25 Jun




The passing airplanes filled with red eye passengers above you didn’t wake you up. The renovation of the building across the street didn’t wake you up even when the drilling turned symphonic. The girl you slept next to getting ready for work in the morning didn’t wake you up. Around noon your neighbor starts blasting repetitive dubstep through your thin walls; you finally roll out of bed like a weary seal and blow a couple of rails instead of wasting time brewing coffee. Play Neutral Milk Hotel records for the rest of the day while the Cooking Network flickers silently across your television screen. There were so many errands that you had to do today. I wonder who you can blame besides Skrillex and DeadMau5 for this limbo boiling so slowly.




If you find blindness like an amphetamine later that night everything might be alright again. Once again. Then once again. And there’s nothing in the lights of the city scurrying for sensation in the night besides some shining love and secularism. Turn that lamp off and breathe slowly. Breathe slowly. It will all repeat itself surely. One way or another, like a new sentimentalist covering Jacques Brel in tearful sincerity. Just turn that lamp off and let the nighttide, despite its forced truculence and false bliss, swallow you entirely. Your only promise is to remember to breathe.


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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