A seventy year old woman is waiting at her physician's office in a hospital gown. Her name is called by a secretary, and she calmly gets up to walk to the desk. She is told that her doctor is waiting to speak with her in his office, where he has the clothes she arrived in.
After some time, she exits the office in her dress, shawl, and shoes. She is clutching a manilla envelope. She is wide-eyed, calm, and content. Her face glistens with the fresh residue of tears.
The woman's granddaughter is waiting in her sedan, parked in an adjacent parking structure. She is listening to music on the radio. The woman shuffles to the passenger seat door and enters the car. The granddaughter instinctively starts the car and begins backing out of the parking space. As they're leaving the parking structure, the granddaughter notices the manilla envelope held by the woman. She stares at it, missing her signal to turn onto the road. She ***** her head back forward, and her lip quivers before gradually morphing to a smile. She turns off the radio before continuing their trip home.
The woman enjoys many nights with her relatives and friends, hosting dinner parties and being treated to recreational outings.
When the woman meets friendly acquaintances or loved ones in public, they always deliberately congratulate her before swiftly and gracefully continuing their conversation as normal.
One month after the previous doctor's visit, the woman is awakened by breakfast in bed, prepared by her daughter and granddaughter who are both doing their best to contain their beaming excitement.
"These deviled eggs are wonderful. I knew you would share the skills I taught your mother."
The woman's daughter asks her if she'd like some privacy.
"Oh, no. The more the merrier! I almost couldn't sleep with how much I wondered who would be standing in my kitchen right now. Feel free to let them in, just one at a time at first if you wouldn't mind."
The woman's daughter exhaled in delightful affirmation, and obliged. The daughter and granddaughter left the woman's bedroom.
A tall man named Harvey with white hair, a scully cap, and glasses put down a mimosa that he was nursing onto the kitchen counter. He smirks when he notices the woman's daughter nodding loudly as she walks towards the crowd. Harvey turns to the rest of the small, tight-knit crowd who are enjoying each other's company in the kitchen. He pardons his interruption, asking if they mind that he go first. Empathetically, everyone in the room encourages him to proceed.
Harvey enters the woman's room.
"Oh my lord! I wish I'd finished that script!"
Harvey chuckles at the woman's remark, bending over to hug her in her bed. The woman gleefully reciprocates, with a grape still bouncing around her mouth.
"You know, I give you full permission here on out to use or adapt anything in my vault. Consider it my retirement gift. If you need to talk to any of the new people to get the rights, just call Diane about it first. She'll straighten it all out."
Harvey praises the woman's work, saying he couldn't do any of it justice. He thanks her for the gesture, but says it won't be necessary. They spend almost fifteen minutes reminiscing with one another.
He asks her how she's feeling.
"Great, actually. Now that I've had more time to process all my feelings recently, especially with everyone else, I feel more dignified. I feel ready for what's to come. I'm surprised we're one of the few cultures of this world that do this. I always knew that this is how we meant it to be, but I was still scared of the future and didn't quite trust the process. Now I'm confident since I've felt that the process is itself trusting me. Does that make any sense?"
Harvey thinks it does. He asks if the woman would like to speak to some of the others, and she agrees.
Over the course of ninety minutes, a hearty handful of relatives and close friends visit the woman in her room in small groups, thanking her for everything they've given them and receiving her own loving compliments in response.
After everyone's spoken to her individually, they all excitedly rendezvous in the kitchen with a pastor. The last of a charcuterie board is picked at by the younger attendees while the daughter speaks to the pastor, who arrived within the past half hour. The daughter is nervously trying to clarify procedural details with the pastor, but the pastor replies speedily and in a reassuring tone.
All the visitors file back into the woman's bedroom, lining the perimeter and encircling her bed. The pastor proudly strides to the center of the room, facing the woman who is practically glowing with honor.
The pastor introduces himself out of formality to the room, but with an infectious sense of levity in acknowledgement that everyone's already acquainted with him. He thanks the woman for electing him to be the officiant of this traditional meeting. He joyously espouses a soliloquy of his personal admirations for the woman, recounting their bonding memories. He acknowledges the mutual love in the room, recognizing those in attendance.
He reaches a cadence, announcing that everyone is gathered in this room today to deliver a greeting of congratulations-in regards to some landmark information-to the woman.
The pastor looks directly at the woman and calmly says "congratulations, Eve. You're dying."
"I AM?!?!"
Grape juice leaks onto her blouse from the side of her mouth.
Jul 25, 2022
Jul 25, 2022 at 11:32 PM UTC
In adolescence, I saw Jupiter.
He was alluring in the dark,
offering smoke and excitement.
We danced and cackled through the high,
pointing fingers and lashing out
to bolster ourselves.
I found my peace without entropy,
and he moved away to chase more confrontation,
revelling in the name of darkness.
In adulthood, I saw jupiter.
She was attractive in the light,
delivering analysis and closure.
We entwined and consoled through the anxiety,
turning noses and quietly denouncing,
to bolster ourselves.
I found my peace without entropy,
and she moved away to chase more condemnation,
revelling in the name of light.
In my future I will see jupiter:
distant, and still boiling.
It may visit me again,
revolving to show either its dark or light sides,
but i will refuse its entropy
with no need to bolster myself.
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 6:25 PM UTC
Many young will start running as soon as possible.
They'll jump and trip,
blaming the terrain for their gaffs as they pull themselves so close to it.
Many old won't push themselves.
They'll crawl the ravines,
avoiding any rock that might slip out from under them.
Some will slow their pace with interest, but also charge through the plains,
stopping to observe every natural cave and canal,
learning to embrace untouched tundras, unforgiving cliffs, and the inevitable.
For there is no guarantee in boldness or caution,
only necessity in openness.
May 26, 2020
May 26, 2020 at 1:34 AM UTC
the big bang was the origin of the greatest fractal that will ever exist
everything is the logical conclusion of everything that came before it, eternally entropying into a complete expression
for every pattern, its hosts have unique traits
this deterministic totality cannot discourage us from forging our marks
actualizing change is the destiny of every branch of the fractal in carrying out its life
but we can also not be hurt by the blame that comes from losing sight of this great machination that encapsulates us all
May 18, 2020
May 18, 2020 at 10:38 PM UTC
He walked away
She screamed that he is weak
and he walked away
Apr 19, 2020
Apr 19, 2020 at 10:02 PM UTC
I won't get mad
but what I see of you will shrink as our distance grows wider
The allure of the tide was too strong for me, like many
The water is soothing, especially when it drowns my ears
And the certainty of its repetitive nature is comfortable
I spent my life feeling its waves for momentary relief, leading to cold abandon when it pulled away
You never got wet, and I hope you never do, bright and resilient
I gave in
Inevitable after dipping into it for so long
I know I am being pulled away
I know I will never be back
I know you will never stand with me
I know you won't, and shouldn't
I may only know shade
When you still bear sunlight
I may become the water
And I may curse the sand
I just need you to know that you didn't push me into the ocean
It had already taken me
Mar 14, 2020
Mar 14, 2020 at 9:39 AM UTC
The more people leave happy today, the more will come back tomorrow.
They want to see my marble
reaching towards them
but not too close.
They want to see what speaks to them
and to feel like they're learning
but nothing too different.
Their expectations are all unique
wondering where it stands
and to whom it stares.
I would love to create just one opus
to contain all of my concepts
standing as a self symbol.
But no one can view it identically
from the same vantage point
or the same lighting.
If I can't standardize their experience
then how can I direct attention
and guarantee my impact?
Every patron will see a new sculpture
It will pose differently enough
to fit their perspective.
The sculpture will appear still
unchanging with time
as if eternal.
The fewer people watching my sculptures form, the fewer will doubt their reality.
That isolation is the price of living in the museum.
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 9:23 PM UTC
i walk on the edge of the crowd, seeing you all in it.
trying to connect, i spill my stories.
i pull you out of the current and we tell tales.
letting you into my mind is its own reward,
though i wouldn't mind peeking into yours.
having seen the machines inside you i'm consoled
knowing i'm not alone in my bitter automaton.
but now the crowd migrates without you.
rushing to get back to your place, regain pace.
memories are missed with the time lost,
and you had to work to reclaim space.
i don't want to hold back those i admired in the first place.
back outside the tide, i resist the urge to dive.
gazing at the faces and imagining their insides.
then i catch others staring back, continuing on
scanning me as if from outside the swarm.
we're all on edges of the crowd, seeing each other fit.
Dec 30, 2019
Dec 30, 2019 at 11:36 AM UTC
hold my tongue
with your weathered, learned teeth.
stop me from biting again.
as much as i yearn to impress
my throat onto your heads,
my orator just runs to the press.
so yet again your wings outstretched,
making my shade not to burn like you have,
and to keep your gut in the cold.
looking up from rest to your gaze,
my weight on you sustaining
that phantom limb's need to lift.
is this muscle meant to be trained,
or shouldn't we need it in the first place?
i could let these bottles float on
if i just swam along in the current,
but that would reduce their stories to pawns.
or i could show them my scrolls
and compare our notes,
but they can't bear the critique.
so, when we visit the rat, we sleep
as not to stir the vermin progeny.
but on the other hand i throw myself
in the way of your restless beak.
i may be hanging back as we all navigate these trails
but i know i'm pulling your hands
to try and steer where you lead.
Dec 22, 2019
Dec 22, 2019 at 10:30 AM UTC
When I talk, I'm performing
When I listen, I'm performing
When I ask, I'm performing
When I laugh, I'm performing
When I play, I'm performing
When I watch, I'm performing
When I teach, I'm performing
When I learn, I'm performing
When I touch, I'm performing
When I kiss, I'm performing
When I **** I'm performing
When I rest, I'm performing
But when I perform,
When I perform I'm talking, I'm listening, I'm asking, I'm laughing, I'm playing, I'm watching, I'm teaching, I'm learning, I'm touching, I'm kissing, I'm ******* and I'm resting.
Oh, how I am resting.
Until you're not here,
then I've traded my mouth for my nature.
Metering expressions for a tireless repose,
acting to be for not being to act.
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 5:12 PM UTC