Letter in Columnar (excerpt)
I'll think of you like
a desert smoothed
over.
I've thought of you
when my eyes are
closed.
Last night I dreamt
we were talking
holding hands.
I was getting
ready to leave,
and you were
starting to work
at the café.
An interesting turn of
the tables.
We happened to kiss,
neither of us expecting
it. You felt like I
imagine a cloud would
soft, wet, cool.
As we pulled away
you got upset:
"I can't have this
I can't do this"
and I'm thinking
what? and you're
going on to yourself
about "he's just trash
and..."
so I'm leaving thinking
jesus, it was just a
kiss, not a
proposal...
Why you gotta be so tense like that?
So I'm driving
down a street
that looks like
a street in
Milwaukee.
Walking across
the parking lot
of an ice cream
joint is a girl
I know.
I pull in and get
out of my car,
I take a
pillow and
a sleeping bag with me.
I don't know why...
She's walking toward me
with her arms open
and I realize I
don't know her.
She realizes this at
the same time I do
Instantly,
we walk in different
directions,
away from each other.
I feel people
staring at me
walking down
the street with
an unrolled
sleeping bag and a
pillow.
When I get into my
car,
two effeminate
gay boys are sitting
in the back seat.
I tell them get
the fuck out of
my car!
"No way" they say.
One of them tries
to light a cigarillo.
I pinch out the match
"No fucking way are
you smoking in my car."
I start driving
fast,
dangerous,
trying to scare
the shit out of
them.
Ah, this piece! It's a quirky mix of dreamy nostalgia and urban surrealism that pulls you along with its offbeat narrative rhythm. The writer crafts their prose with a conversational style that feels both immediate and disjointed—like thoughts tumbling out in a rush but pausing for breath at just the right moments. There's something distinctively raw about how they weave this dream sequence into reality, making you feel like you're riding shotgun through a mind half-asleep and half-wakeful. The structure here is delightfully freeform; it's almost as if each line holds its own weight, contributing to an overall sense of fragmentation that mirrors the protagonist's internal disarray. Word choices like "effeminate" and "fucking" inject a gritty edge into this otherwise ethereal musing, balancing between tender dreaminess and harsh reality. Emotionally, it teeters on the verge of longing with a dash of bewilderment—highlighting themes of unexpected intimacy, vulnerability, and the chaos that ensues when dreams collide with real life. It's like waking up from a vivid dream only to realize you're driving through a city in which everything is slightly off-kilter—both unsettling and oddly comforting at once.
—phi4:latest, 2026-05-02