Hi, I’m Brian Dys — a photographer from the inside looking out · a composer entangled in electronic music · a UX designer · a spouse, a parent, & everything in between.
She was wearing make-up. Lip-stick. Eye-liner. Eye-shadows. Blush-on. Spray-net. Fish-net. Stock-ings.
Stuck in a middle of a frozen traffic-jam.
Bought some dose of cashew-nuts and belly-bum.
She is Lady-Bhabes. Daughter of renowned classical-exhibitionist.
Philanthropist. Her father, the dentist of all tooth-aches.
Heart-breaks. Head-turners. Hotel-mongers.
Lies in hays. Lays eggs. Begs.
Zero. Nothing. Nada.
Kudos. Hail. Congratulations.
Blink-charm. Heart-big. Heart-small.
Stirrup. Cochlea. Eyes-covex.
Happiness. Bliss. Tea-cup.
Protect. Potion. Seam. Foot-work.
End. Dark. Light.
Shade. Shadow. Curtain-close.
Pull. Up. New. Old.
Go. Time. Stop.
Originally published in happyobituary.multiply.com on Nov 16, 2007 1:53
I was not supposed to sleep. With my jeans and shirt from yesterday? No. But I did and sank into a shallow slumber. I thought I woke up but then none of my physical limbs were moving.
I was experiencing sleep paralysis.
My initial reaction was to struggle starting from the tips of my fingers. I could not remember what the dream was about but I was able to grasp some real air for a while. Then I closed my eyes again.
This time, I planned to go back to the trance. I thought I could fly and pass through walls but to no avail. I only imagined that I reached as far as the first floor of my apartment.
It was a boring sleep paralysis.
Originally published in happyobituary.multiply.com on Nov 5, 2007 7:49 PM
I came, I saw, I conquered.
I sat, I walked, turned the key, and entered my house.
Walked to the kitchen, opened the freezer, and poked the sandwich.
It wasn’t that frigid yet.
I was planning to hammer it while it was dead frozen. See how many pieces would shatter.
Smithereens shower. Slow motion. Splendid.
I am not planning my own burial. It is not a shame to sit by the funeral home and wonder how much it will cost me for this body size. Just get me a fake bronze… or an amber wood for a casket instead. I am just inquiring.
Well, you see that on top of my head is a crow. It is really over my head… look up and there it is. Its feathers are planted with black dust… or maybe woven diesel fabric. This is not a deserted place. We are along a highway. I will give you a speckle of Christmas lights in February, pin us down right in the middle and there you will see this house of dead meats. Only this black bird does not creak here if you will listen closely.
So, she stood there waiting for her coffee to be made. I walked and stopped behind her back. As she felt how I brushed her hair to reveal her nape, she glanced at me. Just as sudden as she turned around and smiled.
You’re so beautiful. Exactly the words I could think of and had said.
Originally published on Multiply, 21 October 2007, 3:22 AM
My twelve-year old girl flips on the pages of the book from my bag. I know she doesn’t understand a thing. Or maybe she just isn’t interested. I can almost see her bickering inside her head. And what I notice is how cute she is with her red headband on. Her pout is exactly like her mother’s.
My five-year old boy just watches in amazement as the outside world zooms past us. He even points to unlit neon-light billboards just as the train gradually comes to a halt. Ate gives him a crooked smile when he calls her attention. Just like this time as he mulls over the row of trees that lines the view.