Friday, June 25, 2010

Symbols and Signifiers

Who are you!
Gosh, you shouldn’t know
And why should I?
You might not be wearing a mask
But everyone else is.
How can I know it is real?

Mine is glued to my face
Sweat dripping from my forehead
Covering my body
Loosens it a bit,
But enough, I wonder

See I can’t tell
Do you have your glasses on?
Is the heat from my body blurring your shields?
If so, excuse me.
I can’t help it, but
Could you help me?

The floor is somewhat slippery now,
The droplets are pools
Leading me astray it seems
Everything seems
Seamlessly put together
Was it made in one piece?

I can’t tell.
I’m hoping you can,
Because I don’t want
Stuttering words as I grip around for your sympathy
Treading harsh currents of humiliation
Why does it have to be like that?

When I speak,
Liquid flows into my mouth
The words turn to nonsense
Words are symbols
How justly they convey, sometimes

Is your throat itchy?
It just appeared as if you wanted to say something
But you cleared it,
Maybe that was all I saw.
Was it? Wasn’t it?

The water is to my hip now,
Furiously rocking my body,
I’m fumbling, thrashing,
struggling to rage against, but
Should i?

I don’t want to go,
But, I’m shouting nonsense
Between the waves
Shouting after symbols
Were there signs?
Tell me the signifier.
Help me tell.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Writing Competition part 2

The bells in the courtyard are chiming as the winds assault the little house. The windows open and shut repeatedly acting as the percussionists for the evening’s performance. The leaves rustling with perfect harmony complete the quartet, while the silence between notes bring the realization that the audience is entranced and calm. The thunder and lightening pound away and break the quartet, ushering in a period of pure silence. The eye of the storm is overhead. Sinners sin under god’s watchful eye, but when he is close by, when he makes his presence known, the lay wherever they can and play dead. The hide from his gaze, as do all the animals, plants, and windows. A crash ruins the wonderful silence. Now not even god exists and we may focus on that man. The gigantic hole in the ceiling of the 2 story apartment guides us to the exact location of the vagrant: First floor, living room, right next to the television. Sitting there with a beard as his only cover for his repulsive nudity, he unveils his scarred back and buttocks and hands. He looks as if he’d been whipped by the gods themselves, on the receiving end Poseidon’s wrath, Zeus’ fury, Einstein’s wit.
The six students living in the apartment-house tip-toe down the creaky stairs, each meeting th e gaze of the others cautiously, painfully, until the final stair came and they descended unto the living room floor and before them lay their plight: A now turned over (exposing his dangler), early 20’s, man. They looked at him and he looked back at them. He appeared uninterested, while they appeared concerned. Simultaneously they all thought the same things: “Is he okay?” “Should I call an ambulance?” “How’d he get naked?” “When will the ceiling be fixed?” The storm outside disappeared from their thoughts and they all began to huddle around him, throwing questions at him, searching for cell phones to call an ambulance. He lay motionless looking each one in the eye with insouciant delight. Slowly, they all put some distance between themselves and the body that lay on their living room floor and when the ambulance came, they all made their ways, slowly, back up the creaky stairs and lay their heads on their comfy pillows and drifted back into the dream world.
Morning came and the sun shone through the tired windows and a pleasant heat bounced off of the sex faces of the residents. A knock at the door sings a simple song to the sleepers…WAKE UP! They all arise and march down as if military soldiers eager to avoid punishment by their superior. Mike is first in line and he sees that guy, that bearded guy, standing there, smiling.
“Hey, uh, how are you?” asks Mike.
“I’m doing okay.” Answers that Guy.
“Good, good…” says Mike, searching for some reason for that Guy’s return.
“…” is all the Guy offers.
Greg becomes uneasy, and impatient and blurts out “Why are you here?”
“I’m going to take a nap. The couch looks like a comfortable spot, so you guys don’t have to give up any rooms.” That Guy says as he shuffles along to the living room, smiling and unleashes his weight upon the sofa. The rest of the group gather around the sofa, observing the 165 pound man fall into a deep sleep. The snoring is so loud, the group is almost positive he is faking. Greg, begins to touch the Guy in hopes of waking him up, when Sasha, a 21 year old Bio major stops him, and says, “No, it’s fine. He’ll probably leave when he wakes up. If he doesn’t we can just tell him about how this renting situation usually works.”
“Whatever.” Utters Tim, who has been, until now, lurking in the back, silently. He moves up the stairs first and the rest soon follow, each casting glances backward as they depart the naked invader. “Why doesn’t he have any clothes on yet?” asks Mike as he too makes his way up the stairs.

It’s now 11am and the house has been quiet for 3 hours now. Yawns from the living room begin to echo repeatedly, until finally Gerald, the youngest resident at 18 years, decides to explore the area of unrest. Gerald has completely forgotten that there is a Guy in his living room, and gasps as he sees the naked statue with arms outstretched in the air and his face jumbled up in what can only be called ecstasy.
“HEY BUDDY!” says that Guy.
“Hi, uh, what’s your name anyway?” answers Gerald.
“Where the fuck is the remote man? I’ve been looking! But, I haven’t been finding! Hey do me a favor and get me some bread.”
“My bread? Well I kind of paid for it, so—“
Yeah, I figured as much. Go ahead and get it out here. Hurry up too man, I’m starving.”
Gerald, in his typical submissive fashion, fetches the bread and decides to get some peanutbutter as well. “Here you go, uh, wait, what’s your name?”
“Ha, thanks, buddy. Wait. What the fuck is this? Peanut Butter? Did I ask for peanut butter? Did I want Peanut Butter?” That Guy implores as he pitches the jar of Gerald’s favorite peanut butter at Gerald.
“um, I, HEY, I… I didn’t even have to—“ Gerald begins
“Yeah, you didn’t have to. I’m allergic to peanut butter. You’re trying to kill me bud? Well, let’s see who wins first. HA! I’m kidding bud. Don’t do that again. I’m gonna just gobble this down in here. I kind of like to eat alone, so would you, scram man?” That Guy says. Gerald is easily manipulated and is quite afraid of this man standing and 6’1, shamelessly thrusting his nakedness around with every gesture. Gerald leaves, hoping to wait for someone else to deal with this.
The weather is beautiful today, but every now and then, it behaves childishly, raining for only a few drops and then going back to a cloudless wonderland. Thunder appears, only to be replaced by an hour of nothing and then a few pieces of hail. That Guy is responsible. He likes this little town and he likes the weather here, because the weather is whatever he would like it to be. He is That Guy, god(so-to-speak) of the weather, fondler of the clouds. He is here for a reason: He was bored. He has never been on land so he decided to do it while he could, before he got wrapped up in the family business, making drops fall on occasion, stroking the Californian egos with sunshine, making deals with the other guys for favorable or disastrous skies. “Who gives a fuck?” was That Guy’s main thought throughout the day.
Throughout the day each resident passed through the living room to exit. Each resident avoided eyesight, avoided the life in the living room. That Guy reached out with all his soul to the residents. Notice. Just notice. A simple hello would do. Anything would do. He just wanted the life of a person, living with a bunch of other people. Living.
Gerald inched in from a day at the park with his friends. Once again he forgot that someone foreign would be in his living room. “I picked up some lettuce at the grocery store earlier today.It’s in the fridge but don’t touch, okay chief?” These were the first words to rain on him when he entered the hallway with the living room directly next to it. “He’s buying food for the house now?” He thought as he began to briskly walk by and make his way up the stairs.
“Hey! Get down here. I wanna show you something.” That Guy remarked. “Please don’t be youyr weiner” was all Gerald could think.
“HA! You see this scar on my finger? You know how I got that? HA, it doesn’t matter, because I just wanted you to see it. Enough with the questions now, what the heck have you been doing all day, PAL?”
“Uh,um, well, not much. Listen, have you talked to anyone about staying here, because I don’t think you can just buy lettuce and expect to stay here as long as you want. Do you even go to this school? Which year are you?” Gerald quickly and nervously asked.
“I thought we discussed this. I said ENOUGH WITH THE QUESTIONS. Buddy, you’re ruining my buzz.” Heavy drops of rain rapidly fell on the house and the skies turned a depressing tone of grey. Gerald glances outside and realizes it wouldn’t be very nice to put him out in the rain, so becomes quiet. “Well, let’s see what’s on television.” Gerald mumbles, but the remote he has gripped from the dining room table is snatched out of his hands with an explanation coming simply in the forming of “Ump.” Gerald goes up to his room.



Gerald’s escape leaves That Guy feeling small and exasperated. Having no idea what is going on here, he is becoming quickly disillusioned. People aren’t as nice as you would think. Why does no one spend time with him? He has observed and applied everything he ahs learned from his years of observation to these few fleeting moments of social interaction. Slowly, he is beginning to think he has been lied to. People aren’t what he imagined them to be.
Henry enters the house and breaks That Guy’s train of thought. “Hey...guy. What are you doing?” He says. The question annoys That Guy because he is pretty sure that what he is doing (sitting on the sofa) is fairly obvious. He resigns himself to the fact that he will simply have to explain everything to everyone all the time. “I’m sitting on the sofa and thinking.” He replies after several seconds go by.
“Yeah, I know that douchebag!” That Guy doesn’t understand the name and simply replies “Yea. Hey, buddy would you mind getting out of here? I’m trying to think.” Flabergasted, Henry stumbles backward, and happens to trip on a carelessly placed object on the floor. Falling through the air he looks like a swan and just as quickly as his fall began, it ends, leaving him strewn across the floor, pain drawn clearly across his face, limps haplessly placed on the ground. As Henry lay on the ground That Guy looks over for a few seconds, and then says “Well are you gonna get out of here or not?” In the distance, the sky rumbles and it clouds momentarily dim the sun’s lighting of the building. The commotion reaches the ears of Gerald in his room up the stairs. He hurries down the steps and upon seeing Henry in pain on the ground and Gerald sitting on the sofa in strained thought, he is completely confused. “Should I call the police?” “Am I in danger.” “Oh my god.”
He rushes up to his room and bolts the door. Out of breath he rests in his room, on his bed, and begins to cry. His weakness is like a slap across his face. Like a baby after a proper reprimand from its mother, he is asleep within minutes and the two figures downstairs cease to exist again.
“Ahhehaeh.” Henry groans as Sasha enters the house. “O my god1 What’s Going ON!” Sasha exclaims. Dialing 911, her phone nearly slips out of her hands. In minutes the young man is wheeled out of the house and into an ambulance. That Guy remains seated on the sofa and as Sasha and the now present Mike begin to barrage him with questions, That Guy falls asleep, smiling, confused. The weather outside is calm, the clouds floating through the sky, the birds enjoying a slight breeze which caresses the sticks of their nests.
“We have to have a house meeting. That guy beat up Henry and now he is in the hospital. He’s a tyrant and we can’t let him run our lives! I tried to call the landlord but he is on vacation or some bull like that. This is ridiculous.” Sasha rambles in a high pitched voice that is known far and wide for slicing eardrums.
“I don’t really care as long as he doesn’t touch my stash. Seriously, just chill.” Tim says in between yawns. “This is serious! Our lives are in danger…” Sasha pleads.
From behind them, they hear “Speak a little more quietly, guys.” That Guy is standing behind them, rubbing his eyes, smiling slightly.
“You need to leave.” Sasha says, just before the sky rumbles a bit.
“Oh, yea, no thanks guys. Wanna play some cards tonight? Hey Sasha I’m feeling a little hungry, could you order a pizza or something?”
“Everyone meet me in the next room except for you” says Sasha, signaling That Guy as the exception. That Guy, doesn’t seem to hear them and withdraws back into the living room. In the next room the roommates meet. “Guys, I don’t know who the fuck this guy is but we need to call the cops.” says Sasha. “Fuck no. I’ve got kush lining this entire building. If you want him gone, tell him or just push his fuckin ass out. I’m going up to my room, squares. Don’t bother me.” Tim says as he exits in a very slow fashion. The roommates reach an agreement that Tim is an asshole pothead and then agree that they should remove That Guy by force, and if possible Tim as well. They hatch a plan and wait. The sun goes down and the night is quiet, the roommates are all waiting in their rooms for a signal, That Guy lay asleep on the living room sofa with a slight smile on his face. He is dreaming of snow storms. The roommates are imagining a bad night ahead. A whistle sounds on the second floor and the doors open at almost the same time. Sasha leads the group down the stairs and they surround the sofa. They grasp That Guy’s limbs in hand and he doesn’t move a bit. Gerald is disturbed by the lack of reaction and says loudly “What the fuck?” That Guy awakens and says “Hey Buddy, that peanut butter was on the counter and not the pantry when I walked into the kitchen. Put your SHIT UP!” Gerald gets his wits about him and the group proceeds to lead him out of the house and he remains silent. They throw him on the ground outside and walk back inside, but fail to notice he has walked back in with them. Sasha says “Well, that was really easy. This has been pretty weird, let’s just—“ “Can you guys get out of here? I’m trying to sleep, but we can hang out tomorrow. By the way, this has been really nice. You guys are the best!”
The group is shocked and as That Guy lays his beard and head on sofa pillow, the residents give each other a look that says “Back to work, again…” They repeat the action of griping his limbs, raising that Guy’s body, as he silently is carried away. This time as they dump the body they ensure he doesn’t reenter, and he blankly looks at them as a child does when something terrible but incomprehensible happens. The storm clouds gather round the house and the wind blows. The windows clank against the house, the house rocks, and “Hey guys, get something to drink later?” blares out at them and is all they can hear. Hail and rain and snow drop into the house via the hole That Guy left when he fell into the house. Standing outside, That Guy is twiddling his thumbs and wondering what is going on. He still can’t understand why they picked him up, why they threw him and out and did it all again even as he did them the favor of reentering. All the roommates are back in their rooms, scared, cold, and unsure. Tim comes down the stairs and opens the door, blunt in hand and says “Get out of here, man.” That Guy walks under Tim’s arms and back into the house and plops down on the couch. He falls asleep and the storm dissipates. Tim is left standing, arm still hanging from the ajar door.
In the morning, the house is empty. Everyone is gone, everything is gone, even Thawt Guy’s best friend Gerald.
Despair washes over That Guy and he thinks about home. Over the clouds, guarding the heavens and the rainbows, regulating people’s lives. His newfound helpless state has made him weak. He cries as he sits on the sofa. He cries under the hole where he fell in. He cries on the stairs. The sky though seemingly cloudless, lets heavy drops fall unto the ground, until puddles emerge. The puddles become deeper and wider and more ominous until the house begins to become immersed in water. Oblivious to the chaos around him, That Guy weeps uncontrollably until he is completely under water. Unable to breath, unable to think, he is dying, but still crying. That Guy dies. The water stops flowing, the sun is unrestrained, the winds don’t exist. The door opens and the water flows out, carrying his body out, mimicking the ease with which the residents ushered his body out.
From that day on, things weren’t the same. People died. Suicide rates soared as people endured the unrelieved heat of the summer, cloudless winters, the disappearing flowers and trees. The ocean ran dry, the rivers ran dry, humanity ran dry and there was death. That Guy left them with death all because those assholes didn’t want to play cards with him. I’m writing as the last man in existence, the last bearer of the bad news, the last suffering man. After the story of That Guy became known, the 6 roommates were executed. Their bellies split and guts hung for people to rejoice in. In times of pain, even this small concession made a difference to the people. The people came from far and wide to see the carcasses and upon seeing them many died from exhaustion in the heat. Eventually, no one could tell which bodies were those of the 6 residents and which were of passersby, and which ones were tourists.

Writing Competition

“Good Morning America. It is with a mixture of sadness and pride that I deliver this morning’s State of the Union address. As you all know, we are at war in the Middle East. The enemy is gaining strength every day. Not a minute goes by that I don’t give a sigh of grief over our fallen brethren. Those of you that have been keeping tabs on your nation in foreign publications such as BBC news and The Economist are well aware that things aren’t going so well for lady liberty. We simply haven’t the heart to inform you via Fox News, or NBC the extent to which our failure and losses are truly apparent.”

(The camera pans outward, revealing two masked men on either side of Barack Obama, holding AK-47s)

“Call it misinformation, call it deception, either way, I assure you it wasn’t out of malice. It was in your best interest. I have gained nothing in the way of capital gains in this yearlong endeavor to conceal the truth from the American people. Frankly, I saw no alternative. To inform my proud citizens that the most powerful country in the world was somehow under siege by guerilla attackers and that we were in constant danger, would not only incite fear in your breast and create widespread panic, but would also instill a nationwide sense of hopelessness completely uncharacteristic of the American psyche. I apologize if I’ve failed you as a president. All I ever wanted was for each and every one of you to realize your dreams- the American dream. I now hand the country over to Mazaar Al-Zarqawi and Mabudeen Sheekzaki. FUCK AL QUAEDA! LONG LIVE AMERICA!”

(President Barack Obama is then shot in the head. His white shirt is now smattered with blood, and he slumps back in his chair in the Oval office, mouth ajar with a trickle of blood slowly meandering toward his chin).

I sat in Mooney’s, mouth agape completely, as did the rest of my friends as we watched the traumatic end to President Obama’s first State of the Union address.

“Shit… How the fuck did they get in the White House?” I said

“No fucking idea.” said my friend Konrad

So much silence I never would have thought this was the way that people reacted to these sorts of things I never actually imagined (John Lennon) this type of thing could happen in America. I’m not really that shaken up about the Obama thing, but what does this mean you know? Where do we go next?

“What do we do?” I asked

No answer. I don’t think I’ve ever seen people legitimately speechless this is definitely the first time I must say.

(the screen went blank, but not before the masked AK-47 men walked toward the camera and shut it off, fumbling around with the switches for a minute).

Stupid terrorists, well I shouldn’t say that I’d probably fumble with it also, I’m not exactly a technology whiz but everyone always thinks they will be when put in that position I take it back they’re not stupid terrorists, they got in to the White House for chrissakes.

“So….” I say in an attempt to break the silence “Should we go somewhere? See what other people are doing maybe? Gauge what the national reaction to this is?”

No response again. Are people really this shook up? I know they heard my words I’m sure they’re just over reacting for the sake of looking human I mean at least show some panic and curiosity.

“All right, well I’m going to head outside and check out what’s going on guys. Give me a call if you wanna catch up. Sound cool Konrad? Joe? I know you probably won’t say anything back but I trust you will call me if you want to meet up later- unspoken agreement. Well, now it’s spoken so I guess it’s just an agreement... Sort of.” I headed out the door.

We usually meet at Mooney’s and have lunch together on Mondays. I hate the fact that there’s a TV in there, but I agreed to watch today because it was the State of the Union address- Oh shit no more of those! They usually watch stupid ESPN and I try to get a word in during commercials, otherwise it’s just blank expressions consuming dozens of chicken wings.

On the street, everyone seems to have heard the news already, like during September 11th, everyone already knew and didn’t have to rush in and say “oh my god did you hear?” As if it was a piece of gossip, sullen faces asked and answered the question without verbal communication and stuff. Where should I go? Hmm I don’t really know what to do right now. Will we all go to work tomorrow? Will I go back this afternoon? Do I have to? I guess I’ll see for myself and head to the office I have my bike so I can get there quickly.

Riding feels weird why is everyone giving me a look like I’m doing something wrong?

“Hey Janice” I said as I strolled into the office

“Michael.” She said

“Yea?”

“Our nation’s under attack” she said, crinkled brow and hopeless expression.

“Well, yea. I mean, are we going to be working the rest of the afternoon, or…” I said, both hands out in front of me

“Michael. Our nation is under attack.” She said again, as if it clears up everything.

Why is she making it seem like an obvious answer? The president’s in Washington D.C, we are in New York City. It’s so far away and there are so many of us, first of all how the hell did they infiltrate our country, but second of all how are they going to deal with the rest of us?

“I can’t deal with this right now” Janice said to my blank expression. She stormed off, immensely stressed

I guess I have the day off. Probably more than a day. I’m hungry I didn’t actually eat anything at Mooney’s, I just got there when I heard the news I think I’ll go to Pasquale’s deli. Oh god 12 inch Turkey and provolone sub sauce and a coke oh my god.

“12 inch turkey, provolone cheese and sub sauce. On sesame bread. And a coke please.” I said

“Yea, sure” said the guy behind the counter.

Why is he eyeing me funny? I have to eat! Does everyone stop eating when a crisis happens? Where in our DNA is it hardwired that when the president is killed brutally murdered in his office after giving the state of the union address telling all of us that our country is doomed do we all stop eating and doing everything? I want to yell this to all of you that are eyeing me and telling me telekinetically that I need to stop where I am and panic and talk and ask what are we going to do? What are we going to do?

“Here you go sir. It’s on the house.” Said the Pasquale man

“Nonsense, how much?” I demand

“Really, it’s on the house.” Said the man, all sad now

“If you insist. Thank you much and I hope that we can all make it through this tragic event” I said, and based on his look I appear to have redeemed myself because he nodded gravely and respectfully.

As I take a bite in to the sub, there’s bliss I forgot for a second how amazing it was oh my god. I take a seat on the curb, the perfect seat I think to witness the end of the world because lots of people were doing the same. People were crying and saying “OBAMA! OBAMA! WHY?” I didn’t even know the guy and his policies and things didn’t even affect me just yet it’s a shame I guess. No president, I think has ever affected me I can’t tell the difference between a good one and a bad one but I guess I’m too young to have a valid opinion. I wonder if Great Britain’s gonna help us. Everyone should get together and help us we did so much for all of Europe- think of the Marshall plan jesus we bailed all of them out when they were in ruins after World War 2. We’re not even in ruins I wonder if there was a lot of gunfire I’m really curious how this happened. Is there still news coverage?

I walked over to a sports bar across the street that had a TV in it.

“Is there any news coverage?” I ask inside

“No. It all went out after the State of the Union address.” Said the barman

Jesus we don’t even know what’s going on this is so weird I wonder what the cops are doing should they all drive to Washington D.C and find out what’s up?

“What are all the cops doing?” I asked

“I have no idea, sir. No idea whatsoever. It’s a sad day for America.” He said, looking down.

“Sad day indeed” I said as I turned toward the door and took another bite out of my sub jesus Christ I wish this sub would last forever it’s so goddamn motherfucking good ahhhhh

Well I guess there’s nothing to do. What if I broke my leg right now, are ambulances still running? Hospitals open? I wouldn’t be surprised if all the sick people just stood there with doctors and asked what was going to happen next and forget that they’re sick.

I’m going to go swimming. In the Hudson River. I saw an episode of Seinfeld once in which Kramer swam in the Hudson but he got really smelly for a while and stank up Elaine’s mattress. I think I’ll do it too I don’t want to be like all the rest of these people, jesus all the cabs have stopped and everyone’s out in the street just standing around looking sad. Yea, I’ll go swimming.

A bike is actually a really, really great idea in these situations. All the traffic’s stopped but I can still get through. Jesus, if all I had was a car, forget it I wouldn’t get anywhere I would just have to stand around or walk wherever I wanted to go but that would take so damn long.

The Hudson. The Mighty Hudson. The Hudson river. Torrents, torrents, currents, strong, good idea? Why not, there are no bad Ideas now I guess. I jump it’s cold already but of course I’ll get over it we can adapt to anything, but maybe that’s not true actually.

“Hey you!”

“Yea?” I say whilst treading water and see it’s a man yelling from the pier I just jumped off of.

“Are you committing suicide?”

“No, why?” I ask

“Cause you’re swimming in the Hudson. Nobody swims in the Hudson!” He yells, one arm stretched out

“Oh, well Kramer did it on Seinfeld. What else should I be doing?”

“Touché.” He said, and walked away.

I swam, I took big strokes, long strokes. Should I ask myself Where am I going? I guess I just did but I’d rather not preoccupy myself with that. Just swim for now. When I was in High school I was much better, that was a few years ago. I bet I would come in last place in a national high school race with all high schools kids of all skill levels no I’m being harsh I’m sure I would do just fine. There are lots of kids on teams that join because their parents make them and have no interest in the sport and no incentive to do well or even try.

How the fuck did guerilla warriors take over the White House and the American Army? We’re so powerful, like the most powerful army on the face of the earth. I bet it’s sort of simple. Like a Trojan horse sort of thing. That’s the way to bring down a giant. Or like run lines in between trees and make some sort of invisible trip wire for them to tumble over because they were stomping too much to look down and see what’s in their way. Either way I bet it’s brilliant. Simplicity is key because the U.S army, I’m sure has been planning for attacks that are so complex and inconceivable and specific that they would look over the easy to find answers. Like school kids who are dumbfounded when asked their opinion but don’t hesitate to memorize a textbook.

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‘;lv,qe’arlk;vmq;laf,v’lkaekfmva[r;fl,gmpoweafkfmc,W

V’,GK.AE

RPB’L0]]]]]]]]]]]][][][///////…..;

0000000000000000000/////

What was that? Damn tired. What do next? Swim back like give up? NO, NO, NO. All is back there so swim back. Swim back then, slow, slow strides. See smoke, hear loud noises war, sure. Thought would be standing forever. Now people run, good make them do something jesus stand there like sheep. Swim back finally, long swim it’s good to be out good workout haven’t done so much in a long, long while. Climb up difficult, was not expected. I get above and on shore and what do I see?

/,/,/,/,/,/,/;.’.;/;[].[/’.[.[.[/’/’/]][;/[];/]’/’././][‘;,.’;,.]./[.//

How did this happen?

I look to my left and see:

][][;][;][;]/]/]/][/][/][/][/][/][/][/][//;/.’’;

And my right as well:

][-=-]-[-‘;-]-\-\-]’-.-;-]-;[]-;

I see some people but some are less than people. I hear them:

000000000000

And they zig zag. Beheaded chicken, hah! That’s the sort of chaos it is perfectly describing the situation. I see orange. Like Pac Man hah! If it slowed down it could eat for a while and actually enjoy it, but noooo someone’s greedy! So I sat and watched it, like always. What a twisted imagination our creator has. He has the power to do anything with space. Anything, yet he chose this? This display of fireworks just for me to see? Out of all the unimaginable possibilities, he does this just for me? I love it. What a generous, generous person he is. I hear him. He’s up there. He’s making lots of noise and pounding and pounding. He’s probably smiling widely thinking of no one but me I’m special. His own world, I wonder what’s happening there.

Meanwhile, I walk through the /.,/.,’;, and see someone. It’s a woman. She’s laying and it’s so amazing that so many buildings fell while I was gone. How do you explain this, creator? You’re lucky I was out to sea and didn’t see what happened. Otherwise I would say, this? This is the weapon you bring against humanity? Yea right, that can’t cause this much destruction, there’s something wrong with your logic! But no, no, no I was gone and it all happened and I am only left to imagine what it was, like a Trojan horse.

So, woman is crying. What am I supposed to do, save her, creator? Is that why I stumbled across her? It was supposed to incite some feeling in me, otherwise I would have not come across anyone.

“How are you, miss?” I asked, crouching above her.

00000000000

“Can you speak?” I asked

00000000000

What the fuck do I do? I’m pretty sure she’s dying. Will this be on my conscious if I just go? Yea I bet it will. Damn. I asked the question, it was planted in me like the emotion. Damn you creator. DAMN YOU CREATOR I WANTED TO ROAM FREELY BUT YOU MADE ME DO THIS! Not a good creator after all. Not a good one, not in it for the happiness of his creations. What is he in it for? To torture me? You want to torture me don’t you??? Don’t you???

On knees now, I never pray. Why am I praying, so uncharacteristic of me (American psyche) I can’t help it!!! Everything is not my idea. You instilled all of these ideas in me!! Hudson river, big turkey sub, nothing was mine, was it!?! Was it?? The bicycle? Can I have credit for anything? This gigantic circle it’s so confusing please please please.

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Yes, it’s coming nearer. Thank you! Thank you!

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Yes! This is great creator, this is great!!!

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00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Tears of joy in torrents (Hudson River), torrents they pour down, down, down thank you so much thank you thank you yes I said yes I said thank you yes!

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And the wise and great thing ascends upon me I finally see it I see it thank you you’re not so bad after all, thank you. No torture, no torture.

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THE END

Friday, June 11, 2010

Status update!

Woke up at 7 this morning to run, and now I get to announce it on Facebook. While on my run, my only motivation was the status update I was promised. An unspoken promise!

I'm finally back at my computer, covered in sweat, feeling the sweet endorphins already rushing between synapses. What should I put? Omg, i'm as giddy as a school girl, and i'm not ashamed. No one can see me, but in a moment, everyone will see me. They won't know that I didn't make it very far, or that I heart my arm on the run, or that I lay on the ground for a half an hour after the 5 minute run, awaiting this moment.

Typing,typing,typing. Words have been typed. Words are on the screen, but none are right! Why are none of the words right? This is my moment goddamit!

"Went for a run today. What a good start to a beautiful day!"

"Exhausted from an early morning run." NO NO NO NO NO!

None will do! 56 people will see this status update. I'm on stage for all 56 of my friends and 2 of them are online now!

Deep breaths,deep breaths for the words typed on the screen. Deep breaths for the words smeared upon my laptop, like poop on monkeys in a goddamn monkey fight!

Facebook is making a monkey of me. I won't be made a monkey. The only redemption from this insult is rat poison. My status is "Rat Poison". Take that facebook.

The Ballad of the Screeching Loon of Scarsdale

“Rat Poison!” He cried out at the top of his lungs.
But his cry was left unheard.
He climbed up the ladder, two or three rungs
Not a soul could belittle his words.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Buy a candy, mister.

A ring at the doorbell.

Rising off of my shitty 10 dollar sofa, i'm taking long, slow strides toward the door. My favorite show "Three's Company" is on the boob tube, so you know i'm just hanging out on this beautiful summer afternoon. I don't get many unexpected visitors-- Wait, check that, I don't get any unexpected visitors. I'm going to the door in sweats, thinking this aint a goodamn broad coming to give me some relief. Prolly some of them fuckin Jehovah's or some shit. O you already know this lad's gonna peer through the door before he answers it.

So that's exactly what I do. I get on my tippy toes and lean forward, putting my eye directly at the germ infested looking glass on my door.

Boom!

Before I get a good look at the FUCK! who just rammed my door, i'm holding my eye, praying to the eye god's i'm not going to be blind.

This is utter bull shit. There is a frigging school girl at my door with a box of chocolates. I open the door, quickly, ready to give this brat a piece of my mind. She opens the conversation first, with a "Good morninggggggg, mister. Wanna buy some of my candiessss?"

I reply with a curt "Fuck no." and proceed to shut the door.
Her foot stops my attempt and in an even more innocent voice, says "Misterrrrrrrrr, wanna buy some candiessss?"

My response is the same.

She goes on to say "But mister, my grandma bought some and she says Good People Buy Some."

I kick her foot out of the door and shut it quickly. The little girl begins to ram my door repeatedly.

Laughing, I say "Go away you little fuck. I'm not interested in your crappy diabetes gems." I have never used the term "diabetes gem," but it felt appropriate, so I gave it a whirl. The ramming didn't stop. I sat down and continued to distractedly watch my good ol show as the little pain rammed my door. But, oddly, instead of dying out, the rams get stronger and then stronger more. I sneak over to the door and the violent ramming stops abruptly. I peak out, again and before being smacked in the eye again, see 2 little girls outside this time. I stay there and the rams steadily become more and more violent and, as I get smacked in the face, I notice more and more little girls who seem to be clones of the one who originally stood there. The hinges creak after a while and the living room quakes under their might. One girl cries out, "No police, misterrrrrrr. Buy a canddddyy."

The door comes down. The girls pile into my little abode one by one in a kind of scattering military formation, hinting at the serious and severe nature of the situation. The leader and the original girl walks slowly over to the television and turns off my dear Three's Company. She then repeats "Buy a candy, mister." This time in a very serious and ominous tone. My gaze settles on each of the 4 foot something girls, all standing erect and shooting harsh looks into my rapidly winking eyes. I begin to weep, unable to speak. The other girls start to take everything in my home, claiming it for what I can only assume is the state. Everything! The television, the desk, the sofa, the stamp collection i'd had since the third grade. Meanwhile, I lay on the ground, curled up in a ball.

They begin to leave and the leader slowly turns around and for the final time says in a resigned tone, "Buy a candy, mister."

Friday, June 4, 2010

Midnight Manifesto Nugget

12 O'clock. It's 12 O'clock. The fan is blowing air around the room and making me cold. I stare up at the blue wall and focus in on the cracks. "This house is comin' down," I told myself. I smiled. "This house is comin' down." I sat up. I stared straight ahead and furrowed my brow. I slapped the mattress with my right hand. "This house is comin' down!" I said, a little bit louder. This time I sported a quasi-maniacal grin.

In the next room lay my mother. I knew that she heard what I was saying, because I heard her stirring.

I ran to the basement and got the chainsaw. "THIS HOUSE IS COMIN' DOWN!" I started it up.

Reeer-REEEER-RERERERERERERER

I cackled as my mother ran into the kitchen, hands aflutter. Protesting.

"THIS HOUSE IS COMIN' DOWN!!!!! I'M HELPING OUT MOTHER NATURE!"

On her face were lines of terror,
t'was a shame I was the bearer,
the one to rouse her from her slumber
All I could do was yell the number:
3
2
1

From that moment on, wood was cut. The saw snored on through the night and left the entire neighborhood in a frenzy. Bathrobes were donned, phone numbers dialed, a group was gathered, and questions were asked.

Every support beam was left in half. All the floorboards were torn up. My mother's face was indescribable. She ran out of the house long before the deed was done. She was the one who wanted me committed.

By 12:24 the house was uninhabitable because it was a pile of wood.

I gaze upon a sea of kindling,
for all I know it's the beginning
I'll create a hell for me to rule
so I won't have to go to school.

I grabbed some newspaper from under a pile in a basket that was by the fireplace. I struck a match on the concrete driveway and lit the newspaper on fire. I held it under a plank for about a minute until the thing caught on fire. I laughed giddily.

In 5 minutes, the flames were substantial. I danced in front of the not-house and shoved my ancient neighbors around until they were all horrified. I wanted to let them all know I wasn't one of them anymore.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Hockey Balls

I play hockey with balls, slap-shit. How many times do I gotta say it?

Not because I slap old folks, or even just fella' players, in the ballsers with my department store sticks (I am a child capitalist). I am a fool un-fooled by rules, you see. When the used-car dealerships close at dusk, for a fine-ish instance, I call upon my gang, my team of rivals (NO allusion intended; I hate history), to swarm around me in the cracked parking lots for an unfair game (I am a child capitalist). This game be deemed hockey balls, you know? You listening?

Fuck you if ya want me to explain how to play, because you must have an ugly jaundiced foot if you say that to me. I know it's true. Well, let me explain anyways, my foul footed un-friend, because maybe it'll persuade you to play. And I need players.

So here we go. You take a ball. Not a bouncy ball. Not a Playland ball. Fuck that; that shit's for softies like you. Just imagine a puck that bounces so it's got a higher percentage of knocking your teeth out, slap-shit-face. That's what the games all about. We (my team of rivals and I) be bouncing like basketballs with loopy sticks, trying to knock each other's teeth out.

Have I gotten my teeth knocked out? You dummy. This is the last bit of secret I'm gonna explain.

If I had got a tooth splatted by some stray ball, I'da be silent as a lil' Timmy over there. You see'm? With the big boob eyes and the black mouth? That's because there's nothing in it and because when I hit the ass-wipe his eyes nearly popped out of them sockets. If that happened to me, I'da not be able to put up with all your shit and explain this game. If you want to play, I'mma win because I'm a child capitalist. I told you this! Listen next time!

A Chosen Path (From Sook to Scarsdale). Part I

My name is Lanschwing Jeronico. I come from Vienna, where I spent many days of childhood of mine. My parents, Lantlon and Bantley, were circus leaders. Big belly harnessed with a fiery Oriental sash, my father swallowed blades and made fire with his boozy coughs. He was a bearded man and funny, wobbly and bubbly. My mother pretended to be a contortionist of a lioness, thin as an American.

My journey, which I would be pleased to relate, and which has taken me thus far, to this odd and careless place--deemed a so-called "Scarsdale" by its scarce inhabitants--begins at the traveling Jeronico circus. I was shoveling shit like a good little boy, looking forward to my cappuccino, or perhaps a childlike blunt of cannabis (since we were in Amsterdam at the time), when I saw an Indian lad by around the Elephant cages.

"I needs this, Jeronico." He told me, adjusting his nerdy spectacles.

"Need what, my good sir. Are you lost?" I replied, my youthful eyes shaded in my Oliver Twist hat.

"I am Sooky. You should know me."

"Aye, me sir, I know not of who you be."

"I needs you for my purposes."

"What purposes be those, sir? You a new bossy?"

"Lol. Fuck you."

"What kind of language is that, sir? I don't understand. Who are you?"

"I'm done, Jeronico."

"Why, all right then, sir. I'mma go back to me shoveling now."

And the red shirted, tanned skin boy disappeared into the torch flames of the tent. I didn't see him again until ten years later, when he encroached upon me and my beloved, Brackanela Wiggles.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

They took him off to the looney bin

The humidity made me awake several times today. It's 4pm and I hear banging and screams. Needless to say, i'm annoyed. I sit up and stare for about 2 minutes before texting a friend.

More screams. Sounds like construction or some sort of home repair. I lay down and stare at the wall.

Police sirens.

Is someone beating on the backdoor? I think I should answer it, but i'm too annoyed to care. I need a cigarette and I would smoke, but I don't have any left. Today fucking sucks. It couldn't get any worse.

I stand up and open the door to my room. The two story house is completely quiet. It sounds like everyone has been murdered and i'm upset with myself for not joining them. It will be humiliating to be the kid who slept as his family was murdered. I lay down again and try to fall asleep, but the footsteps of policemen halt my slumber. My mother walks up the stairs to my room and says "Don't leave this room."
I'm instantly annoyed again. I'm 19 and my mother (outside the room) is telling me to stay in my room as if I were a child. I consider leaving the room, until I think of how predictable my death could be after such an act.

There is man outside, underneath my window, talking to the police. I can't see his face or make out exactly what they're talking about. My mother returns to mmy room and tells me that I may go downstairs now. "There are police everywhere."

The room downstairs looks normal. Everything is where it should be. The sofa is in front of the television, the computer is on but not in use, the dozens of police are drinking the lemonade...

Apparently a man with a machete cut off the door knob to get into the house, after my mother complained about him taking food without permission. He wanted to kill us all he said. He wanted to kill me. Obviously this is most annoying to me.

What a douche my brother can be.