Part of Us

I'm so hungree to bee a part of aneething.

I want to bee outside on a feeld beetween some trees.

I can see four miles in each direction into the past and into the future.

All the work is done. The soil is tilled. We are complacent and ecstatic even though we should have done everything differently. We are perfect and we know it. Our skin is clean and cool and clear and white.

The wind blows on us at two miles per hours.

Our tummies contain the perfect amount and composition of food. We are intensely satisfied. We each have a lover of the opposite sex.

We all want children and have no doubts that we will care for them perfectly and they will be as perfect as we.

We harvest radishes. We are the center of everything.

We wear denim and plaid flannel. We could be models but we are too cool and too proud.

We have no souls, but we are the soul of everywhere we are and all that we do.

We never have to try. This life is a first rate film about us.

We built this country. We built the Indians. We built the coasts and the mountains and the shining sky and everything between.

We invented humor. We never laugh. Our calm heroic expressions never change.

We are always standing outside. We eat delicious healthy macaroni and cheese in our spotless farmhouse and that image makes you cry.

The community named every street, park, public building, and bus stop bench after us.

This is not some mystical metaphor. Not an aging homely horny hermit.


We spy on our pathetic minions throughout the expanses with a godly caring golden eye.


Do you think we are going to be okay?

It's Boggle and a Process

WOOKIEES WON'T DROWN ME.

Seeven sheets will confound me.


Why do we have so many nightmares, staring us in the face?
We talk out of our buttholes. It is not even real shit.


... we're on the road to nowhere ...


The box will come back to surprise and delete you.


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Opening my eyelids, you search yourself for sympathy and examine the misfits in the foreground of your thoughts. Drunk retards dash near the zone for hour-long parking where zero cars are parked. Seeing this, you untie my tourniquet and with it lash one of them just hard enough to draw blood from his cheek. Your sister stands in his way, grabs his shoulder, stops him, and kisses the cheek. Nobody but you sees this. You decide you need to go after the maniacs vanish into other people's problems. Now that honesty is unnecessary, you say, "I need you now." Someone behind you startles you, but he's just staring, not listening. You drag my body into the gutter. The stranger continues to stare and smokes a cigarette. You wipe your hands and, looking through yourself at nothing, say, "What do you want?" The stranger looks at me and I say nothing. He exhales and smoke envelopes your head. You don't breathe. You stare at my closed mouth and hear the stranger say, "I thought I would be older by now."



I shot the hanging mass of meat with a taser. My team wass far less experienced than the others. We sneaked a flask full of mead into the event to make life more interesting. We knew didn't have a shot at winning anyway. The spirit of competition is way tamer than I expected. One of my teammates could not handle the wine. He had a wild mane of dry-dead-leaf hair and a worn-out, unpredictable face. We tried to ween him off the sauce, but he kept snatching it and began to shout about pandas dying off or invading the U.S. and other inebriated fantasies. Two officers from the group with most experience caught him and tossed his floppy body out into the snow. I followed the shouted curses out into the night. The seniors barked at us to go home. After they slammed the stark heavy dull metal door, I felt the alcohol warp my mood significantly for the first time that evening. I reviewed my circumstance from the outside and found it laughable, in both a comical and depressingly pathetic way. The over-drunk outcast, Seth, was face down on the curb. I lifted him by his shoulders. The weeds under his face were half-thawed. I sensed that this episode of each of our lives was about to end. I wrapped his arm around my neck to help him walk. We trekked over a swath of frozen white parking lot. We had almost two miles to go. The threat of the cold was real and immense but we were too high to care or make a better judgement. In the yard of the trailer Seth was renting, we tripped over a pile of old fishing nets and squirmed around for a minute. Laying on the frosty ground, in my frustrated concentration on getting us untangled, my view was of a trailer wall of graffiti tags. Unconsciously I tried to decipher them. This moment seemed to last forever. I lost all my bearings. Somehow I found myself inside Seth's trailer, turning up the heat. I slumped his limp fully dressed body onto a couch, his head on the top of a back cushion his feet on the hard carpet. and threw a quilt over his torso and face. I ran hot kitchen tap water over my numb hands. My skin was stinging as the feeling came back. I bent over the sink and doused my face. I seemed to be waking up from a long weird day. Fatigue crashed down on me. I almost collapsed right there but instead found the strength to stumble the ten feet to the bed, kick my boots off, shed my coat and fall back onto mattress.
I woke up right away, mid-morning. I realized I had fallen asleep immediately last night. I thought that time is barreling full speed through me. Then my skull exploded. All I could do... was... sh-shut my... eyestightly! andsay-fuckstopit.Stp-stopit.!ow!
Seth was standing at the stove scrambling shitty eggs, softly whistling. He heard me and peeked into the room... "Good fucking morning, beautiful fucking angel. Ha ha ha ha!"

Made-Up Dream

I sat in the back at work, my head felt very heavy. Chris and Leah walked in and seemed to be in a hurry or worried. I was not thinking about anything, except what are they doing. They lifted boxes and books and put them down in other places. I felt myself stand up, wanting to avoid them and wanting to seem like I wanted to help them. My joints were stiff, I moved slowly and the others moved quickly and talked nonsense quickly and firmly. I picked up a scanner and scanned some books and looked at a monitor and had no idea why. I looked out the window and trees were swaying intensely in the wind. The sky was grey. My skin felt hot on patches and cold on others. My shoes felt like they were falling off. I was hunched over. I felt an overwhelming urge to leave. Susie sort of shouted something to someone or everyone. I had the taste of a pastrami sandwich in my mouth suddenly and had a vomity tickle in my throat. I walked to the other side of the room then to the back door and back. It seemed I was seeing everything around me but not with my eyes. I picked up objects with my hands and put them back down onto a surface, making a little clacking slapping sound. I crouched down and looked under the round desk and found a bowl of hot soup on a tiny shelf and picked it up and the high heat on my hands made my butt hurt and sweat. I spilled the hot red tomatoey runny soup on my shoes half by accident and looked up and saw a hole under the desk at the back of the shelf. It seemed to be my only way out. It was maybe six inches wide. I put my hands thru and half my arms fit then I felt I was being sucked in and pushed thru. My feet floated up spookily. I was scared. I fell thru the dark hole. I saw blue streaks surrounding me disappearing into the distance. My arms and legs grew ten times their size. My torso felt so small. My head was all that seemed mine still. I saw steam or smoke billow in my eyes. There were bright green flashes, like cameras. I felt like I was in a jungle on an alien planet, but I was not. My legs were moving independently, trying to walk, but I was floating and going nowhere. My arms were flapping and I saw thru some clouds that I was miles above earth. I could not see much of anything except cloud. It was like fog in the sky. I knew I was falling. I felt wind blowing up on my face. I pulled some sticky unwrapped chewy granola bars out my my hoody pocket. I was wearing nothing on my lower half. My arms and legs were their normal size and mine. I saw radio towers get closer and appear taller as I fast approached the earth. It was a grey day. I thought of Mom watching a British TV mystery at home on Saturday. I thought of the Austin American Statesman and how I never want to read it again. I thought of a birthday cake getting stale on the dining table at home. My body felt more like air by the second. I was flattening into a sheet one atom thick. I thought of splashing into water and being a kid. I heard some music that was pretty good. Just before I reached the ground I worried that I would crush everyone under me. When I hit I just became a piece of everything my atoms touched. I did not have a consciousness anymore, I was just a bunch of matter, free to be exchanged for anything and go wherever physical forces pushed me.

Then night came, the clouds cleared, the moon shone and a me-piece of a blade of suburban lawn grass was eaten by a tiny shiny black bug.

Creativity

In the Tinseltown parking lot after Gone Girl, I cannonball eight feet above my mother's Corolla. I pause in the air. The back windshield shatters hard. I reverse and follow my arc back to the ground land on my feet and replay the scene jumping into eight feet into a cannonball shape then rewinding. The windshield keeps shattering. A voice over yelps loudly repeatedly in a staccato pattern.

A small blue capped hourglass on the dining room table steadily pours white sand into the bottom half and sand never accumulates, and the top stays half full and never loses any sand.

It was... 1999. Our dad brought mini-doughnuts and chocolate milk to the hotel room. Now we know we were happier than we could have realized at the time.

In 1963 he turned 18. It was a perfect time to die in Vietnam.
Now nothing has changed, we still scrabble across the lawn pouring orange juice on our brain.
When we get to the edge we turn around and go back home again.