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Daniel Cummings (@nathanbrazil) · DIRTY

Daniel Cummings

@nathanbrazil

Dad. Husband. Love Vonnegut, Ellison and Park Chan-wook.

829 Siguiendo719 Seguidores3919 Publicaciones

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Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· 23h

She let the water spill over the dishes, piled high. Her husband lazed in his leather Barcalounger, the football game at max volume. Cyril was screaming at her brother upstairs, who had defaced one of her posters and was laughing maniacally.

She closed her eyes, and pushed all of the sounds out of her mind. Once again she was transported to her alternate life.

A spacious modern studio jutted out over low-lying hills. A cherry wood grand piano beckoned. The golden beams streaming in took her breath away. And that blessed silence. A long Honduran mahogany table trapped the light. It featured multi-colored hand-blown glass.

But her favorite, a misshapen glass vase, she had made when she was very young. Its skin, each bubble and groove, sparked bright childhood memories. But she had misjudged its weight and it fell through her hands.

- "Mom." Cyril looked mildly concerned. A large bowl had fallen and split in two, and #soapy water was spreading across the floor. She had a deep gash in her middle finger, and she watched the blood gliding down her arm.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· 2d

She climbed through a window at the back. Lady Vi had gathered plants from all over of the world, each a curio. It was cruel to keep them behind glass, and she longed to free them all, but she dare not. Some were dangerous, even lethal. She did visit her favorites.

A lion vine, which would wrap itself around you, until you caressed its petals. A tiny fern which slept inside a #matchbox. If you sang sweetly to it, it would climb out and sway gently. A school of prairie seedlings, poking their heads up from the soil, hungry for affection. She pulsed warmly until they fell asleep.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· 3d

The clouds were chattering amongst themselves like dark elves, when a ball of light passed through her closed window. Iris clutched the remote tightly to her chest, but it didn't make no nevermind. It changed the channels, til it landed on a hazy static channel. Tiny creatures spilled out of a crack in the display. She screamed at them, as if it were a flood of baby spiders.

They made off with her fruit bowl and her slate-gray Sphynx.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· 4d

She wrapped her feelings in cellophane and wondered why her nights grew colder. Cracked all the mirrors, ashamed of the fractured image that stared back. Painted herself in shades of Carolina and midnight blue only to peel herself away from the canvas of the morning. #vss365

A woman behind glass, barely seen behind the sepia toned chalk smeared around her. Just part of her face and one hand pressed against the glass.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· 6d

forgive the eclipse

thoughts hidden
in the penumbra
now given voice

a shower of bright colors
playing along her skin

the warm rain clinging
to her lips

every flower
opening its petals

unbridled sensuality

exhale

the sun sheds
its darkness

and she is dazed
as if awaking from a dream

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· 10d

The #urges were strong, and the words weren't enough, so he swam to the bottom of the pool, and held his breath until he passed out. He awoke floating on his back, but it had worked its magic. He had a new constellation, a cluster of brown freckles in the center of his back, and he had forgotten her name.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· 10d

When the tall weeds brushed against her legs, their fingers of want pushing up from the ground, she suppressed the sudden #urge to flee. She found a quiet patch of green, where she lay down, the lingering petals of desire encircling her. She slept, curled into a tight ball, and dreamt of violin chairs and the jester that pierced her heart with a spear.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· 12d

He hadn't meant to steal, but as always the merest touch was all that was needed. And all those horrible images flooded in. The woman looked confused, then her face lightened, as if some great burden had been lifted.

He sat on the park bench and wept inconsolably for the lives that had been ripped away. The pigeons and songbirds that had surrounded him while he wept, all took wing at the same moment, and carried his grief away.

Whether this was some #divine gift or a cosmic joke, he did not know, but she would likely never kill again. This sin eater's touch had somehow altered her, closing a great wound.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· 14d

She had stowed away in the hollow spaces of a ship, and fallen asleep. When she awoke, she was on some distant planet. The ship was intact, but the crew was long gone. For the first few days she mostly slept, but with her supplies dwindling, she ventured out.

She was alone now, mostly. Except for her new friend. It reminded her of a fennec, but much hairier and so small. She hadn't located its eyes yet. At night it slept in the hollow of her neck. She had found sustenance among its unusual flora and fauna, and she felt . . . ok. She hadn't grown a third arm - yet.

Its sun was quite shy, rarely appearing, but its quiet warmth soothed her. She had found a peace here that had always alluded her. And she had begun to write again. The thoughts spilled out of her at night, and found their way on the page.

What were the perfect circular pools of darkest ink in the ground? Were they gravity wells? Or perhaps doors into some brightly lit #chaos. For now, she would keep her distance.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· 24d

The men prostrate themselves. They rent their tunics in shame. All for a glimpse. She would succor them. Bring them to her breast, then split them like ripe melons. She would feed on their darkest flowers.

Her #cadence is haunting yet familiar. Her canvas is horror and beauty. A crimson smear. Shafts of gold piercing the heavens. The eyes of god.

She will peel back their layers, and empty their souls. Where ecstasy bleeds into madness.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jul 4

I was stuck on the wrong day. It wasn't even the right planet. One without a sun. No revolutions. No spinning. Their concept of time was so different from ours. They communicated by touch. With pulses and changes in temperature along the finger tips.

The young woman next to me grabbed my arm. She traced small circles on the inside of my wrist with her thumb. I have no idea what she was communicating, but my pulse was racing. I had an out-of-body experience, and a conscience not my own invaded my mind.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jul 2

We speak to each other as children. With notes scribbled in crayon, we hope the other will understand. A path of smooth stones leads to her house. The door is open and her #history is laid out in colored shells and autumn leaves pressed between memories.

Her wide-eyed #appraisal is not an invitation.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jul 1

sees himself
floating helplessly

the waves
flinging him against
the rocks
breaking ribs

blood bubbling
over lips

that darkened door
where it shouldn't be

between bones
in the sky

he wants to hold onto the apprehension

chooses to tell no one

he will be lifted up
his head cradled
in doll's hands

her lifeless eyes
have no sympathy
for the dead

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jul 1

That morning four men in lab coats entered the office. At precisely 6:13pm they all exited, but these weren't the same men. They had the same name tags, but their gait was unusual, as if they hadn't learned how to walk properly. They didn't even smell the same.

"What are you writing?"

"Nothing!" John said, stuffing his notebook under his shirt.

"Mm hm" The doctor picked up his clipboard, and scratched a few notes.

"Delusions are #florid? I'm not delusional. I'm not even real. I'm the unreliable narrator! Did you ever think of that?"

The doctor continued scribbling, but John snatched the clipboard and swallowed the paper with the scandalous comments.

"Yesterday, I was a few lines on a page, and somehow I ended up here, but I'm not real." He covered his mouth with one hand. "You're level 3. I'm not supposed to talk to you." He ran off. They found him hours later in a utility closet talking to rolls of toilet paper. "It's not your fault. It's not your fault!"

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 29

My soul can't squeeze through these pinhole eyes, so please don't tell me you know me. I've hidden myself, carefully, in the corner of my brain, and he's feasting on #carrion thoughts. An evil begotten son that should never see the light. I'm the chameleon. Please hold steady. I haven't got the colors quite right.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 28

misplaced suffering
stretching his ribs

he dangled his heart
as bait

but she only looked on
moths of worry
circling overhead

blood pouring forth
from an open door

hit his knees
in ecstasy
of blessed brokenness

#disgruntled stones beneath
grinding together
spewing their ancient tongue

while goblins were banging
on his spine
with angry hands

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 27

He supposed he should have been more circumspect before purchasing such a trifle. He had perused countless booths at the #flea market. Tiny creatures that leapt from hand to hand. Belts that clasped themselves. But inside this tent the purveyor sold but one object, a non descript box with the word "void" engraved on its top.

There it sat on his coffee table. It had no latches, no switches, no hidden panels. It was inscrutable, refusing to reveal its secrets. The room was bending inwards, as if it was taking a breath.

That night he dreamt he was inside the box, in its dimly lit center. He was surrounded by shadows, where countless creatures were whispering. He imagined spiders scrabbling about with hideous heads.

He awoke in a cold sweat, and glanced at the box. He had the distinct impression that it was stealing his thoughts.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 26

My tank is filled with gorgeous Royal Gramma, and their evil little faces, and Purple FireFish. Jasper, my painted turtle, is hidden amongst the hornwort, probably asleep. But I'm not finding any tranquility. I've got my eyes on the Gramma, clearly the #villains in this story, waiting for the next uprising.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 24

I’d been digging for hours, sweat trickling into my eyes, having been awakened from a deep sleep, with a certainty that something was buried in my backyard. I had finally unearthed a fossil, a tail bone. Quickly clearing the dirt around it, I found that this was just the tip of very long tail, that was somehow attached to the back of my house. When I had freed it, the house shook violently, and tried to pull itself out of the ground. I swung quickly around to the front, with my hands out. “No!” Maybe if I fed it something.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 20

Our neighbor's daughter was in the backyard screaming, her color shifting uncontrollably. She finally settled on sea green. The trees arched towards her, and a hidden moon slid out of the darkness above her, time #puttering along, unable to keep pace. It emptied itself, a slow motion waterfall, that cleansed her spirit.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 20

she tried to hide the child
but i saw it

peering behind the veil
of unseen tears

her darkened heart
beating outside her chest

this place that was once her home

each photo on the mantel
a trapped memory
feelings locked away

#love had taken an unfamiliar shape
and her delicate fingers
could not mend its broken shell

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 17

Pale skin and dark veins, she was born without a heart. A #novel without pages, only the darkest wishes few dare to whisper. They separate her from the other children, who spit at her and hurl words. But she doesn't want to hurt them. Her landscape is hellfire and blood. They rip and tear at each other, their feeble spirits rarely survive.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 15

my life has been scripted

blood thread
sewed into leather

you've been tugging
at the lines

but nothing about me
makes sense

a tune plucked
by a warped hand

i've been playing
with your night sky

a flurry
of dark horses
carry the second moon
#distant and sullen

not approaching
the dawn

but a door
no one sees

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 14

#SatSplat she smears the blood red of pomegranate seeds still on her lips her translucent pink dress slips into a sea of shadows she kneels in prayer for you then takes you like a child to her breast you are overwhelmed by the ocean of her disappearing into pools of warm desire

she smears
the blood red
of pomegranate seeds
still on her lips

her translucent pink dress
slips into a sea
of shadows

she kneels
in prayer
for you
then takes you
like a child
to her breast

you are overwhelmed
by the ocean
of her
disappearing
into pools
of warm desire

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 14

for #Satsplat Favorite poem buy e. e. cummings

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 12

He lived in his library. His languid gait embodied the saturnine. When the moon peered through his upper window, he was infused by an inner light, their moldering pages all #consuming. None witnessed his passing. It was surmised that he had crossed the line between fantasy and reality, and his ancient books had swallowed him whole.

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 10

In a dark corner of the verse was a #deadfall, an old style tavern called The Broken Arrow, where the barkeep snapped photos of the clientele with his false eye. Mostly seedy types, with dusters and poorly hidden blasters.

At its center a crowd had gathered around a table, an odd glow emanating from within. A hooded figure, his face hidden in darkness, had his hands cupped around a small object, which nobody else could see.

"A Grawp lands in the middle of the party!" He shouts, as a holo of a creature that looks like a large hippo with human arms and legs landed dead center, bodies flying everywhere. "Everyone role 2d10 damage."

"The wizard died again."

"Jarl! Somebody rez the wizard."

Jarl grimaced, his teeth had all been replaced by some precious metal, probably platinum. "You don't understand. He was born on a tiny moon near a dwarf star. He almost died at birth! He has very few hit points."

"My baby sister has more hit points than him."

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 7

she was born
from a #cradle
of fireflies

a flower
that does not know
the beauty
of her own petals

always collecting
stray notes

from fallen leaves
and the wings
of the sad bee

she is drawn
to those
suffering in silence

mending wounds
with warm melodies
from her fingertips

even if it would leave her
quietly
untuned

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 6

Sam drops a gallon of milk, and splat, milk runs everywhere.

Christ.

You pay what you get for, Dad.

Sam, you're no longer allowed to speak.

Why?

Cuz that's backwards.

I heard that if you put your glasses on backwards, that you turn invisible.

You're definitely not my son. Katy, did we find Sam's off button yet?

Nope.

Did you check his belly button?

Mm hm.

Pull string in the back? A place for batteries maybe?

You're dumb, dad. He doesn't have batteries.

Shows what you know. A bottle of JD, and he'll be out like a light.

What's JD?

Never mind and don't tell mom I said that.

Mom!

Daniel Cummings@nathanbrazil· Jun 3

back of the bus
his ghost wings
now healed scars
leaned against weeping window

girl next to him
black nails, lip ring
filling in every inch
of her notebook cover

bus hit a black patch
remnants of a dark victory
slurry of blood and sand
skewed sideways

he kept her steady
with one hand
til it shivered
to a stop

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