izzy

I registered to become an organ donor because it seems like a good idea. It seems like this is one of those things you can do and feel like ‘I am an adult now’. It was easy, I just filled out a form online. There is an added benefit in that it somewhat assuages my fear of dying. I am ok with the idea of my consciousness ending. I am ok with the idea of spending the rest of eternity in hell or eternal recurrence. The idea of my physical body disintegrating, decomposing in a slow process to turn back into dirt both comforts and terrifies me. The idea of my heart beating in someone else’s chest after I am dead makes me feel safe. I checked every box except for donating my eye tissue. I know that people probably really need eye tissue, and I feel bad. I don’t like the idea of someone having my eyes. Them seeing the world through my eyes is kind of cool. Seeing is important. I love being able to see the world. But my eyes feel very personal. These squishy balls of fluid windows to the soul whatever. It is more about someone looking into the miraculously no longer blind person’s eyes and my pupils staring back that scares me. I don’t even know if that’s how it works.

*

sarah

Postcard from the 21st century:
I keep finding new bits of innocence to lose.
Tonight, it was seeing performers from Australia’s only same-sex ballroom dancing studio. I cried watching them, because I’d never before realised how many lovers danced in their living rooms, but were still afraid to dance out of them.

*

izzy

Why is it that a heart feels so much like a fist? That a pump and a punch are so closely intertwined in our imaginings? Thrusting out of our ribcages; little spring-loaded boxing gloves.

*

sarah

I’ve got the most amazing magic trick
just close your eyes, count to fifty
and I’ll disappear forever!
You’re going to need to give me a coin
I’ll make that disappear, too.
Actually, while you’re at it, might as well be your wallet
maybe your car
and just for the purposes, of the trick,
maybe your wife, too
Are you ready?
Boy, this is going to blow your mind!
Okay, close your eyes
start counting
nice and slow
don’t peek, now
You’re going to get the surprise
of
your
life

*

izzy

life hack:
lungs repairing when you quit smoking is like levelling up. even when your body is wracked with horrible chesty coughs that come from the pit of you, you are winning.

*

sarah

I stood at the foot of a mountain and thought of
I stood on the sands of the ocean and thought of
I stood in the swamps of the south and thought of
The winds shrieked past my ears and I thought of
The cold gnashed at my nose and I thought of
The heat blistered my cheeks and I thought of
Those words I cannot shake
That voice I cannot run from
To the ends of the earth I will be haunted
‘Do you want to build a snowman?’

*

izzy

solving problems or how to eat toast painfully slowly

Break it into smaller pieces so you can see all of it laid out, compartmentalised. Make the pieces bite-sized – why not? Move the pieces around to see if they fit better in a different arrangement. You got this. Even though the whole is huge, each piece is tiny, inconsequential on its own.

*

sarah

Let’s get married in June
on a clifftop
in a gale
so that when great-aunt Wendy just topples off into the wind
we technically won’t have pushed her

*

izzy

Dearest one in the Lord,

I am the above named person. I am married to a former minister,
We were married for eleven years without a child . He died after a brief illness that lasted for only four days .
When my late husband was alive he deposited the sum of $5.5 Million ( five hundred ) Deposited in a Bank here .
Recently, my Doctor told me that I would not last for the next Eight months due to cancer problem . The one that disturbs me most is my H.B.P high blood pressure sickness .

Having known my condition I decided to donate this fund to individual or any organization that will utilize this money the way I am going to instruct herein .Please contact me for more details

Remain Blessed,

Mrs. Anns

*

sarah

something catches on the wind and drags me back
to the halls of the dementia ward where I volunteered as a teenager
massaged sad old hands
sat at the feet of the aged
played on the piano the same five songs, over and over
(demented ears always forget, the delight stays the same)
and I remember
the couple who had met between these sterile white walls
and who would sneak into a room and love each other
the nurses smiled the pitying smiles of the young discussing the old
and said ‘If you walk in on anything, just close the door and leave’
I shuddered then, to think of the dull loose skin
of that elderly embrace.
and I remember
Mary, still tall, in an adult diaper and nothing else
storming the common room, crying
‘I don’t want apples and oranges, I want justice!’
fighting the good fight with a wrecked cheese-holed brain.
and I remember
the woman, sane yet, into whose room I crept every Wednesday
bringing youth and awkward talk to that close-curtained air
I watched as she grew sicker, as the pain grew ever worse
she started giving me her shoes – the same size as mine
her clothes – too big. A piece of jewellery, here and there
donations from the dying to the living
one Wednesday, I didn’t go – some other errand of teenage life detained me
homework, perhaps. A movie. Some trifle.
when I returned the next week, she was gone
even as I asked whether she’d been moved, I knew she was dead
the small strange guilt of the child having broken a promise of hope
the nurses cooed over me, ‘Her family was here’
‘You’d have been in the way.’
the clothes were first to go – always too big and too fusty
the jewellery was lost somewhere, or given away
the shoes were the last to go
they walked a stage or two, strolled through some party or other
then were tossed in an op shop bin, twanging something within me as they went
and I realise
after all
that I can’t even remember her name

*

izzy

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Sep 25 (5 days ago)

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*

sarah

they put a pole through the neck of my husband today
and I thought, absurdly, of the paddle pops my children so coveted in summer
of toffee apples, of chupa chups
of all that was left that was sweet in this mad, mad world

*

izzy

MARK CHIGAZA
Sep 20 (10 days ago)

Mark Chigaza & Associates LLC.
Rue 107 Blovarid Francaise,
BP 698 Lomé, Republic of Togo.
Email: markchigaza11@gmail.com
Date:19/09/2014

Private Message

DEAR ORR ,

I have emailed you earlier without a response. In my first email I
mentioned about the sudden death of my late client (Mr.G.E.ORR )
who passed away through an airliner crash that involved the Togo
Football Association which occurred on the 4th June 2007., but both
of you have the same last name so it will be very easy to make you
his
official next of kin based on the appointment of administration letter
as he die without a
written WILL,

I am compelled to do this because I would not want the bank to push my
client’s funds into the bank treasury or as unclaimed inheritance of
hung value. If you are interested you do let me know so that I can
give you Comprehensive details on what we are to do. Reply Back
here(markchigaza11@gmail.com).

1.Marital Status… 2.Age…Full Name..
3.Phone Number.. 4.Fax Number..
5.Country Code..

Yours faithfully,
Mr. Mark Chigaza. ESQ.

*

sarah

the tanks were bogged
strung up with bells like Christmas
radiating warmth and love in the cold desert night
hot desert day
cold desert night
camels lumbered past and kissed them
peered in their periscopes like great furred fish
the soldiers draped them in cotton
bought from the dark-swaddled nomads
who took away their coins and used coke cans
the sun cycled past with a parasol of storm clouds
and the sand crept a little higher up the sides

*

izzy

The Green Lantern Corps Message Board
5:19 PM (8 hours ago)

.,

This is a message from Unregistered ( mailto: ) from the The Green Lantern Corps Message Board ( http://www.thegreenlanterncorps.com/forum/ ).

The message is as follows:

.

Dear Fellow Patriot,

You may watch the full video here:
http://miracletech.yolasite.com/?theg=jtpcfm.spcfsutpssx-xhnbjm.dpn

Regards,

Allan Cox

*

sarah

I strapped a go pro to my cat
to find the source of the weird odour
that hung about his fur of an evening.
I fast forwarded through the bird stalking
the fence post yowling
the never-ending tongue bathing
til he slipped through a crack in a church door
slunk through the aisles
paused at the feet of the bishop
and leapt into the pulpit
to stare with steady eyes at a sea of mewling parishioners.
His yowling sermon I could not fathom
but as he strutted homeward,
stinking of incense,
I thought with horror of the staring felines
littering my daily commute, my lunch break walk, my drunken street weavings
and wondered just when exactly the rapture was proposed

*