Tuesday, April 13, 2010


I sat down here today (it’s early here today)

& said, “I’m going to write something

powerful!” & then I said, “That’s the

worst fucking idea I’ve ever had.”


growing up

fireworks were our first masturbation –

at least we were encouraged to experiment

& build – we could use any saw or axe

in the garage, murder trees, design our

own planet – we could maim the legs

of the Free State as long as the Free State

could still walk straight come dinner. Hither

through the woods. The skinned knee

heals like a map we follow for the rest

of our lives


she never makes promises

just in case she can't keep them. There

is something I admire about that

but I’ll never understand why – she says,

after I touch her tiny shoulder,

“You touch it, you scratch it!”

& there I am, scratching her back

in the kitchen I never grew up in


I love this house, but it’s still a weird

place. A cat over here. One farting over there.

Weightlifting the electric bills. Evidence of

splendor on paper plates. I will honor

all of you when you’re gone

with jokes & insults & endowments of shit


I say shit too much.

I don’t know how not to.

It’s as prevalent as ketchup, but worse

for civilization. Really. You can blame

every evil on ketchup. Why do Americans

cover their dinner in liquid candy? Because

no one told them it’s disgusting


the only thing nine volt batteries

are good for now is powering fire detectors

& guitar pedals -- both are responsible

for saving an equal number of lives in

American lives. Heroes save people

from one sort of fire or another. Artists

do the opposite. Bring me the heads

of my family, the severed heads of

my friends & colleagues, twisted &

swinging giblets by their hair – bring every

Facebook & Twitter head I’ve never met –

the cute, the trolls, the combustible egos.

Pile them in the middle of the living room

where my head will be like the angel head on

the Christmas tree of moldering stupid

& open my house to the public


we’re not always this morose


she wrote something on my hand that never

washed off. The gosh, the ghoulishness

tattooed inside the mouth like a wallet


now I’m lonely. Boo hoo hoo.

Can you come over & help me move all

these heads out of the living room? They’re

blocking the TV & I want to play this first

person shooter where my family is chasing me

through post apocalyptic DC & the monuments

are skinless fingers in the distance

& the goal is to make infinity not cliché


Jamie Gaughran-Perez said...

Let's eat things and burn things and maybe break things rill soon.


Justin Sirois said...

I have become very good at that.

Kelly said...

i dont know if my comment went through or not before but if not it said something to this effect:

this post was so fucking good it made me miserable and ecstatic.

i am linking to it if you dont mind.

lauren bender said...

"now I’m lonely. Boo hoo hoo.

Can you come over & help me move all

these heads out of the living room?"

yeah that's good.

Justin Sirois said...

Thanks for the link, Kelly!!

Justin Sirois said...

Boo hoo hoo.