[lessthanthree]

With cheeks gaunt and sunken

And speech slurred and drunken

You praised gods of Keto:

Fat sucking mosquitos.

They guess at the answer,

I dreamt I came to your part of the world,

where houses are purple and decorated like cakes.

It’s always summer there and going to work

is just part of the weekend.

I told you I’d come back for all my clothes

and the charger for my phone.

I walked back across the border,

no one asking me for my story,

and my old restaurant friends showed up in my scratched corolla.

The sky is black with rain here.

I tell them we need to go back.

My battery is low.

Please, before it dies.

Please, before I die.

I left so many things behind…

But we party at the local tiki shack,

with the apartments built above.

We party next to the angry sea -

they bang and bash on the hardwood ceiling.

We party in the rain, my tears camouflaged.

Why are we still here?

My phone has died.

The cake houses are thousands of miles

from my broken fingernails.

You have probably thrown my things over the balcony,

large womens’ clothes lazily draped over the steep steps of your home.

I woke up to photos from the wedding you didn’t invite me to

Many people have done “best of” lists for the end of the decade.  I honestly forgot to post this last month because who uses tumbltown anymore?  Where do people even blog in 2020?!  Livejournal?  Wordpress?

Stardew Valley (PC, 2016) - This game was everything I wanted the new Harvest Moon games to be and more.  Jabs at capitalism, 16 bit graphics, and a heartfelt callback to a series I loved as a teen weeaboo captured my heart.

Animal Crossing: New Leaf (3DS, 2012) - The 3DS had so many gems over its lifetime, but this one was my obsession in 2012-13.  My then-partner and I joined a secret facebook group for friend code sharing and stalk market values.  AC could’ve easily ruined my life but it was worth it.

Heavy Rain (PS3, 2010) - Pressing X to Jason brought me many hours of entertainment.  This game is far from perfect, but the amount of joy I felt when playing this with Joe was worth the $59.99 I paid for it.  (We also thoroughly enjoyed 2015’s Until Dawn, but I felt that Heavy Rain had more likeable characters and a more interesting storyline.)

Red Dead Redemption (PS3, 2010) - I never paid cowboys or the old west much attention until this game came out and holy shit was I missing out.  This game is incredible.  I went back and played it when RDR2 was released and it still holds up well.

Skyrim (PS3, 2011) - This was the first Elder Scrolls game I played and wow, what a treat.  I played this game until my PS3 save file glitched out and I had to take a break from it.  I restarted the game a couple of years ago on PC, which is the choice platform for this one.  Great journey, 10/10.

Night in the Woods (PC, 2017) - Never has a game reminded me more of myself.  I loved every sad moment of this little game.  It’s worth everyone’s time to pick this one up.  Gonna give honourable mention to both Oxenfree (2016) and Gone Home (2013), as they made me feel sad in a similar way, but NITW was definitely my favourite of the three.

Fantasy Life (3DS, 2014) - Keven and I were obsessed with this little gem.  There are so many options for crafting, fighting, and foraging.  I’m still impressed with this game 5+ years later and sincerely hope we see other games like this for the Switch.

Rayman Origins (PS3, 2011) - I played the Rayman Legends (2013) demo at PAX’12 on the WiiU and my Waif and I were like “holy shit this game is amazing.”  I played through Origins, which I got for a bargain.  These games are incredible.  The multiplayer is also great if you have friends.

Zelda: A Link Between Worlds (3DS, 2013) - Ocarina of Time is still my favourite Zelda; it helped me overcome my video gaming frustrations as a kid.  Link Between Worlds is a very close second and I imagine if I’d grown up with Link to the Past instead of Ocarina and Majora, this would be my number one Zelda.  (No offense to Breath of the Wild - it’s a beautiful game.  It’s just too much for me at this point.  Yes, I know, I’m wrong.)

Mario Odyssey (Switch, 2017) - I fell in love with Super Mario Galaxy on the Wii back in 2007.  It was a great call back to Mario 64, which was the first 3D game I ever played.  So nostalgia plays a huge part in why this one is here.  That being said, the soundtrack is great, the controls feel awesome, and who doesn’t love a Mario?  (3D World was also a great title, but I think I was more infatuated with Odyssey if I had to pick one.)

Big honourable mention to The Sims 4 (2014), which is ultimately the weakest edition of The Sims, but I still play it religiously like a goddamn drug addict.  (Sims 2 for life, son.)

Another honourable mention to Pokemon Go (2016), which is barely a game and more of a pedometer that reminds me to go outside.  This is important.  Thanks, Pogo.

You fumble through the creases of your pockets poking and prodding at the odd seams of your jacket as if it belonged to someone else. You didn’t lose anything important on your way here.

“I used to be…” you start. Nobody listens. You wonder if your parents paid them to be your friends. They look at you with fleeting attention, laughing at your jokes without expression.

The party used to wait for you but now you slither in halfway through the evening, already drunk and belligerent.

A constant parade of wrinkled elders sluggishly limps towards the finance department.  It’s property tax season and a faint odour of decay hangs heavy in the air.  A wrinkled face with strained vocal cords asks if this is ICBC and tells me she’s eighty years old, as if I couldn’t tell.  I point her in the right direction, and like every other curmudgeon, she goes the wrong way, walker scraping the tiled floor.  She’ll probably find ICBC, but if she doesn’t, it’s one less hazard on the road.  Another one approaches, inching across the scuffed black floor.  “I’m eighty three years old as of Sunday,” he tells me, “and I have prostate cancer.  My wife is eighty two years old.”  I put my bullshit face on and tell him happy birthday and I’m sorry about his cancer.  “You have a nice face,” he says, “that’s why I’m telling you this.  Sometimes I cry when I look at my grandchildren.”  I can see tears starting to form in the old man’s eyes; this happened to my grandfather as well: inexplicable tears.  Maybe it has to do with watching things change and grow and fear of not being there for the next big change.  The old man is incredibly pale and speaks with just a hint of a South Asian accent.  He tells me he was glad he got to talk to me.  I begin to question whether people’s ability to talk to me is a gift or a curse as the sad cancer man makes his way down to finance.

A woman with a pink streak in her hair and a frantic look on her face awkwardly pushes a man in a wheelchair.  I recognize them immediately.  The woman somehow managed to trap herself in the elevator because she couldn’t maneuver the electric wheelchair out the door.  The man drools onto a bib that looks to be permanently fixed to his clothing and lets out some gasps and moans.  I wonder how aware he is of his surroundings.  I wonder if his body is truly a cage.  Has he always been this way or was there an accident or an illness that brought him to this stage?  Does he remember a time before the wheelchair and the breathing apparatus?  The frantic woman rushes to me and says, “His name is Gary and he’s deaf.  Do you know sign language?”  Immediately, I fear that Gary has become my problem.

“No, sorry,” I admit.  I don’t want to tell her I only know profanities in ASL.

“It’s fine, I just… I’ll come back up in a minute… taxes!” she blurts.  She scribbles something down on the miniature whiteboard that sits on Gary’s lap before sprinting downstairs.

I smile at Gary and wave.  I don’t want to offend him with signs for “abortion” and “sex.”  He drools and makes a few questionable gasps.  I really hope he doesn’t keel over.  I know I shouldn’t feel bad for him; being alive is a gift even for people in these situations.  He really doesn’t look too jazzed about his situation.  The gasps intensify and more drool coats his bib.  I find myself looking over at him every few minutes to ensure he’s still alive.  I google the cost of making a will and check into the legality of putting people down.

Pink hair woman returns and laughs, “He’s drooling at you.”

Your hand scales ooze with clear liquid.  It’s been your fate since childhood: eczema.  Your old manager tells you it’s because you only eat pasta and sandwiches.  You don’t care - you like pasta and sandwiches.  The ooze touches your computer mouse and your hand sticks to the black plastic.  There are crusty spots all over the mouse from past times when your eczema wanted to attach itself to inanimate objects.  Thank god your friends never come over, you think, as you get a potent whiff of the dishes you swore you would do last week.

Your phone buzzes; you can’t remember if the speaker is broken or if you just hate ringtones enough to disable them.  It’s work asking if you can cover another Saturday.  If you don’t answer, you’re not on the hook.  You answer anyway and can’t say no to some kid who would rather get trashed this Friday than make a meager twelve dollars an hour baking shitty croissants.  You were that kid.  You probably still are that kid, somewhere underneath the layers of depression.

“Thank you so much!” the kid hangs desperately on the word ‘so’.  You shrug off that they sound ingenuine, tell them it’s no big deal, anything for them, and you love them.  You tell everyone you love them, even people you hate.  You check your phone again; it’s already after nine.  Time to lay sleepless on your cheap, foam mattress.  You haven’t had a real bed in a year, thanks to the infestation.  Sometimes you still see them out of the corner of your eye.  You scratch phantom itching.

The alarm on your ancient clock radio screeches 4:30am.  Saturday is here and you don’t remember falling asleep.  This is why no one can ever live with you.  You slip into some dirty shortalls and an ugly band shirt you got as a teenager.  Your feet ache already and all of your bones feel weak.  You haven’t even gotten in the car yet.

The world is still dark outside as you throw in the second batch of vegan muffins.  You don’t even remember driving here, let alone unlocking the door or mixing the scones.  Nobody is on the road this early anyway, which is great because you still haven’t passed your practical driving test.  So far, nobody has died.

The day slithers by.  Your wrists and knees feel like they’re about to disintegrate.  The drive home is a blur and you hope that bump you felt was a speed bump or a pothole and not a person.  You make an executive decision to not check your back mirror.  Your cracked hands bleed and stick to the steering wheel as you turn into the garage of your rotting apartment.  You sit in your car for a few minutes with your eyes closed, hands adhering to the wheel.  The pus and blood sticks like octopus suckers and leaves residue when you finally decide to head up to your home for another 5 hour nap.

You wake up to your hand throbbing.  It’s as if something is about to be birthed out of your sores.  Blood pours from the cracks between your scales; something is moving beneath the skin; it pops the collections of newly formed blisters as it stretches your skin.  You want to scream, but you can’t.  Even if you could scream, no one would come running.  No one helps the drunk, homeless guy in the alley when he screams.

I lost our photos in the fire

That my tears couldn't extinguish.

And they tore down the mall where we met

And demolished your first apartment

To make homes for these new people 

They keep expecting.

Like my aching heels,

I keep thinking of you

Even when I don't want to.

I try not to scream out in anguish

As I stare at you

Through the screen of my phone.

I try not to blink -

What if you try and stare back?

What if I miss your desperate gaze

Reflected in the black of my eyes?

I scroll through photos of your parents

Dancing at your wedding.

You’ve exchanged me for a bigger cup size

In a flesh-matching pink dress.

She towers over you

Like you towered over me

When I felt unintelligent,

Uneducated, and useless

At the rooftop LA bars

Among the other pretenders.

“You’re a big fish in a small pond,”

Your words swirl around in my head for hours.

The unfortunate pink dress sashays by;

I wonder if she lets you talk to her that way.

Your sisters post yellow smiles;

Oh the pride your family must feel

When their only son finally buys a girl a diamond

That was too expensive, too important for me.

You delete yourself from my atmosphere

And I try to assemble your existence

From your sisters’ posted snapshots.

I’ve forgotten your smell, taste, and sound;

Sorrow beating at my throat and chin

I barely knew you.

You once said to me, feel the fear and do it anyway

So I read your book and I tried but I'm still afraid.

I keep pushing myself.

It's hard to fathom wanting to go already.

Maybe the party has quieted down

Or there is a lull in the conversation

So I pick up another drink

And you've gone and disappeared

To somewhere you'd rather be.

9:00 am on Saturday I'm heading to a wedding

My theory on how Season 12 will go down? it'll begin with a reality TV style quest for a new partner for Mulder, like the FBI version of "The Bachelor." And Scully will die because the myth writers ignored Darin Morgan's episodes and don't see their beauty (and Scully's immortality) as canon. The Smoking Man will end up raising "his" son, William. The next season will tackle Mulder and (new female partner)'s uncomfortable age gap love and William's addiction to Morley Lights and evil.

I read this comic online about long distance relationships and I know we haven’t been together in 3 years and it’s sick but I miss it.  The skyping.  The texting.  The hating myself.  Stalking every girl you add on Facebook.  Trusting no one.  Keeping my online dating profiles active just in case you never come back for me.  Sleeping with strangers to feel their warmth.  Closing my eyes until their face and body became yours.  Ultimately realizing I would rather be alone.

It’s fine if you never come back.  This place isn’t that great anyway.  I’m not that great anyway.