diyannie's profile

Recorded and stored in the metal file cabinet she obsessively maintained was; all she had, all that she would ever have to show for her self, the tiny bit of the universe that she comprehended, found coherent, formulated theories with, could interpret real meaning from, managed to grasp some sort of control over, the miniscule bit that was not fleeting. The ends of Susanna’s index and middle fingers wafted outlines of the manila folders’ edges, as she mentally audited the information typed an...

Susanna pushed the shopping cart down the frozen food aisle, and stopped to pick up the last ingredient on her list. She opened the freezer door, and heard Mrs. Gurdy’s high pitched gossip rant roll down the aisle. She was a round woman that Susanna frequently pictured rolling around town spewing out the ongoings of everyone’s boring lives, never stopping to actually live one of her own. “Is that Susanna? My god, she looks so unkempt, and so thin, my God, didn’t she…” Mrs. Gurdy lowered her v...

SOCRATES WAS SAID TO RARELY BATHE I knew someone that based his final thesis for his Political Science Master’s degree with the assertion that, “Everything is Everything.” He was required to prove this thesis statement verbally to the head faculty of the NYU Political Science department, and they were not impressed. However, after backing them into a corner every time they disputed his statement, they passed him. I understand why the professors who have obviously already come to realize that ...

Susanna opened the medicine cabinet’s three mirrors just enough to be able to look at herself without making direct eye contact. She tugged at her skin, ran her finger down her profile, pushed her eyebrows up to produce wrinkles on her forehead, and caught a glance at her reflection in the mirror hung behind her. She moved her shoulders and noticed the various ways the bones jutted out, until her eyes finally met her own. Her hands grasped the cornered edges of the sink; leaning down so forc...

Sociopath Strut Encompassed in smoke, my friends and I in an alley a stones throw from school scatter our seeds on cement cultivate what we think is real. Within earshot is the track team’s frivolous... five mile warm-up sprint, drowned out by our critiques of grafitti thrown upon garage doors. My tag if ever sprayed or written would have been a fuchsia-“Puff,” Undecipherable names of the unsettled the unmarked, the forever unknown. We know now, anarchy isn’t “happening.” At my locker, a sni...