About Me

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thought i was a donut, ya tried to glaze me


Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early
And put his clothes on in the blueback cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?

robert hayden


I was driving south on Flatbush last week after a dinner w/ an old friend at Franny's (the food was a little eh. the price a little "wah?!") when I heard/felt something hit my car. For a split second I assumed I had run over some pebbles or something, but then I turned back and noticed a little 10 year old girl, in the position of someone who just sidearmed a rock at some innocent driver's car. "You fucking bitch!," I though. Some little hoodrat thought it'd be funny to throw something at my precious Sassy, and then run away, like a little punk-ass. I'd expect that sort of crap by me, but certainly not in the Prospect Heights/Park Slope/North Flatbush section of Brooklyn; I thought gentrification prevented me from kids having nothing to do and instead having to resort to acts of stupidity. I thought wrong.

Once I realized what had happened, I kept driving, still confused. But when I retold the story to someone else I was reminded of the time I threw a piece of free Mister Softee gum at a car driving by, and wasn't confused anymore. Kids are kids, and they tend to be dumb as fuck--at least I was. And that's my excuse for doing the same thing this girl did, over 10 years ago, on a cloudy day in the summer. Being dumb. Having a piece of free gum from the ice cream man--the gum was hard and flavorless and covered by a candy shell--and throwing it at a car, hitting the roof, because the idea struck me to.

But unlike this little chick, I didn't get off so easy. The car skid to a halt, pushing forward, and this old, bald guy got out.

"Come here," he said. I froze.

"No, come here. I wanna ask you something."

All my friends backed away and I tried to, too, but the guy had already seen me do it and there was nothing else to do. But lie.

"Did you throw that at my car?"


"I saw you throw it."

"Well, it was an accident."

"You accidentally threw it at my car?"

"It slipped out of my hand."

"I don't think that's what happened."

"Well," (and this is when I get a little hoodrat) "it did. So like, sorry. [sucks teeth]"

The guy got in his car and drove off and I felt adrenaline and fear and shock running up and down my body. As a kid, I didn't lie, especially to a stranger. I'd cry and confess, never lie. and I still don't lie all that much. But I had just fed some bullshit to a stranger, and he just shrugged his shoulders and drove off.

I thought I was off, free, but then my neighbor ratted me out to my mom and I sure as hell had tears then. But for a few moments I was fearless, and riding high off my act of rebellion.

If anything, I shoulda gotten out of my car last week and given that bitch the chance to feel that way, too.



"as for you, my galvanized friend, you want a heart. you don't know how lucky you are not to have one. hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable."

wizard of oz

I wonder if my writing has even improved?