a roller-coaster of emotion

anticipation4This is not that piece of writing that tries to sound meaningful by using awkward adverbs, like lovingly, despairingly, or intently, with some YIKES conclusion sentence, like I guess that’s just the way the world is. This is not that intense piece of fucking writing where everyone gets fucking lost or hurt just about the time that the drugs start to kick in, poking accidental jabs at Hunter S. Thompson’s style: We lost Cole around the time that the benzies started to kick in, and a mushroom the size of a cat took my pint and poured it in Ella’s face: I woke up, the next morning, in jail, with a broken thumb, half a cigarette, and a phone number on the back of a torn tampon box, and said what the fuck, fuck, fucking shit. This is not that piece of writing that is a skeletal version of Hemingway, a virgin Mojito. It was the first time we met. The sun was warm and I was looking forward of what to come. Cole Diamond was set to arrive that evening, and so I walked to purchase a quart of wine and a bag of ice. The ice clinked in the glass and made the wine more tolerable. I always think fondly on that first meeting. Ugh. This is not the bad slam poetry piece of writing, introducing something slow – dramatic pause –  fast spurting of details – dramatic pause – slow, edgy statement – dramatic pause – somewhat related highly detailed description of an interaction with a machine, or other idea – pause- slow delivery – pause – intense – intense – abrupt close.

            a whisper


            we were like a whisper

            a wisp

            meeting kept secret

            until that fall


            you can tell it’s fall

            when the leaves curl

            to crisp and crunch

            under shoes of people

            Cole, leaving,

            back to school

            back to school

            crumbling in

            twelve to fifteen degree weather in the Mid-West


            I’ll never forget how he came


            a roller coaster

            WE’D ROAR ROAR

            and GLIDE to the top, WELL-OILED

            our bodies in





            But when

            He came,


            He didn’t make

            A peep


            Only a


This writing is not my opinion of whether or not the illuminati is real, Jay Z couldn’t have been so successful on his own- I mean, he’s black- or other accidentally racist capital-O-opinion posts, backed by unsubstantiated, and unrelated facts, things that inspire thousands of passive-aggressive or aggressive-aggressive replies from people who just want to be heard, listen to me and tell me that I am alright. This writing is not the hipster writing making fun of everything else, drinking PBR, but, well, I guess that’s just the way the world is.


word by Liam Lachance

colour by Mitch Frey



Author: Word and Colour

words inspired by colour wordandcolour.com

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