Jordan Castro



i left school during third period

i drove my car on I-480 west towards your house

i smoked cigarettes and listened to music at a high volume through speakers


when i arrived, you were eating tofu scramble and toast


you said ‘have you seen this show before’

i said ‘no, what is it’

you said ‘it’s always sunny in philadelphia’

you said ‘it’s really funny’


i looked at the t.v.


i said ‘this is really funny’


i said ‘do you have a tuner’

you said ‘no’


i tuned my guitar to the low e string of my guitar

you tuned your banjo to my guitar


we played songs together


we drank coffee


we smoked cigarettes on your deck

we listened to your friend interview ‘good old war’ on the radio


i put my arm around you in a ‘buddy buddy’ way


i drove home

i thought about some things

i didn’t listen to music











at school people say things


i can feel myself turn inwards


the escalation from ‘politely responding with terse expressions of

     acknowledgment’ to


‘feeling my face morph into [something soft/wet] while seconds turn to minutes

     and i am staring and nodding and smiling oddly and maybe saying “yeah,”

     while internally “moving” “at a speed of one hundred miles per hour” with

     feelings experienced in a linear manner from anxiety to self-hatred to self

     aware self-hatred to sarcastic self-aware self-hatred to “what is going on” to

     thoughts of myself in terms of the current social situation to thoughts of myself

     in terms of [some large context] to extreme feelings of detachment to nothing,

     while having already started to feel anxiety about the prospect of tweeting this

     feeling, which is really many feelings, a poly-feeling, that may or may not be

     explicable in 140 characters or less in a manner that is clear, funny, and



happens quickly


my face feels numb and my mouth, i think, is open


somebody smiles at me


i fall further into myself, screaming













we exist inside of an incomprehensively large [something] of

nothingness.  shape-shifting



nothingness in the form of nothingness.  cyclical



an incomprehensively small [nothing]

inside of an amazingly gigantic

nothingness.  nothingness



perceptions are illusions made possible by the

     invention of ‘beginning’ and



nothingness, like nothingness, is [something (nothing)].


nothingness as depression, as sorrow, as sadness,

     as joy


nothingness in the form of a limp penis in jeans


perceptions (necessarily subjective) exist in a

     never-ending war against



play-doh nothingness.  lego nothingness.


     blankets of nothingness











serious emotional literature


i don’t know what to type to describe my feelings of extreme detachment from reality other than,

     ‘i feel extremely detached from reality’