lewkowicz

[lewkowicz]

Beautiful sunlight on the laundry in my mother’s room

[lewkowicz]

everybody does — julien baker / most wanted man — lucy dacus

[lewkowicz]

I could not focus on anything else when she took my wrist. I held my breath without reason as she leaned forwards to do so. I became aware of my entire body. I strained to hold back a manic laugh, thinking of my past self. She had dreamed of a moment like this one. Her hands had a dexterity that thrilled me; my skin shouted with an insatiable yearning where she touched it.

[lewkowicz]

i love an album with an instrumental prelude

[lewkowicz]

The coffee shop is stupid and presents itself like something which is cool, but the coffee shop is not cool.

Sat in the corner is a woman. She’s on a date with an another, androgynous looking woman. Which makes this interaction quite hard to describe without constantly calling them by name. 

They are unsure how they got here. They are smiling, and seemingly attracted to each other. Neither of them can remember walking in. Or sitting down. That’s the crazy thing about starting a scene in the middle of the action. This scene only exists in your brain. And you only know as much about them as I choose to tell you.

 They don’t have much to say to each other. The author thinks about making one of them break the fourth wall, but then realises that this is a piece of writing and not a film. She’s going to try anyway. Here she goes.

‘What the fuck is going on, by the way?’ asks Mrs Androgyny. She is very hot. Imagine Julien Baker, if you’d like a better picture of what this woman looks like. 

The more feminine woman squints and peers around in put-on confusion, before turning back and replying, ‘Shit, brother. I don’t know. There’s something weird about the way this is playing out, right?’

Why did she use the term brother? Aren’t they here to kiss each other or something? I guess that’s just how women hang out these days. Let’s see how long this scene plays out before one of them mentions…. I don’t know. Think of something stereotypically gay.

‘Yeah.’

‘Like, I don’t know what your name is.’ 

The author temporarily loses track of who is who. ‘My name’s Alex’, says Alex. ‘And you?’

‘Uhh.’ She’s a little bit flustered, because as we know, Alex is attractive. ‘Jenna.’ she manages. The author realises she isn’t entirely sure how to use proper punctuation when characters are speaking. 

Their stomachs drop a little bit. Kinda strange that it happened at the same time, but the author can write whatever she wants here. Hey, the author’s a girl too! It would be a little weird if she wasn’t. Like that one movie Duck Butter, which was basically 2 hours of lesbian porn, and was directed by a man. Typical. 

‘I think the author lost track of where she was,’ Jenna says with a nervous snort. 

‘What?’ 

‘I said, she lost track.’

‘Who’s she? What are you talking about, Jenna?’ 

Jenna’s eyes widen in shock horror as she realises that she is the only one in this situation who is aware that this isn’t real. She also gives a quick glance of, ‘Really?’ to the author because she has also realised that this makes the plot inconsistent. At the beginning of the story, neither of them knew. The author thinks she had some kind of epiphany. The author shoots Jenna a look that says angrily, ‘Stop it. I’m trying to write here. Carry on.’ 

Jenna turns to Alex. ‘Do you really not know?’

Alex looks, genuinely, the most puzzled that anyone has ever looked. I mean, try to imagine that. I’m the author, by the way. Can’t tell you my name. It would make it too confusing. 

Alex ventures, ‘I know some people are into all that tarot and psychic shit, but I really, really don’t know what you’re talking about. Why are you looking past me like that? Jenna?’

Jenna keeps looking at me. Quit it. This is not fleabag. Talk to Alex, I am begging you. This is, like, your only chance at romance. I don’t know why because I haven’t fleshed out your character at all, but just know it’s really tragic trait of yours; you push people away all the time. Please leave me alone and just have this date, because I am getting really tired of you intervening. Alright? Make a joke or something.

Jenna pulls her eyes away from me and her head lolls a bit as she tries desperately to piece together what the hell is going on. What in the Phoebe Waller-Bridge is this? She looks back at her date, eyes wide under furrowed brows. She takes a deep breath.

‘I’m just kidding, Alex. You’re gullible, aren’t you?’ she tries, with a frenzied laugh. She cringes at how absurd she must look. That wasn’t even a joke, Jenna. Come on.

Alex bites the inside of her cheek as she tries to think of a way to escape the coffee shop without seeming like a bitch. She is about to speak when the entire room starts to rumble with a low, horrifying groan.

 They both grab the table as it threatens to fly away. Everyone in the place is yelling, the walls are melting, the floor is twisting and flowing into one gaping hole, and the pull of all of this is so intense that these two main characters can’t stop themselves from falling through the floor into the abyss of nothingness, accompanied by everything else which existed in that universe. Scary, right? It all happened so fast. And it really did happen. If I hadn’t chosen to write about it, you wouldn’t know. If our entire world ended, no one would ever know, because there would be no one left to read about it. I don’t really know what I’m saying, but this is fun. Ironically, even though this was a story which barely began, and went nowhere, it turned out to be a great representation of how it feels when all my trains of thought crash together at once whenever I try to explain anything. 

I hope Alex and Jenna get together.