He’s still there, 50 miles away, soulless and alone. Objectivity is gone we could care less. He fills voids in no one, his kids secretly [[hate|Moment]] him. No one would miss him if he was gone.
Fall back, [[we’re there|Eyes]]. In the trenches, not touching but touching. We sit in the living room, our door has a crack in it. [[It’s closed tight, we can’t get in|Alley]]. \n
<<display 'Burning 2'>>\n\n\n\n[[Kids|Burning 13]] in my yard again. They tease me. My roses are pulled, but I've got them this time. Camera in my hand, they don't see. I'm going to get them to pay. Those bushes were quite a bit of work.
[[Chronology|Remember]]\n\nby Christian Kriech\n\n\n\n\n
Born on a Wednesday, in an old hospital. My parents are pleased, until they see [[me|Burning 11]].\n
<<display 'Burning 1'>>\n\n\n\n\nAlone, crippled, my head full of fuzz and clouds, I settle down. Years cleaning, years of savings. I pool it all into a small, quiet neighboorhood, half a world away.\n\n[[I plant a garden|Burning 12]].
<<display 'Burning 15'>>\n\nHalf an Earth away, my hands tend to their garden. The plants are potted with my [[ashes|Burning 17]].
I am drifting towards something. I am a speck of light in a sea of fire. I am swimming but can't stay afloat. \n\n[[Sucked in, down, down, down into the depths|Choices]].\n\n
<<display 'Burning 4'>>\n\n\n\nTime before flashes by swimmingly. Light curves around my eyeballs. A searing [[heat|Burning 15]] emanates from my breast. My cage is on fire.\n
<<display 'Burning 14'>>\n\nMy daughter dances in the courtyard, facing the dusty street. She had a ribbon in her hair, and she wipes the sweat off her browning forehead. Dew languishes in the yard. The heat from the [[bonfire|Burning 16]] reflects off the glowing moon. My feet are firm on the ground, my arms are pointed into the air. \n
Do you feel threatened? Lonely? Do you feel at all? Strum dance kick. Fall down, grab your crotch, feel bruise. She's down, hair in a mess. The house shudders as you approach, as the [[old bile|Scars]] rises back up. The bedroom door [[cracks|Loud]]. We look up, not moving but racing, trying to get away. In the attic bed, face looks down. Word appear but they don't mean. What choice did we have?\n
[[He|Kick]] sings in country, with a studio mic in front of him. He is failing, failing, failing. His dad haunts his [[dreams|Moment]], Conway Twitty his thoughts, and ears.
Can we do it a second time, can we rip out the stitches and show it bare? We’re on the bench, in the courthouse, looking at each other. We nod, and we cry. It’s bullshit now it was bullshit then. We could get away, it kept us from falling out. You puke on the sidelines. The moment smells like floor polish, it tastes like salt. I can’t see through the blur, and he is pacing. It’ll never get us again, but it’s still there, creeping in the dark. [[We’ll never get away|Conway Twitty]].
It’s eyes, its a grimace.\n\nIt’s a face pointed towards a scared child. \n\nIt’s a cistern, filled to brim with trash and wood. \n\nIt’s not a moment, its a place. I start from the dryer, [[head bouncing back|Kid]]. I pull open the door and drag out the clothes. \n\n[[I don’t look up|Time]].
<<display 'Burning 8'>>\n\nI am drifting towards something. I am a speck of light in a sea of fire. I am swimming but can't stay afloat. \n\n[[Sucked in, down into the depths|Burning 10]].\n\n
''Transmigration''\n\n\n\nThere's that weird [[guy|Burning 2]] again, tending to his damn garden. The roses were pulled out. Look at him push and pull, he looks half-retarded. \n\nNever liked that guy.\n\nReally? Damn. Makes sense now.
[[asshole|This Everything 5]]
this everythin for you\nits gunnabe ten forty two\nheres eight cents sorry didnt see those heres a dime\n[[have a good one|This Everything 7]]\n
this everythinfor you\nsix thirty three\njust slide the card there\nwant your receipt\n[[thanks have a good one|This Everything 8]]\n
It’s in the moment, it’s in there somewhere. There’s a story to tell somewhere, but all that comes out is the stuff that we don’t want to [[expose|Cold]]. There’s nothing but cliches and hate, and none are attractive. Words about things we don’t care about, who would care to read. \n\nIt’s high school poetry, it’s black souls and red razors. It’s tragic love. Elvis, shaking his hips. He’s holding a mic, sewn into a blanket facing the living room table, [[in a house on a hill|Trenches]]. There’s a birthday cake, and a crying man, feeling few emotions but one right now. He looks up, dad's dead, what's a man to do.
me too heh yep\ni only work three more\nyep I might burn this place to the ground\n\nheh\n\n[[yep|This Everything 6]]
this everything for you\nsorry this everything for you\none sec can i get that thanks\nheh sorry total is seven eighty nine\njust run the card there\njust run it there\ndid it work flip it over there you go\ndo you want your receipt\nsorry its really slow heh\n[[oh have a good one|This Everything 3]]\n
this everythin for you\nsorry it probably couldnt read your card do you want to pay inside how much do you want to put in\njust run the card there\none sec you just need to sign your receipt do you want a copy\n[[have a goodone|This Everything 4]]
The [[law|Burning 7]] bangs the camera on the table. The room is quiet. I'm stared down by a room of faces. I'm picked up, and attached with chains. They say the kids ruined his garden, that I'm wrong. They don't know nothing.\n\nMaybe I don't.
''this everything for you''\n\n\n\ncan i get that from you thanks sorry\nthree bucks even\nheh\n[[thanks have a good one|This Everything 2]]\n
<<display 'Burning 7'>>\n\nThe [[light|Burning 9]] leaks out of my eyes.
Middle of the night, he's got no choice. Sleeps in purple matching shirts and pants. Got tears in them, from being dragged. The neiborhood is awake, and listening. They stand back from the center of the street. I hold the camera in my hand, he cries and doesn't seem to understand. His nose is broken. The camera's covered in red. Someone hands me a can, I pull off the top and poor.\n\nI can't see past the red. I stand back from the cries. My shoe catches fire, I kick it at the [[flickering corpse|Burning 5]], curled up in a ball in the center of the street. \n\nThe neighborhood goes back to bed.
this everythinforyou\noh just use the other handle its the silver one on the left\nsorry just use the other handle\nthat just how it works sorry no you didnt get charged\nyeah i can print it out one sec\nsorry no theres no one else here\nnope sorry heres her card call during business hours fucking [[asshole|This Everything 9]]\n
Who cares, kid, who cares. Why don’t you do it [[back|Dark]].
Doesn’t matter the time, the place. It’s not the scars made, it’s the ones yet to be drawn. You’ll do it again, there’s no guessing. [[The future|Time]] is set, the stars are right, [[you fail and fail and fail|Still There]], go home, get a job, go away, come home again, wherever that is. It’s in a place only you can guess.
* [[Then|Conway Twitty Start]]\n\n* [[Now|This Everything 1]]\n\n* [[Future(Other lives)|Burning 1]]
thiseverythinforyou\nright under the big sign\n[[have a good one|This Everything 11]]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
thiseverythinforyou\noh what kind\nlights the gold pack\nthat is the oh you mean that one okay\nsorry which kind the shorts or talls okay sorry\nwe cant take those sorry \nsorry\ni dont know why sorry do you want the card of sorry it okay\n[[have a good one|This Everything 12]]
thiseverythinforyou\noh sorry how are you\nthat really cool so cool super cool\nthat totally cool \nanything else\nits thirteen ninety eight\noh okay heres the change\noh i didnt see those\nits okay sorry heres the change\ndo you need a bag\noh im sorry i didnt hear you\nheres the ticket\ndo you need a bag\nsorry sorry\n[[have a good one|This Everything 13]]
She comes to us, years [[later|Kick]]. It’s taken time, she couldn’t say, but its [[done|Choices]].
It’s ignored. It’s normal. It obsessed over but still there. It’s now and I [[should be over it|Kid]]. It’s then and I can’t even come close to thinking over it. How loud can a moment be.
<<display 'Burning 3'>>\n\n\n\nI can feel them stare into my house. It's not the clouds, something is wrong, I don't know where to go. [[More roses were pulled up, I don't have the strength to put them back|Burning 14]].\n\nI wish I could rest these bones.
It only takes a mild jolt to set the heart out of motion. My bunk mates bang on the bars, the guards come running. My feeble fingers can't make a fist, can't fight the oncoming [[future|Burning 8]].
It's always money. I come back, [[knowing you're waiting|Loud]], waiting. Circle around back, check alley. Shiver. The dogs bark but they don't bite. Today's the day, you said.\n
Door broken by police foot. I stood waiting, wearing best suit. Knew they were coming, I did [[right|Burning 6]].
I see him across the street, tending his garden. I can smell the sin on him. I've got his pictures in my house. The police wont do shit. \n\n[[I guess it's time to act|Burning 4]].
Look, man, it's important. I think that guy's a pervert. Look at these damn pictures.\n\nWhere? His camera. \n\nStole, took it from his porch. [[Idiot|Burning 3]] didn't hide it at all. \n\nLook at the kids, man, look at the kids.\n\nWhat's his fucking deal? He can't do that shit.\n\nThat's an idea, phone's around back.
Can you ignore the cold? I stand in boxers and t-shirt, feet in dirty snow. Reaching above my head for something I can’t reach. I can’t do it, I can’t do it, he doesn’t care, I can’t do it. I’m in a place, [[I’m trying to get away|Birds]].\n
thiseverythinforyou\nheh yeah some people i guess\nthree\n[[have a good one|This Everything 10]]
Birds of a feather, birds of a feather. [[Get away from the door|Time]]. Tap prod poke one enough to make you want to choke.