Stories (140)
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Diarist
I can’t believe the nerve. Of me. Who do I think I am? Why would my thoughts, feelings, actions be worth preserving here? I stop every few hours in another coffee shop or bar to catalog my every movement like it mattered as if anyone will ever read it. It isn’t interesting or important in the slightest way.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Journal
Capricorn
Hey y'all! I got an alert on my phone from Chani. The moon entered Capricorn! It always surprises me how quickly the moon moves, what new energy it brings into my life. I'm an earthy babe, so let's just say I NEEDED this change more than a little.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Futurism
Objects
It was the first time It was the first tinderbox I learned my bolero was not mine. They are watching us all in their minims, burning with raincoats and destruction. When I was young I touched an electrical plush just to feel the surrogate of enjoyment I otherwise could never know.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Poets
Taurus
Howdy Everyone! Yesterday the moon entered Sagittarius, marking a moment for flaring energy, fiery drive forward, and forcefully aimed intentions. We know what's important to us and are committed to taking action. However, this conviction and self-belief can be overwhelming! I'm a Capricorn, Taurus Moon, Aquarius Rising and need my feet to be firmly planted on the ground, even though I also have heavy Sagittarius placements.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Motivation
Crushed
I pin straight sit on the edge, flinch away from the leather of the burgundy couch. In another cafe on another first date, my tongue still presses up into my incisors and my right foot taps itself on the lacquered wooden panels of the floor. I keep looking at my phone. We haven’t texted. Did he forget? Should I text him now? I did hurry from that guy’s place in Park Slope to take a sink bath at Think Coffee in order to make it here on time! I’m caring too much. A sharp inhale rips my nostrils open. The expansion in my lungs gives the butterflies more room to rip my insides up. Ugh, the way I talk inside my head is too romantic. I know when I turn twenty-two in December I’ll stop acting this way.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Humans
Letters
The day after the new moon we remembered to write on napkins and burn away the past. I wrote how a place can change in no time and both of them wrote how much we crave a definition of self inside the bounds of dim lights in a lower east side club— But we remembered nothing lives except in wisps of smoke, in ash and singe. We burned away those futures on the sidewalk, and the city whirred. It hasn’t even noticed yet, but we remembered and we hit our heels on the concrete. We make our own shapes.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Poets
