Rainy Day

We are not allowed to choose who we love
even if we so desperately choose
to believe we can.
And sometimes it is hard to justify love
in an environment where God is a falsehood
or only an advertisement.
But love is still there, eternally.
Through the saturation of modern daily life
love still manages to appear,
with its meek and apprehensive face,
and shine down upon those who are mostly unaware
or at least pretend to be.
It's raining. It's been raining all day,
but the flowers are all out in full bloom.
Anyone who believes we are no longer affected
by the primordial muck that is true nature
is a fool. I know this because it is springtime
once again. It is a very beautiful and violent season
in our yearly cycle; truly an awakening of our senses.
I hold no sentimental thoughts for it,
but always appreciate it for its visceral gusto
of being, of once again growing
and again giving life to this eternal cycle
that I, as many, take for granted far too often.
This wet grass, these tulips and daffodils,
that broken birdhouse, the turquoise Mazda truck
rusting at the wheel well across the alley,
this notebook I am writing in; struggling
to keep flat in the wind that continues to blow
in a gentle, yet demanding way.
These chalk grey skies.
We know them and sometimes suspect
they will never go away.
Then, eventually, the sun shines once again.
Then, you find yourself encountering
the thing you need to encounter,
even if you didn't know you needed
to encounter it.
This is a sermon for the godless,
the flawed, the thoroughly human,
who do not know why they care, but still do.
Confusion is a virtue you can work with.

Aaron C. Molden

Chasing the Sunset

The simplest, yet greatest phenomenon I have had the pleasure to witness happened when I was traveling west with two women, who I love to this day and I will love eternally, in a Toyota Corolla. Due to the curvature of the Earth and the altitude of the Wyoming Badlands, the sunset seemed would never end. It was all glowing pinks and purples for longer than I ever imagined possible. In those glorious and sober moments I could not fathom a better place to be than in the back seat of that car, watching those two woman talk to each other, but unable to hear what they were saying. Through the wind shield that glorious skyline was the back drop to my utterly mundane, but absolutely beautifully shot silent film. We were chasing the sunset, and to this very day I believe we almost caught it.

Aaron C. Molden

Desperate Compliment

I love your smile and your head of hair the most.
It's such shallow things to dwell on.
God damn it.
I can only become religious
in describing your physical features.
You are angelic.
You are transcendent.
I know this because I make efforts
to avoid the metaphysical,
even when the odds are insurmountably
against me.
It is inevitable
Humans are nouns behind a reference desk
that is their own minds.
Woman saints in paint and sculpture
which left me rapt.
The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa
by Gian Lorenzo Bernini.
There you have it.
I sometimes view you as a work of art.
This is your skin (even with blemishes.)
This is your hair (even greasy or smokey
from cigarettes smoked at the bar.)
This is your body, draped in second hand clothes
(and it is so thrilling because all of my favorite
clothes were found at a thrift store)
in the sunlight I was so lucky to see you in...
And your lips.
Not necessarily how they look
(they are lovely to look at)
but more of how they feel against my own.
Conducive.
Sublime.
News Flash: you are not special in this world.
You are mostly insignificant.
You are important to me.
I don't know if this really matters,
but it matters to me in an very selfish way,
and it will always matter to me.
I am native to this land,
but this seems to rise above nativity.
Hello stranger.
It is always good to see you.
How are you?

Aaron C. Molden

Excess Brain

The Penurious nature of America.

Epicanthus: A small fold of skin sometimes covering the inner corner of the eye; as in Asian people.
Is my dictionary racist or simply anthropological?

Lafayette's Brain Against Boredom Society: building the best way we can here

Lafayette: Try Again

"East to the city. West to the college. A river runs through it."
-Kickapoo Scout

Fire from the Fringe.

And to the left, where strangely, no one seems to check, comes the call of the linesman: off sides. He is blind, but remains intuitively aware of the actions on the the football field. He is ignored as much else is.
Green Bay wins: 14 to 13.

37. There is something twisted and unsavory about this number. I like it.

F is the ugliest letter. It was not me who determined this. I merely experienced it, then understood.

Anomic Suicide: reflects an individual's moral confusion and lack of social direction, which is related to dramatic social and economic upheaval.

Peer into the void that is your thoughts when you are solitary; alone in your memories and imagination. Discover what you mind is capable of.
Do you fear this?
There. So far back there.
What did you find?

Wha Chu Want?

The American Civil War was defined by the colors of the troops' uniforms: blue and gray. Based on what I've learned about that war they should brown and red. I am not writing about uniforms or body paint. I am writing about mud and blood.
How lucky to be alive in this world.

A Dating Website Post:
Male seeking female. Over aware mind seeks spiritual oneness with another human being.
Note: also horny.

Craigslist Rant:
It's Orwellian how paranoid some people are about their children. I read an article about the pros and cons of taking your children sledding. I'm pretty sure one of the highlights of having a kid is taking them sledding... and you get to sled too.

Comparative Pop Music:
I used to love her, but that's all over now.
You're just somebody that I used to know.

List of things to do:
1. Make the world better
note: how?
2. Seek/attain proper nutrition
3. Rest/Recreation

Aaron C. Molden

Mutual Life Insurance

    The man woke to the sound of the alarm clock beeping and moaning in an electric shudder. The numbers glowed back at him in an illuminated green light: 5:30 A.M.
    He blinked, then sighed.
    Her arm was wrapped around his stomach.
    He looked over at her and took hold of her arm gently, setting it down on the comforter. She took a deep breath, then began to stir. "Go back to sleep.
    She turned in the  bed. "Have a good morning."
    He raised his arms upwards and stretched his muscles until they popped. "You too." He walked down the hall to his daughters room. The door was ajar and his daughter was snoring faintly in her new bed; her first bed that \was not a crib. She's growing up fast. Faster than he had expected.
    He walked downstairs to the kitchen to make coffee. While waiting for the boiling water to drip and filter into the coffee pot, he sat on the cabinet counter, in the bare fluorescent light above him, appreciating the patience of the process. He poured a cup of coffee into a mug that was in the cabinet. There was a teddy bear printed on the side of it. It read Key West. He took a sip, even though it was still to hot.
    He looked at a section of the newspaper he had saved from the former day; the crossword, half finished and in need of new assessment; Winkin, Blinkin, and _______.
    He rubbed his eyes.
    Nod.
    He turned on the hot water in the bathroom shower of the master bedroom.
    "Keep it down" She said Jeeringly from the bed.
    He let the hot water spray and drizzle over his face. He scrubbed the dead skin lingering on various parts of his body. He took a deep breath of steam and hot air, with it's lingering domestic fragrances of lilac and lye. She always bought lilac scented soap. He toweled himself off after the shower. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror.
    The walk in closet also had a mirror. Silk. Red hounds tooth neck tie. His hands folding and cinching the noose. Thinking about the noose. Double Windsor .
    He stepped out into the bedroom fully dressed in suspenders and a tie.
    She was awake, staring at him from the bed. "You look fantastic."
    "Take a picture then." He tightened his tie. Noose. Thoughts of a noose.
    "Maybe I will"She said smiling. She had messy hair, smudged eyeliner, and drowsy eyes.
    "Go back to sleep." He walked back down the hallway to his daughter's room. He approached her bed and kissed her forehead. "Goodbye sweetie."
    He went downstairs and walked out the front door to his car. He had been doing this for two and a half weeks. Pretending. Pretending he was still employed; everything was as it always was. Stability. Family. Home.
    How to make it look like an accident for life insurance purposes. He tightened his tie in the car. A noose would not do. He started the car. He pulled out of the driveway. The train he waits to pass every day at the same time on his drive into work; what use to be work. He drove to the track 5 minutes earlier than usual. It was his secret route to work to avoid traffic. There was no other cars on the road. It was a longer route, but he could get there faster. He parked on the tracks and shut off his headlights. He waited for the inevitable.
    He thought, this better work and closed his eye.
    The warning lights began flashing. The guard rails on both sides of the track dropped. The trains whistle bellowed.
    This better work.

Aaron B. Molden

Night Encounter

    I was walking back from the bar. It was early, but the sun was already beneath the western horizon. The sidewalks were slick and shiny with black and grey ice; they were reflecting the yellow twinkle of the overhead street lights.
    I heard yelling on the street in front of me. It echoed off the dark houses and down the corridors of the ice capped alleyways.
    "Fucking bitch!"
    "Fuck you! Did you hear what I said?"
    A man slipped down the shadowy steps of the house, illuminated over with motion censor stoplights mounted to the facade of the almost-Victorian style home next to twelfth street.
    "This is all bull shit! Don't you come back here. My mom. My dad. My brother's will fuck you up."
    "Fuck me up! Fuck me up? Go ahead, fuck me up.
    I slowed my pace and stared, bewildered by the scene in front of me. The man who had fallen down the icy steps then turned to look at me. "Who are you?"
    I stopped. "No one."
    "Well mind your own fucking business."
    He walked off towards the river. I walked the other way.
    The next day, I read in the newspaper that a man had froze to death underneath the Columbia street bridge.

Aaron C. Molden

Gone Again

I woke up and found

her sleeping on the

mattress set out

in the front room.

All the floors in the house

are wood paneling,

except for the kitchen.

Contemplate the

logistics of this

reasoning.

She has a boyfriend

who is thousands

of miles away.

If she hadn't I

would have asked

her to sleep with

me in my bed,

only four hours

prior, when everyone

was trailing off towards

their bedrooms and

beds as quickly

as the could get there,

only an hour before

the sun would rise,

though none of us

would ever see it.

Gray skies

gray skies for days

gray skies for weeks.

Of course we were drinking

of course we were with

friends.

Of course.

I must have said good

night to her

because I know

I would never

allowed myself

not to.

In the morning

I found her still

sleeping on the

mattress.

I crouched down

by her head and

touched her shoulder.

"I have to go to work."

She grasped my hand.

"You should stay here."

She smiled.

She pulled my

hand to her cheek.

"Jesus, I'm going to

miss you."

"Visit me" she said.

"I will."

I kissed her forehead.

"Be safe."

I drove to work.

She got on a plane.

This is the truest

thing I have written

in a while.

This moment

cuts me the deepest.

No cum.

No cunt.

No matter.

The cum and the cunt can

come when they want.

After this,

my thoughts are on

tomorrow.