Motivational quotes to start your day
Let us not allow the world to grind us down. Bone-powder, flesh-paste, the grind don’t stop for anyone; this is a reminder to wear your mouth guard at night.
Every day is a car wash, the slow automatic conveyance into dark. I am spun and slapped and scrubbed. I could scream. Any of us could, at any time. Just imagine a collective sound wave, vile tremors from our guts and vocal cords, frequencies piling up, train collisions, shattering ear drums, the earth’s crust. I could scream until I rend a canyon in the skin of my throat, a burst pipe, a geyser of blood and mucus power-washing the ennui off excruciating agony. But anyway, I typically wake up early and mind my diet and exercise.
When do we stop? Could it be possible that when we are dust we still remember—no, but there must be mercy, at least at the last. I consider my bad memory to be one of my best qualities. In childhood, I was a bird. I passed fleeting over the vague green, poked into dirt. I soared; I must have flapped too.
Every day is a car wash, the slow automatic conveyance into dark. I am spun and slapped and scrubbed. I could scream. Any of us could, at any time. Just imagine a collective sound wave, vile tremors from our guts and vocal cords, frequencies piling up, train collisions, shattering ear drums, the earth’s crust. I could scream until I rend a canyon in the skin of my throat, a burst pipe, a geyser of blood and mucus power-washing the ennui off excruciating agony. But anyway, I typically wake up early and mind my diet and exercise.
When do we stop? Could it be possible that when we are dust we still remember—no, but there must be mercy, at least at the last. I consider my bad memory to be one of my best qualities. In childhood, I was a bird. I passed fleeting over the vague green, poked into dirt. I soared; I must have flapped too.
September / October, 2022
Jyotsna Suresh is a New Jersey native who’s been writing stories since she could hold a pencil. After studying film at NYU, she moved to Los Angeles where she works on her screenplays at her local bookstore cafe. She has been published in The Maine Review.
Art: Madge Evers. Without Complaint. Mushroom spores on paper.
