espresso over a long time.

Richard considered running to the bathroom to vomit when, after coming out to his elder sister as gay, she offered him various types of gay porn magazines.

I know i'm in love this time."
"what makes this any different?"
"i don't have butterflies in my stomach. i have fireworks."

I wonder if the physical distance between us is inversely proportional to the togetherness of our hearts.

It didn't matter how many perfect six-packs or smokin' hot man thongs I had seen in my life-- when the boy with the hipster glasses pulled out The Grapes of Wrath and read behind his cello in rehearsal, I knew he was the HOTTEST man I had ever seen.

keep your drink just give me the money.
sorry bud. just you, your hand, and a bottle of your own self-pity tonight.

As she pushed her hips back against the body behind her, she realized with a neutral opinion that she didn't even know his name.

it doesn't matter to me how I've never met him, how i've never talked to him, how i've never even made eye contact with him. I know I love him with all of my soul, and that is what matters.

Normalcy sat in the corner sipping his tea, while insanity poured more vodka into her Coca Cola. Both of them knew that their waltz would soon become a salsa.

God, space, time, math, light, dreams, imagination. The list goes on and on. With no end and no beginning. We’re trapped in infinity, baby.

She guilt tripped her way into college, and into his life.

He gripped the grass underneath him with all his strength, willing himself not to go off flying off into the sky like a murderous Peter Pan.

Mary ignored the giggles as she walked to the front of the church. After seventeen years of the most normal name imaginable, she was proud to be confirmed as Sexburga Euclidia Hedwig.

She wondered plainly if her end of life flashbacks would come in the form of a quickly scrolled through Facebook newsfeed.

I get up at 4:45 AM every morning to run, and all day long I never stop running.

Every day she bought blank CD's, cans of oranges, and a set of coat hangers and never before has Christian been more interested.

The Christian traditionalist laid down his rifle as he watched the new generation aim their M-16s at a flamboyant hedonist demise.

‎"Sexy and I know it"? Hate to break it to you, but it's more like "sexy and you think it", sweetie.

I’ll lie to you and lie to you until I think you’re finally ready for the truth.

Until that day I got hopelessly lost in the woods, I never even thought about finding myself.

"You look like the underside of a dirty couch cushion." "Excuse me?" "I mean, I really wanna shake you out."

Zombie butterflies. Just when I think I’ve killed all those stupid bugs that make my heart beat faster when you look at me, they come back. And this time they’re after my brain.

she resigned to the fact she would spend the entire night awake, and stripped to her underwear, opened the psychology textbook, got out that small stash of weed in her underwear drawer, and prepared to go to town.

The awkward silence around the dinner table after Maria spoke left her with a sudden urge to lift her arms and declare, 'And the Lord said, Let there be silence!'.

‎"Love..." he said, squirting the Purell gel on his almost rawly clean hands, "Has never seemed very interesting to me..." he rubbed his hands together obsessively, "...or very sanitary."

‎"Here's the thing," she said, taking her first step into the pool of color, "I don't want to make art. I want to drown in it."

In that moment of pleasure he forgot that he was a homophobic christian, and the hands running down his neck belonged to a boy in his english class.

They always tell me my shirts don’t match my pants, and I always say their actions don’t match their religion.

He acted different, he talked different, he looked different. He hung out with different people. But I didn't realize my best friend had become a stranger until the day I first noticed him typing with capital letters.

--Patti, Juliana, Christie, Mark, Lynn

Espresso Stories, Special Edition: Lady Gaga

Mark wrote up a bunch of Espresso Stories based off Lady Gaga's new album Born This Way... here they are! 


--Patti


Premier Moon gives me more hope than Junkie Sun – why would anyone marry the night?

When Lady GaGa wrote her song – she didn’t ask whether I wanted to be born this way.

I love when the best of the best are more corrupt than the worst of the worst. 

Where would we be without Judas? Without the completion of the prophecy of life. Where would we be without Jesus? We’d have made our own prophecy.

She doesn’t speak our language, only our actions. Let’s kill her.

And as he drew a slanting cut across his hair with those ever-sharp scissors, he couldn’t help but wonder why he felt compelled to do so.

You know you’re the shit when marijuana isn’t good enough.

Remember the day when dancing was only okay when your penis wasn’t grinding against my butthole? I don’t.

And as they walked on stage, he would only watch. ‘We’re here to honor the best of the best’. Forever he would think long and hard about why the bad kids got no recognition.

‘That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.’ Love still lingered in the air, twisting threads in her hair. ‘Sorry.’

I want a man who likes heavy metal and hot chicks. The most masculine are always the gayest.

‘Let’s get married in a rock n’ roll chapel.’ ‘why?’ ‘So god’ll never steal you from me.’

Relationship Status: it’s complicated. I can just imagine you saying it over and over and over. ‘you and I you and I you and I’. two words never to be conjoined. 

I’m on the edge, and you better be worth falling for.


--Mark

Why The World Is Wrong

why would anyone choose to be different.

it's all nice and fine to say 'oh well I love being different'.
but no one really does.

those bug eyed stares.
the snickers behind your back.
the amazement of seeing something so strange.

I hate being different.
everyday I look at what I see in the mirror and spew hate at it.
I hate everything that I am.
being different isn't good.
it's just another vice that someone can twist to warp you.

so yes.
I am different.

but I wish everyday that I wasn't.
but who would choose to be so different in a world that is so reactionary.
a world that refuses to move into the future.
I know I wouldn't.

this is the world I am forced to know.
we are all forced to know.
this xenophobic homophobic cainotophobic existance.
it isn't pretty.

is it wrong for me to want to be normal?
to be average?
maybe.
maybe not.

perhaps difference is synonymous with bravery.
that being different, or allowing ones self to be, is progressive.
beneficial for the future.

then again,
maybe being different is a curse.
and we're all designated for a fiery existance in the pits of hell.
or new york city.

is it worth it?
this constant ridicule, pain, hatred?

I don't think so.

but then again,
I have no choice in the matter.

Wires

and there was his carcass.
limp.
lonely.
lifeless.
hanging in the twisted barbed wires.

sangre de cristo,
sangre de cristo.
I know what it means father,
but i'm not him.

cuts across his wrist.
forearms.
chest.
thighs.
abdomen.
back.
quadriceps.
everywhere.

his once brown hair now a shock of red.
blood was still creeping down his body towards his face.
upside down.
his eyes were open.
his shoes were on.
his clothes were torn.
his book was on the floor.
his book was in the blood.

forgive me father for I have sinned.
I have sinned and sinned and sinned.
forgive me.
don't let the devil take me.

the small triangular bristles along the wire were scarlet.
the concrete bathed in a pool of crimson.
the walls splattered with cerise.
his head a shade of carmine.

bad blood.
bad bad sinful blood.
deserved to be spilled.
he was the sin.
he took the blame.
he was the blame.
the book was a prop.
the clothes material banter.

If I pray, nothing bad can happen.
I'll be preserved.
I'll be sustained.
oh fuck just help me.

God's soldiers sent for him.
pushed him into the dragon's den.
knowing he'd be devoured.
even with the protection of His book.

so there he hung.
limp.
lonely.
lifeless.

stuck.
lost in translation.
stuck in purgatory.
or was it hell.
or was it heaven.
did it matter.
he was dead.
the blood of a christ was spilled.

I'm not ready yet.

--mark

Civility

my kind of town,

is a town with nothing at all.

-----

when I drive downtown,

and see the glorious skycrapers

(made from precious metals scraped from the economies of other countries)

the crystal clear water

(with neither an adequate amount of algae nor sustainable plankton due to the infection of asian carp)

the hustle and bustle and life

(and pollution and lack of consequence)

we see modern.

we see idealistic.

I see ugly.

I see impractical.

I see the human form in what come call civility. capitalists running around trying to exploit and not help others. the homeless on the streets. the smog filled air. the hideous cultureless modern architecture. the failed and reattempted efforts and reform. the death violence and brutality. the warping of time and constant rush hour.

I see the once beautiful prairie wetlands built upon and conquered due to small minded frontierist policy.

but I am not a god. I am a human. and I fall into the love of city life too.

the music.

the theater.

the fine-dining.

the atmosphere.

the tight areas of flourishing beauty.

however I also see the big picture.

and how living in such a way could drastically alter our natural environment.

in order for everyone on earth to live the same way as an average chicagoan,

we would need approximately 7 earths.

I'm not suggesting anarchy.

I don't want to watch a steel city burn.

but I do want changes to be made.

I want people to realize the consequences of their actions.

I want them to know that living sustainably is possible.

in the end it's not a want, it's a need.

I don't think people understand the severity of their actions.

and that whether we like it or not, the earth will be around for another 4.5 billion years.

and we can't change that.

by changing the environment we're not killing earth.

we're killing ourselves.

-----

the metropolitan menace.

chicago, IL.

come visit sometime.

--Mark

Pressure

it will always be us and them.
they will never be accepted.
they will never be initiated.
they will never be us.

they're different.
and that can't be changed.
and I'm glad.
we don't want them.

I don't care how nice,
how decent,
how honest,
how noble these people are.

I don't like other people.
they're freaks.
imbeciles.
different.

but, because of you,
I made the exception.
and I put up with them.
not for long, mind you.

they get on my nerves.
why can't they be normal?
do they have to be so ridiculously incompetent?
we saw you first, we own you.

our cliques will stay the same.
and we will not mingle.
and you will not move.
because it is always us and them.

our lives will never change.
and we will not question.
and you will be content.
because it is always us and them.

our lies will not falter.
and we will forget their names.
and you will stay loyal.
because it is always us and them.

--mark

Depth

you say you know me.

but all you see is a facade.

you say you know me.

but i've not told you anything.

you say you know me.

but you haven't been inside my head.

you say you know me.

all you know is a mask.

-----

you don't know me.

don't even pretend you do.

you know nothing.

nothing important, anyway.

nothing significant.

obviously you would know major things.

like my nationality.

age.

orientation.

appearance.

but what would you know about me?actually me.

not the actor that I play on school days.

or while i'm texting.

or having any form of social interaction.

the real deal.

-----

you would be uninterested.

ignorant.

stupid.

and unaware.

and you have no reason to act otherwise.

I'm just a kid like you but who writes a lot.

-----

but i'm so much more than that.

and I don't mean that in a positive way.

-----

you say you know me?

like hell you do.

--mark

Consequence

5:50pm.

10 minutes till pickup.

-----

she took a deep breath.

and smiled.

her reflection was immaculate.

a vision in red flowers.

face perfectly toned with the right make-up.

legs showing but not to the point of vulgarity.

long jeweled earings droop from her head.

cascading brunette hair waved in ripples past her shoulders.

the emaralds in her eye sockets gleaming.she was ready.

picking up her crocodile skin purse, she walked outside.

and she waited.

she sat on her porch.

and waited.

and waited.

and waited.

for him to come along. to take her away.

6:20pm.

20 minutes after pickup time.

-----

she didn't text.

she didn't call.

she didn't communicate.

she simply waited.

she wouldn't be creepy, like those needy attention seeking gushers she went to school with.

she would be classy.

and wait.

for the boy she loved.

the sky began to turn a orange with burning streaks of red.

she looked at her watch.

-----

6:25pm.

25 minutes after pickup time.

-----

surely she hadn't been stood up.

of course not.

proposterous.

he was just as serious as she was.

right?

right?

her hands were clammy, and she was twiddling her thumbs.

now that she thought about it,

it was all rather out of the blue.

hadn't he one day just started talking to her?

was it just because nobody else would say yes?

paranoia.

had he changed his mind?

or was it all a joke from the beginning.

-----

6:45pm.

45 minutes after pickup time.

-----

she clutched her purse,

and stormed inside.

stood up.

for homecoming.

what person could do that? be so cold hearted?

obviously she had made a msitake.

she locked herself in her room.

put her headphones in her ears.

and listened to the angsty songs that had first contributed to her self-consciousness.

-----

she didn't see the bashes in his car.

how only one of the headlights was working.

how one of the windows was broken and there were cuts all over his face.

all because she couldn't hear the doorbell ring at 7:00.

--mark

Toil

he sat on the ground.

his back against the tiled wall.

staring.

staring transfixed at the bottle.

the transparent orange tube of pills.

the snails track of former tears covered his face.

his hands were shaking.

his eyes were bloodshot.

he wrapped his arms around his legs and tried,

tried, to calm himself.

he tried to turn away.

but he couldn't.

he knew he would eventually cave in.

so what better time than now.

his breathing rate was increasing at an inhuman pace.

he raised his hands and grabbed at his hair.

he pulled his head into his knees and let out a fresh waterfall of tears.

it was so hard.

to resist the temptation.

to give up.

he screamed. and screamed.

and screamed.

he banged his head against the wall.

perhaps the pain could distract him.

but the thought was still there. the lust was still there.

-----

the longing was still there.

and he couldn't take it.

one pill.

could end his suffering.

his pain.

his heartbreak.

one dramatic twist.

to end it all.

and begin it all again.

the painful paradox.

he couldn't give it up.

but he couldn't keep it forever.

it would have to end.

but for now,

let the addiction rule.

--mark

Invasion

I sit in my little white world.

with big white walls and small white people.

everything identical.

everything monotone.

everything functions normally.

we sit at our little white computers and type out codes.

commands. instructions. orders.

until the moment when it all stopped.

a knife pierced the perfect white walls.

the white plastered brick slowly reduced to silk by the knife.

as it cut through the perfect little world.

and we panicked.

human resources recieved tons of complaints.

public relations totally shut down.

all of the good public speakers ran out screaming.

everyone lost their cool calm and collected state and let their emotions rule.

the knife appeared to be carving a rectangle.

me and my co-workers were losing it.

I didn't know what was going on.

I wasn't in control.

the knife was halfway through the 3rd side of the rectangle.

I hid in a corner.

I didn't want to watch it.

but I couldn't help myself.

the 3rd wall was done.

the knife retreats.

but we know we're not safe.

it'll be back.

suddenly, a force pushes the rectangle.

it was a door.

and there you stand.

and I smile.

I push a button.

my co-workers return to their desks, still brimming with excitement.

papers litter the floor, and a calm facade has appeared.

I invite you in.

--Mark

Breathe

and there you are.

on my doorstep.

I can see your face peek through the window.

look around in confusion, as if expecting me.

I stand up and walk towards the door.

you see me now. 

you smile warmly.

my hand almost touches the handle.

but I pull back in fright, as if the handle were conducting electricity.

you're confused. so am I.

you raise your eyebrows.

you mouth the same words over and over.

let me in.

and each time my hand goes near,

I remember.

I remember why I can't turn the handle.

a tear rolls down my cheek.

you just look at me in confusion.

in sympathy.

I turn around.

I walk away.

I look at the kitchen utensils.

at the knives.

then I look at you,

and remember why.

why I can't pull a knife down.

why I can't put an end to this torture.

I sit and sob.

I can't look you in the eye anymore.

I can't breathe anymore.

--mark