There are yellow flowers in my hair and white candles in my hand.
wHy?
Staring at the tiling on the floor could make anyone dizzy, but not me. Squares undizzy the world… they undizzy me!
So I toss my hair to the left and reveal the lotus flower. No longer properly hooked in, it drops to the tiled floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. The white candle disintegrates in my hand. Melting. I blow it out so that I can freeze it in time; it works, you know? I can keep it like this forever. It can never rejuvenate; and without a flame, it will never die.
wAx.
Interesting concept and oh so… beautiful
Here are some words I like to say:
unicYcle
cauliflower
yinkeRbell
ooGey boogey
didgeridoO
asterisk
I don’t like to say them all at the same time. I just like those words. They aren’t words I hear very often, but when I do… oh boy, when I do… my face lights up with the flame of the white candles in my hand and the yellow flowers in my hair.
L
U
F
R
E
D
N
O
W
O
N
D
E
R
F
U
L
Light My Flame.
Light My Desire.
But don’t let me melt away.
D
R
I
P
.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
GOT BEEF?
A couple of weeks ago some buddies and I went down to the skate park to grind ’n flip a few. We go down almost three times a week if not more. It’s the perfect place to hang and be with my friends, but it’s also the best way to get away from home. Bleh! Home, one more year and I’m out.
In any case, we went down to the park and flipped a few. I got some good air and didn’t bail off the railing when I tried for crooks. A few quick grabs, nothing fancy and I was ready to call it a day.
Trevor, Santos and I sat on our decks and started shooting the shit.
Santos: “Hey yo, Grubbie. Why don’t you come with us to the ink shop? We are gonna watch Wes get a tattoo of a halfpipe on his leg. It’s gonna be sick!”
Me: “Yo man! That’s sick! Of course I’m comin’”
Trevor: “Yeah well, let’s just see what happens when we get there. Knowing Wes, this is all just some bogus scheme to get us to think he’s cool. Anyhow, I don’t think he got his parents permission.”
Me: “Oh yeah? You need permission for that shit? Hmm…”
Santos: “Whatcha thinkin’ Grubbie? What’s with the ‘hmm’?”
Me: “Neh man. Nothin’, I was just thinkin’ I could fake it, no?”
Trevor: “You could totally fake it dude! Just sign his mom’s name on some piece of paper sayin’: yo it’s cool to tat up my son.’”
Santos: “Yeah! Write one for me too, man. I wanna get something gnarly.”
Trevor: “Whatcha thinkin’ of getting?”
Santos: “Not sure yet. But something for sure.”
Me: “I’m gonna write one for all of us, dude. This is gonna be the illest! So stoked right now!”
Santos: “Dude! You should totally get something huge way across your chest! Ha Ha! That would be awesome! Like: ‘what’s up?’ or somethin’”
Me: “No way man, that’s just stupid.”
Trevor: “Do it man. That would be hilarious! I’ll pay you a hundred bucks if you do it.”
Me: “Really?”
Santos: “Yeah. And I’ll pay for the tattoo.”
Me: “Really?”
The three of us skated over to the tattoo parlor, walked in and slammed our ‘permission slips down on the counter and asked for a deal on four tats. The guy behind the counter was slick, all tatted up and scary ’n shit. He knew right away that we were underage and that our slips were bogus, but he didn’t get all logistic on us. He waved me over and asked me what I wanted. I didn’t want to go first, but I couldn’t look all uncool in front of my buddies.
Me: “Guys, I don’t know if I should do this. My parents are gonna be all up in my face. This is nuts. I don’t want beef with them, I got one more year at home and then I’m out. Maybe I’ll do it then.”
Santos: “No way man! You gotta do this now man! If you don’t do it now it ain’t just your parents you’ll have beef with. Ha! Ha!”
Me: “All right man. Here goes.”
And there you have it. Look, I don’t want no beef with nobody. I ain’t no chicken and I don’t wanna be bullied, so that’s that. You have a problem with that? What? Got Beef?
In any case, we went down to the park and flipped a few. I got some good air and didn’t bail off the railing when I tried for crooks. A few quick grabs, nothing fancy and I was ready to call it a day.
Trevor, Santos and I sat on our decks and started shooting the shit.
Santos: “Hey yo, Grubbie. Why don’t you come with us to the ink shop? We are gonna watch Wes get a tattoo of a halfpipe on his leg. It’s gonna be sick!”
Me: “Yo man! That’s sick! Of course I’m comin’”
Trevor: “Yeah well, let’s just see what happens when we get there. Knowing Wes, this is all just some bogus scheme to get us to think he’s cool. Anyhow, I don’t think he got his parents permission.”
Me: “Oh yeah? You need permission for that shit? Hmm…”
Santos: “Whatcha thinkin’ Grubbie? What’s with the ‘hmm’?”
Me: “Neh man. Nothin’, I was just thinkin’ I could fake it, no?”
Trevor: “You could totally fake it dude! Just sign his mom’s name on some piece of paper sayin’: yo it’s cool to tat up my son.’”
Santos: “Yeah! Write one for me too, man. I wanna get something gnarly.”
Trevor: “Whatcha thinkin’ of getting?”
Santos: “Not sure yet. But something for sure.”
Me: “I’m gonna write one for all of us, dude. This is gonna be the illest! So stoked right now!”
Santos: “Dude! You should totally get something huge way across your chest! Ha Ha! That would be awesome! Like: ‘what’s up?’ or somethin’”
Me: “No way man, that’s just stupid.”
Trevor: “Do it man. That would be hilarious! I’ll pay you a hundred bucks if you do it.”
Me: “Really?”
Santos: “Yeah. And I’ll pay for the tattoo.”
Me: “Really?”
The three of us skated over to the tattoo parlor, walked in and slammed our ‘permission slips down on the counter and asked for a deal on four tats. The guy behind the counter was slick, all tatted up and scary ’n shit. He knew right away that we were underage and that our slips were bogus, but he didn’t get all logistic on us. He waved me over and asked me what I wanted. I didn’t want to go first, but I couldn’t look all uncool in front of my buddies.
Me: “Guys, I don’t know if I should do this. My parents are gonna be all up in my face. This is nuts. I don’t want beef with them, I got one more year at home and then I’m out. Maybe I’ll do it then.”
Santos: “No way man! You gotta do this now man! If you don’t do it now it ain’t just your parents you’ll have beef with. Ha! Ha!”
Me: “All right man. Here goes.”
And there you have it. Look, I don’t want no beef with nobody. I ain’t no chicken and I don’t wanna be bullied, so that’s that. You have a problem with that? What? Got Beef?
TEN2
I stare.
I stare at the wall.
I stare at the tiled wall and I think.
I don’t think.
I stare at the tiled wall as I sit in the bath and contemplate.
My body wrinkles from the water.
Only the tips of my hair are wet.
I sit and I stare, but I don’t think.
There is a towel behind me.
There is a brick wall beside me.
But I stare ahead.
My hands are dry.
My make up is running.
The water.
The water.
The water is lukewarm.
I’m sitting and I’m staring and I’m not thinking.
I’m wet and I’m cold and I’m contemplating.
I’m contemplating, but not this time.
Maybe, maybe next time.
I stare at the wall.
I stare at the tiled wall and I think.
I don’t think.
I stare at the tiled wall as I sit in the bath and contemplate.
My body wrinkles from the water.
Only the tips of my hair are wet.
I sit and I stare, but I don’t think.
There is a towel behind me.
There is a brick wall beside me.
But I stare ahead.
My hands are dry.
My make up is running.
The water.
The water.
The water is lukewarm.
I’m sitting and I’m staring and I’m not thinking.
I’m wet and I’m cold and I’m contemplating.
I’m contemplating, but not this time.
Maybe, maybe next time.
Diving Explosives
I always wondered what little kids thought of when they closed their eyes and went to bed.
I know that when I was a little kid I always wondered what adults thought of. The truth of the matter is that now I am an adult and I have the luxury of remembering what I used to think of as a young child.
There was this one time, when I was about 7 years old I overheard my parents having a conversation in the kitchen. They were sitting around the table sipping jasmine tea talking about all of the many places they had never visited but always wanted to go to. They traced the entire globe from Australia to the United Kingdom, from Argentina to China.
My mom had never been anywhere, old as she was, she had my sister and me when she was but twenty-three. She never had a chance to travel, since she had to take care of us. My father had never gone anywhere either because he was scared of flying. While they were talking I heard my mom refer to a class my father took in order to overcome his fear. The class had unfortunately not worked. My dad was still scared, but they decided that even though he was scared of flying, there so many other modes of transportation they could make use of in order to go just about anywhere.
I closed my eyes and pictured my playroom. I had a toy plane and it wasn’t so scary. What was dad so frightened?
I thought of all the different ways we could get to another place: train, bicycle, sailboat, car… so many ways!
I went upstairs to my room and burst into my sister’s room and said, “Pack your bags, we are going on an adventure!”
She looked up at me from her drawing desk and said “Nathan, mom and dad aren’t going to bring us with them. Stop being such a child.”
Here is the thing about my sister: she is such a downer. She always takes my bubbles and bursts them. Little did she know, I had the same concern.
I was worried at first when I initially tuned into my parent’s conversation that they weren’t going to bring my sister and me along with them, but within minutes my concern was quelled when they mentioned that certain countries weren’t safe for us children.
‘So there Nora,’ I thought. I decided in that moment not to try to convince my sister that I was right and that we were in fact going away. Instead, I simply closed her door and walked away.
I went into my room and started packing my bags. We were going on an adventure and we would need just about everything. I laid out all of the things I could need: skateboard, unicycle, canoe and my swimsuit (just in case)… I didn’t know how far we were going so I didn’t know what transportation device we would need.
After I packed up almost all of my belongings, I ran back downstairs and told my parents I was ready to go.
They asked me where exactly I thought I was going. I told them that they didn’t need to pretend; I knew we were going away and then I showed them my bag and all its contents.
“You see? I’m ready to go. And don’t worry dad, no airplanes,” I said to him with a little wink.
My dad looked and at, patted me on the head and said, “Oh Natty, you are such a great little man. You can go unpack all of your things. We aren’t going anywhere. Mommy and Daddy are getting divorced.”
I know that when I was a little kid I always wondered what adults thought of. The truth of the matter is that now I am an adult and I have the luxury of remembering what I used to think of as a young child.
There was this one time, when I was about 7 years old I overheard my parents having a conversation in the kitchen. They were sitting around the table sipping jasmine tea talking about all of the many places they had never visited but always wanted to go to. They traced the entire globe from Australia to the United Kingdom, from Argentina to China.
My mom had never been anywhere, old as she was, she had my sister and me when she was but twenty-three. She never had a chance to travel, since she had to take care of us. My father had never gone anywhere either because he was scared of flying. While they were talking I heard my mom refer to a class my father took in order to overcome his fear. The class had unfortunately not worked. My dad was still scared, but they decided that even though he was scared of flying, there so many other modes of transportation they could make use of in order to go just about anywhere.
I closed my eyes and pictured my playroom. I had a toy plane and it wasn’t so scary. What was dad so frightened?
I thought of all the different ways we could get to another place: train, bicycle, sailboat, car… so many ways!
I went upstairs to my room and burst into my sister’s room and said, “Pack your bags, we are going on an adventure!”
She looked up at me from her drawing desk and said “Nathan, mom and dad aren’t going to bring us with them. Stop being such a child.”
Here is the thing about my sister: she is such a downer. She always takes my bubbles and bursts them. Little did she know, I had the same concern.
I was worried at first when I initially tuned into my parent’s conversation that they weren’t going to bring my sister and me along with them, but within minutes my concern was quelled when they mentioned that certain countries weren’t safe for us children.
‘So there Nora,’ I thought. I decided in that moment not to try to convince my sister that I was right and that we were in fact going away. Instead, I simply closed her door and walked away.
I went into my room and started packing my bags. We were going on an adventure and we would need just about everything. I laid out all of the things I could need: skateboard, unicycle, canoe and my swimsuit (just in case)… I didn’t know how far we were going so I didn’t know what transportation device we would need.
After I packed up almost all of my belongings, I ran back downstairs and told my parents I was ready to go.
They asked me where exactly I thought I was going. I told them that they didn’t need to pretend; I knew we were going away and then I showed them my bag and all its contents.
“You see? I’m ready to go. And don’t worry dad, no airplanes,” I said to him with a little wink.
My dad looked and at, patted me on the head and said, “Oh Natty, you are such a great little man. You can go unpack all of your things. We aren’t going anywhere. Mommy and Daddy are getting divorced.”
Damn Balloon
“Damn balloon,” Amethyst said as she sifted through her plastic bag filled with colorful left over pieces of popped balloons. “What am I gonna do with the knot?”
Amethyst was walking through a grassy field near her studio; she needed a break from the smell of super glue and fresh paint. She reached down to pick up the yellow scrap, but much to her dismay, the scrap was unusable. What was she going to do with the knot? Unknot it? As she has been doing this for a while, Amethyst knew, from many failed attempts, that trying to unknot a balloon was merely an exercise in futility. Even if it could be unknotted, which was nearly impossible, the balloon would be way too maimed to glue to paper. She needed flat pieces, bits of plastic that could lie neatly on a page and still allow the scrapbook to close.
She dropped the yellow morsel and kept walking. She wasn’t walking in search of anything in particular, although this portion of field always had something worth looking at.
The hot air balloon field was just across the way, about a forty-five minute drive from her studio. That translated to a five to six-hour non-hot-air-balloon flight. Amethyst timed balloon travel: she knew that your typical plastic balloon, from a kid’s birthday party or something of that style, could fly in the air for about five to six hours before it reached a level in the sky that would pop the balloon and have it fall to the ground in bits and pieces; bits and pieces she collected.
“Even if there weren’t a knot, it’s yellow. I already have yellow,” Amethyst continued her thoughts out loud. Who was she talking to?
Beats me.
Amethyst kept on her way, trudging through branches and piles of leaves that were gathered on the ground. She grabbed for a long sturdy branch and picked it up. After giving it a close one-over, Amethyst held it up in her right hand and stared at it proudly. “My new walking stick,” she said to herself. “I was looking for one of these.” No she hadn’t been looking for one of those, but no matter what it was that Amethyst found, if she liked it, then she was certain that she must have been on a long search for it and she was lucky to have finally found it.
Walking through the field was admittedly easier now that she had her new walking stick. She could move away anything that was in her path as opposed to jumping over it or having to go around it. As eccentric as she was, one couldn’t deny that she was sharp and resourceful. Well, one didn’t necessarily have the chance to deny it - nobody really knew her.
She continued along in search of nothing and everything. Knees up to her chest, she marched along through the cast field. She looked around to take in her surroundings: so green and so wide, so much to explore. Amethyst was familiar with the likes of this field; she traveled it daily. Her studio was but a 45-minute walk away, so on days when the fumes were too strong or when she simply needed some fresh air, she would set out to discover whatever the field had to offer. To any regular Joe, this field was nothing but trees, grass and accumulated fallen leaves, but to Amethyst it was her stomping ground; her home away from home, her chance to uncover the many mysteries of life. That yellow scrap of a party balloon was trash to most, but not to Amethyst. To Amethyst it was a lost memory from little Mitch’s fifth birthday party, or a balloon that had slipped away from a baby’s not-so-tight grip, the same balloon that made a sad, crying baby girl shed her tears or perhaps smile. In this case, Amethyst’s interest in the yellow balloon was abandoned at the sight of the knot, but in most instances, the balloons she found were the beginnings of many adventures.
“Come on stick, let’s keep walking.”
Amethyst was walking through a grassy field near her studio; she needed a break from the smell of super glue and fresh paint. She reached down to pick up the yellow scrap, but much to her dismay, the scrap was unusable. What was she going to do with the knot? Unknot it? As she has been doing this for a while, Amethyst knew, from many failed attempts, that trying to unknot a balloon was merely an exercise in futility. Even if it could be unknotted, which was nearly impossible, the balloon would be way too maimed to glue to paper. She needed flat pieces, bits of plastic that could lie neatly on a page and still allow the scrapbook to close.
She dropped the yellow morsel and kept walking. She wasn’t walking in search of anything in particular, although this portion of field always had something worth looking at.
The hot air balloon field was just across the way, about a forty-five minute drive from her studio. That translated to a five to six-hour non-hot-air-balloon flight. Amethyst timed balloon travel: she knew that your typical plastic balloon, from a kid’s birthday party or something of that style, could fly in the air for about five to six hours before it reached a level in the sky that would pop the balloon and have it fall to the ground in bits and pieces; bits and pieces she collected.
“Even if there weren’t a knot, it’s yellow. I already have yellow,” Amethyst continued her thoughts out loud. Who was she talking to?
Beats me.
Amethyst kept on her way, trudging through branches and piles of leaves that were gathered on the ground. She grabbed for a long sturdy branch and picked it up. After giving it a close one-over, Amethyst held it up in her right hand and stared at it proudly. “My new walking stick,” she said to herself. “I was looking for one of these.” No she hadn’t been looking for one of those, but no matter what it was that Amethyst found, if she liked it, then she was certain that she must have been on a long search for it and she was lucky to have finally found it.
Walking through the field was admittedly easier now that she had her new walking stick. She could move away anything that was in her path as opposed to jumping over it or having to go around it. As eccentric as she was, one couldn’t deny that she was sharp and resourceful. Well, one didn’t necessarily have the chance to deny it - nobody really knew her.
She continued along in search of nothing and everything. Knees up to her chest, she marched along through the cast field. She looked around to take in her surroundings: so green and so wide, so much to explore. Amethyst was familiar with the likes of this field; she traveled it daily. Her studio was but a 45-minute walk away, so on days when the fumes were too strong or when she simply needed some fresh air, she would set out to discover whatever the field had to offer. To any regular Joe, this field was nothing but trees, grass and accumulated fallen leaves, but to Amethyst it was her stomping ground; her home away from home, her chance to uncover the many mysteries of life. That yellow scrap of a party balloon was trash to most, but not to Amethyst. To Amethyst it was a lost memory from little Mitch’s fifth birthday party, or a balloon that had slipped away from a baby’s not-so-tight grip, the same balloon that made a sad, crying baby girl shed her tears or perhaps smile. In this case, Amethyst’s interest in the yellow balloon was abandoned at the sight of the knot, but in most instances, the balloons she found were the beginnings of many adventures.
“Come on stick, let’s keep walking.”
Clone Your Lovers
If you really love each other, then clone your lover.
Priscilla has been with her boyfriend for several years. They met in high school. Ryan noticed her in first period, and by lunchtime they were going steady. It was a veritable romance.
They went to football games together, grabbed pizza after school, studied for finals and of course, went to prom together. From the moment they woke up to the minute they went to sleep, they were together. Inseparable. Their parents were not concerned because they could see the love they had for one another. Their friends didn’t mind, because, well, they didn’t have any friends.
When they graduated from high school, they went off to college together. They rented an apartment together and they both got jobs at the same restaurant.
They studied the same subject and joined the same clubs and teams. They volunteered at the same hospital and frequented the same shops.
They got married and a child and named him Priscyan, because they had made him together and so he was of them.
They moved into a small house in town and worked from home that way they could stay at home together and go to work together.
One day, Ryan turned to Priscilla and asked, “What will I do without you? What will I do when one day one of us gets sick and passes?”
Priscilla caressed her dear husband’s head and said softly, “We won’t ever leave each other. We will get sick together and die together.”
Priscilla and Ryan both began to think of what the world would be like without the other. Priscilla was beside herself. Ryan was beside himself. Priscilla thought about the memories they shared and how Ryan would always be in her thoughts. Ryan thought about how he would carry her in his soul and they would always be together in his heart. Neither of them thought the abstract and intangible would suffice. She didn’t just want a memory of him, she wanted to feel him, touch him, and talk to him. He didn’t want to just remember the past; her wanted to look to their future. She wanted to eat with him, watch television with him, take walks with him… He wanted to discuss poetry with her, go dancing with her and anything else his little heart desired.
“I have an idea,” she told Ryan. “When one day we will no longer be here, let’s make another one of us.”
Normally Ryan always knew what Priscilla meant; they finished each other’s sentences, shared one another’s thoughts. But today was different. “I don’t follow. What do you mean?” Ryan asked.
“I mean, let’s clone ourselves and die together. We do everything together, we have lived every moment together, we must die together, but we can’t leave Priscyan alone. So, let’s clone ourselves and live on together.”
Ryan truly loved his wife Priscilla and upon hearing her idea he realized just how profound her love for him was. He touched his hand upon her cheek and kissed her softly. “Well, that’s a great idea. Clone my lover, I like it.”
To this date no one can be sure if this modern-day Romeo and Juliet ever did clone their lovers. No one can be sure, but one thing is for certain, Priscyan grew up to be a very strange man.
Priscilla has been with her boyfriend for several years. They met in high school. Ryan noticed her in first period, and by lunchtime they were going steady. It was a veritable romance.
They went to football games together, grabbed pizza after school, studied for finals and of course, went to prom together. From the moment they woke up to the minute they went to sleep, they were together. Inseparable. Their parents were not concerned because they could see the love they had for one another. Their friends didn’t mind, because, well, they didn’t have any friends.
When they graduated from high school, they went off to college together. They rented an apartment together and they both got jobs at the same restaurant.
They studied the same subject and joined the same clubs and teams. They volunteered at the same hospital and frequented the same shops.
They got married and a child and named him Priscyan, because they had made him together and so he was of them.
They moved into a small house in town and worked from home that way they could stay at home together and go to work together.
One day, Ryan turned to Priscilla and asked, “What will I do without you? What will I do when one day one of us gets sick and passes?”
Priscilla caressed her dear husband’s head and said softly, “We won’t ever leave each other. We will get sick together and die together.”
Priscilla and Ryan both began to think of what the world would be like without the other. Priscilla was beside herself. Ryan was beside himself. Priscilla thought about the memories they shared and how Ryan would always be in her thoughts. Ryan thought about how he would carry her in his soul and they would always be together in his heart. Neither of them thought the abstract and intangible would suffice. She didn’t just want a memory of him, she wanted to feel him, touch him, and talk to him. He didn’t want to just remember the past; her wanted to look to their future. She wanted to eat with him, watch television with him, take walks with him… He wanted to discuss poetry with her, go dancing with her and anything else his little heart desired.
“I have an idea,” she told Ryan. “When one day we will no longer be here, let’s make another one of us.”
Normally Ryan always knew what Priscilla meant; they finished each other’s sentences, shared one another’s thoughts. But today was different. “I don’t follow. What do you mean?” Ryan asked.
“I mean, let’s clone ourselves and die together. We do everything together, we have lived every moment together, we must die together, but we can’t leave Priscyan alone. So, let’s clone ourselves and live on together.”
Ryan truly loved his wife Priscilla and upon hearing her idea he realized just how profound her love for him was. He touched his hand upon her cheek and kissed her softly. “Well, that’s a great idea. Clone my lover, I like it.”
To this date no one can be sure if this modern-day Romeo and Juliet ever did clone their lovers. No one can be sure, but one thing is for certain, Priscyan grew up to be a very strange man.
CHOKING CORPORATE KINGDOM
CHOKING CORPORATE KINGDOM
Hey, Back up pretty lady! This isn’t your turf.
You thought you could talk here? Run your mouth here? Say the things that are on your mind here? Well, you must be crazy.
In this town, nobody talks but the big boss. Not even you. You think just because you’ve got those pretty big green and blue eyes that people will listen to you? Not here. No way. You may think this is the land of the free, but there isn’t a pocket deep enough to buy you the kind of freedom you’re searching for. That golden hair won’t take you far, not as far as a golden coin, my pretty.
You may think stars shine, but the illusion will one day burst that pretty little head of yours. No star actually shines… So, baby, be careful when you reach for them. They may glitter in the dark sky, but that glitter is in fact a flame that burns so dangerously it will set you ablaze if touched.
Shut those wide eyes and set your dreams aside. This is the land where freedom is granted unto those who keep their mouths shut.
You may be a princess in your world, but this here isn’t the land of fairytales. This is the land where a pretty girl like you should find a pretty red dress to match the pretty red tape that is tightly fastened to your face.
In this kingdom, a pretty girl like you doesn’t stand a fighting chance. But let’s go on pretending.
Hey, Back up pretty lady! This isn’t your turf.
You thought you could talk here? Run your mouth here? Say the things that are on your mind here? Well, you must be crazy.
In this town, nobody talks but the big boss. Not even you. You think just because you’ve got those pretty big green and blue eyes that people will listen to you? Not here. No way. You may think this is the land of the free, but there isn’t a pocket deep enough to buy you the kind of freedom you’re searching for. That golden hair won’t take you far, not as far as a golden coin, my pretty.
You may think stars shine, but the illusion will one day burst that pretty little head of yours. No star actually shines… So, baby, be careful when you reach for them. They may glitter in the dark sky, but that glitter is in fact a flame that burns so dangerously it will set you ablaze if touched.
Shut those wide eyes and set your dreams aside. This is the land where freedom is granted unto those who keep their mouths shut.
You may be a princess in your world, but this here isn’t the land of fairytales. This is the land where a pretty girl like you should find a pretty red dress to match the pretty red tape that is tightly fastened to your face.
In this kingdom, a pretty girl like you doesn’t stand a fighting chance. But let’s go on pretending.
Bunny Carrot Girl
Bunny Carrot Girl
It really just tickles me silly to think of all of the wonderful things I can do.
A couple of years from now I will be able to get away with even more I bet you. Well, it’s not just about that really. It’s about way more than that.
I have been working as a gardener for some time now. Gardening is pleasant work, and it’s fruitful, to say the least. I plant lots of different types of vegetables and other sorts of things I am not at liberty to discuss. I wake up early, I plant and care for my garden all day and when night falls, I am back home.
One day not too long ago, I was busy busy fertilizing, picking, mixing, plowing, shoveling and watering, that I gotta tell you, I didn’t even have one second to breathe. Anyhow, as I was saying, there I was busy busy and you know, it’s been years that this one little bunny rabbit frequents my garden, but that day, little Peter Rabbit brought along a friend. I didn’t know what to do. I was so beside myself. You see, I’m not scared of Peter, he’s so cute and fluffy and furry and bunny like, but his friend… oh boy! His little bunny friend, or shall I say, mammoth-of-a-rabbit friend, was so super duper scary, I jumped back and held onto my shovel with such fear. Still to this day I shake when I talk about it. Anyway, so there I was staring at Peter’s friend, in my garden, holding onto a shovel for dear life, when all of a sudden the rabbit started to bark and growl. You think I’m lying, but trust me when I say, that was no rabbit.
As it turned out, I had dropped my glasses upon sight of Peter Rabbit and his jumbo friend so I couldn’t tell the difference between a rabbit and a dog. My faith was restored and my love for rabbits came full circle.
Oh dear me how happy I was to know that I still very much enjoyed a rabbits company. Because, let me tell you, if that gargantuan thing had turned out to be a rabbit and not a dog, I just don’t know what I would do with my bunny ears and carrot blazer.
It really just tickles me silly to think of all of the wonderful things I can do.
A couple of years from now I will be able to get away with even more I bet you. Well, it’s not just about that really. It’s about way more than that.
I have been working as a gardener for some time now. Gardening is pleasant work, and it’s fruitful, to say the least. I plant lots of different types of vegetables and other sorts of things I am not at liberty to discuss. I wake up early, I plant and care for my garden all day and when night falls, I am back home.
One day not too long ago, I was busy busy fertilizing, picking, mixing, plowing, shoveling and watering, that I gotta tell you, I didn’t even have one second to breathe. Anyhow, as I was saying, there I was busy busy and you know, it’s been years that this one little bunny rabbit frequents my garden, but that day, little Peter Rabbit brought along a friend. I didn’t know what to do. I was so beside myself. You see, I’m not scared of Peter, he’s so cute and fluffy and furry and bunny like, but his friend… oh boy! His little bunny friend, or shall I say, mammoth-of-a-rabbit friend, was so super duper scary, I jumped back and held onto my shovel with such fear. Still to this day I shake when I talk about it. Anyway, so there I was staring at Peter’s friend, in my garden, holding onto a shovel for dear life, when all of a sudden the rabbit started to bark and growl. You think I’m lying, but trust me when I say, that was no rabbit.
As it turned out, I had dropped my glasses upon sight of Peter Rabbit and his jumbo friend so I couldn’t tell the difference between a rabbit and a dog. My faith was restored and my love for rabbits came full circle.
Oh dear me how happy I was to know that I still very much enjoyed a rabbits company. Because, let me tell you, if that gargantuan thing had turned out to be a rabbit and not a dog, I just don’t know what I would do with my bunny ears and carrot blazer.
Box Explosion
When Paula came to me that morning, everything finally made sense. I had always had a sense, call it intuition, but I just always knew.
Ever since she was a baby, I thought she was a little different than the others. Paula was my first baby, so I didn’t have much experience, but somehow it isn’t experience that makes these things apparent.
She looked physically equal to other children her age.
She spoke properly and articulately for a child of six.
Emotionally, she wasn’t too happy or too sad.
She was never erratic or fussy.
She was sociable and amiable.
And yet, here I am saying that she was different. Well, what made her different?
Look at her! Just look at her.
Would you call that normal? Would you say: “Hey, there is that Paula kid, nothing different or disconcerting about her.”
I can’t explain it to you any better than that. If you can’t see for yourself what it is that unsettles me about her, then maybe there is something wrong with me.
She’s a child, for goodness sake. I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to think this about her. I can’t help it.
I have watched her every day of her life and to be perfectly frank, she has always rubbed me the wrong way, but I never said anything because, well, because it’s awful to feel this way about your own child. But when Paula came to me that morning, everything finally made sense.
Everything had come together. She looked at me with those perfectly sketched almond-shaped eyes and a mountain of bows and ribbons on her head, and as she pulled at a pink strip I was forced to look away.
I think my baby is possessed. But what is worse… I think a box exploded on her head.
Ever since she was a baby, I thought she was a little different than the others. Paula was my first baby, so I didn’t have much experience, but somehow it isn’t experience that makes these things apparent.
She looked physically equal to other children her age.
She spoke properly and articulately for a child of six.
Emotionally, she wasn’t too happy or too sad.
She was never erratic or fussy.
She was sociable and amiable.
And yet, here I am saying that she was different. Well, what made her different?
Look at her! Just look at her.
Would you call that normal? Would you say: “Hey, there is that Paula kid, nothing different or disconcerting about her.”
I can’t explain it to you any better than that. If you can’t see for yourself what it is that unsettles me about her, then maybe there is something wrong with me.
She’s a child, for goodness sake. I don’t want to feel this way. I don’t want to think this about her. I can’t help it.
I have watched her every day of her life and to be perfectly frank, she has always rubbed me the wrong way, but I never said anything because, well, because it’s awful to feel this way about your own child. But when Paula came to me that morning, everything finally made sense.
Everything had come together. She looked at me with those perfectly sketched almond-shaped eyes and a mountain of bows and ribbons on her head, and as she pulled at a pink strip I was forced to look away.
I think my baby is possessed. But what is worse… I think a box exploded on her head.
ALCATRAZ REJECT
I was in a park one day with a friend. We weren’t sitting in the sandbox area or the waiting pool area. Instead, we were in the bench-hangout section. That’s where all the badass teenagers kick it.
I was talking to my friend, telling him about my pathetic existence and how life doesn’t really have a purpose, even if you pretend to have some short-term goal or some lifelong ambition, life is just a joke. A series of bad jokes, one after the other. I was going on about the boredom I’d been enduring and the redundancy I was basking in, when he looked at me and said it so succinctly, “Joy, think about it man. There is no point. The world doesn’t exist for our prosperity and we don’t need to exist for the world to go round. So, if that’s the case man, then there is no point. Just have fun man.”
Barak was a cool guy. He was a little older than me and so he had more experience with this kind of stuff. I mean the whole existential crisis was new to me, but Barak said he went through it when he was younger and that it was normal. I trusted Barak. He was a smart guy.
Barak passed the joint and continued, “Joy, what makes you smile everyday?”
I took a swig from my flask and quickly replied, as though I were waiting for the question, “Doobs and drinks.” I was only kidding, but it seemed arbitrary enough as an answer to fit the conversation. “No, no. For real man, my art is the reason I want to get out of bed when I wake up in the morning. My art and music. I love music,” I said as I swayed back and forth with my eyes closed.
“You’re a cool chic, you know that Joy.” Barak was staring at me in wonderment. I always knew he kind of had a crush on me, but I never gave it much thought. “Now pass the doob.”
“You know what Barak? If the world would exist with or without us, then what makes you wanna get out of bed everyday and do stuff?”
Barak looked at me, eyes widening. His face began to turn upward and his mouth smiled. “I don’t know,” he said as he pulled the doob with his lips. “But this right here Joy, this is pretty chill.”
We had our first kiss that afternoon. It smelled like rum and marijuana. All the right ingredients for a good time.
I was talking to my friend, telling him about my pathetic existence and how life doesn’t really have a purpose, even if you pretend to have some short-term goal or some lifelong ambition, life is just a joke. A series of bad jokes, one after the other. I was going on about the boredom I’d been enduring and the redundancy I was basking in, when he looked at me and said it so succinctly, “Joy, think about it man. There is no point. The world doesn’t exist for our prosperity and we don’t need to exist for the world to go round. So, if that’s the case man, then there is no point. Just have fun man.”
Barak was a cool guy. He was a little older than me and so he had more experience with this kind of stuff. I mean the whole existential crisis was new to me, but Barak said he went through it when he was younger and that it was normal. I trusted Barak. He was a smart guy.
Barak passed the joint and continued, “Joy, what makes you smile everyday?”
I took a swig from my flask and quickly replied, as though I were waiting for the question, “Doobs and drinks.” I was only kidding, but it seemed arbitrary enough as an answer to fit the conversation. “No, no. For real man, my art is the reason I want to get out of bed when I wake up in the morning. My art and music. I love music,” I said as I swayed back and forth with my eyes closed.
“You’re a cool chic, you know that Joy.” Barak was staring at me in wonderment. I always knew he kind of had a crush on me, but I never gave it much thought. “Now pass the doob.”
“You know what Barak? If the world would exist with or without us, then what makes you wanna get out of bed everyday and do stuff?”
Barak looked at me, eyes widening. His face began to turn upward and his mouth smiled. “I don’t know,” he said as he pulled the doob with his lips. “But this right here Joy, this is pretty chill.”
We had our first kiss that afternoon. It smelled like rum and marijuana. All the right ingredients for a good time.
Ahhhh
The whole world is a work in progress.
Belinda smiled as she rose from her bed. She woke up and washed her face and took a nice moment to yawn before she brushed her teeth. She looked in the mirror and stared at herself, but only briefly.
After a cheerful grin shared with her reflection, she reached over for her toothbrush and neatly squeezed some toothpaste onto the bristles. Minty fresh and light blue to boot. What a wonderful morning!
Brush, brush, brush and gargle, gargle, gargle. Just another day in the easy, breezy world of Belinda.
But life wasn’t always that easy for Belinda. As a child, Belinda suffered much torment and teasing from the other kids at school. You see, Belinda was born with a rare, one-of-a-kind disease that consisted solely of one symptom: upon birth, she was born incomplete. She wasn’t born prematurely, nor was she unhealthy or at risk of anything fatal. To be sure, she was quite fit. The only thing wrong with her, per se, was that she was only half complete. What this meant is, well, take a look see for yourself. Belinda was half in color and half in black and white. One may think that they had gone half colorblind while looking at her, but that would only be half true.
Oh, the jokes and mocking she endured. How pitiful and cruel the world can be. But Belinda trudged on, paying no mind to those who had made her feel less than throughout her childhood.
All of that was behind her. That was then and this was now. Belinda had come to terms with her condition and was through with feeling sorry for herself. A half-colored in face was just the right amount. Half-blanked out was perfect too. She thought about the larger-than-life meaning her disease bestowed unto her and she grew thankful. She was thankful that at such a young age she learned that nobody is in fact complete. Everyone is in some shape or form incomplete. Well, her shape and her form revealed her fragmentation, but it was a physical partiality. What others saw of her was simply evidence of what existed, or half-existed, in everyone. It was a beautiful lesson learned.
So, this morning when she woke up, smiled, yawned, stared, washed and brushed, Belinda took a moment to share a thought with her reflection: she was a sketch; a work in progress, but art nonetheless.
She pulled her cheeks with her index fingers and let out a gentle ‘ahhhhhhhh…’
Belinda smiled as she rose from her bed. She woke up and washed her face and took a nice moment to yawn before she brushed her teeth. She looked in the mirror and stared at herself, but only briefly.
After a cheerful grin shared with her reflection, she reached over for her toothbrush and neatly squeezed some toothpaste onto the bristles. Minty fresh and light blue to boot. What a wonderful morning!
Brush, brush, brush and gargle, gargle, gargle. Just another day in the easy, breezy world of Belinda.
But life wasn’t always that easy for Belinda. As a child, Belinda suffered much torment and teasing from the other kids at school. You see, Belinda was born with a rare, one-of-a-kind disease that consisted solely of one symptom: upon birth, she was born incomplete. She wasn’t born prematurely, nor was she unhealthy or at risk of anything fatal. To be sure, she was quite fit. The only thing wrong with her, per se, was that she was only half complete. What this meant is, well, take a look see for yourself. Belinda was half in color and half in black and white. One may think that they had gone half colorblind while looking at her, but that would only be half true.
Oh, the jokes and mocking she endured. How pitiful and cruel the world can be. But Belinda trudged on, paying no mind to those who had made her feel less than throughout her childhood.
All of that was behind her. That was then and this was now. Belinda had come to terms with her condition and was through with feeling sorry for herself. A half-colored in face was just the right amount. Half-blanked out was perfect too. She thought about the larger-than-life meaning her disease bestowed unto her and she grew thankful. She was thankful that at such a young age she learned that nobody is in fact complete. Everyone is in some shape or form incomplete. Well, her shape and her form revealed her fragmentation, but it was a physical partiality. What others saw of her was simply evidence of what existed, or half-existed, in everyone. It was a beautiful lesson learned.
So, this morning when she woke up, smiled, yawned, stared, washed and brushed, Belinda took a moment to share a thought with her reflection: she was a sketch; a work in progress, but art nonetheless.
She pulled her cheeks with her index fingers and let out a gentle ‘ahhhhhhhh…’
ABORI COOLNESS
(To be read in a British accent)
Some people are just cooler than others.
I mean, to be quite honest, I never wanted to be the one who came out and said it, but come on… I’m freakin’ cool.
I first started wearing the one-piece cat suit when I was quite young, most likely younger than you are right now. I remember there was this one Halloween way back when I was eight or nine years old, I looked up at my Mum and, in the cutest, sweetest voice, I asked her, “Mum, I think I’ll be a rabbit for Halloween this year, is that all right with you?”
She looked back at me, fond of her little boy and she replied, “Why yes, my dear, a rabbit it is.”
It was after that first Halloween way back then, that I realized just how cozy a one-piece suit was. I reluctantly undressed post trick-or-treat and got into my nightdress. As I tucked myself into bed that night, I remember being so vastly uncomfortable. I quickly untucked myself, slid out of bed and went over to my dresser… there had to be a way for me to sew and stitch together pants to a top. I was determined.
Much to my dismay, I was wrong. Being the eight- (or nine-) year-old boy that I was, I couldn’t stitch nor sew. So, I got back into bed and thought and thought and dreamed and dreamed of the many ways I would convince my dear ol’ Mum to purchase me my very own one-piece suit to be worn daily.
The following morning, bright and early, I walked over to the kitchen table where my mother was, of course, reading the morning paper, and I asked her, “Mum, I looked quite cool last night in that one-piece suit, did I not?”
“Oh, darling. You looked precious,” she replied.
I spent the next twenty minutes or so explaining to Mumsy how I had decided that from that day forth, I would only, exclusively, wear a one-piece suit. I would not only wear this suit every day of my very existence, but said suit would not stop at my neck or toes. My shoes were to be built in, as was a headpiece, mouth-hole cut out. I would buy the fabric in white and color onto it whatever it was that I fancied at that very moment.
As so was the birth of cool. Abori Coolness, for that is my full name.
Some people are just cooler than others.
I mean, to be quite honest, I never wanted to be the one who came out and said it, but come on… I’m freakin’ cool.
I first started wearing the one-piece cat suit when I was quite young, most likely younger than you are right now. I remember there was this one Halloween way back when I was eight or nine years old, I looked up at my Mum and, in the cutest, sweetest voice, I asked her, “Mum, I think I’ll be a rabbit for Halloween this year, is that all right with you?”
She looked back at me, fond of her little boy and she replied, “Why yes, my dear, a rabbit it is.”
It was after that first Halloween way back then, that I realized just how cozy a one-piece suit was. I reluctantly undressed post trick-or-treat and got into my nightdress. As I tucked myself into bed that night, I remember being so vastly uncomfortable. I quickly untucked myself, slid out of bed and went over to my dresser… there had to be a way for me to sew and stitch together pants to a top. I was determined.
Much to my dismay, I was wrong. Being the eight- (or nine-) year-old boy that I was, I couldn’t stitch nor sew. So, I got back into bed and thought and thought and dreamed and dreamed of the many ways I would convince my dear ol’ Mum to purchase me my very own one-piece suit to be worn daily.
The following morning, bright and early, I walked over to the kitchen table where my mother was, of course, reading the morning paper, and I asked her, “Mum, I looked quite cool last night in that one-piece suit, did I not?”
“Oh, darling. You looked precious,” she replied.
I spent the next twenty minutes or so explaining to Mumsy how I had decided that from that day forth, I would only, exclusively, wear a one-piece suit. I would not only wear this suit every day of my very existence, but said suit would not stop at my neck or toes. My shoes were to be built in, as was a headpiece, mouth-hole cut out. I would buy the fabric in white and color onto it whatever it was that I fancied at that very moment.
As so was the birth of cool. Abori Coolness, for that is my full name.
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