freefall is a section in weight of words for masturbatory, practice writing, random quotes and pieces of poetry. similar to a tattoo where an artist sketches an outline first before the very illustration, freefall is an outline of either beautiful or monstrous sets of words to come.

“You hold me in the dark when storms arrive.” – Ellie Goulding

No, you don’t hold me in the dark or in the light. I don’t hold you either. Why hold each other when we are the storms themselves? My country is a sea and water country, and every other day, the skies are committed to fall and fall. We are committed to retain our roles, and we make mad love with our eyes.

Anything and nothing may happen, and you and I let it. That boat, this bed, that jar of stories, that canister of silver water, the real and the inevitable fictions. I let my eyes scan this room, that cubicle, that auditorium, and while you tell me Let’s forget About This while This is happening and while your hands are all over me, I smirk and let you know, why of course, not a problem, suit yourself.

There’s a paper boat or a paper plane that you have to catch, and there’s a magic carpet ride I have to catch.

Once, you told me about your long walks with your pets. Once, I saw you looking at my wall filled with mad scribbling. I wanted to tell you that you did not have the right to read those words on that wall, but I saw your hand mindlessly miming writing on an imaginary piece of paper. Were you copying my words? Were you rendering them in shapes?

She doesn’t know why she is mad at you. Maybe because you only have words, and words contain mayhem and the occasional lullabies. She is tired of words. She wants nothing to do with these one-dimensional lies and liars. She wants to commit to the parade behind closed doors, she wants the lines on your palms to dissolve and become thunderstorms.


When he proposed to her, she thought, that’s the best non-proposal I have ever received. He said, let’s be together without emotions, let’s just pleasure each other every day, and hunt down each other’s bodies in time, when we find ourselves singular, without any hangers-on, without partners. She asked, are you sure? and Are you crazy? and Are you sober? And he said, yes, yes, yes, and she danced on top of the table while he looked outside his window, regions away, and played a song on his aging guitar. The characters here are talking about years and years into the far future; a lot can happen, she may even be long dead by then, but it was nice and sweet to receive a non-proposal, to be treated like what she really is: an animal only committed to writing verses.

He showed her his kittens. His female cat gave birth to two sickly kittens, and now he is invested. She is happy to meet his kittens. Inside his house, the bed is warmed with anticipation, and the sheets are conditioned to receive a delicious beating. But before the madness starts, they stand a foot apart committed to watching a family forming before their eyes. Their eyes glow with startled tenderness, and their lips form riddles and rhymes. Tomorrow, he will bring the kittens to the veterinarian. He is worried about them. She looks at the kittens, and the day slides back and back.

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