Stories (140)
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Sukie in the Graveyard
The clock that sat on the bedside table showed eleven-thirty, but it was wrong. It wasn’t wrong in the sense that it needed to be reset, or even wrong in the sense that if it were reset it would be right. Instead, there was something fundamentally backward about its operation that made time speed slower or incrementally accelerate until it never actually told time at all. It never was and never would be correct. Seeing as it was completely useless as a timepiece no one knew exactly why Sukie kept it.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet4 years ago in Fiction
Dear Catastrophe Waitress
Stuart was sitting in one of the booths against the wall of the diner. The place was drab. Efforts to brighten up the place with a style that tried to mix homestyle kitchen with American fifties did nothing to cover the stagnant, desperate atmosphere. Whenever someone entered the restaurant for the first time one of the initial noticings that hit him, after the overwhelming stench of fried food and peanut oil, after the flash of bright neon vinyl upholstering the seats, after the hardened look of the waitresses that made them seem crusted over with a film of grease and sweat, was the wave of hot air and cold air combined to create some sort of lukewarm welcome. A cooling passion. Then the new customer would either turn around at once and leave, slamming the door behind him, or sit down alone at one of the tables or booths. If he was really lonely he would sit down at the counter, but this rarely happened as it was easier to hide in the corners of the dining room than sit up in the front.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet4 years ago in Fiction
Diarist: Sea Letters
Letters. What we say out loud, but written. I'm fascinated by letters that capture a specific moment of being; when we sit down to write a letter we pour our presence onto the page. We send a piece of our minds, our bodies in an envelope or a satellite wave.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Wander
The sun rose and I flew to the birds. Top Story - June 2021.
When I was first craving words to describe my queer identity, I was obsessed with birds. The birds didn't need words and I didn't want them either. I was working in the engine room onboard a research ship, and we wouldn't return to land for thirty to fifty days at a time. As I struggled to break from the ideas of myself as man that I had adopted over the course of my young life I fell down Google holes trying to find a way to present my body to the world. I longed to dissolve into salt-entrained air with the albatrosses.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Pride
seafoam ode to my performed gender
seafoam ode to my performed gender at once you foam, then break open. you are the sea, the sea air open- -ing, white froth glint, the light resting inside. the light bursting inside. you are when * the ocean breathes, oh briny more than skin, than lungs, than heart. at once you are all and none. the crest of my tongue laps with you. enter trough and burst * inside. become my blood. your power lies in shift- -ing states, your form at once crystal, once sky, once water, once body. no words can hold you off. you are dimly colorless, yet * infinitely golden. become my blood. oh form as foam as body filled with air, enter. bubble saltwise and burst into * my power, the white froth glint, the resting light inside my shifting shapes.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Pride
Grey
“I don’t think you’re asexual,” he said with a smirk. Just another man sitting across from me. I’d heard this comment, or variations of it, before. I took a sip of my coffee and placed the mug on the table. What he meant: how could I be asexual if I had sex with him?
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Pride
Diarist: Alaska ~ The Return of Ugh
Alaska The first time I went to Alaska, I was working on the Alaska Marine Highway as a Third Assistant Engineer. This series of Diarist Entries will present my journal entries over the two weeks I worked onboard the ferry Malispina. I'm excited to start this series because sea journals, narrative ballads/sea poetry, old sailor yarns, and the like have been very imactful on my writing and art! The entire Diarist concept but especially this series reflects my lineage as a mariner poet.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Wander
Diarist: Sea Letters
Letters. What we say out loud, but written. I'm fascinated by letters that capture a specific moment of being; when we sit down to write a letter we pour our presence onto the page. We send a piece of our minds, our bodies in an envelope or a satellite wave.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Wander
#Books4Babes Book Club~Week 1
Hey babes! Welcome back to the #Books4Babes #BookClub! 😇 BUT FIRST~~~~What is BOOKS 4 BABES? Who are the babes? A babe is anyone who wants to learn more about the world, have a good time, meet new friends, and engage with some interesting books. Babes can be anyone, anywhere. #bookbabes4lyfe. If you wonder for even a single second if you're a #bookbabe then.... you are. 👏 BABE. Gals, gays, queerdoes, straight boys, dogs wearing glasses, aliens~~~~join us as we read new books and I share my thoughts each Monday here on Vocal. If you're interested, message me at [email protected] to chime in with your thoughts! You might even be featured in a future post.
By Joe Nasta | Seattle foodie poet5 years ago in Geeks
