the room grows quiet,
a melancholy song skips on the record player
that you bought me for my thirtieth birthday last year
when i was going through a hipster phase,
which i’ve said i’m sorry about,
but i still like the music playing in the background,
even when it sounds discordant and lacks melody
i think dmx and i would be friends,
if he wasn’t dead,
or addicted to cocaine, i believe it was,
but i could be wrong,
since i didn’t follow up on my assumptions about dmx
by googling his name,
but not because i didn’t try,
but rather because i accidentally hit a z instead of an x
and went down an internet rabbit hole of
korean history and how the current geopolitical state of affairs came to be,
which only confused me more about life and history and the human condition,
so next time i’ll just stick to internet searches about dmx,
or at least try to relate the search
back to him
haven’t been to an ophthalmologist in 3 years because
i’m certain they will fix up my eyes
and then i’ll have to see all the ads on the internet and highway,
and i don’t want to,
you can’t make me
Fred Aiken Writing 