The interviewer, who was white,
asked the indigenous man, who had dark brown skin,
What was most important in life to them.
'Them' - as if the man and his people were any different
than the interviewer and his.

This was after the man had shown them
(the interviewer and the cameraman)
his entire village - the homes,
where the women forage for food
and how the men hunt for meat.

The man knew what the interviewer was really asking.
Yet he also knew that the interviewer already knew
the answer to his own question - even if he had hidden it from himself,
even if he had no faith and trust
in his own culture’s answer to the question.
Still, the interviewer knew the answer for himself.
And the man knew also,
like everyone who is being filmed and interviewed,
that when someone asks you for your very essence,
it is never only a passing request.
They mean to do something with it at some point.
You see, the indigenous man doesn’t go around
interviewing white people.
He is living his life.

So, when the interviewer asked this question,
“What is most important in life to them?”
A shadow of remembrance passed across the man’s eyes.
And smiling, he replied, “Meat!”
The interviewer, looking perplexed, repeated, “Meat?”
and thought, 'Well, that’s a given.'
And in a tone that suggested
what he really wanted to say
was, 'Duh, what else is important here on Earth?'
The man replied, “Yes, with meat we become strong and healthy.
No one will go hungry.
Children will grow strong and run fast.
Women will be strong and there will be less sickness.
Women will give birth to healthy, strong babies.”

The interviewer’s face reflected blank ignorance
as he again repeated, “Meat?”
And with eyes that said, 'Now let it go.
You will not get from me
what your grandfather took from mine',
the man turned to his son and said,
“We will go hunt now.”

Certified and Qualified
Talent in demand
Presenting one’s personal standards
At interviews, applicants are put too the test
But I often wonder do Interviewers take candidate’s words for less
Now the Interviewer is looking for “Certified and Qualified”
The Resume speaks in advance of what the candidate has accomplished
That’s obvious
Then it is up to the interviewer after reviewing the Resume in scheduling Face to Face meeting
Candidates do have the training and standards
But it seems Interviewer’s state company standards
But if there is a correlation, you already meet the objective
If you didn’t meet and your Resume says you do, why sudden change on the Interviewer’s part
Yet most of the time, Race is a factor on qualifications
It shouldn’t, but often is
However, a company will say they are an Equal Opportunity Employer
That means Equality for all
If Race comes into play, how is that Equal?
One’s Resume states what the candidate has achieved based on ability being merit
Two words that stand out, “Marketable and Commodity”
But why do interviewing questions be asked to one Ethnic Group but not another
One’s Resume will state Qualified in the Interviewer’s eyes
But personal feelings being spite
The Resume is the first Representation, and one on one meeting being the second
But with all one’s training and experience makes an candidate in the interviewer’s theory of overqualified
What makes a candidate Overqualified and Qualified?
If you were to ask the interviewer, there wouldn’t be a precise answer or perhaps no answer at all
Certified and Qualified
But if the salary doesn’t compensate
Obviously, the interviewer doesn’t want to negotiate with a compensate
The qualifications after that doesn’t lead to appreciate
The candidate still has an accomplished Resume
Certified and Qualified.

They didn't know what Diversity was...
The kids, that is.
Since the kids didn't know it,
the teacher coined it as "“black” visibility".
She wasn't sure if she could make that call
so she nodded her head, looking for approval.
The interviewer asked in what direction did the teacher see Diversity
As if Diversity was a one-way street.
Let me just refresh your memory...
"“black” visibility"
As if decades of progress in the schools were undone,
The kids voted on Performances and Projects for “black” History Month.
How shocking!... Kids of every shape, size, ability and race studying a time in history...
Sounds racist to me.
They wanted a Gospel Choir that is clearly only for “black” students
Because I'm the student Director for the Fordham University's Rhythm of Praise Gospel Chior for the fourth year running...
Maybe I'm missing something...
MAYBE I'm “black”... Maybe if I close my eyes really tight...
Nope, I'm still “white”.
Olive brown perhaps?
Only in the summer.
Anyway, I digress like Sophia Patrilo from the Goldren Girls
Who was Italian by the way.
Just advertising for Diversity.
Let's debate about "Music Debates" for a moment.
Maybe you call it Debates because Hip Hop is debatable, and by the way only for “black” students.
When I could argue for days upon days
About how Reggaeton didn't come from Salsa
but I know **** well that Salsa came first.
The kids wanted to Stomp the Yard and battle it out.
I do believe rap battles take place around the world
And one of the best rappers I know is an English teacher in Harlem
Whose hair is redder than a leprechaun.
Talent Shows that showcase every student's ability
Whether it be singing, dancing, performing their poetry,
But still apparently that's not Diversity.
Neither is an International Day
Where International ways are celebrated.
And finally, a Diversity Day,
That clearly means diversity is separated.
"They wanted a lot of things"
Yeah. They asked for a whole lot... of everything BUT diversity.
That's right, because they don't know what it means
The Kids, that is...
Then tell me please:
Define Diversity.
Is it seeing a “black” horse with “white” stripes
Or a “white” horse with “black” stripes?
Why is it between “black” and “white”?
Why not between “white”, “black” brown, yellow, orange, brick red...
Let's get it out of our head
That teachers can't learn anything from their students,
Because it sounds to me,
Like they had a pretty good start to the meaning of Diversity.
And if it turns out they didn't,
That's what teachers are there for:
Make a **** lesson about it.

Dear Charlie,
I assume you may not know me, but I know you. Well, how else could I not know you when your story has been adapted into a book and a movie? You may not recognize the way you can reach me back, because you’re fictional. But I’d like to think you’re real, and that’s good enough for me.
I’ve been reading your letters, just like any other kids my age and some adults who are still intrigued by young adult fiction. You cried a lot for a boy. You were not ashamed of it, too, even when you were with your friends, Patrick and Sam. They seemed to be really nice people, and I learnt that what they did didn’t define them. The fact that they like to smoke and drink doesn’t make them bad people. I like that. And as always, eventually, people stop doing things but their personality stays strong. Who you are comes from inside.
Anyway, yes, you cried a lot for a boy. You were lucky to have friends that appreciate your tears. Sometimes, they would join you, but in cheers. You cheered along, too, but they weren’t yelps or shouts of joy but whimpers of happiness. Crying may seem weak and vulnerable, but I think you didn’t need to stop.
I would like to tell you a story, if I may. Well, how would you reply to my request of patience and lending both of your ears when you’re only inside our minds? However, Charlie, if you were ever alive, I think you would be a good listener. This reminds me of one of the lines in your letter, stating that you’re “a wallflower”. Anyway, now, let’s get to my story.
In a few months, I will be packing my bags then depart to your country, the United States. A few months ago, I was tested whether or not I was eligible to live in your country and represent my nation. I passed. Though I thought that my interview kind of ******, I still passed. After being declared that I was qualified to go to the U. S., I was given a 27-page form I needed to fill. And so I did. The form consisted of student profile, student questionnaire, student’s letter to host family, parents questionnaire, interviewer’s report, medical records, academic records, a photo album, and a contract. I don’t know why, but this form seemed to weigh down on me, even though it shouldn’t feel tiring at all. I had the pleasure of writing my letter to my future host family, because I love writing, but somehow, I just didn’t like dealing with the official stuffs. But gradually, I put up with it and ended my misery.
Today, I gave the form to my counsellor. I was ready to feel satisfied. I was so ready because I had been feeling very ******* of late, and my rage peaked when my mom forgot to print the photos I needed for the photo album for my future host family to see. My anger still haven’t soothed down, though. Which means I am really mad. Little did I know, after all that ice cream of strolls between the school building to the administration to get my academic records and car rides from home to the doctor to clarify my medical records, topped by an icing of stress due to the ignorance in putting the photos together, there was a cherry on top. I had to print another copy of the same form, photocopy my passport photo, get my dad to sign my form, and if all that was not enough, my counsellor poured down a chocolate syrup into my wombs. I needed to refill my medical records which would only mean going back to the doctor for several more times. I don’t want to exaggerate by saying the hundredth time, because I am already tired.
Of course, all I did was put on my poker face for security, even though my mom yelled at me for not telling her sooner about the correct way to fill my medical records. To be honest, that is all I do. Put on a face of a clear expression of unclear emotion. I felt really stupid for not listening intently to my counsellor when we first met. I felt so stupid, I felt like I already wasted my opportunity. My opportunity to be myself to the fullest extent. My opportunity to feel what is unfelt. My opportunity to meet people I have not encountered. My first opportunity to really go.
But of course, that is not true. I just need to do what needs to be done and I’m all good. But I can’t help feeling like a failure. And I have been stifling more cries than I have ever been in my entire life. I wanted to cry when my brother left. All I did was covered my mouth with the bottom tip of my t-shirt and tried to catch myself when I fell. This time, I wanted to cry because I had never been so ignorant in following instructions. I don’t just tell myself this everyday, I am fully aware that I am observant. I see things people don’t. I feel things that people would dismiss. I listen to unspoken thoughts rather than what has been stated. I really like this part of myself. I feel like this is something that makes me me, and when I don’t do well on something simple like this, something has got to be wrong.
The first thing that came up to mind when I was faced with my mistakes was, “So this is my karma.”
I am a strong believer in karma, Charlie. I bet you know what it is. It’s the punishment you get after doing something bad. Nobody seems to know this, but I’m a bad person. I am. I have a bad habit of judging people; of collecting prejudices to make myself feel good; of being good even when I don’t want to; of not making the best of things; of lying, lying, and lying; of constantly hiding even when I have the chance to fully display myself out there; of being a burden to my parents and friends; of being vague about my faith; of not having a voice. I feel weak, but I won’t say I’m a weakling because I won’t make it become me, although all I want to do is to cry all the time because unlike you, I have no idea how to do that.
All I know right now is when I can feel there’s water in my eyes, I blink to dry them out. When my lips seem to turn upside down, I give them a rubdown so that they would look nice and pretty again. I don’t know how to cry, Charlie, I really don’t. I can already see myself next week at school, making an excuse to the toilet, or having lunch with friends and while having a good laugh I find myself crying, and I wouldn’t be able to distinguish my happiness and my melancholy. Neither would my friends.
I’m sorry for making it really long for you to read. I could just make it into several sentences, like, “Didn’t correctly fill out my form. Feeling like a failure. I don’t know how to express myself.” But knowing that you really like reading books as much as I do, I think you would appreciate my effort in writing my story as detailed as possible. I hope you enjoy it, too, no matter how miserable it seems when it really shouldn’t be. But then again, I wouldn’t be telling you a story.
During my inconsolable moment, I decided to make a list of things to remember when I’m an adult. In my mind, I wrote the first one down. I said to myself, “Remember the feeling of holding back.” I muttered the line aloud inside again and again, so that it would feel natural for me when I see someone in a situation like mine. As much as I hate that feeling, I need to be reminded so that others won’t be as miserable as I was. It seems pretty selfish of me, to see other people smile so that I can join them, but if you think again, it’s also for their own good.
The second one is to be sensitive, because it’s the only way you can understand anyone, especially your kids. I feel like people should not forget the fact that others of their kind is others of their kind. They’re not only their fellow citizens, they’re not only what they do for a living, they’re not doctors, or lawyers, or engineers, or archeologists. They are human. The basic form of every occupation. And they have feelings, just like we do. Sometimes we are blocked by the boundary of professionalism that we forget who they really are. There is not a day where we’re not divided based on jobs, religions, races, nationalities, and the list keeps going. But in the end, what we are is not based on those factions. We’re just mortals.
I would tell you more about the four other things I’ve listed, but I don’t want to keep you from doing what you’re supposed to do now. I think there are more things to be listed, too, when my days have moved on. But the four other things I’ve written down are, “Keep in mind Alesso’s quote, that you’re not gonna get any younger”, “Make ‘Listening to Sigur Rós’ a routine”, “Always eat your breakfast”, and “Remember the feeling of being a teenager, because most parents have already forgotten”. I thought that I would erase the last one because it is pretty similar to the second one, but I guess it has a different understanding. I’m sorry for keeping you from doing your job for awhile, whatever it is you are doing now. But I do hope you turn out well.
If you do reach the end, Charlie, now is the time that I thank you for reading this from the beginning to the end. I don’t get listened to much actually, so I think it is very kind of you for having finished reading every word. Anyway, I need to get busy printing my form again. I hope to recognize you in one of the souls I will be meeting one day.

Love always,
A friend

1

I sit in the back of Dad’s car, bopping my head to The Beatles’ Revolution and hum quietly while reading over my notes for today’s math test.

2

Lunch with Val, Eugene, Michelle, Kayla, Chris, and Nick, talking about our favorite movie, Forrest Gump, until Val interrupts with how nervous she is about applying to high school.  We finish lunch in silence.

3

Let f(x) = -2X2 + 4X + 6…That is the question that has plagued me all day.  On my math test, I made the answer positive instead of negative, the minor mistake that will cost me my A.

4

On this beautiful, unseasonably warm afternoon, I am glad to be outside reading my favorite Matheson stories on the wooden cutout in the giant oak by the dining room window, but worries that I may not be accepted to The Academy interrupt my leisure.

5

For Christmas, my friends and I exchange gifts.  Val gives me a stuffed flamingo. I put right it right next to the unicorn on the lace covered brown bench that oversees my room.

6

We have received your application for admission testing to The Academy for Allied Health and Biomedical Sciences. Your test will be on January 28, 2008.

7

In gym class, Val holds her hand as if she is in pain, but she refuses to show it to anyone, not even me, her best friend.

8

Val has a circular scar on her hand that looks like a burn mark.  She insists that she is just clumsy and she fell.

9

This kid next to me at The Academy admission testing is breathing so loudly I can’t concentrate.

10



I glide my paintbrush through the orange paint and onto the canvas.  I don’t know what I’m painting, but I know I need to paint.

11

Math class is miserable.  Not only did I get an 86 on the test that I thought I aced, but Val started crying hysterically, until Ms. Endolf sent her to the school counselor.

12

Michelle and Kayla are mad at Val for acting so strangely.  They refuse to speak to our friend.  I refuse to join their charade.  I know she’s acting strangely for a reason.

13

I come home to find my mother crying…happy tears.  She tells me that I passed my admission test with a proud ear-to-ear grin on her face. The next step in the admission process is an interview with The Academy on March 1.

14

I bead a few bracelets before going to sleep.  I feel guilty, like I should be studying or preparing for my interview, but I just don’t want to.

15

Val pulls me into the coat cubby during homeroom, the dark circles under her eyes barely visible from the faint light in the  dimly lit room.  She tells me how her father has abused her and her sisters this past year and swears me to secrecy

16

How can I help my best friend and her sisters? Can I help my best friend and her sisters?  Can I help my best friend?

17

I go to the veteran’s home where I’d been volunteering for a while and see my favorite veteran, Ray.  He tells me not to get old.

18

“Why do you want to go to The Academy?”  Ms. Ferris, my Academy interviewer, asks.  I stare at her blankly for a moment before responding.

19

When Val comes to school with more bruises, I break my promise and tell my parents.

20

I slowly open my report card to reveal a B in math…my first B ever.  I take a puff of my inhaler.

21

The old home phone rings; I assume it will be the Academy with an admission decision. “Help me, Morissa!”  Val screams into the phone.  I gesture to my mother who grabs the car keys, as we race to the door.

22

Spring break.  My family and I go to Hershey Park in Pennsylvania to celebrate my being one of forty students admitted to The Academy.

23

DYFS goes to Val’s house after her older sister tries to commit suicide by overdosing on pain pills.

24

Lunch is so quiet with Eugene, Michelle, Kayla, Chris, and Nick.

25

I got an 84 on my math test today.  I smile.

26

Val returns to school but sits at a different lunch table.  She has no more bruises, but her eyes are still red.

27

My gown flows as I march down the church aisle to receive my certificate of completion from St. John Vianney.

28

I stare at the screen of the my new HP computer as I scratch the back of the $15 iTunes card my grandparents gifted to me. As I begin to type in OKGO’s Here It Goes Again, as the first song I purchase, I change my mind and type in The Beatles’ Revolution.

29

I relax outside alternating between reading Stephen King and beading on my twirling chair as I now do every relaxing summer day.

30

Went to the shore.  Won a giant yellow bee stuffed animal.  I am the skeeball champion!

31

This is so embarrassing.  I don’t know how to open my locker.  In all my years of private school, home school, and Catholic school, I’ve never had a locker until entering The Academy.  Mrs. Bow laughs as she teaches me how to operate a locker.

32

Holding a brain is a lot different than I thought it would be.  It is mushier and lighter than I imagined.

33

“Ever see Forrest Gump?” my new friend, Ruchir, asks at lunch, as I mush the jelly on my sandwich.

34

I walk down the street pulling my ****-tzu and Maltese in my wagon.  Lester almost jumps out when he sees a terrier twice his size, but I catch him just in time.  It is the scariest moment I have had in a long time.

35

At the veteran’s home, I see Ray and tell him how much I love The Academy.  He smiles and asks if I’d like to sing with him.

36

The phone rings.  It’s my new friend Shannon.  She needs help with our Biomedical Sciences homework.

37

I spend Columbus Day at The Carpet Maven, my parent’s carpet store.  St. John Vianney never gave days off for “made up holidays.”

38

Solve for x in the equation Ln(x)=8…I haven’t been able to get that problem out of my head all day.  That is the problem that earned me the Best in Class Award on my first marking period report card.

39

It’s Sunday.  I walk down Main Street to pick up bagels for my family.  The smiley, bright-eyed girl behind the counter at the bagel shop is Val.  She is a student at Mother Superior High School. She asks if my unicorn is being nice to my flamingo.

40

I look at the flamingo and unicorn on my bench.  They’re fine. I’m okay.  Everybody ‘s alright.   Everything’s good.

Interviewer: Douglas Simpkins, who are you? We don't understand you..the world seems to mis read you..can you tell us in a few words, maybe? Who is Douglas Simpkins?

(Heart beats)
(The sound of writing)

Dear Everyone,

Time has passed. I maybe overthinking this but I can't find my brains top latch
(So my thoughts are out)
You ask "what's that about?"

Let me explain..

I said things, broke things
Never thought I'd become inslaved..
To the monster who's beating inside me
To the ignorance placed in my grave
I done messed up, never confessed up, talk to god now, so maybe I'm blessed up?
But we cool and talk about when I was in school
How I created so many lies, blamed it on a high..
Stabbed so many backs that nobody walked with a spine.
Walk a mile in my shoes? nobody wanted my 9s
Figured Id grow outta my fears and self overtime..
Something happened,
And I gradually found death
I spoke to him as he would glare at me with darkness spewing from his breath
Manipulation at its best
As he grabbed a hold of my chest
Told me "only the good die young"
Put his hand on my pecks and pushed me back to this mess.

(Then what?)

I tried to follow purity,
The constant fight with this monster inside of me!
He wants anger! I just want maturity.
A sense of security.
Maybe that's why I'm so locked down
She thinks I'm being stubborn
But she don't know, I'm just starting to open up and share all about my past now.
****..and I gotta be honest,
I want you to be the one that I endure the longest,
Who accepts me at me at my weakest, supports me at my strongest.

(Let her now kid)

Hiding the truth in these subliminal notes,
Ask myself
If you like her why don't you go after what you desire the most?
Probably because I was a felon in loves convictions
I believe she deserves to enjoy life without pain and loves restrictions.

(Again man!?)

Yeah, I also needed time to break down. Weak knees, lord please, help me feel the force of the ground. The words of the angels and only some can hear the sound.
Ask yourself if you needed help, who the F!ck would be around?
I was stranded in the water and you just watched in an attempt to let me drown!
I survived!
Look at me rise! from all your f@cking let downs!

(Take it easy man)

But I tend to constantly escape, to a world, a beautiful place
Where I can't be judged, I can finally be alone and mediate in my vital space
A mind that represents the ocean, a heart that's the beating sun, a soul that is the sand, and a life that is all I want to become.

(That's beautiful)

Because we all have a story
Not one makes less sense.
I took a gun to misery, blasted the ****t outta it
Walked away and left that ***** for dead.
This is me. I can't make this up for your amusement
My words are the bullets, excuse me as I reload my weaPEN.

(Doug, calm down!)

Chill man, I told you I'm grown now and have full control.
I just speak with alotta passion and that don't go away even as you get old.
This my story and they wouldn't believe me if it wasn't properly told
I was a beast, a loose bullett that could **** a person with one shot..stare em down and spit a venom so cold.
But I apologize for it all and taking ya down this road...

(Hands shaking)

I prospered from myself and learned to hold my own.
Stick with me now and please embrace my change. Help me write my story and turn a new page.
Goals can be made, I never heard there ever had to be a certain age.
Giving you my all now and hope ya will accept my best
But still look back once in a while...
So that I'll never forget.

(Oh my god)

Also, had to go back to the lab, reconnect and draw up some new plans
And by the way, you can't know who Doug is...when it's really Bland.
Amen.

(Stopped writing)

Interviewer: I have no words. Thank you.

The day is Monday, March 16th, 2015.
We are in the Idaho State Correctional Institution.
Today, the Idaho Commissioners of Pardons and Parole will decide if my ****** will be released on parole in September.

Many people come in, exchanging their I.D for their visitors' pass.
We all wait in a small L-shaped room, tense, waiting.
His family comes in, and the guard escorts them to another room.
Finally, a parole officer enters. She leads us through a metal detector.
We have to wait in the visiting room, while my ****** is brought into the hearing room.
His family goes in first, then us, along with my supporters.
The deputy calls us to order and explains what will happen.
He says his family may speak, if they have a statement.

She stands up.
"Your relation?"
"Mother."
"Go ahead."

He has managed to get his GED.
He has had his own struggles with other inmates.
He is a "good Christian boy."
He has served his time for his "non-violent crime."
I cry.

The deputy looks doubtful.
He tells the commissioners to begin.

Commissioner Bowstaff is first.
She asks him the nature of his crime, his five DORS, his lost job while inside.
She asks if he is aware of the recommendation they received.
He says yes.
She phrases her next thought carefully:
"Are you aware the interviewer described you as aloof, uncaring, and says you describe yourself as the victim?"
He seems befuddled.

Next is Commissioner Matthew.
He is a sharp looking man, and asks if he feels like his crime is "violent."
He responds.
"No."
"And yet you call yourself Christian?"
"I am Christian."
"God should be ashamed then."
His parents are shaking their heads.

Commissioner Moore.
"You minimize everything. You aren't taking responsibilities for your actions. If you can't follow the rules in here, how do we know you'll follow them out there?"
"I don't know."

Commissioner Bowstaff asks if, as the victim, I have anything to say.
I tell her yes, and she asks me to stand and state my name.
"Lauren Busdon."
"You have a minute to speak."

I tell them I am terrified to see him.
I will start my senior year in August.
His release will continue to effect my school career.
I have only just managed to speak the word "****" in the last two months.
There are other girls, so many others, who are afraid to say anything.
But they say it to me.

They dismiss us to make their decision.
I sob as we walk out of the room.

Everyone is proud of me, saying no matter what, I did my best. I was there, that's what matters now.
But what if it wasn't enough?

The deputy comes in to shake my hand.
"The commissioners have come to an agreement. Parole will be denied for 18 months, and we will meet again in September of 2016."
I laugh and my dad slams his fist on the table. My mom dissolves into tears.
"You are welcome to hear the announcement."
I say, "hell yeah I want to hear it!"

He hangs his head when they tell him.
His mother makes a strangled noise of upset.

We leave.
People are hugging me.
I am crying.
I don't know if I should be proud, or if I should just revel in the sheer joy of not having to see him for 18 months.
18 more months of freedom.
18 more months of trying to live.

"Don't work with the Americans."
"Don't help the Americans."
This is what some of the Afghan interpreters are saying
After their poor treatment by the United States government

The Afghan Interpreters are angry
And they have a right to be
After most U.S. troops have left
Some are stuck hiding in Kabul

The Taliban tell the local people
That they are infidels
The Taliban **** many interpreters

The Afghan Interpreters struggle
Only about 30% get their visa

Some only have enough money
To make it to Greece
They live together
Barely any money
No hot water
Persecuted by the local police

One interpreter saved the life of an American soldier
The soldier helped him put together his visa packet
His visa took three years!!!

This interpreter had fought with them for 7 years
Had saved the lives of five American soldiers
Had been the personal interpreter for 12 U.S. senators

One interpreter
Did not leave on a flight approved by the U.S.
He had to leave on the next flight
Because the Taliban  was threatening to **** him

Thankfully the U.S. soldier
Had a place for him to stay
And could give him some money
The soldier promised him
He would help him get resettlement benefits
Even though the U.S. government stated
He was not eligible to receive his benefits
Because he did not arrive on a U.S. approved flight

The Vice Interviewer
Learns from the lawyers working for the interpreters
That there is a massive bureaucracy
The Department of Defense doesn't consider them veterans

The soldier tried to get a bill introduced
That would streamline the process
And increases the number of visas
To help the Afghan Interpreters

No legislation regarding immigration was introduced
Because of bickering among Republican members
The program ran out in September of 2014
So now thousands will be stuck in Afghanistan

One interpreter that was interviewed
Was stuck in Afghanistan
Working as a taxi driver
Fearing for his life

Many of the Taliban prisoners
Have been released
Now he fears for his life
He doesn't know what will happen

6,000 applicants
For 280 available visas
As of July 2014

May God bless the Afghan interpreter
Trying to live his life in peace
May God bless the Afghan people
It seems things never change for them

Peter and I will be apart this holiday. So instead of writing a story, I thought I’d interview him.

It’s 8:30 am, Wednesday morning 12.21.22 and we’re having coffee at the Atticus Bookstore Cafe in New Haven, CT. We’ll go our separate, holiday ways after our coffee. I’m going to New York City and Peter’s going to Malibu, California.
I have a few questions on my phone and I’m recording the interview.

Anais: “Ready?”
Peter: “Ready.”

Anais: “How are we alike?”
Peter: “Oh, we’re both planners who know what we want. You’ve got a blueprint of your future and I have my plans - you know, stacked carefully, like dinner plates - but they’ve been a little wobbly since I met you.” He smiles suavely.

Anais: “Nice. How are we different?”
Peter: “Oh, lots of ways. Biologically,” Peter begins, putting his hands over his *******, “my ***** might be bigger.”
Anais: “Ha, I don’t THINK so.” I snarled, but I couldn’t help chuckling. “Seriously!”
Peter: “Well, I think you have more emotions than I do.” I look at him quizzically,
“I’ll suddenly realize you’re crying and wonder if I did something wrong, or you’ll burst out laughing at nothing at all.”
Anais: “You make me sound like a NUT,” I said, “and I don’t cry that much,” I say defensively.
Peter: “No, not if we eliminate TV shows, movies, FaceTime calls or when you’re tired and overworked.”
Anais: “Maybe you’re just emotionally blocked,” I said, irritated.
Peter: “Maybe, but I do love it when you jump off the couch for an impromptu dance, like you can’t contain yourself anymore - and your silliness - I LOVE that.” He smiled, “When we’re studying quietly and you sneak up and jump on me, playing like you’re trying to pin me,” he chuckles.
Anais: “I AM trying to pin you,” I said.
Peter: laughs out loud

Peter shifts toward me.
Anais: “I see you moving in on me,” I said, pointing my pencil at him accusingly, “get back in your seat mister, I’m not THAT kind of interviewer.” I gasped, “What if I were poor, old, near-sighted Barabra Walters? She’d have never seen you coming. Would you have put the move on HER?”
Peter: “I like my women younger”
Me: “Barbara’s about 100 - 99% of the female population is younger - when did you get so picky?”
Peter: “I’ll have you know I’m VERY picky. Is this one of those hit-piece interviews? Do I need my lawyer?”
Me: “You got me off track.” I admit, checking my notes, “other differences?”

Peter: “Well, I’m kind of easy going, in general - lazy faire - but you, you watch everything - it must be exhausting.”
Anais: “I’m sentient,” I admit. “You let people walk all over you - like when they brought you a cold steak at the Plaza?”
Peter: “I didn’t want them taking it back and spitting on it.”
Anais: “If they did that, we’d own the Plaza - besides, that’s why we got you a new steak.”
Peter: “I’ll admit, you make me aware of things I hadn’t noticed, and when you complain, you’re usually right.”
Anais: “Thanks. Any other differences?”

Peter: “The obvious one, you’re a rich girl - we come from different worlds.” He said, touching his lips absentmindedly.” (I’ve been taking psychology classes - that might be a self-soothing gesture).
Anais: “Have you seen that new James Cameron, water-world movie? I come from there.”
Peter: “A world where parents buy their daughters six thousand-dollar prom dresses.”
Anais: “I bought that on SALE,” I said emphatically, “it regularly costs twelve (thousand).”
Peter: “Hazah! You like saving money.”
Anais: “And I didn’t get a FITTING,” I added defensively (because it was on sale).
Peter: “And - you’re a little Sinatra,” he said, wincing and wig-wagging his hand in a so-so way.
Anais: I gasp, “Well THAT’s good to KNOW,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
Peter: “I’m not calling you spoiled,” he shrugged, “you secretly paid your roommate's tuition,” he said soothingly, “THAT’s who you are - generous.”
Anais: “She was working two jobs - for peanuts,” I said softly.
After a quiet moment I began again.

Anais: “What about us?” I ask hesitantly.
Peter: “We’ve become a couple,” He said, smiling, “against all odds and I’ve become comfortable with us being a couple.” He pauses for thought. “Relationships have so many stipulations and rules, and everyone has opinions, but your smiles make me smile, and your sighs and even your yawns make life better.”

Anais: “Do you want a closing statement?”
Peter: “I’m supposed to become a physicist, now that I’ll have my doctoral degree.” He pauses again and puts his hand on my knee. “I’m not sure exactly what that’ll mean - for us - that remains to be seen, but my aunt has a saying, “The universe has so many tricks up its sleeve - love whatever happens.”

I don't work
Yesterday I saw portraits
And impressionist paintings

From the 19th and 18th centuries

I'm at Starbucks today

It's all so strange

Maybe I'll go chip golf *****

Maybe I'll play golf
Tomorrow I'm getting
An oil change

I am 32 and single
And will most likely
Be single for a long time

What's the point
Of this place?

I give some food
Or water
To a random homeless person
When I can

I no longer live at home
But stop by to get food
And do laundry

How will the world end?

The terrorists are at it again

In the Fox interview the
Christian man said
Christians had been silent
Over recent terror attacks

The interviewer asked him
What should be done

He said something
About showing the love
Of Jesus in the world

Well that's great
But the terrorists won't stop

No matter what other
People say
Religious or not

How will the world end?

In a worldwide
Nuclear war?

Search your own heart

The body is weak
Life is fragile

I still have
The same dull frown

I will enjoy a hike perhaps
Or take notes
On "The Soviet Century"

I like to roleplay
In adult chats
As Gal Gadot

It is 6/5/2017

Judge Bristol pronounced his sentence with the following words and said,
"The said William Bonney, alias Kid, alias William Antrim
shall be hanged by the neck until his body be dead, Dead, DEAD!!!"
Shackled Billy left the courthouse smiling, almost as if in glee.
"Why are you smiling?" an interviewer asked him inquisitively.
"What's the point in dwelling on the dreary side of life?" the Kid responded,
"Today the joke is on me."

A true tribute to The Kid's charm, humor and endearing personality.
The above is not legend. The above is true documented history.

The Sunni minority were marginalized

Sectarian killings were commonplace
In 2012 alone,
There were more than 1,600 deaths

The interviewer talked to a motorcycle gang
They said they wanted freedom

But some said they missed the way things were
Under Saddam Hussein
Some would trade the freedom they had
For the stability of Hussein's regime

The Shiah cleric
Says there is an assault on Iraq
Exemplified by the copying of corrupt Western culture.

The cleric wanted to eliminate American influence
Of any kind

Checkpoints make getting
Around the city a hassle

Subcultures in Iraq are under attack
Rap, metal, emo, and classical
All are looked down on

Gays are persecuted

The military uses a faulty device
That is supposed to detect bombs
But has been proven not at all effective

The city exists between extremes
There is the religious extreme
And people who want to be westernized
Without understanding what that is

The infrastructure was ruined by the war
Hopefully life will get better
As they continue to rebuild the infrastructuree

1
just watched the news
my morning ritual

2
today’s news, as  I saw it
(today and this week)
as I heard them all interviewees
them politicians, men of God,
holy ones and pure ones
organizers and statesmen and entertainers
and various personalities,
they all used sincerity terms:
“….to be honest,” one said…”to be frank…,” said another
And yet another: “I’ll be frank with you….”
“Well, frankly speaking,” declared one eminent person…

You wish the interviewer
would interrupt and say:
“You mean you haven’t been honest till now?”

3
and yet, frankly speaking,
that’s not news;
that’s old wearied news
for I’ve heard that from 1960’s
since I started watching interviewees,
to be honest

Western Forces
Are not leaving behind
A stable country
With a government able to protect
Its own people

Hospitals at max capacity
Children with skull injuries

The doctor laughs
When the interviewer asks him
If life has improved
Nothing has changed for the people!

I guess it will always be this way on earth
Fighting and killing
Evil people doing evil acts

Good people try to do what is good in the eyes of God

May God help the Afghan people
Who have suffered so much

Tell me about yourself
Interviewer asks a girl
What exactly she has to say
To get the job
She started with her name
Academic career details
She came up with achievements
Questionnaire asked about her
Positives and negatives
She said
My positives
I am punctual and regular
My negatives
When I am busy I will
Ignore surroundings around
Why this job
She replied
This was my dream company
And conversation continued
With series of questions and responses

Never understood
How to write a full
Sentence,

But did figure out
How to put down
Random silly syllables
In just a  minute,

Never figured out
How to play the flute,

But i did learn how
To pick fruit,

Caught a cricket
Never understood
The game cricket,

To my dearest
Never meant to make you
Cry or break your spirit...

That was my younger self,
I've grown and have learned
New ways to carry myself,


I know you'll never rest your
Eyes on this...

This being a poem i wrote
Well
More typed on my phone

While you was in the back
Of my dome,

I know I'll never aton
For the actions i have sewn,

Just know my shoes
I walked in
holding your hands

I've out grown,

I have became a different
man,

I'm sorry for not telling you
That ever time i looked
In your eyes i drowned,
They where so blue they
would remind a pirate
Why he loves the ocean,

That Sunday nothing
but loud lust moaning
this Sunday nothing
but silence,

I do regret the
choices I have chosen,

I'll end it there

For my memories
found a way
through the catacombs,

But my bowman took them
Out thank goodness,

He who took the shoot
Shall be my
yeoman,

Honor killed the Shogun

Snowman left in the snow
Was abandoned,

Young girls heart was stolen,

So much stress took a
Nap fell asleep on
the cushion,

I'm living the life of a

foreigner,

Cant understand no one
Working for a dollar
Selling my so called freedom,

Thinking of home..

Falling in love with a woman
Often,

Fortune lady try to tell me my fortune i said
" no thanks for you
can not tell me my own future"

If you did it would
just be a rumor,

Woke up late cause the
Cougar killed the rooster,

Didn't see it so i guess that
Makes me the accuser,

Gotta find it put her in
The scope and remover,

But if a shark did it
I guess I'll have to harpooner,

Get blood on my carpet
I'll have to shampooer,

Either way I'll have to
**** the evildoer,

But probably offer her
A job and interviewer,

Fall in love and Honeymooner,

Find a cloning factory and
reproducer,

But i got a better manoeuvre,

I'll go to church
and scream Hallelujah,

Hopefully that'll be one
Step closer to get the doors
To heaven to open,

Dose this count as a poem??

|Ʒ = ß / unicorn with curves... as the title suggests / indicates...
        let's leave it to the equivalence of the transgender movement...
i.e. smoothing out the flit "phalluses" of print...
                  Ʒ? it's an archaic form of Z...
           sure... it looks like a 3... an ω (omega) /
                       a w (double u, that's actually an Ł)
                           shifted to the right...
                             or the chiral form of Σ (sigma) -
              but never mind... Ʒ? it's an archaic form
  of the simplified letter... later known as z...
        (zee? zed? whatever)...
                        then encompassing a stressor...
    hence            |Ʒ = ß...
                     only because the | = s...
                                                     you need something
like a mandible jaw... you need something that bends...
              of course that requires the Ʒ to bend into ß...
but that requires the | to bend it into the required shape.

................................................................­...............

    sometimes you just really need a drink,
   and a cigarette... and fiddling with a toothpick
in your mouth... and laughing at a newspaper article...
and then taking to seriousness
                   regarding the future monarch that's
charles iii...
                         and then continue laughing...
              god... what a demanding form of exercise!

......................................................­................................

wait..

it took only one video, and the interviewer
simply saying the word: jester...
     which i heard and interpreted
                                     as gesture..
                    jesture vs. gesture vs. jester?
the content of my concern doesn't really
matter...
                                it's not really about
jan matejko's stańczyk / harlequin...
  but it really is...
                                             just here...
                          the loss of humour...
         the joke turned sour... at this crucible
does the story begin... if it ever begun in the first
place...
                     it was only concernign someone
saying jester like he might said gesture -
like some ******* etiquette standard...
                                            j instead of g? w.t.f.?
so this article about "kind" charles the 3rd...
      an italian cat burglar by the name on
                 renato rinino... and there's me going
on a ******...
                                   nurse!                 scalpel!
i really need to cut this **** up!              why?
                   so people can time it proper!
   rénato ríníno / rénato ríníño                 (rinianio)
           (missing H here... missing i / j there)
   you get the picture.
              what are diacritics? clear syllable
                                        indicators...
nothing more... nothing less...
                           punctuation marks from heaven,
if you can pardon the expression.
                 for example?
a word:                                  exuberant...
   there are alternatives!
    e.g. exhuberant -
                      maybe that's why
   they call john:    juan
                                      hoo? anne?
  who?                     ANNE you *******!
but imagine it applied as direction
for syllable arithmetic... syllables can have
an arithemtic application reticent -
                                      and that really is the right
word to use...
                              but applying diacritical  marks
is a bit like: having punctuation marks?
                            it begun with being pompous
over i and j... afterwards it didn't really spread
anywhere else...
                   but look it at in this way...
coming from the word exuberant...
    now you write it as: éxuberant...
  the acute e is something that indicates
              the equivalent of a cascade
      that a non-diacritical language (that's english)
                 concerns itself:
i.e.                     e'xuberant....
             the comma above, rather than on the floor
in between words...
                or what's missing to suggest rhythm
of syllables to construct words...
      éxuberant is easier to pronounce than exuberant,
because? where's the cut-in point?
    and where's the waterfall?
                 diacritical marks allow you to
digest english, as it is, compound forming
                            with a hyphenated consideration...
     diacritical marks can act as prefixes...
                        +h...
                                                   eh? no! gsu-berant.
talk about X
                                           g   s
                                              X
                                           u   ooooooo and maybe k;
ergo... also a c.
    diacritical marks! clear syllable indictors
to perform a linguistic dissection -
                     call them the overlords of comma, hyphen
and semi-colon and all the other punctuation marks!
        i go z and you go?                                    S! S!
            rasberry beret - gsoo-berant... (g)nome...
                             in a (g)nostic diagnostic mode,
e.g. mate... you have cancer (doctor)
                                            (patient) well... "oops";
****! this is high-brow ****...
                it feels a bit like an evening at the oh-pe'h-ra'h:
i'm starting to think that the tetragrammaton rule
suggests: the H prolongs the vowels...
   so you get an macron residing over them...
            like the halo in the depiction of saints;
unless you also think that's the depiction of hands
clasping in a signature of prayer:
                              fondling the word, amen /
                                                             a(h)men /
                                                               āmen.

You nurture my blood and filled it with contents from the sky
When I undress my skin it is not in danger it is in alienation  it is reality
The interviewer asked if I neglected why little Richard provoked one black emptiness #Your final silence in middle school was Kenny G's lawlessness
When you lose a moon it blinds like trayvon
But the moon is like a piece of your body removed called decoded

There's a myth that when you finish
a good book, the author dies for you.
At least, I often feel a sense of loss.
I was near the end of a fine book of essays.
I heard the author was dying, incurable.

Famous mass media man, favoured
by the more selective viewers, journalist,
interviewer, novellist, cultured critic,
humourist, philosopher, a thinker's man.

Ought I to have read that final essay,
defy the myth? Next day I scanned
the papers. His death was not reported.
I trust we both breathed normally again.

He experienced a great loss
His wife
She jumped
Off of a building
May she rest in peace

He tried to help her
Pills and more pills

Why, why did she do it?
He must have asked himself
Driven
Far, far, away

Iceman goes
Goes into the wilderness
Of his native land

The biting cold
The sharp air
The plunge into
Deep waters of despair

He had dug a hole in the ice
And it was under the ice
That he swam
A rope secured him

His retina froze
And for a moment
He said he reached a deeper consciousness

He learned to manufacture
Adrenaline
Hyperventilating
And taking in more air
Than he let out

He has been in the HImalayas
In his shorts

And holds the world record
Of being able to be submerged
in icecold water
For two hours up to his neck

These are his records
But it is not for his records
That we should admire him

But for his desire to help others
Who had their own health problems
He helped them face their own problems

One man had cancer
He talked of how empowering this was
Not that he could be cured
But that he could do something now
To fight

And these people they jumped together
In the snow
In the freezing cold
In their shorts

And the interviewer
He climbed
He climbed with the iceman
Up the mountain
No shirt, just shorts
In the freezing cold

The iceman said it himself
It is love
He wanted to bring love
Through a strong body
And a strong mind
And this love that he showed
To people

Through his method
Empowered them
Strengthened them

I admire you iceman
And though
As a man of Tao
I would never hyperventilate
Or control my breath

I would venture into the cold with you
I would climb with you
Upon those mountains

I would swim with you
In the icy water

It would be good to know you
Good to know you

And as you suffered from loneliness
When your wife passed
I suffer from loneliness too

American life is so isolating

Maybe after we will share some tea together
You were right all along iceman
To show each other love

All we can do
On earth
This difficult place

A reporter interviewing
an old lady, who killed her husband
by giving poisoned  milkshake
Interviewer, "don't you feel BAD? When you gave poisoned milkshake to your old husband. "
She replied, "of course, Yess... When he asked one more glass..."

Arrived for my annual physical
Sat in the doctor's office for 30 minutes
Finally called to the window to consult with the clerk
Who informed me that I had no appointment.
Interesting? I told her that I was there for my annual physical which I had scheduled over the phone.
"Ah, that is next week" she informed me.  
I was a week early
The good side was that all my paperwork was filled out.
I had another week to develop new ageing symptoms,
An opportunity to have more thoughts as to what to discuss with the doctor
One week to improve my eating habits, reduce cholesterol, exercise more and
I have a whole seven days to do it.
After I left and was listening to the radio I heard an interview by Bobby Osborne who wrote the song "Rocky Top."  
Bobby is in his 80's and the interviewer asked to what he could attribute his old age.
Bobby answered "Alcohol, drugs and exercise."
The commentator says don't you mean avoiding those and Bobby answered "Yes."
Well, Bobby, I think I will just continue the alcohol and the exercise
Both in moderation.
Maybe my memory will improve and I will get to my doctor's
Appointment next week.

I wish I could meet him
Have a heart to heart
Ask a few questions and talk it out
I'll be the interviewer
You be Theresa May lie about strong and stable til you're blue in the face
"Why me?" I ask
You slip on your words and I swear I hear you say
"You've got to understand i only plague the mind of the strong and we need to learn to get along"
I sit up at the edge of my bed questioning why I'm talking to myself  
I'm not that gone yet.
I'll find the common strength to overcome myself .

See the Broken Grace of Leonard Cohen
Published by Sightings
At the University of Chicago Divinity School

I'm here
To entertain
To play ukelele while
****** addicts in Prague score plump ***** poppies
Under a lazy summer sun
And their flirtations with death and their pursuit of high doses of deep oblivion
Are reduced to a journalist's article submission and the breathing, sweating, bleeding men and women are now
Still lights and colors in an image we can cast blank stares at
I play guitar
And the sound of riots that burned and looted chunks of Baltimore is now poignant accompaniement
For my dainty melodies
The hurling of insults, bottles and teargas
Are just the blazes of Rome for my fiddle
I'm here
As your fellow Rwandan and neighbor
to **** your daughter when our party has declared war upon yours
To chase you and your surviving family with machetes through the thick marshes that surround our farms
And then later mold that nightmarish scenery into a short video in which I
Beg you and the world for the sweet relief of forgiveness
In the background
I'll play a grand piano
I'm calling you
To perform my executive duty and express my heartfelt condolences for the death of your young husband
Whose name I've already forgotten and need to ask you for
Your reaction will be televised between toilet paper advertisements and blatant social conditioning

The pretty melody will continue throughout the daily openings of
Hands
arms
legs
eyes
mouths
cans
boxes
doors
gates
hearts
minds
And I'm not bitter or mad and I dont want you to be either
You think I'll leave you because a client got you pregnant but I wont
I'm here to take care of you in your 60usd hotel room when youre too sick to work
I'm still holding you tight after your close friend overdosed in the bathroom and died
I'm keeping my composure when the interviewer casually asks me if I hate everyone who doesn't look like me
I'm cheating all of my factory workers out of ever getting paid well
And then I'm sending them overseas to steal the jobs of college grads we hired
I'm being born while hundreds of people drown on the MS Estonia
And I'm dying from choking on a salty tortilla chip

Yet Still
The notes will calmly drift
Amidst the gunfire between rebels and regime in the rubble-laden deserts of Syria
Amidst the firm commands from Green Beret cadre to candidate in the lush woods of Camp Mackall
Through the inconviently fatal exit wounds in my teenaged chest
and the large caliber bullet holes in cheap beer cans I'm shooting for practice
I'm not telling you this so you can squeeze our experiences into a mondo film that ego-tripping critics will loathe
I just want you to not fixate so harshly on the particulars of how the codes you crack end someone's life on the other side of the world
And realize for a moment how many of your relationships are just thinly veiled plays made between you and your rut-enabling neuro transmitter dealer
I just want you to walk across this beautiful, extraordinary earth where giant beasts stomped and loving parents were murdered
Walk right over to where I am
And strum these strings
Entertain
While this world lives and breathes and pukes and cries and sings

"AHHHH PADDY IS IT YOURSELF THAT'S IN IT?"
( In memory of Paddy Kavanagh )

"Howya Paddy!"
I address him
in the friendleist of terms

Paddy doesn't say a word
as not only is he dead
but a statue into the bargain

I switch to
thought-thinking
"Ahh that's better!" snaps Paddy

"I suppose ya couldn't
wipe that pigeon poo
from my left eye?"

he clocks on that
today I am
bicycle-less

"Where's the wheels?"
he asks gruffly
"Dead!" I almost cry  

"Dead is it
ya don't tell me!"
"Dead surely!"


"Cycling to an interview
I was so I was
and a posh car knocked me down!"

"Terrible,,,terrible!" Paddy sighs
"But sure tell me
did ya get the auld job!"

"Indeed I didn't and sure
wasn't it the interviewer
that knocked me down!"

"No...no!" he whistles
through his teeth
I hoosh a pigen off his head

we had a bit of a contretemps
about signalling
I said I had...he said I hadn't

"Listen..." says the statue softly
a drop of rain
landing on his chin

"Ya wouldn't read
one of me poems
ta me....would ya?"

"I would to be sure
sure isn't that the why
I've come here today!"

and so I begin
the daily ritual
turning my voice into his words

"Every old man I see..."
and I see his old ghost smile
"In October-coloured weather"

Seems to
say to me
I was once your father"

"Ahhh!" the statue says to me
"Yer a grand man...a grand man
so ya are!"