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Mark Cugini | Electric Cereal

Author: Mark Cugini

Mark Cugini is the author of I'm Just Happy To Be Here. He has been published in Hobart, Everyday Genius, Fanzine, and Shabby Doll House. He is a founding editor of Big Lucks and a contributor at HTMLGiant. He can also be found on Twitter and Tumblr.

Bureill

What if I Crip-walked into a middle school and
taught the children gang signs—told them that they
meant “I love bacon,” and “DADDY RULEZ?”

What if I had jellyfish tentacles for arms but was still
the kind of guy who wanted to keep giving you daps?

What if I asked about your favorite childhood
cartoon characters, and then drew pictures of them
with huge, veiny boners?

What if I broke into your house, hid the remote,
and replaced all your Criterion DVDs with Kim
and Khloe Take New York?

What if you invited me to Thanksgiving dinner
and instead of praying, I just said–“I’m not here
to make friends; I’m here to win.”

What if I was the endless hype machine for
all the poets you wanted to drown?

What if I rejected your manuscript, but then
nominated James Franco for a Pushcart?

What if I hopped on LinkedIn and started
endorsing you in skills such as “misogyny,”
and “long and unnecessary bathroom breaks?”

What if I was bullied in high school?

What if I had terrible hair?

What if I woke up on the right side of
the bed and decided to be my best version
of your worst nightmare?

COUNT SAND

I feel a wet spot on

my soul when I step where

I used to shoot cee-lo for

pain pills. You might not

like it but you can’t feel

anything when it’s snowing

and no one wants to tell

you that. Eileen saw

a building in Florence that

said I’m gorgeous inside, but
a city isn’t a building. A city is a cult—

you only see what it wants you to
see. A city is a toilet—everyone wants it

flushed with warm colors. A city is an ulcer
and an anvil and it will weigh on you
in grayish hues until you can’t

cut yourself out of it. I take the F
train down to Gravesend, back when

everyone watched movies and

no one knew where to live. I look out the

window and see a shopping cart. I look

out the window and see bright bubble

letters. I look out the window and
see a thousand passive pistachio

shells. I look out the window and

see an altar for my boys that watched

too many breakdance movies and

rode this bitch like a surf board. I look out
the window and see a billboard that
says the world is on fire and you

are it’s only snowflake,

and then I take myself out of the buildings

and then I take you out of Bushwick

and then I give you a little snow.