Seasonal Orientation
"let's go halfsies on a baby and give the leftovers to randy, who is close to graduating" — kurichka
Discordia does not, it turns out, hate everything. Every other week, we share a piece of new or gently-used work from an artist who's earned our respect.
There is art that moves us, and there is art that moves with us. This is Fellow Travellers.
Seasonal Orientation
sheets of ice fall like bodies down the mcgill building oh, that’s normal it happens every winter leaving behind sheets of paper sheets of linen poor mother’s prized receipts all float into the street locking lips with postal workers drifting above the concrete oh, it’s natural to float with fewer diplomas in their satchels every summer then we never see the corpses because the pigeons turn them into orange peels or stuff them inside statues as commissioned by our city’s new art installation: a new way for students to really (side) get involved what a beautiful day for a highway walk what a beautiful day for a counselor talk what a beautiful day to have a mouthful of chalk -k k k k k k k k k k k k shhh shhh shhh shh shh shh rest in peace to the prettiest pair of eyes ms 24 ms 25 ms 22 ms 31 ms ms then let’s kiss in the 12th-floor bathroom let’s go halfsies on a baby and give the leftovers to randy who is close to graduating from the department of guy-concordia he just needs the 3.75 you plug your ears with on your way to class so you can kkkk shshshshsh kkkk shshshsh— till 4:17 pm and Leonard Cohen is on fire and good riddance that peeping tom staring at me through the 10th floor window— would you preserve my brain too or do only sinners get into heaven? then bushes of backpacks line the entryway coats of real fir release leaves of ashes oh, it must be autumn igniting in between cement cracks snapped match sticks loiter holding onto their decapitated wages and newspaper faces, then a lip of seats quivers from sonic vomit gurgling out the mouth of the tunnel as it purges the underground train k shh k shh k shh k shh k shhh
kurichka is composed of deconstructions of self, origin, family, and convention. after experiencing deracination after deracination, he is on the path of sowing himself back together. kurichka feels an inner pull toward the stars, toward the future, at all times.
Interested in being a Fellow Traveller? Email your poetry, prose, visual art, etc. to discordia.sucks@gmail.com. We pay (not much), and pieces are collected a few times a year in a small print edition.
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