Long Live Frank Gallagher

Poetry/Prose - Matthew Pasquarello.
Boston Bruins / Boston Red Sox / New York Rangers
New Bedford, Massachusetts
kik: mthwp


I saw the lights go on when the sun went down and I thought to myself “well here’s to another night that snuck up on me… or did I see it coming a mile away?” And somewhere in the darkness something laughed. Not wicked but sad, not evil but just “there” like the newspaper dispensers or the man waving the sign beckoning us to go in the store and get lower interest rates. A home - from - college job. I wonder what he wanted to do but I didn’t wonder too much. Most of the wonder went toward what I myself wanted to do. Maybe I’ll let you know, when I figure it out.

You guys are all gonna enjoy this television show I’m writing when it hits premium television in 2027

the soil of the heart;
plant your favorite flower
or your favorite drug.

pour whiskey on it,
pull its strings so you
feel pain you feel like feeling.

breed little birds on its
let it laugh. let it beat.

let it love and shatter
like church glass in the
good humor of your
neighborhood bullies.

we can find a million answers.
we can swim in our veins and
feel the warmth of the current,
until winter comes and
it ices over and you feel so
god damn
cold, you feel so

personal note

my other blog is doing so well for itself i’m proud of the little thing

if your birthday month isn’t October I feel bad for you

these waves will crash upon our front steps while we are talking about existentialism and where this world is going and whether or not we should offer our shoes up to the power-lines - i do not wish to scare the beautiful birds away they have journeyed further than us all - creaky floorboards as we make our way up to the heavens - maybe we should turn around and go back.

men are writing strange words in the sand - washed away by the tide the moon controls like puppetry - maybe we’re all controlled by the moon - maybe we’re all stringed together by webs in different dimensions weaved by laughing spiders who know us not by name but by face, by feeling.


i can’t tell if i am tired
(you are tired).
this will be the last time i think about the past
(who the fuck are you
trying to kid?)
this will be the last time i write about lost friends and lovers
(try not to write again, then, fucker)
i feel my bones now dry inside me. no more rainstorms.
(just wait for the next one)
no more tears to waterfall down the cheeks of my enemies.
(and then there’s nothing left to do).

Get nosy. I dare you.

  • 1: Real (first) Name?
  • 2: Current crush!?
  • 3: Addiction?
  • 4: How tall am I?
  • 5: Relationship status?
  • 6: Girls I trust?
  • 7: Boys I trust?
  • 9: Current mood?
  • 10: how many followers?
  • 11: Confession;
  • 12: Who I miss?
  • 13: Who I last hugged?
  • 14: Who understands me?
  • 15: Someone who is always there for me:
  • 16: Last Text?
  • 17: someone you cry to?
  • 18: Who makes me laugh the most?
  • 19: Who I do the craziest stuff with?
  • 20: Who makes me smile?
  • 21: What am i listening to?
  • 22: Turn on’s?
  • 23: Turn offs?
  • 24. Bestfriends?
  • 26: Second confession?
  • 27: What I hate?
  • 28: Last person to give you butterflies?
  • 29: Insert any question you want to ask me, here

NHL expansion by 2017: Las Vegas, Quebec City, Seattle, and another team based in Toronto

If you don’t follow me on Twitter you’re even lamer than people who have twitter



we’ve sat in the shade watching the ash
collect on the end of days. these are
emotions we have written down time and
time again and they don’t mean much anymore,
like the hearts carved into trees with
the initials of people who have move don
from each other.

that’s okay. there are new suns to rise and
there are new skeletons to yellow with age
in the dirt and there are smiles that will melt
and there are moons that will light the way
to better days.

if and when this television pilot ever gets picked up by Premium Cable I hope they let me write every single episode because it’s so fun to write