Unparalleled

The moment of your absence I begin wracking my brain, searching for an excuse to draw you near again. What can I do to pull you in? What can I say to entice you? To tide myself over, I replay the memories of our previous encounters and savor every second.

My memories slowly fade into fantasy where you indulge my deep desire. I dream of gazing into your eyes and seeing that you return my longing. I yearn for a time when we relinquish our resistance. I'll reach up to tug at the hair behind your ears. One of my hands will gently cradle the back of your neck, as the other holds you tight. You'll feel my heart drumming against your chest. My lips will burn with the anticipation of your kiss.

Alas, my titillating trance is merely temporary and I tentatively trek back to reality. The torturous agony of your love unrequited is unparalleled by any other pain.

His eyes welled up with tears as he said, "I wish there was more I could have done".

cannibalistic fry mutant

He ate all the others.

Sometimes I bathe in darkness, wincing at the light.

Love and reason do not harmonize in a graceful duet.

Home

Aptly named the emerald city
The sun don’t shine, oh what a pity
I hate that it rains all the time

Biking down the hills, I race
Wiping water from my face
I hate that it rains all the time

The city slickers saunter around
Pushing through puddles on the ground
Waiting for their coffee to kick in

I don’t really know why
I watch my life pass me by
Waiting for my coffee to kick in

I gaze out the windowsill
From my place on Capitol Hill
Underneath the gray Seattle sky

I spot the Needle and Mount Rainer
How I wish you were back here
Underneath the gray Seattle sky

Drunk Philosophy

After a night of heavy drinking, a friend bet I was too intoxicated to think of a single American philosopher. I rose to the challenge immediately invoking John Rawls. So ensued an inebriated explanation of the “original position”, a concept from his book, A Theory of Justice. The following is an edited transcription of a poor quality audio recording of the conversation.

LISA MARIE: We are all behind the veil of ignorance.

FRIEND: What is it called?

LISA MARIE: The veil of ignorance, which is essentially a blind curtain. Like, if you’re a fetus and your choosing, and your choosing, “What am I going to be?” And you have an assortment of choices in front of you.

FRIEND: Mmhmm

LISA MARIE: But you’re a fetus and you’re dumb [giggles] so you can’t choose anything! [punctuated laugh] So it’s just luck of the draw [pause] essentially.

FRIEND: What are your choices?

LISA MARIE: Well, the choices available are poor or rich.

FRIEND: And?

LISA MARIE: And everything in between. The retarded people and the smart people! The smart people gotta look out for the retardeds.

FRIEND: [sardonically] The redardeds?

LISA MARIE: [laughing] Cuz there’s a lot of ‘em! [laughter continues] Especially in America.

FRIEND: Yeah?

LISA MARIE: There’s a lot.

FRIEND: Which one are you?

LISA MARIE: Right now, I’m one of the retardeds. [pause] but usually, I’ll take care of them.

FRIEND: What about your dog?

LISA MARIE: He’s totally retarded. [laughing] Have you heard him? He’s a mouth breather.

FRIEND: Yes, but his nose is…

LISA MARIE: [staunchly interrupting] He’s brachycephalic! Brachycephalic, it’s the term.

FRIEND: Okay.

LISA MARIE: Look it up. Brachycephalic. [chuckles] He’s got nnno face. Brachycephalic. It could be an “e” it could be an “o” around in there…

FRIEND: I think it’s an “o”.

LISA MARIE: [inaudible]...but it means [inaudible] anything that looks like it [loud hand clap] ran into a wall, it’s brachycephalic.

[pause]

LISA MARIE: John Rawls says! [pause] You don’t choose where you are when you live. Therefore, we should all choose from behind the veil of ignorance as if we didn’t know what we were gonna be. Cuz if you’re a fetus and your smart…

FRIEND: You mean be empathetic?

LISA MARIE: …fetus and you’re smart, means you gotta choose, and just go with the best bet iiiis the middle ground: which is welfare; which is we should take care of each other.

FRIEND: That sounds…

LISA MARIE: John Rawls was like, “You guys, you know, if you judge people…and you assume you’re going to be fortunate and then you say, ‘I’m a shoe in.’ Then, yeah you are the asshole”. But John Rawls, he was on to something. Even though I don’t think that…wait a second…He thought that we should take care of children. I think we should not fucking-take-care-of-children because that’s your choice. You-you make the babies…

FRIEND: You mean, society should take care of children?

LISA MARIE: [fiery] No! The individual should be liable to chillen-you-fuckin-sided to make those babies, you gotta take care of those babies!

FRIEND: And the retardeds’ children?

LISA MARIE: [definitively] Fuck the retardeds.

FRIEND: That is not John Rawls philosophy. You are anti-Rawls.

LISA MARIE: Nn--sometimes.

[extended pause]

FRIEND: John Rawls.

LISA MARIE: [sternly] John Rawls! [holding my fists over my head] Steve Holt! [exasperated] John Rawls.

FRIEND: Are you done with him?

LISA MARIE: [softly] No, no, not done. [sigh] I agree with what he is saying. He is saying, if you don’t know where your situation is going to land, you’re probably going to bet on the average. That is to say, you’re going to look at what you got potentially; either really good or really bad, and you’re gonna say, “I’m just gonna go with the middle ground.” Essentially: welfare.

FRIEND: I-I donno, I don’t quite follow you. I don’t understand at which point a person’s gambling on where they are going to land.

LISA MARIE: From behind the veil of ignorance, from behind knowing where you’re going to land in society, you just don’t even fuggin know. If everybody is behind this veil…

FRIEND: Are we talking about at birth?

LISA MARIE: Mmm before birth—before birth. [scoffs] Fetuses they’re stupid.

FRIEND: You can’t call fetuses stupid. It’s like calling a rock dumb.

LISA MARIE: [playfully] Do you think that rocks are smart?

FRIEND: [indignantly] No, I don’t think they have the capacity to be dumb.

LISA MARIE: [giggles] Okay, well fetuses don’t have the capacity, so when you don’t have the capacity you’d be behind the veil of ignorance. And yet, if you’d potentially have the capacity—you’re still behind the veil of ignorance. Okay? So you’re with rocks—the same as fetuses.

[both laughing]

LISA MARIE: Sso…if you’re behind the veil of ignorance you’d say, I’m just gonna make—I’m just gonna make it fair.

FRIEND: Who’s I’m going to make what fair?

LISA MARIE: You! [solemnly] Y—you.

FRIEND: You’re going to crawl up to a fetus and go, “I want the middle”? You’re going to crawl up a womb…

LISA MARIE: [giggling competes with words] That is what John Rawls says, yeah! John Rawls—John Rawls face first [I bring my hands up to my face with fingers stretched mimicking female genitals] right up the vagina he says…

FRIEND: I don’t think you’re remembering this right. He’s not shouting this out from a canyon.

LISA MARIE: Nooo, [my gesture] is not a canyon.

FRIEND: This is not Plato’s ca—

LISA MARIE: Plato didn’t have a canyon he had a cave and it was an allegorrryyy, not a real cave. John Rawls says, [hands back at my face] John Rawls says, “ I want justice.” [fit of laughter]

FRIEND: So, let me get this straight. There is a mini John Rawls shouting into vaginas and that is how we have become a welfare state?

LISA MARIE: [giggles] Yeah! [giggles trail off into a sigh] Anyway, look it up.

Cycle

i advance and you retreat
reverse the roles;
rinse, wash, repeat

Tête-à-tête

We can talk about this, them, there, or that.
We can talk about who, what, why, where at?
We can talk about trading tit for tat
to pay our dues.

...this, them, there, or that!
...who, what, why, where at?
tête-à-tête...tête-à-tête

We can talk about unalienable rights.
We can talk about what makes people fight.
We can talk about it all goddamn night
that's up to you.

...this, them, there, or that!
...who, what, why, where at?
tête-à-tête...tête-à-tête

We can talk about playing video games.
We can talk about why hipsters are lame.
We can talk about all of the mundane
things that we do.

...this, them, there, or that!
...who, what, why, where at?
tête-à-tête...tête-à-tête

We can talk about the last book you read.
We can talk about what The Stranger said.
We can talk about whatever is in your head
if you want to.

...this, them, there, or that!
...who, what, why, where at?
tête-à-tête...tête-à-tête

Metro

Strangers shuffle onto the bus. The driver mentions he's tired but his exuberant friendliness betrays his claim. People let their focus fade while fiddling with their phones, flooding their ears with music, and thumbing through the pages of periodicals; anything to avoid eye-contact. Passengers reanimate to tug the suspended cords requesting their stop. It triggers a tone reminiscent of a high striker's bell. Each stop a triumph for the victorious commuter arriving at her destination.

The doors open with a monstrous hiss and close like crashing cymbals. Turn after turn, the accordion belly stretches and yawns, then folds back into an origami cove. Dusty rings on the windows are the grimy trace of evaporated raindrops. Graffiti etched by keys and sharpies tattoo the interior. Pennies, pen caps, newspapers in nooks, hairbands, band-aids, crumbs in cracks; the assortment of abandoned stowaways sift through the seats.

Teetering

Do you ever feel uncomfortably familiar with the self-similarity of the fractal fabric of reality?
Do you ever feel like the more you explore the stranger your findings?

Do you think thinking sharpens your mind?
Do you think you can render yourself insane with your thoughts?

Do you feel like you are an impostor trying to fool yourself?
Do you feel like a performer or the performance?

Do you think that you feel?
Do you feel that you think?

Trains collect graffiti like whales gather barnacles.

Psychedelic Sunset

Lost in a labyrinth
Of snow burden branches
It's winter in my town
And it's white all around

It's beautiful to me
It's beautiful to me

She's picture perfect
Like a cinematic set
Her supermodel body
Makes me feel so naughty

She's beautiful to me
She's beautiful to me

A psychedelic sunset
Pays reverence to the rainbow
And I'm so high
As I stare into the sky

It's beautiful to me
It's beautiful to me

A supernatural serenade
Gives me goosebumps
Sing the songs of your soul
So sad they swallow me whole

You're beautiful to me
You're beautiful to me

Beauty lies within
The mind of the beholder
When life gets vile
Just remember what makes you smile

And beauty you will see
And beauty you will see

Portnoy's Complaint

this desire so intrusive
manifesting you illusive
in the dreams that you haunt
where you tease and taunt
if only it was for real
when i see how old you feel
to hell with ethical constraints
and suffering portnoy's complaint
thoughts obsessed by your body
driving me to act so foolhardy
while your body's worth procuring
it's your mind i find alluring
titillating higher and lower pleasures
pining to plunder your head full of treasures
while my affections are likely misguided
i do hope that i won't be chided
but if you must; i'll take a tongue lashing
(the warm wet kind, not a verbal thrashing)
i assure you my audacity is not a ruse
this is an opportunity i couldn't refuse
i ought to make my intentions clear
honestly, i be delighted to just buy you a beer
to visit with you and shoot the shit
but whatever you want i'll do it

Red Rivers

Puddles pooling
Droplets drooling
Cuts cry
Red rivers

Chemicals killing
Flooded filling
Tears tearing
Red rivers

Barely breathing
Slowly seething
Blood boils
Red rivers

Red rivers writhing
Dripping then drying
Sorrow spills
Red rivers

Sum of Sevens Syllables

Somber shades of sepia
Falling frivolously from
Apathetic accidents
Cruel consequences curse
Existential existence

Secular Story

G
It all started with one big blast
B7
The singularity expanded fast
Am
Building blocks of matter came to be
D7. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . D
They turned into atoms eventually

Matter was distributed evenly
Areas grew denser because gravity
Making the dust clouds that formed the stars
That gathered into galaxies just like ours

In the beginning the sun was alone
And then the planets made it their home
That’s the time the earth met the moon
Mysteriously life would come soon

Algae in the oceans made oxygen
Along came the fish with their fins
Out of the water they walked with their legs
Sweeping the planet egg by egg

They evolved into beautiful things
Like the birds that fly with their wings
The planet was host to so many animals
Soon it gave rise to the mammals

Creatures like whales returned to the sea
But some like monkey turned to the trees
After the ape came back down
We got a chance to come around

Man sought to dominate over nature
Little did he know what that would mean later
Overindulgence will lead to the end
And then the earth can try again

Livin' La Vida Librarian

Sometimes I fantasize about being a librarian. How lovely would it be to find yourself in the company of thousands of books on a daily basis? I imagine navigating the structured rows, running my finger across spines neatly nestled in their proper spot on the shelves. Occasionally plucking out a tome and opening the cover just to sniff the archaic musk of its leaves. Then wedge it back in between its close-knit neighbors.

I wonder if librarians measure the passage of time by the arrival of new additions and the retirement of outdated material. Do they tally the days by their accumulation of newsprint? Does a stack of periodicals symbolize a time frame or does it merely look like a mess to be chronologically filed away?

Can they profile a person by books they read? Could they give an accurate checkout history of someone they pass on the street? At a glance, do they assess one’s personality in terms of authors? I can her inner monologue, “Oh yes, he’s a heaping portion of Hemingway doused in Palahniuk with a pinch of Whitman. She is Huxley intermingled with Thoreau seasoned with Salinger and Seuss. Goodness me, here comes Hitchcock polka-dotted with Poe!” Are these the thoughts that cloud the space behind her horn-rimmed glasses?

I ponder about the irks and perks of working with books. Does the hushed environment make the outside world sound violently deafening? Do the stifled voices and fluttering pages fade into the silence? Or are they amplified noise pollution echoing though out the library? What bothers her more disordered dewy decimal or belated book returns? Damaged books or damned librarian stereotypes?

Frogs Don’t Drink All Their Pond’s Water

“…there are different ways of looking out and trying to understand the world around us. There’s a very clear scientific window. And it does enable us to understand an awful lot about what’s out there. There’s another window, it’s the window through which the wise men, the holy men, the masters, of the different and great religions look as they try to understand the meaning of the world. My own preference is the window of the mystic.”
-Jane Goodall

An orgy of dandelions copulating in the halo crowned meadow invites you and your dog to reconnoiter the grounds. The fertile weeds are celebrating their exodus from Autumn with debauchery. Mesmerized you slowly make your way through the scandalous activity traveling down a skinny dirt path. Flamboyant blades of grass dance around the mature flower heads shaped like the Reunion Tower in Dallas, Texas. The cotton domes succumb to the slightest caress of the wind and disperse their milky white seed. Embarrassed by their premature expulsions the limp red stems seek to escape their shame by burring themselves in the emerald lawn. You force your eyes away from the foliage gone wild and focus on the entrance to a shrub-tangled labyrinth.

Indigenous wetland vegetation tightly knit together with blackberry vines swallows you whole as you continue to navigate the trail. Parts of the pathway are blotched by mud. The ground’s spongy suction threatens to steal your shoes with each step. However, your canine companion maneuvers effortlessly and leaves you behind. Thorns claw at your exposed skin while fallen branches try to trip you. The harsh plant-life clearly tells you that your presence is tolerated, at best. Finally you fight your way out and discover that the maze is protecting a sanctuary.

You catch a brief glimpse of Bassett Pond before a strong breeze carrying a cloud of pollen obstructs your vision. Instantly your fists reach up to rub your eyes. After regaining clarity you witness the placid surface display a watercolor mural of its surrounding landscape. You gawk at the reflection as it paints an ever-changing interpretation of the events taking place above. After soaking in the surreal vision the trail to leads you around the water’s perimeter.

A small clearing provides a perfect view of the entire pond. Seven trees have staked their claim of the prime real estate. You sit and recline on a birch trunk whose leaves shelter you with shade. The earth beneath your fingertips gently vibrates from dog paws beating the ground. He rushes past you turning up loose debris in his wake. It seems as if the inherently wild savagery of mother nature possesses him, forcing him to take full advantage of his freedom.

Hypnotized by his surroundings and overcome with excitement your dog plunges himself into the murky waters. Cool liquid washes over him along with desperation to escape the icy embrace. You find yourself wondering if he has just preformed an impromptu baptismal ceremony to exorcize himself from a beastly spirit. His domestic demeanor returns as he pulls himself back on to land. The dripping animal scouts out a spot in the sun to dry off.
The dog’s rhythmic panting acts as a metronome keeping the pace of nature’s music. Sparrows personally serenade you with lyrics sung in high-pitched melodies. Crows punctuate measures with staccato screeches. The distant murmur of industrial humming makes up the bass line. Four ducks beat their wings against a zephyr providing percussion. Their synchronized descent disturbs the calm surface causing the water to rhythmically ripple and dance to the organic orchestra.

As dusk approaches, the wetland becomes a hub of activity. Unseen creatures rustle in the bushes. Winged insects whirr past your ears into the flora. Ants clamber over exposed roots. Red-breasted robins peg the soil with their beaks in search of dinner. Tadpoles metamorphose in the warm shallows. Gusts of air breathe life in to the rustling foliage.

You feel privileged to be encompassed by nature, isolated from the urban hustle only a mile away. Unfortunately discarded beer bottles, cigarette butts, and assorted litter sprinkle the ground mirroring humans’ war with the environment. You scan the horizon and notice a small abandoned rowboat drifting sluggishly through the water. The flooded craft is starting to be pulled down to the mysterious pond floor. The parts that protrude above the surface are covered in moss. It looks as though nature is winning the battle against the synthetic alien object.

As the sunsets you reluctantly prepare to work your way back to civilization. You fasten a leash to your dog’s collar and retread your steps. Barking bullfrogs bid you goodnight. You exit the wetlands just before a blanket of black covers the sky.

The Body Bag Incident

Teenagers lie all the time, especially to their parents. Generally they fib about completed homework, recreational destinations, or drug and alcohol use. Such typical dishonesty should console parents by revealing they are raising a “normal” young adult. However, the parent that catches their child attempting to conceal a human body should be alarmed.

I was intoxicated with anticipation after receiving an invitation to hang with my crush after school. Participating in criminal activity was the last scenario to cross my mind as I fantasized about our rendezvous. Oblivious to the fluorescent lights that illuminated the retro-colored decoration scheme I fluttered in unison with the shoddy student updates, and spirit themed flyers moved by the current generated from students rushing out of classrooms. Drunk with young love I stumbled through the cramped rectangular hallways of my high school.

As I approached Brian’s faded Crayola blue 1987 Volvo 740 he told me that our plans might be difficult to accomplish. He had just received his driver's license and according to a recent Washington State law it was illegal for him to drive minors around. He disregarded this rule, but his mother didn't. I opened the passenger door and the aroma of Nag Champa incense monopolized my olfactory. Sweeping piles of trash off of the seat I reluctantly suggested he just drop me off at my house. Brian denied the idea of postponing our date and escorted me to his home.

He explained to me that if his mom were home he would have to sneak me into his house to avoid being caught in a criminal act. Brian sounded quite confident when he told me he was sure his mother wouldn't be home though, and even if she was he had a plan to get me into his house undetected. For some reason I felt that everything would go smoothly even though I was unaware of his backup plan.

"Time for plan 'B'," he nonchalantly said to me as he drove past his house. Brian parked the car a few blocks away in front of a cluster of evergreen trees and out of his mother's range of sight. He casually asked me if I was claustrophobic as he pulled an industrial sized duffle bag out of his trunk. I finally realized what plan "B" was. I stared at him in disbelief, but his facial expression clearly communicated he was serious. My judgment was skewed by young love and irrationally devotion but, if that was the only way to get into his house I was whole-heartedly committed to fit into the bag.

Surprisingly I managed to compress my body into a tight ball small enough to squeeze into the bag. The only problem about concealing me was that I just so happen to be very claustrophobic. Brian said that I wouldn't be in the bag longer than three minutes. I knew I could tough it out for that amount of time. I stayed hidden in the bag on backseat for the trip back to his house. I was almost completely enclosed in the duffle bag except the zipper being cracked open just enough for me to suck in some fresh air.

I felt like I was suffocating when Brian zipped up the bag all the way. Clouds of odor from a used sport jersey colonized the small amount of unoccupied space. That's when I felt my heart begin to race. I was already panicky from being confined to such a small space, but the thought of being discovered added a whole new level to my anxiety. My breathing became irregular and I started to discretely shake and sweat. Reminding myself I'd be free of my confinement shortly was the only thing that calmed me down.

Brian cautioned me to be as still and quiet as I could while he struggled to pick up the bag made from heavy durable cloth. I suddenly became very self-conscious of my weight, and I asked him if he thought he could actually carry me. He claimed he was sure of his abilities, but the unstable bobbing of the bag gave him away. He warned me we were about to enter his house to be silent.

I couldn't clearly hear what exactly was said after the door shut behind us but I gathered enough information to understand what was going on. Patty offered to help him carry the bag upstairs. He quickly declined her proposal, and tried to assure her of his capability. His mother wasn't as easily convinced of his strength as I was. She asked him once again if he needed help, and again he avidly opposed any assistance.

I prayed that Patty wouldn’t interfere any further, but once she saw Brian dragging the bag upstairs she rushed over and picked up the other end of the bag. My heart nearly pounded out of my chest. "You shouldn't drag this on the ground! You'll tear a hole in it!" She scolded. It reminded me of something my mom would say. Suddenly I felt her hand studying the bag. She asked about its contents with obvious skepticism in her tone of voice. Brian merely repeated the same answer he had given her before.

As we all got to the top of the stairs Brian protested to any more help and demanded his mother to let him be. Patty must have found all of his fierce disputing rather suspicious. Brian started to carry me down the hallway haphazardly, but his exhaustion forced him to drag me again. "It didn't feel like there was a musical equipment in there!" Patty finally voiced her doubt.

Thump-thump! Thump-thump! I could both hear and feel his mom's footsteps rapidly approach me. My heart rate increased at the same rapid pace. "Mom! What are y—?" She unzipped on end of the duffle bag before he could finish his sentence. My legs poured out of the bag as if they were water rushing out of a punctured container.

"Who is this? Who is in this bag?!" She demanded to know. I didn't respond. I just held as still as I could hoping that I would suddenly become invisible. Patty nudged my foot, and told me to come out of the bag. I finally came to terms with the reality that I wouldn't disappear. I wriggled my way out of the bag and stood up. I emerged to find myself standing in the hallway outside his room. Powder blue walls cooled the boiling atmosphere. Brian broke the awkward silence, "Mom this is Lisa. Lisa this is my mom."

I was mortified. My ears felt like they were hot enough to be melting my earwax. I could tell my cheeks were beet red, and a nervous grin was cemented on my face. The task of maintaining any direct eye contact with her was impossible. Ashamed, I fixed my gaze on a framed cross-stitch picture of a poem surrounded by embroidered teddy bears.

Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, turn around,

Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear, touch the ground;
Teddy bear, Teddy bear, climb the stairs,
Teddy bear, Teddy bear, say your prayers.