Summer is the season you most want to create about. The one that provides you desire to reduced yourself in half, and also then to cut those halves in half, and to cut those right into eighths, therefore you’re little and large enough to absorb all the juice it is happening now.

Summer is freaking me out. Human being are turn around, man, like number skaters, and I don’t understand when they’ll all shoot out, centrifugally, leaving me alone through the cockroaches (who seem to it is in doing fine), stuck in this erection the a season.

Summer is gangly pink limbs wandering out of padlocked boxes.

Summer is the sky being matte periwinkle. The skies is sweaty. Fireflies begin lifting themselves out of the areas where they’ve live for the previous eight months, drunk and also oddly horny. Still, you’re constantly surprised by how many images pest can carry. Once she to be little, mine grandmother used to tear turn off the lighted parts of fireflies and put them under she fingernails.

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Summer is once we realize all of a suddenly that us have constantly had too much skin.

Summer is when old body from high institution walk past you in SoHo, screaming your name, vocal cords slamming together and making friend jerk your head roughly on Prince St. To realize you space both chubby ghosts, sweaty ghosts in damp underpants.

Summer is the virtually inaudible to produce of nostalgia that happens once the sun gets under on its knees at roughly 8:30. The in search of stars in the sky and finding them just in the designs on the sidewalk do by sparks of black gum, for this reason repulsive you desire to lick them.

Summer is your right mind coming the end of that coma, telling you to look because that the covert calligraphic messages composed in body hair.

You deserve to feel her pubes more than in any kind of other season, and also it feeling hot. The feeling of it renders memories happen, tickling your amygdala.

Summer is as soon as you think of your mom and dad, happy hunchbacks, teeth changing color and dancing, both of lock fumbling through the tomato in the backyard garden and also getting closer to the earth, like getting cozy with dying.

Summer is center school, the tween caste system, and the boy you chosen who very first told you the Baskin Robbins might be called “31 Flavors” as you to walk together, digging her teeth into the chunky balls that fat in Jamoca Almond Fudge, that slutty flavor.

Summer is the tasting that melodies. You deserve to taste them, prefer fingers in your mouth. Ring melodies, sharp ones, corporeal ones. Because aren’t your ears tired, you weak collection of folds?

Summer is united state feeling favor horses, every part of ourselves larger and more furry, and an ext majestic but additionally beastly and embarrassed at how ugly us are once we nothing care around being alive or gift dead or pool of water which is what us are.

Summer is every little thing happening in the hourglass that was sleepaway camp in brand-new Jersey, pressurized time till your two dumb parents came back, all fanny-packed and glad, their brains braver and also juicier than when they dropped girlfriend off, having actually sucked increase the pulp the summer.

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The absence of a swimming swimming pool affects you favor a phantom limb. The lack of a highway feels favor someone has reduced off her buttocks. This will certainly be a long, long, saturation season, mine friend.

Sensory redux. An extra helping of consciousness. We’re at the climax, looking about with raised eyebrows and also astonished mouths, silently asking one an additional when we’ll need to head back down.