After declining sex with a coworker, I can no longer trust our government.
Materialized from the quickest sperm, now some sixteen years after the attacks on 9/11, I drink beer on the toilet, ghosted some moments ago by a literary colleague, then, humbly listless in a newly estranged world, skateboarded home down Pico, eating leftover spanakopita while thinking about anarchism, and later insufflating DXE as an estranged significant other texts me to look at the moon.
My roommate tells me that night of his concerns watching as I lay on our front lawn underneath the soft firmament of rain drizzled over the perimeter of my body.
The next day in Washington, an American gunman took aim at members of the GOP during baseball practice.
I accidently pour too much ketamine in my coffee before going to picnic where I fall deeply into a khole in front of my friend's coworkers on her birthday.
When I come to, a commotion is heard near the entrance of the park where a crowd disperses as car alarms sound, and her coworkers begin preparing themselves to leave.
“What’s happening, should we go?”
“Yes,” someone says.
Still high, I take the F train late for a poetry reading, accidently transferring twice, then taking the wrong C train in Manhattan, I reboard on the E, totally lost and panicked as I conspicuously begin touching Emi's foot until she notices it's me.
‘I was just going to see you,” she laughs.
We hug and I sit on the floor of the packed train, “Thank god,” I say, “get me out of this goddamned place.”
After ambivalent praise, I play outside the venue with a dog after his pooping on a residential sidewalk in Chelsea.
Explosions ringing off in the sky cause those around to slow their pace and our group spreads unease while searching twitter for info.
"Chinese New Year," someone walking by remarks to us.
The group slouches with a cathartic resignation of, "Ohhh!" and someone responds, “But it’s June?”
At the bar, Shay announces he finds me attractive and says that he’d very much like to kiss me.
"How could I spend more time with you?” He asks after everyone’s left.
"I don't know," I say, "how could people do something like that?”
Currently meeting up with my weed dude and walking across the street as slow as I possibly can.
This is so funny, I must look so lost in my phone.
Oh, I was going the wrong way lol, now I’m doing it again.
omg I’m dying, this is absurd.
Theo Thimo is a 22 yr old agnostic, agender, asexual poet living in Brooklyn, NY.