score and i kiss you on the mouth because i’m proud of you. we die in this gas station arby’s bald and nude save for our pubic hair we take our last breaths as we kiss on top of my roast beef supreme

a hobo jacking off on 23rd street an imaginary creature unaccustomed to the tribulations of adulthood. just in case you ever board the r-160 with the shaman who frequents the fifth avenue deli pray that he blesses you as he chomps down on rye, mayonnaise, and salami the cabbie tells you that you won’t be forgiven if you visit new jersey a brief melodic whine before the murderous screech and then the shudder of death fight back, know your way home. make friends and fall in love.

a guy looks at a girl as if he’s never seen a girl before. rather, he looks beneath her skirt as if he’s never seen beneath a skirt before. i’m sure the girl has seen beneath a skirt.

what’s happening in union square today israelis smoking decriminalized weed. play chess with dreadlocks. pierre and a hawaiian guy skateboard with black jesus and eat shit on an ollie over two girls drinking iced lattes from a starbucks just across fourth avenue. a pink-haired girl with a rat looks at me like i’m going to steal her rat. yeah, right. like i would steal a rat. an animal that i could get from any subway train or dirty alleyway, and you’re afraid i’m going to steal your rat. i told him there was a one dollar pizza place and yet he goes to the two-and-a-half dollar pizza place instead. i can’t believe you tried paying for halal food with a credit card. no matter how sexy your dress is, you’re going to puke in a taxi cab.

if you take a selfie of yourself taking a selfie, do the selfies accumulate or cancel out? does it become a meta-selfie? have the mirrors been lying to us this whole time? anarchy man travels around the square wearing his government-hating sandwich board and his ustreamconnected apple ipad with a “this machine kills fascists� sticker fixed onto his back. in these few days of freedom i have left, i’m going to make the most of my adventure.

high noon in deep queens a 54 year old man is doing a ministry. “some people just don’t understand the holy spirit,” he yells. i hear him from two cars down. a girl in front of me says, “look at all them wank ass wank ass white people.” when you find out something new, you just gotta let the whole world know. sometimes you learn how to use the toilet. press the blue button, then the green square, spin around three times, jump up and down, shout “snorlax,” and wave your junk skyward.

a story based off a word association from the steps of the new york library i see words and think “literature,” but remember: reading is not just with your eyes, but with your ears and other senses. that you should feel literature — and in turn have all the feels — is essential to your understanding of life. my friend in the sherlock fandom was called a nuisance by her dad the other day. she felt this terror, she told me. it was as if her dad had called her muslim friend a terrorist. i told her that was a little bit racist of her and she got offended. the next day i tried messaging her on facebook and she blocked me. we all want our security, a man shouts outside as he saunters through the park. a little boy walks up to him. the man jumps back and strikes a pose. the little boy runs away. the man stays there for a moment, as

if he’s frozen in embarrassment. the girl across the table from me is on the brink of tears. i catch a glimpse of what she’s playing on her phone. it’s kanye west’s new album “yeezus.” “black skinhead” is playing at full blast. a text message pops up and she shivers. a purple haired girl sits with her head arched back. her mouth moves but she doesn’t talk. i see a head unmoving underneath the table. i know what’s going on but want to let it happen. how often do some people get to do what these two are doing? a short white boy turns the corner and i see his face. a mike tyson tattoo circles his eye. i say, “my dude, mike tyson himself got shit for that. what are you doing.” a girl in a fedora and a fresh pressed suit sits at a table. a smile grows on her face as she kicks up her feet. she wears no shoes. her feet are raw with dirt and gravel.

i see a man in a nice suit and tie down on his luck. he’s got his head in his hands and looks like he’s going to fall asleep. i look at him and write down “insta-titties.” i have no clue why. i see a few more groups of people who i give names to. slug man and beef boy. keanu reeves junior and fantastic four boy. the hackeysack crew. miami vice sunglasses cop. the chabad boyz, with a z. hawaiian shirt and fire pants dude. witch girl and mister jew. meth-tooth: the reckoning. red pants and chocolate dog. the sousaphone monk. the american slingblade. my friend cheetos dreadlocks. my little morrissey.

emo song titles i just made up on the 6 to pelham bay no vacancy / no vagrancy eating ice cream on the train is rough because if you drop it you will want to die a gyro is no joke very rarely do i go this far north no one wants to hurt you, they just don’t want you touching their kids doritos on the subway floor, encased in darkness

i’m so famous i’m more famous than times square. times square isn’t even a square. at least i know that i’m the genuine article. i’m more famous than an mtv vj. i’m more famous than an mtv vj before they turn thirty. i’m more famous than a delicious sandwich. if it’s in between two slices of bread, i’m more famous than it. i’m just famous. deal with it. i’m more famous than your most-worn pair of tighty whiteys. i’m soft, i’m comfortable, and i’ve seen a lot of laundry cycles. i’m more famous than the blondest person you know. how blonde are they? it doesn’t matter. i’m just so famous. i’m so famous i can stand in the bike lane and people say “thanks.”

i’m so famous that i defy the laws of pedestrianism. pedestrianism is a word now. i’m so famous that i don’t have to read, but i do anyway because it’s fun. i’m more famous than russia. i’m more famous than alaska. i’m more famous than lackawanna, pennsylvania. i’m more famous than the midwest! and the northwest! and the southwest! not the northeast. but definitely the southeast! alabama? georgia? florida? are you even real states? i’m so famous! they should name a state after me! “hello, yes, welcome. thank you for entering the state of assholetania.”

i’m more famous than the free comedy shows they hawk in times square. everyone knows those shows are a scam! you have to buy two drinks with admission! i’m totally free! and i’m just as unfunny! i’m more famous than weed! i’m more famous than the idea of legalizing weed! why get high on weed? get high on me! that was meant to sound sexual. i’m extremely famous. i’m more famous than the number 42.

42 is the answer to life, the universe, and everything. times square is on 42nd street. so because of the transitive property, the answer to life, the universe, and everything is time! we only have this time right now. we only have this life right now. we only have right now.

written on a macbook at the apple store in soho every time i go to the apple store i always pull shenanigans. why do i do this? i am typing this in full view of the public. okay. that’s cool. i’m waiting for my turn. my macbook exists in some form and will exist in some other form in a bit. if you hide a macbook in a box, how do you know if it’s alive or dead? your macbook only has one life so make sure it’s the best life your macbook will ever live. look at this screen. don’t stare off into space. read this entire screen. and if you are a genius bar mastermind, don’t even get rid of this screen. don’t close out of safari or erase the text or hit select all and delete. just don’t. let this text float in the aether of what is reality and enjoy your own life. let this text be as it is on the earth. when you are done reading, don’t think about what you’ve read. don’t even try to think about what you’ve read. just let what you’ve read bounce around in your mind. let it do what it will. let your mind make use of

these words by itself. a girl has a florida license plate. everyone is on iphones. christopher is a genius, and maybe he really is. i step on pins and needles every day of my life, but these pins and needles are not sharp and do not stab me in the slightest. that is because for every one inch they protrude into me, they pull away one inch as well. we all step on these pins from time to time. but pain is only temporary. dreams are forever. i hope that you are well. be safe. be loved.

someday you will write a book you will write a book. you will write a book in your own head, with your own head, with your own hands. you’ll write your own book and you will call it by a name that only you will know. your book will be for you and only you. your book can be for other people, too. but first and foremost, your book is just for you.

post selfies on your worst days so you can remember that you can fight what holds you back. do not post the selfie and say “i will get notes.� rather, post the selfie without any premonition, and enjoy the selfie as it is.

something from long ago you have an idea, a wonderful sparkling idea, and it bounces around in your head until it’s too big to fit. then you must get it out, get it out, because it will fester forever and wither and die, and bury itself in your mind until sixty years later. sixty years later it will rise again, in the same brilliant fullness much like before, only you’ll be too withered, and grandkids will tug at your pants and be scolded by kids who don’t visit as often as you’d like, and you’ll wonder, where did the time go, and your idea will scream let me out, you bastard, let me out, but you’ll say, no, no, i’m too tired, leave me alone, please. so you’ll die, and your brain and your bones will both rot, and your idea will seep from your skull and pound on the walls of your coffin. and no one will hear it scream. so you must get it out. get that pulsing little bugger out, and let it live, and grow, and breathe, and love.

every day is a day talking with people is great. you’re not talking to them, they’re not talking to you. you’re just talking. talking’s good. talking’s great. you can talk about stuff all day. i talk with family. i talk with friends. i talk with people i don’t even know. a total stranger talked with me on saturday. he looked like dennis leary. he was a nice 58-year-old man. i know this because he told me. i’m of the belief that we all need each other to survive. we start with good minds and good hearts, and then we find other good people. then we go from there. things can happen from there. and if those things end, then at least they happened. and you know what the cool thing is about people? they’re everywhere, man. there are always good people doing good things or having good things happen to them. maybe a guy’s excited that he paid his bills. or maybe a woman finally beat level 65 of candy crush. or maybe a group of friends from the internet just met in person for the first time. or maybe

a homeless man just ate a hot meal for the first time in two days, thanks to a girl who just got a raise, thanks to her boss who was extra happy because he just got engaged. i don’t know, man. i’m just happy to be here. i’m just happy that you’re here. i’ll sound all gushy if it makes you smile. i hope it makes you smile. it makes me smile. a busker on the train once said: “smile! it won’t mess up your hair.” and you know what? i believe him. we all have each other. we all need each other. and we are all here now. smile.

“i am constantly in heck and so are you.�