A sea of lamps click on and off.
The walls all chant my name in unison.
Helsinki in my pocket.
Tumbleweed tour of planet Earth.

I crack, like an egg.

This is how my fridge sounds:

To whom it may concern;
Writing tired may be harmful to one's helth.
Where'd the 'a' go?




I never thought about space
until I tried to pack
my life into one box.



B pushes the gun into Z's cheek, and Z knew at that moment, with the cold metal barrel hard against his jaw, that he had finally pushed B too far. He laughs like he doesn't know the definition of fear but he hopes that B doesn't notice that he's just acting. B presses the gun harder up against Z, and the more Z leans away, the harder B presses it. Z falls off his chair and stops laughing. He was always such a tease. He was the child that liked to play with his food before eating it, torture his informants before killing them. Even amongst friends, he harboured a smug self-righteousness that bordered on loathsome. Perhaps Z never understood that claiming every malicious act to be a joke doesn't necessarily make it so. B stands over Z with his gun threatening execution.

Z says, “why?”

B says, “don't take it personal, Z. It's just a fucking joke.”



Hello Britney,

I saw your profile and I think you are the perfect match for me. I am looking for a full-time relationship, so I really hope you would be interested in helping me out there. ;)

Some of my hobbies and interests are:
  • Playing dominoes
  • Collecting miniature soaps
  • Looking at paintings of old people
  • Things that look like other things
Although I'm sure you aren't aware of it yet, I know that we are meant to be together. I can't wait to start my life with you.

Your significant other,




I sit on the toilet bowl and I *hnnn*... I sit and *hoof*... I *hrrr*... plop into the water. A bubbling, sloppy ringing sound comes from somewhere beneath my ass. I stand up and turn around and stare into the bowl. There at the bottom is a phone lit up and ringing a garbled underwater, but otherwise generic ringtone. I stare at it shuffling towards the s-bend. Do I? Don't I? Do I? Don't I?

I pick it up.
"Who is this?"
"What, really?"
"And you, what?"
"Well, shit..."

I hang up and sit back down on the toilet, the wet phone dripping on my fingers.



The window was open just a crack, just enough for voices to slip through. It always seems that when one of them gets angry at her they get angry at each other. A friendly voice ping-pongs about her skull amidst the string of obscenities. Obscenities and suitcases. Hiding in the garden she closes her eyes and allows the tears to roll down her cheek and she mouths the four friendly words and hopes that her parents can hear them too; “it's not your fault.”