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Zywa Jun 13
The farewell party

is especially festive --


for those who can stay.
Film "Les magnétiques" ("The magnetics" / "The audiotapes", 2021, Vincent Maël Cardona)

Collection "Em Brace"
letha fay Apr 16
drink in my hand.
laughter fills the room,
as the band on stage cracks a joke.
inhaling the drug fumes.

this addiction is only temporary.
it keeps me bright,
it makes me forget all the weight i carry.
despite what i feel in the next hour.

i make it home,
laying alone in my bed.
those haunting feelings come back to roam.
they will never leave your head.

no matter how many drinks,
the drugs,
all of the parties,
bars…

at the end of the day,
you still feel like you’re shrinking.
there’s no one to lug you back.
your heart isn’t at ease.
there are still scars.

a.b.
writing this at 6am
Zywa Mar 7
Every day we are

celebrating without frills --


just being grateful.
Story "Het verhaal van Oosterhuis" ("Easthouse's story", 1946, Belcampo)

Collection "SoulSenseSun"
selina Feb 28
drunk kissing blurry faces under neon lights
i'm sorry that your party had to end with a fight
but that creep was overstepping everywhere tonight

after sharing reservations about people getting high
your friend won't stop asking for my marly lights
these cigs for aesthetics are going to ruin our lives

debrief time: your parents argue, divorce is in sight
romance is everywhere, you're convinced that i'm blind
hey, out of curiosity, have you ever wished on a satellite?
selina Feb 28
in the morning, i will feign ignorance,
pretending to be fast asleep and unaware
as you pull on your shirt and socks

we should have been theater concentrators, like,
if we never talk about it, it just never happened
you're just so nonchalant, and i'm just melodramatic

and i'm never satisfied unless it's something tragically comic
so tonight, let's pretend to be enemies, let's become lovers,
let's drown in shared regrets, get too familiar with each other

after all, tomorrow, when we wake, it'll all be over
your missing friends and my crushing hangover
will, once again, inevitably, reduce us to strangers
people who major in certain fields are called "concentrators" at my college
I’m nothing like the girls you like
I’m not exactly you’re perfect type
So why should I even attempt and try

To capture your attention
Steal you for a moment
From all your popular friends
Just let me ruin the moment
Anais Vionet Jan 18
One evening, in a sleepy Connecticut town, the locals saw a peculiar sight,
a UAP had landed in an empty field, and man, it lit up the night.

They were, axiomatically, from a distant galaxy, here to explore our shared cosmic space,
their metallic-*******-rocket was multicolor pastel bright, like a carnival showcase.

There were cows that mooed approvingly and dogs that barked up at the sky,
like they needed to show where the thing came from - no one really knew why.

Soon little green people-like beings emerged, they had big, wide eyes that looked eerie,
but then again, this is how they’d always looked in movies and on TV.

"Take us to your leader," they said, but it was hard to take them seriously,
because this is America and most of us disagree on who that leader should be.

Someone brought out lawn chairs and the alien-astronauts settled in,
tables appeared shortly thereafter with a spread of pies, casseroles and fried chicken.

They spoke of their interstellar journeys, of planets far and wide,
of space cafes and wormhole highways and how gravity worked like tides.

One of the kids played some music and the explorers started to move,
soon we were having a dance-off - which they won - with some wacky, cosmic moves.

As morning light edged the horizon, our little green friends waved goodbye,
after saying that in some ways they envied us and our simple terrestrial lives.

Though they never promised to revisit, when the sky turns certain shade of blue,
townsfolk will set up a pasture party - just in case they do.
(*BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Axiomatic: something understood as obviously true*)
Zywa Jan 7
People celebrate

the astronauts on the moon --


who'd like to join in.
Novel "jl." ("recently" - the title also refers to Juno Linnaarts, 2016, Anjet Daanje), chapter July 21st, 1969

Collection "No wonder"
Anais Vionet Nov 2023
Lisa and I had a party to hit-up. I can’t stay inside all the time, not on a Friday night anyway and a rooftop is the perfect place to mull over big questions and get the freshest commentary about cultural phenoms - intermixed with music, absotively.

There were several, large, coolers crammed with canned martinis - everything from little Tip-Tops to Tiki-*** Mai-Tais and Triple-Spice Margaritas - this is a partizzle. I wasn’t out to drown my romantic sorrows, but I quickly reached fuzzy and relaxed - which is where I wanted to go.

A massive thumping began, ‘Pitbull’ began spilling from the speakers (‘la la la la’) and the crowd of about 30 reacted in a kind of whooping, group seizure. Lisa clutched my arm wanting me to ‘drop it’ on the dance floor - I could only read her lips - “Come ON,” she pantomimed, and I was ready to make that commitment.

We’re here at Melon’s invitation (a Yale PhD friend), undergraduates don’t usually hang out with graduate students, so it was special to feel welcomed at this off-campus link-up. We’re on the third-floor roof of an office building, under the stars.

The setup reminded me of a Brooklyn warehouse rave Lisa once dragged me to. Multicolored lights, strung every which way overhead, provided a festive air and a round stone fire-pit provided both heat and a light that flickered against every walled surface, evoking something cave-like, deep and primitive - a genetic, stone-age, memory perhaps.

When the beats finally let up, we’d danced-out about 10 songs. Lisa and I sagged into our lawn chairs - fanning ourselves even though it was a cool evening. Between tracks, there was a murmur of in-town traffic and people passing below, forming the undifferentiated buzz of nightlife. “I’m starving,” I told Lisa, who nodded, “Me too - poor planning,” she updogged.

Right then, Melon came over. Melon (real name Milton) is 6’3 and maybe 450lbs. He reminds me of John Candy, with his blonde hair, ever-present smile and colorful Hawaiian shirts.
“You’re giggin,” he said, Mai-Tai in one hand and a lady in the other.
“Thanks for inviting us,” I said, with a nod, “this is nice,” indicating the roof setup.
“Yea,” he agreed, looking around and waving his drink, in greetings, to arriving people.
“I have something for you!” I told Melon, pulling a small bottle of cologne out of my bag.
“Oh, my God,” he said, lighting up like a Christmas tree, “Tobacco Vanille! You shouldn’t have.”
“You said that’s your favorite, ya?” “Yeah, but..” he began.
“You helped us move in,” I said, “It’s a thank you - from all the girls (I lied) and it’s our party gift!”
“Wow, well, thanks Peaches,” he said, adding “you’re cracked,” and gave me a one handed hug.
“Food’s on the way” he said, and then, like he’d forgotten something, “This is Ellen,” he said, turning so she rotated closer.” We only shook hands and nodded, because the music started again.

Not two minutes later, the metal door to the stairs swung open and several guys came up with catering trays of life-saving Tex-Mex from ‘Tacos Los Gordos,’ a couple of blocks away.

“Maybe there IS a God,” I pronounced, unheard in the din, my stomach growling in anticipation.

slang…
hit-up = attend
absotively = absolutely & positively
partizzle = party
giggin = having fun, dancing
updogged = adding a further comment to a comment string.
peaches = Melon calls me peaches ‘cause I’m from Georgia.
cracked = crazy
Steve Page Oct 2023
He set out the long, round table
Sufficiently spatial for a up close wedding supper
with the family reclining,
face to face, facing the King,
with room for eternity
I'm been writing a lot about hospitality recently - but I've been trying to write on a completely different theme.
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