by Tomorrow's Man
"Nobody wants you here. Just go." He said.
He was a person I respected.
So was she, so was the man next to her. I asked them, "Is this true?"
The man, and the woman (once my lover) did not deny the revelation.
So, I thanked him, the man who finally told me the truth. This man, who told me I should leave, just leave, I thanked him, shook his hand, and gracefully bowed out. I drove away, preparing to fly, the eclipsed moon throwing one more tragedy down to Earth.
The 2004 Red Sox are the first team in history who will be playing to prevent something that had never happened before they just did it last week, changing the odds of its recurrence from highly improbable to completely possible.
My scrotum will be stress-bald by the end of this.
A scratch on the piece of the fly of the white of the table leg broken in three of the jawless man of the child of the hand, the red right hand of the Book with pages written in pain of the masses of the plain of the past of the ice of the block of the slight of the lie of the way of a word of the turn to one side of the left and of the right of gravity and blight of steel of a scar of a planet tossed high of a wish that a dream could fly to a place where there was only truth.
I need to be lost in kitten fur, I need a bath in whole milk vagina, I need to swallow melted red cheese of the full Blood Moon, I need to be held delicately by the scrotum in a female palm that rubs my back and makes me purr, I need this nap to never wake up.
I have mints on my tongue! MINTS!
Once, back in the old country, we had this day where the entire village ran around sticking mints on everybody's elbows. Then we would scream "Shamus has a mint-bow! Shamus has a mint-bow!" But it wasn't always Shamus with the minted elbows so you would have to change the yell to be accurate for each individual. Naturally this was quite chaotic and resulted in many laughs. Well, mostly, except for that one time when O'Brian tried to duck a good minting and took one in the eye. That wasn't funny at all. He ran around screaming "You bloody fool! You minted my bleeding eye!" He really did make quite the fuss over it, running around with his hands flailing in the air like that... It was such a sight to behold that one thought the Lord above had come down and changed the rules to our precious village. O'Brian never saw the well coming up (his eyes were tearing up something awful)...
He is stuck at the bottom of the well to this day, and once a year we throw mints at him. Oh how we laugh.
The End
'ritten by guest texter, B. Holinbeck
Found an old notebook with every inked page torn out. I remember buying it from CVS in 1994. Then, it had 100 pristine sheets; now, it has just eight.
These eight sheets are a palimpsest. In their brittle pulp are the ghosts of thousands of words, 92 pages of spent energy. I run my fingers over the frantic grooves in these parchment records, and as a song on a platter spirals into sound these textures of my thoughts from ten years ago sing.
These pages, they sound like braille, but they look like a symphony.
Believe in ability.
Believer the valiant and true abide.
Believe faith can overcome hubris.
Believe hope can fool expectation.
Believe in what in ingrained in your heart and inevitably,
I've found,
it is possible to arrive
where you have always aspired to be.
The Yankees tried to hire Bill Buckner to throw out the first pitch in game seven of the ALCS, but Bill refused the 1.5 million dollars Steinbrenner offered him.
Say what you will -- Bucker was, and still is, a Red Sock.
11:11PM.
Red Sox - Yankees
Series tied, 3-3.
For the first time in History.
This is David and Goliath, with everyone not noticing that David has been a thousand feet tall all along.
Countdown to revelation.
October 17th.
1918.
This is the new century, and an ugly time for the world. This is the time for the revival of valiant heroes, scrappers, dirty in the mud, laughing through their blood while fighting the machine.
Believe it, folks. It can happen.
Revolution.
Don't believe it can't happen with a butterfly flapping its wings at a baseball game.
For Hallowe'en I was thinking of being the collective conscious mind of the American people, but I couldn't find a costume blank enough.
Two weeks without a smoke and now I know how the chimney on an abandoned funeral home feels. Sure, maybe the rain's scoured out some of the soot, and the bodies below are long since charred, but my voice feels like it was the heat that is gone from that shaft forever.
I felt a figure slide up against me while I slept in the pre-dawn dark, opened my eyes and knew itwas not my cat, knew it was not you, knew I did not know who it was I could plainly feel pressing against me over the covers and I chilled to the blood, and bolted around in the bed to find nothing there but a fading chill.
This is a true story.
The Morning Fog
The light
Begin to bleed,
Begin to breathe,
Begin to speak.
D'you know what?
I love you better now...
The morning fog! This was no blanket today, this was light like heaven on bright, this was an embraceable sun, this was purest white. The road, it disappeared beneath me, the trees became spirits reaching through mother's milk to be born, lights from oncoming cars were glints of soul speeding toward empty bodies waiting to sing!
I am falling
Like a stone,
Like a storm,
Being born again
Into the sweet morning fog.
D'you know what?
I love you better now...
I could not open my eyes wider, could not roll the windows down further, despaired that my auto could not become a magic carpet cutting me through the cream, there's no sky like a missing sky, no sky like one that's only black inside, I feel outside, outside of self and sky, I feel alive in a whispering pearl as I drive 60 mph without an embellishement or feature at my sides, I am solitary in this white the way gods feel alive --
I'm falling,
And I'd love to hold you now.
I'll kiss the ground.
I'll tell my mother,
I'll tell my father,
I'll tell my loved one,
I'll tell my brothers
How much I love them.
It is the first feeling, here I am back here again I am back here I am one single spermatoza in a spoonful ocean of semen, here I am, these few cells that even now contain this all of me here I am speeding through come and light, here I am energy, at a mile per minute through this light I am bringing life,
I am bringing life.
Lyrics to "The Morning Fog" by Kate Bush.
Fundamental Problem with Society #2
Eight out of ten people have either a superiority complex or an inferiority complex.
One in ten have neither. These are our examples of perfection, and due to their subtlety they are roundly ignored.
One in ten have both. These are our leaders.
Fundamental Problem with Society #1
It is more acceptable to say "carcinoma" in mixed company than it is to say "moist vagina."
Day Six on the Enfeebler
...............................................glurg
he went bee
he went bee bee i saw him hee hee
give me back my pants you glurg
i have your hat.
FECES!!
hee hee twinkie.
it was the orange #5 ball all along
Day Five on the Enfeebler
Can't go anymore...he's already enfeebled...I'm shortly behind...must resist the Enfeebler...the car is gone, lost when I drove it into the lake because I thought the F on the gas gauge meant 'Float'...apartment long since burned down because I tried to make rice cakes better by frosting them and then microwaving them in the toaster...tried not to scare the cats while vacuuming by krazy-gluing them to the walls...went out, forgot pants, found housekeys in ass after getting lost on way to wading pond which turned out to be dumpster full of rancid suet...must get crayon out of nose...
Day Four on the Enfeebler
Pants torn, wrists sounding like little counsins to cement mixers, arms so weak they couldn't lift a spirit, toes broken (four and counting), clots of hair missing from scalps...the idea was to go on the Enfeebler sober this time.
The horror. There are no words that can explain the horror.
But try these: A feeling in the stomach like you've just sucked a pint of pus out of someone's conjunctivitis-swollen eye.
Perhaps I should recommend not going on the Enfeebler...but I just can not.
It has got me.
Day Three on the Enfeebler
Okay, we went to the corn fair and ate about four ears each, loaded with salt and butter. It was spectacular I tell you. But then, as we were driving home in the warm, late-afternoon sunshine, we had to pass it: THE ENFEEBLER. With jellied elbows and puddinged knees and various other mistreated-banana-colored bruises between us, we turned toward it.
edited to add:
We had had corn for lunch. Lots of corn. I am not sure those strange, large men running the Enfeebler are used to what happened, but they were indeed wearing rain coats on a blue sky day. After we got off the Enfeebler, we needed to eat again. But not corn.
Anything but corn.
Day Two on the Enfeebler
Today the Enfeebler turned his elbow to putty and my left knee to something feeling and smelling like a warm bowl of pudding-flavored jello. I asked him, and apparently just because you hit your funny bone repeatedly on the yellow cross bar holding you into the Enfeebler, it does not make the lumpy mass of your elbow that is left over become silly putty.
I have no idea why we keep getting on this ride.
More tomorrow.
Day One on the Enfeebler
So happy I had nothing for lunch with mayonnaise and beans...someone set that thing a step up from its usual, "long grinding drunken night" and put it on "pureé," I can tell. I came out on top, it was my friend who got the worst of it -- he did have beans with mayonnaise for lunch.
This is for me, and for you, and for the words you said, and for the thoughts you just can't share.
I know they're there.
Is it too early to begin my great American novel? Is there one in me, somewhere, hiding and biding its time, waiting to break free? Does everyone have this dream? Does everyone have this talent? Am I any different, at all special? Is there such a thing as a gift, or is it just potential? Thwarted and threatened by the blank page, I've got to ride the dragon.