Ivy Sawyers-Martin -- 3/8/23

Sounds of Saturn

I fall asleep every night to the sounds of Saturn, doing astral projections inside the never ending storm, wandering in search of The Machine. It doesn't matter if I die, the hidden machine must be turned off at all cost. The vortex must be sealed.

Dear Olivia | Not Dated

Finding you in that bathtub covered in blood ruined me. I stopped focusing on myself. I left you to go back to New York. I thought I'd never find love again. In just 2 days it'll be the 2 year anniversary of my leaving you in that bed all bandaged and mended. I thought a lot about everything after that. I made a lot of new friends. The girl I'm with now is the first partner I've told. She didn't judge me. She doesn't treat me bad like you did. I feel sorry for you Olivia. I'm sorry things happened the way they did. I hope you're still ok.

I hope you survived that night.

Ungodly | 1/25/93

I think I'm a sociopath. I feel no guilt for my actions. I honestly believe I love my wife, but that could be my brain tricking itself. I've never cried over a death. Not even the death of family members. I cry when things don't go my way. That feels real, but could easily be a subconscious manipulation tactic. I also cry when my wife is sad. But that feels like tears falling out. Not forced, but not quite right. I started cutting again yesterday. Possibly because I didn't take my meds. But I didn't cut before these recent meds. I'm interested to see what it would feel like to kill someone.

The Shape | 3/7/93

Last night I had a severe schizophrenic break. I saw The Shape. The shape that haunts all my memories of childhood. It's almost like a watermark. Superimposed in low opacity on every single event of my early life. Last night it was solid. And rather than being stamped on my memories, it covered my vision. I believe at some point I called L over. They ran across the street and snuck through my window on the second floor. I described The Shape to them the best I could, but they didn't understand what I was saying. They laid with me for half an hour while my body continued to shake uncontrollably before deciding they would like to return home. I kissed them goodbye and didn't have the strength to redress so I stood naked in the cold watching them return to their apartment building. L is a good friend. The shape didn't leave me today, but I at least was able to drive the car to work and pick up a pen to write this all down. The sounds of Saturn ringing in my head are starting to fade, so I know these thoughts of creativity and nonconformity will soon leave my mortal brain and be replaced with— what is it I do again...? Ah yes— soon leave and be replaced with thoughts of filing taxes. Goodbye Saturn. Goodbye Shape.

Billy | circa April, 1993

I pick up my copy of “American Psycho.” It’s undoubtedly the best story from that year, and more than a year later I still love to reread it.

Before I can cozy up in my large armchair —the soul piece of furniture in my home— I hear a knocking at my door.

“If it's any sort of winged creature, I swear to the lord almighty I will...”

Before I can finish my thought, I open the door to find L standing there, holding the body of someone who appears to be the corner boy, dripping in blood.

“You have to help us,” L says, shivering from the rain, “Someone stabbed Billy.”

I recognize that this is in fact the little boy— who I now know is called Billy— that stands on the corner of our street scamming tourists and harassing cops.

“Bring him inside and lay him on the table. I will grab my equipment.”

L rushes into the house carrying the boy with a speed I didn't think was possible for someone with such a small and frail looking body while I start up the steps to find my bag of medical equipment that I had not returned to the hospital after they fired me.

“Where is the bleeding coming from?!” I yell down to L.

“The stomach and the thigh!” they yell back.

”Start a tourniquet on the thigh!” I instruct L as I grab a needle and thread, gauze, and alcohol.

Before I run back downstairs I'm caught by the photo of Gloria and I on the set of whatever film she was working on at the time. Those are the times I miss. The simple innocence the two of us had is something I had spent the next few years chasing after.


L’s yelling wakes me out of my trance and I rush back down to begin my work.

The Streets | 11/1/25

I step out into the cold November air and am greeted by a rush of wind that completely ouclasses the winter coat I have on. The streets are eerily empty, but I know it’s only a matter of time before the rush hour catches up and I won’t be able to move through the city undetected. I pull my jacket tight around myself and begin the trek.

My old brownstone stands in front of me now, clearly the subject of some decomposition in the two years since I left my home. I sigh with a combination of sadness and nostalgia before grabbing the low hanging fire escape and climbing to the second floor window. My old bedroom. I breath