Travis Shosa

After Austin Goodbright waterboarded me with a pissy cloth for skimping out on the $4 lunch table fee, I slumped home deflated and spiritually bald, like the Charlie Brown of urine, to my tenement home. My mother held me in her gentle, impoverished embrace, and kissed me on my pissy cheek. She did not admonish me for not fighting back, nor did she praise me. She was not a turn the other cheek type of mother. She was a kill them with kindness mother.

Walked for seven dreadful hours, untangling constrictor knots I tied. I’ve gotten so good at lying to strangers that I can lie to myself now. I’m mostly 31, but I’m also 20 and 11. A thing happens and you become a limb you cut off from the rest of you. Shove it in the freezer. Put it on ice. Maybe you can reattach to yourself someday. Every human is mostly water but I think I’ve got extra water. I don’t believe in star charts but my star chart says I have extra water and I’m susceptible to suggestion. Sometimes I want to split the earth with a giant hammer, crawl in the crust, let Gaia’s molten heart turn me to steam. Mostly I want to cradle every cockroach, whisper in their legs, tell them that someone cares for them. They have a hard time listening but I hope they get the message. I have so much reason within me, I promise. You can find it in my every molecule, but I can’t pry your eyes open to see. How do I explain that the things I hate in others I love in you? I’d like to try, if you have the time. This is convenient but convenience is a prison. Are you available for a call that could change my life? Can you find it in your schedule to put up with me?