Thought Portal

A blog of the media I am consuming

Poetry

Little Voice

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Little Voice I woke this morning to the sound of a little voice saying this life, it was good while it lasted, but I just can't take it any longer. I'm going to stop shaving my teeth and chew my face. I'm going to finish inventing that way to turn my blood into thread and knit a sweater the shape of a giant machete and chop my head right off. The leaves had a green aspect, all their faces turned down towards the earth. This is exactly how I wanted to act, but I didn't know where the little voice had hidden, and anyway who talks like that? What a loss, another tiny brilliant mind switched off by that same big boring finger. Clearly life is a drag, by which I mean a net that keeps pulling the most unsavory and useful boots we either put on lamenting, or eat with the hooks of some big idea gripping the sides of our mouths and yanking them upward in a conceptual grimace. Said the little voice, that is. I was just half listening, one quarter wondering what the little park the window looked onto was named, and one quarter thanking the war I knew was somewhere busy returning all those limbs to their phantoms.

matthew zapruder from come on all you ghosts

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