By Rafael Grenier

Writing is inherently narcissistic
I’m begging for your attention
Like a drunk street performer
Or a three-year-old
But it’s dignified under the guise of art
No need to despise this wise guy
I’m a fool too, a jester
I might have lost you by now,
And kudos to you on that

For those still here, let’s see what else I can do
The flutter of a butterfly’s wings missed ever so slightly by a delayed camera shutter
Another flustered muttered phrase expressing regret and disappointment
“I just can’t catch it!”
Ether defeats the purpose
Therefore purpose defeats the ether
All I want is an ethereal image to claim as my own
A still shot of an insect going about its routine
I tempt fate
I want to capture and instant and prolong it indefinitely
That’s all I’ve ever wanted

Another check in for the more attentive
Maybe some congratulations will throw you off the scent
So here’s my two cents, I hope it makes sense
The sarcasm is palpable and my double triple quadruple negatives of meaning and intent leave me too wondering where I started and where I’m going
This is exhibitionist self-gratification
And you’re still here, gulping it down
Skeptically, I hope

Okay, now that only the truly faithful are left
I’ll tell you a secret
That was all a cover
I’m afraid to say I’m proud of my work
I wrote this all quickly but I’ve relished every moment and I think it’s actually worth reading
I like myself more as a result
It’s such a toxic piece of writing
I want you to read this and think
“How clever!”
Or to begrudgingly enjoy what you see
I’m terrified of mockery
And of pity
So I’ve left this big hard shell to protect the crab meat within
I think it’s a delicacy, crab meat
I wouldn’t know, but one can speculate
Now I need to do a little more covering in case anyone just skipped to the end
But you’ll know what it really means

Scattered tattered remains of the battered population
Flattered by our own voice
Flattened by reality
Flatulent in the face of God
Tell me that’s not funny
I knew bathroom humor could still get you
No one is safe
Anyways, I want to say none of us are grown up
I’m still wetting the metaphorical bed
And now my critical voice is in your head
Misguided and irreversibly misled

What did the French author name his final book about fish?


I like stream-of-consciousness pieces, so I wanted to make one of my own. I really do hope you enjoy reading this, it was a lot of fun to write.