sam sax

Don’t look strange men in the face
unless you want them to look back.
You can’t carry your body around like
it’s covered in sequins, or worth shit 
without making everyone uncomfortable, Sam.
Don’t blame the world for how it wants to
get its hands around your throat –
you’re the one who showed up
with a throat to begin with.
—  Sam Sax, from Learning to Breathe Water
Learning is just the brain’s neural pathways being beaten into a new shape by life. Once you touch a glowing hot stove, some synapse collapses in your head and you know never to touch a glowing thing again.
—  Sam Sax, from “Learning to Breathe Water”

in the beginning there was a table
i sat & ate at until i was something.

my reflection swallowed in the plate,
my god, the weight of the blade.

the blade, singing.

you know when you become
something it eats you? the teeth
in my hand. the weight of the handle.
the meat separating from the bone.

— Sam Sax, from “Ribs,” A Guide to Undressing Your Monsters

badmoviescene  asked:

I just love how everything has "hot" as a prefix. Hot professor Sam, Hot Doctor Sam, Hot Fireman Sam... Etc. I like it. Maybe others call(ed) him Hot Sam, somewhat playfully (but seriously too, ofc)... Like Jess, like Max, like Dr. Cara, Brady, me. Idk, I feel it works, and it spikes up his ego when he laughs and blushes slightly at the 'nickname'.

(re: these tags)

Hahaha idk I just label him that way in my mind. I don’t think Sam would ever conceive of himself as a hot professor. That’s more like… what his students would call him (in this imaginary case where he’s managed to wangle his way onto campus as a substitute teacher). I feel like his partners might well tell him that he’s hot, and that he’d get sort of bashful awkward about it most of the time (unless he was like… in a good confident stretch in bed and then he’d be like ‘yeah I am, rawr’), but I don’t know if they’d go for the whole, ‘hot [whatever] Sam’ construction, hahaha

(!! okay tho, imagine, they catch onto this hunt at a university, something vanishing students from this one department and Sam decides the most sensible thing is for him to go in as a teacher, so he gets his tweed on and his sweater and he’s prepped for class, kinda nervous because he’s actually going to have to deliver this lecture on folklore of the American Midwest. But he can do it, he knows the topic and he’s got his Powerpoint and his laser pointer, and so he rocks up in class on his first day and he’s looking at his notes and there’s a voice from the doorway: “I’m a grad student from the languages department, gonna be auditing the course if that’s alright.” So he looks up and there’s Max in the doorway in a soft grey sweater with a pile of books. And Max’s eyes go like ZING when he sees Sam in his stupid outfit, but the other students are coming in, so he just goes to sit down in the back and Sam’s, like, *clears throat* starts talking, up front, and internally he’s all “!!!!!!!!!” because ermmm last time he and Max spoke it was via text and there were some very compromising pictures exchanged. But he manages to keep it together thank LAWD, he even answers some questions from the kids, tho he definitely forgets about his original intention to take a couple aside and try and get chatting about their missing buddies. Instead, when the class ends he lets them all stream out and waits as Max stays seated, lets the classroom clear and then comes down to the front like *purr* “Well professor that was very… inspirational” and Sam dry-mouthed like “oh, you thought?” and Max up close in his space like “Mmmm. Maybe gonna need some private tuition just to… flesh out the subtleties.” And he reaches up to tug Sam’s hair loose from its elastic, and suddenly somehow Sam’s lying back on the desk with his tie all twisted up in Max’s fist, and somewhere right at the back of his mind he’s panicking because they never pulled down the blind on the window and he’s probably gonna get fired from his imaginary job for making out with a student but on the other hand he really doesn’t care)

"Reuptake Inhibitors" - Sam Sax

a.

the first time i did cocaine liz let me borrow her rollerblades
my feet carved sharp wax grooves into the pavement.

i wore a headphone helmet. the wire dangling behind me like a giant
iguana tongue as the rhythm of the night thumped against my skull.

this is the rhythm of the night. night. night. night.
[oh yeah.]

each street lamp had a song burning in its eyes
the roads in rural ohio are rough
my legs vibrated a numbed bassline

each star was a pill in a rich lady’s medicine cabinet
the sky a pharmacy begging to be robbed

i skated so fast
i outran all my baggage

collapsed into a field of sheet music
i have yet to emerge from. my friends
wrapped me in a blanket of sweat
walked us home toward our warm beds

z.

the last time i did cocaine
is a different story altogether

it was denver pride as a strange man cut lines with a razor blade
that had developed a taste for his sad forearm. the port–a-potty

stank in time with the rumbling bass outside
his trousers smile opened into a scarecrow grin
my skull tried to free itself from its skin sarcophagus.

buried alive in that filth stink sauna
there were no wheels to run away on
no bed to wrap my bleeding heart in gauze
no air to calm these snakes twisting through hair
and no corona song to quiet the monster
rattling in my stomach