Broken Bread

Dear You,

I appreciate your inquiry and will do my best to answer your questions. As a serving of bread, my life cycle is fairly predictable. Today is a good example. Well, everyday is an equally good example, but right now it is today. There is only today. My initial debut from the oven features 30 minutes of effervescent warmth that cannot be replenished, only imitated through reheating. Today's 30 minutes lapsed hours ago under the cover of a linen cloth in a large, crowded basket as I listened to the kitchen staff talk about sex when there were no members of the opposite sex around. Eventually I am divided into smaller baskets which are carted each off with a cheap side salad. I must be at a convention, not sure what country. I do not understand language, only meaning. I hear discussion of basic mass-produced medical implements (syringes, scalpels, etc), often growing very nuanced to the level of individual manufacturing cost and the grade of steel used. Insurance trade show? No, these details are far too mundane for even that. That there are people requires so many tiny concerns, one would have to be mentally ill to have any direct passion for most of them.

After the warmth fades, I have a couple hours of a clearly defined layered texture of crispness, softness, and moisture, and today I am squandering it on a sterilized plate listening to people talk about other food. I'm glad my existence is too short for jealousy. Also, I am glad I don't want to have sex. Maybe those two are related? But seriously, if you've ever had to sit silently and observe every exchanged word between people on a date, you'd know what I mean. The amount of human tedium I am forced to know is something you would be jealous of; o how i seek avenues to barter it away to you.

After a curious bite, I am left on a plate with undesirable vegetables. The twilight of my edibility fades into rubbery mediocrity, and my spirit leaves as a hollow, soulless rigidity takes over. Maybe tomorrow I'll have a short life somewhere charming. It seems like the more appealing the location, the stronger the desire for bread.

I hope this helps, but I doubt anything could.

Sincerely,

The Bread

Reasons Why Wherever the Fuck You are Right Now Is the Worst Place Ever

I have some bad news, everybody! Looks like you live in/were thinking of moving to the most soul-crushingly awful place in the world. And I should know, I live here! Let me give you the scoop so you don't have to learn the hard way:

Who cares?

There is no culture! Everyone is such a snob because we have that museum district and that world famous opera house. I feel bad for the poor local artists trying to pump blood into the dead dog of this city's arts scene, but not as bad as I feel for the suckers who have to sit through their pathetic attempts at art galleries and live theater. It's like, if you don't have $250, or nothing, to blow on a night out, then you might as well stay in, drink cheap beer and have your mind numbed by reality television!

There are no major landmarks. It's full of major landmarks and they are such tourist traps, covered in trash, and their "keep the park clean" policy is stifling and downright Orwellian in its approach. I feel like if the paper sleeve blows off my straw, I have to chase it or an undercover agent will get me, and when I chase it I trip over rubble because it is so filthy! Uh, no thank you, think I'll just smoke some mids and pass out with my face buried in US Weekly.

Restaurants are so expensive! And they think that a cheap and ubiquitous local street cart food item that gives the city character can make up for this? Hah haaa! I laugh at your overly spiced fatty salty flavorlessly healthy local fare! You want ethnic food? Forget about it! You either have to travel to these sketchy neighborhoods spread throughout the city, find one of the places in a boring strip mall, or go to one of the places in that expensive neighborhood with all the restaurants. Might as well just hang out at home and drink brandy out of a paper bathroom cup and see what the Kardashians are up to.

The sports fans are obnoxious, you don't wanna be out at night when the local team is playing. The city doesn't even have a sports team.

Nobody is from here. It is so insular, it'll be 5 years before anybody even commits to remembering your name if you don't have 3 generations of family living within a 4 block radius.

Here's one piece of stupid graffiti I found. So original guys.

The geography stinks! You're near the beach, so everybody is such a braindead slacker who smokes too much weed and they are so pretentious because their beachfront property costs more than all of your organs if you were an endangered rhino. The city is amorphously sprawling because its not near a large body of water, and the damned featureless landscape brings in all these obnoxious outdoor sports enthusiasts. How about I just have bowl of oatmeal with percocets crushed in it and catch a rerun of Access Hollywood?

Don't even get me started on the job market! There is no major industry here anymore so everyone just works nondescript corporate gigs. The tech bros are so insufferable with their google glasses, constantly telling everyone about their production company and their affiliation with actors and directors, and they're all obnoxious improv comics! Maybe I'll just have some brownies with Vick's vapor rub baked in and watch football reruns.

The weather is like a… fuckin' boring… serpent of death… rainy… sun… strip malls... g- god dammit! JAHGAK;DFG

Wally Wilbertson is a self-proclaimed yogurt snob and life couch, and his work can be seen on Vice, Huffington Post, Elite Daily, and Fuhhhh. He got his MFA in creative writing at the Snupdy D. Bottlemyre Conservatory. Please hang out with him. He has a MacBook, a Netflix account, and hot and cold running disdain.

National Poetry Month Day 30: Sorry for my Existence

For the last day of poetry month, I am writing a slam parody about sexism. Cadence and hand gesture as you see fit.

As a woman, I woke up carefully and
Alone
My bed has too many pillows,
no wonder I'm single.
No wonder
Know.
Wonder.
I wander to the mirror
From my own eyes, the male gaze peers back at me
My eyes are daggers that cloud my mind, and don't even recognize me,
I wanna use Occam's Razor as a sweat lodge
Trim this fat from my mind
I wish I weighed less, but someone once told me
"Real women have curves"
I head to the scale to find out what I'm worth
1 for that time I didn't care what people thought of me
3 the number of points in a bowl of granola
4 u, I might starve but
2-day I eat
4 me
Does it count as skinny shaming if I eat bacon in public?
Is my body acceptance making other women fat?
I'd stop at Starbucks, but I don't wanna be a basic bitch
I tell my boyfriend I'm going to yoga
But if I actually go, I'm a manic pixie dream girl
But if I just say I'm going to yoga then don't, I'm a basic bitch
So I stop thinking about yoga
And dump my boyfriend so I can develop my own storyline
Move to Europe,
Live there for 4 years so I wouldn't be just another
basic bitch on her token eurotrip
But I didn't do anything interesting that might
Inspire a depressed male writer
It's been a crazy 4 years, so I
Go to bed and
It's funny, I
Used to say "Hail Mary"s and "Our Father"s as a kid, but
Now my precious nightly prayer session goes something like this:
"Hail Mary, full of spite
Hollow be my existence
Give me this day,
My daily affirmation
And forgive me my made-up trespasses"
But Mary and the Father sleep in separate beds now
And God is just the patriarchy saying
"Stop hitting yourself!"
"Stop hitting yourself!"

"Stop hitting yourself!"
Step off of the know-ledge

Now I use booze like a sledge hammer

And cigarettes as a DIY liposuction kit

So if I can't shatter the glass ceiling

At least it can shield me from the wind so

I can spark up when men tell me how

To blame other women

And I can drop ash on their cocks and say 

"I heard you coming a minute away"

National Poetry Month Day 29: Autophage Checklist

Kicking rust with a whole shoe

Aerated

And follicles of oat

Cry for breakfast

Granola oxide

Crispy bitter dense

Emerging economy of sweetness

Feed the machine

Ask myself

Do I bend or break

Today

Do I bend or break