PoliChannel

Is there a fantastical world I can tell you about? Maybe about livid trees and disgruntled stone. Through the cracks in my indifference about the things I can’t control, hope is squeezed out by the weight of doubt and spills like a holey, half-empty cup. It drains whether I want it to or not. It’s agonizing. Like biking with a worn tire, you don’t even realize you’re losing air until it’s too late to turn back. The trees, they talk and they’re speaking revenge. The people, they work and they’re seeking suspension. The ground is drying and drowning at once. Dying, from the inside. Rottten to the core? The trees, they sway and they’re dancing to the rustles of the wind. The people, they move and the trees start talking. There is literally no scenario in my mind that doesn’t end with: “And then they cut/burn/shred/processed the wood of the trees." Tall but poor in stature they complain and creak and moan and again we’re back to the reality, where the trees talk and they’re speaking revenge.

3

just started a new serving job; thought I’d make a lot more money than the last place. After a couple weeks it was gruelling. I wasn’t actually serving. I was a busgirl. It was the 2 nd week and I picked up a round of tips. $100. The money was really representative of how hard I’d worked. To me, it was made out of my blood, sweat and tears. It was the only thing I had to show for what I’d gone through. On my way to class I remember feeling the bill in my pocket. The next minute I looked down to the deep of my pocket. I turned, paced back and forth up the street and cursed every curse I could curse. Just like dust in the wind that money blew into and out of my life like something transient but tangible.

And then there was bullshit, god said "let it reign."

Only in darkness do I see the light.

“great song by House of Low Culture, a music project currently run by former ISIS (post-metal band) frontman Aaron Turner and his wife Faith Coloccia” - stephenson