My boyfriend Peter’s like smoke, he’s elusive. He doesn’t always carry his phone.

There’s a crosswalk in Tokyo, it’s in all the movies. The light changes and hundreds of people walking in different directions meet - but they don’t collide - they make room for each other, flowing around each other like water.

Peter and I make room for each other. Then we come together and we make something. We’re of such different textures - we come from stark counterpoints but somehow, we mesh.

He’s the first person I go to with an idea because I trust him and I think he understands me. He’s my secret weapon. His advice is a coin I’m careful with.

He’s gone through the long slog and achieved a dream. And he did it poor. He fought a guerilla war with almost no resources. He lived in crowded spaces, existed on Ramen noodles and saltine crackers, taking any job to cover.

He’s practical, goal oriented and he can be unsympathetic. He’ll whisper, “Nutup up, tinkerbell - you’re such a baby,” but there's a supportive energy to it - and he’s usually right. He heralds a reality I’m not always used to.

Anyway, he was smoky tonight. I couldn’t reach him. Sometimes we go over a week without talking (I'm not always reachable either) and when we do, it feels intimate and victory-like.
.
.
Song for this:
Come in from the cold by Marc Broussard
One Two Three by Hooverphonic

Can you make a friend— like a craft project?
I know, I hear this parental voice, “just be yourself.”

All of my classes this semester will be in one building, but I’m a control freak, I wanted to walk my schedule, go class to class, like I will on my first day. I have a locker too—this is so high school—but I wanted to find it, try the combination and plan what I’ll carry. I have questions too, like how’s the wi-fi, are there charging outlets, and where can I get coffee?

Orientation is Tuesday—but who can wait until Tuesday? Classes start Wednesday.  I’d never sleep this weekend with so many questions. I’m already having dreams where I’m lost, late and embarrassed.

So there I was, this morning, dressed for class with my green messenger bag—doing it—schedule in hand. I went into a small auditorium with cushioned, crimson, theater seating—where my first class will be—and there’s this other girl, dressed for class, schedule in hand.

We were like twins, except she’s tall and black and I’m not. Right off she commanded me, handing me her phone, no preamble, no “How do you do,” to “Take my picture.”
Of course, I obeyed, I’m not from outer space. I burst 50 quick frames, as she slightly varied her pose and she did likewise for me.

Her name is Chella and she graduated from Yale last week too, with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs.’ I think I saw her on campus once or twice but our paths had never directly crossed.
“But IS "Global Affairs" a science degree?” I asked skeptically.
“Probably not,” she answered, “but some of us can live with ambiguity.”
Her first direct, commanding phrase limns her personality perfectly.
Yeah, we hit it right off.
.
.
Songs for this:
Cruel To Be Kind by Letters to Cleo
Perfect Day by Povo
Are You Trying to Be Funny? by Everything But the Girl

Senryus about those
capricious creatures that rule
over our lives - our moms.

Studying. My phone
beeps, I look at it - mom says,
- "you've been texting!" Argh!

Mom: "Why is it - that
everything is on the floor?"
Me: thinking... "gravity?"

"SORRY!, how could I
know answering your question
would be talking back??"

My mom can hear me
mumble a mile away but
can't hear me yell "what"?

In my experience, most adults have “vanity walls”, usually in their offices, where they hang diplomas, awards, certificates and important pictures. Most parents I know have them.

I like to look carefully at those momentos - they’re like breadcrumbs tracing back through their lives. Some items are expected while others are extraordinary - like pictures of Lisa’s dad playing golf and laughing with famous people.

“It’s a very particular kind of vanity.” Lisa’s dad said, from in back of me, from his office doorway. I almost jumped in surprise - I definitely flinched. I’d become so absorbed in examining his wall that I’d unconsciously inched into his space, like someone stealing into a closed museum exhibit.

I flushed with embarrassment, ”No,” I said, making a hand gesture that swept the area. “I LOVE these kinds of things - I couldn’t resist - I’m sorry!”

He made a “Pssshtt” sound and waved his hand, “You make yourself at home.”

“I want to have a wall someday,” I said. He smilingly turned and with a little backward wave, said, “You will,” as he strolled off to the kitchen, leaving me to continue my tour.

I will.

Already back in class.
Wow, the Holidays went fast.

Wasn’t Black Friday great?
‘Bargains,’ make my heart race
and the Internet’s my kind of place.
I can dead-on shop this time of year,
shamelessly, without the fear
that someone will be judging me.
I make some ‘passing effort’ to be frugal,
that’s what ‘black Friday’ sales are for—and google.
I bought my suitemates those techie gifts, to guarantee,
that they’ll meet with their approval.
.
.
A Christmas playlist for this:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_21.mp3

Wow, it turns out Trump was right.
I saw it on “the Onion” - posted overnight.

Scientists woke up today and the virus
was simply gone - the miracle - has happened.
And they said that Trump was wrong!

The once dying - started laughing
first responders broke into song
patients shrugged off ventilators
they can go back home where they belong.

That God has been so merciful
is a story ripped from scripture
and since Trump - the antichrist - is here
we can move on to the rapture!

I think he’s into you.
Why didn’t you talk to him?
“I was trying to make a good impression.”

Here are more Senryu
poems about friendships.
Those who are your crew =]

Parents give advice
but our friends, knowing more, have
usable answers.

We laugh at the same
moments - at home, school, or play
- we have shared viewpoints.

We laugh at how we
won’t turn into our moms
but we know we will.

We share so many
inside jokes - we speak
our own language.

I can be obsessive. For instance, last night I needed a command hook.
My mind couldn’t focus on “Principles of Biostatistics,” as fascinating as that book is, because I needed this $3 command hook to hang my keys by the door.

There’s a table by the door, I could easily put my keys there, but no. That’s where books go (am I too picky?). What’s funny is, I’d just been reading about ‘bias mitigation,' ya know, science is everywhere.

Still, I searched the boxes that I hadn’t unpacked
I looked around them too, did one fall in a crack?
Did I have one to begin with? I couldn’t keep track.

I texted Charles (across the hall), “do you have a command hook?”
“A what?” he replied. So I texted his wife, who went to look.
When she didn’t have one, I went back to my book.

The chapter was about ‘probability distributions as tools for managing uncertainty.’ How topical, here I was, uncertain about when I’d get that command hook. Never mind an indifferent God, science is obviously listening.

It was nearly midnight. I wondered, how late Door-Dash delivered?
Would they bring my hook or were there other services I should consider?
What about Amazon, Target or WalMart—could one of those be a winner?

In the end I had to do without—I gave up at 1am.
The miracle of capitalism had failed me—****.

I could study with the hook off my mind. So, I set an Alexa reminder,
an alarm on my watch and alerts on my iPhone and MacBook finder,
then I wrote a pink post-it note, and put that on my epidemiology binder.

I have a standing, pre-dawn jog with Charles, and an idea forming.
If we passed an open convenience store, I could buy one in the morning!
.
.
Songs for this:
I Want You by Bob Dylan
I need you by Jon Batiste

🎆🎇 Happy 4th! Everyone! 🎇🎆

It’s summer, hurry up. Let’s not waste a minute.
Where’s the sunscreen, where’s the party, who’s knutching who?

The sky was crowded with bright, balloon stratocumulus clouds, hanging mountain-like in the air. How can something that big just float in the sky? Either the Greek gods are holding them up, or they defy reason.

So, we’re in Athens, Georgia and apparently, Lisa, Kim, Bili, Leong and I are ‘too much club.’
We’re insuperable - too rowdy, too loud, too late, we laugh too much, hand-ringing about haircuts, shoes and romantic connections.

Sorry, if we’re not co-signing for everyone’s existential angst - we’re 5 girls on vacation.

Well, except Leong, she’s just joined us - fresh from Macau China. She’s got dark-takes on the world situation, saying things like, “enjoy it while it lasts.” I tried to explain the evils of nihilism - how once you let nihilism materialize, it’s a fog that swallows you.

If you read the news - which is geared toward the grisly - it’s only going to tap you out. There are too many issues. Our group is a mix - a salad of feminism, environmentalism, stoicism - we’re ism’d out. We’re Asian, black, southern, liberal and communist, woke and anti-woke - what we DO have in common is - we’re summarized.

‘Summarized’ Americans, swim all day and sit by the pool all night talking and catching up. We also water ski, shop, roller sk8, play frisbee golf, go out to dinner and pull-out-the-stops for a party now and then.

Some nights, we stream ‘Suits’ and make emo-boy sexualized comments when Meghan comes on - but we like her - more or less - let her take her shot. Marry that complicated princeling and let every moment be drama.

Since the school year’s measured in work, let’s measure summer by fun and silly drama.
Dillio?
.
.
A song for this:
Fools Rush In (Where Angels Fear To Tread) by Bow Wow Wow
Family Affair (feat. Alan Scaffardi) by Papik

Pay Shylock his pound
of flesh, give Richard his horse,
let Juliet love anew.

Let go of the ghost -
Shakespeare’s doomed heroes
- pronounce them all dead.

Fight no more battles,
release strings so puppets
finish their dance.

Dismiss the actors,
set horses to pasture,
lower the curtains.

Ever-refreshed
villainy, once banished,
has taken new stages.

Human suffering,
in concert - you won't miss it
- it comes to you.

You begin your journey lonely beyond imagination - an emotional place I can barely begin to describe to the uninitiated.

Your body, primed by puberty, has these new, natural abilities - you develop these secret ambitions for yourself that push you hard.

You search for that someone. To use the technical term you “kiss a few frogs” to fine tune the impossibly fragile internal instruments that detect the elusive, magical “it.”

You pretend you’ve simply struck up friendships, the girl and the boy. It can’t last, this state of congenial denial - there are too many unspoken pressures - the suspense weighs on you both

Doink! A text knocks at my phone and I fish for it in my backpack purse

Looking at the name, I shiver. “Oh, yeah,” I think, “THAT’S not going to happen.”

But I am, for a moment, pulled back in memory to early mistakes.

At the time we met - I, of course, was looking for love - or more like a confirmation that I was lovable to someone who had experiences. He was just taking me to parties and trying to get in my pants.

So you could say we met at the busy intersection of realities and we became entangled at the invisible speed of hummingbird wings.

He was charming in an “I don’t care” way - because he wasn’t a great actor and he didn’t care. Careless is the perfect word for our relationship. He was like an out of towner at some rowdy conference with one eye on the exit.

I thought, for a hot minute, that he knew something about the world that I needed to know. I teased him, pressing for details about girls he’d slept with and in general mined him for ****** stories, tidbits, truths and lies. He pressed me for new stories to tell.

I wasn’t “myself” with him either. I was difficult but sincere and vulnerable because, at that point, I couldn’t commit fully - if you know what I mean - and didn’t know HOW to not care. Yet, I was trying to be what I thought an older guy would want. Maybe I should have worn a sign: “caution: imagination in progress”.

Memories. *shiver

I love a long holiday and as a general rule
you’ll find me out by a turquoise pool
cause it’s hot outside and I’m nobody's fool.

Closing my eyes I lazily daydream
listening to my favorite musical streams
umbrella shaded from harsh sunbeams.

I’ve put away polemic school assignments
for leisure and tastier desultory refinements
like buffalo wings, pizza and ***** martinis
and the barely there cool of a string bikini.
.
.
Songs for this:
Digging your scene by Ivy
The Big Sky (Special Single Mix) by Kate Bush
Can't Be Like This Forever by The Moving Stills

First outings (not a date exactly).
someone you’re impressed with.
You trot out your best anecdotes
and venture small confidences.

You have to decide which “you” to show
- the serious-seeming student, the ditz,
the pianist, the Tom Brady fan, the writer.

He does an impression of Tom Hanks
that was very good and very funny.
“It could have been worse,” I said,
but he knew what I meant.
“It’s my party trick,” he said.

I thought of a long ago prom after-party
- a guy removing my earrings with his tongue -
sending chills up and down me and grinning with pearls in his lips.

We’re here, in the new, the now
but we’re married to memories.

Painters strive for the perfect stroke
Comedians look for the perfect joke
Writers seek to engage or provoke
**** stars strain for the perfect poke
Students grind, hoping they won’t choke
Trump derides his conviction as a hoax
Yachtsmen yearn for the perfect boat
Social climbers aspire to be bespoke
Politicians pretend to be regular folk
Workers yearn to throw off their yoke
Golfers train for a consistent stroke
Flyers pray their Boeing isn’t broke
Stoners want the ultimate ****
A smile is what I want to provoke
.
.
A song for this:
Good Luck, Babe! by Chappell Roan

I have a confession to make. I’m a trust fund baby
and a member of the educated Elite.

In my defense, I'm a newcomer in both categories.
I got my trust fund at 18 and graduated Yale University this year.

I was a double major, at university, in biochemistry and celibacy,
until as a sophomore, I met this tall, handsome, awkward, disheveled, physicist in a coffee shop and knavishly schemed my way into his life.
(He insists that he knavishly schemed his way into my life.)

Let’s get poetic-ish..

I said,
“Let’s start a flirtationship
abstract, immaterial and fun.
We have a little chemistry - an interesting.. tension.
Could we just have an involvement and not read into it?
Something  friction free, hands free, germ free, and guilt free?
Let's get a pizza, don't worry, I'm paying."

Of course, that was a lie.
I had designs, I wanted him in the utmost
and honestly, when do I not get what I want?

"I was by far the knavishist." I admitted.
"Then you don't know knavishEST.," he responded, shaking his head 'no'.
.
.
songs for this:
Honeypie by JAWNY
Really Saying Something by Bananarama & Fun Boy Three
Hanging On the Telephone by Blondie

On the far edge of the world there are
fanatics of many minds and religions.
They have uninteresting histories,
jejune existences, and distorted ideas of nature.

Some are belligerent, felony-friendly foreigners.
I’ve never given them a single thought,
because they're nothing to me.

They’re insignificant—living curiosities
and I grant them no more sympathy
than I would a flock of wild birds.

Of course, I’d never wish to harm wild birds
unless they had the wherewithal to attack me,
in inimitable, Hitchcock style.
.
.
Songs for this:
Kashmir by  by Toni Jevicky
broken people by narcissists cookbook
Bring Me to Silence (Audiotree Live) by Fievel Is Glauque

(This is not scary, short fiction and probably not fit for click-farming.)

Sometimes I’m serious, a girl can be serious. I have to write a lot of analysis papers in school (yeah, some people still waste their time and money like that). I’m leveraging that effort here. This is part* of an academic paper I’m writing on the world economy in crisis (this part covers world inflation and China/Taiwan). It’s a draft in progress and, in the spirit of brevity (my target ~1000 words) and avoiding the verbose, I’ve simplified the narratives and removed graphs, diagrams and footnotes. Here we go:

Have you noticed that the world seems less stable and that your spending power has eroded since 2009 and especially since covid? You aren’t wrong.

The Fed balance sheet had never been over a trillion dollars before 2009. However, from 2009 (the banking collapse) to 2022 (COVID) the Fed moved our balance sheet from sub-1 trillion to 9 trillion - pushing about 50% dollar inflation on the world. We ourselves experienced 8% inflation.

Everything in the world is priced in dollars. If you look at cross-world currency settlements, you might think, ‘well,  there's the dollar and the euro, the pound, the dirham and all these other currencies’ but there’s really not. There's only the dollar and the other currencies back-solve for how they pay for things in their own countries. That's the way the world works. So when we push 50% inflation (in dollar terms) to the world it affects everyone. Marginal currencies on the bottom of the financial structure collapsed. That would be Turkey, Iran (Iran controls Iraq now), Pakistan, Lebanon, and many many other currencies throughout the third world that hyper-inflated (became worthless).  

So when people say, “can we all just all calm down and go back to business as usual?” There is no easy way to go back to 2% world growth and stability. Inflation is an insidious, destabilizing force. Even China’s economy is in deep, deep trouble - they’re in the midst of a real estate crisis, a banking crisis, a youth unemployment crisis, a trade surplus decline (because of their threat to invade Taiwan), a debt to GDP crisis (much worse than ours) and now, Trump is threatening tariffs that could bring their net income to zero.

China has said many many times - too many times to doubt it - that they will attack and absorb Taiwan by 2027 - period.
Why would they do that? Aren’t our economies too linked? Knowing we will have to retaliate? We don't know what President XI Jinping’s calculus is. The CCP doesn't see the world the same way we do and, like Putin, we may not be dealing with someone rational. It’s like when Putin moved his blood banks, tankers, air force and army to the edge of Ukraine - some said it was just ‘saber rattling.’ No, when the blood banks and tankers are moved - you’re a ‘GO’ - it’s just a matter of time.

Neville Chamberlain, the British Prime Minister now vilified for appeasing ******, wasn’t an idiot. He could not get his head around why ****** would plunge the world into war. They had lived through WWI and where was the profit in it - what reasonable reason was there for a world war in 1938? Let’s not make that mistake. Let’s take a moment and think it through.

Why is China obsessed with unifying with Taiwan? (1) History,  the Chinese, who lost the revolution that brought the CCP to power fled to Taiwan (2) The democratic government in Taiwan is four times as successful as communist counterpart. Their GDP is higher, their worker productivity is four times higher, they enjoy a higher standard of living, (3) they are a success story that demonstrates what China could be if it weren't hamstrung with the communist party. (4) they want to deny us the tech, (5) Their culture and world view is different. In China there are no human rights and no truly private property. There is only what’s good for (Chinese Communist Party) CCP power - the CCP is everything.

Why protect Taiwan? Taiwan Semi is the chip manufacturer for the world. They are the only maker of 2mn chips - the most vital, powerful component for the AI and quantum computing races. The country that wins those races will control information for the next century. The loss of that capacity is an absolute, existential threat to the security of the United States. The fact that the US failed to keep current in this area is a major *****-up decades in the making.

Messages of deterrence are flying. One reason we bombed Iran - where we had to drop munitions, with precision down three tiny shafts, covered by a mountain, from whatever heights - and we did it - was a message of deterrence partially aimed at China. Proof that America still has the best and most lethal military in the world - and we aren't afraid to use it. The US admiral who commands our indo-pacific forces recently said - publicly - that “if China thinks they're going to either blockade or engage in some kinetic conflict with Taiwan, we will turn the Taiwan strait into a hellscape.” Even a limited naval engagement with China, in the Taiwan strait, could cost thousands of American casualties (think Korean War people).

What kind of leverage does China have VS the us? Recently:
China has stopped supplying the US with rare earth magnets - those are critical to making EV vehicles run.
China is denying America processed synthetic graphite - a critical component in every single EV battery.
China is withholding the lasers used in fiber-optic communications from the US (they are the single world manufacturer).
Those are single points of failure for US technologies and we must ‘Manhattan Project’ our capacity for their replacement.

Why did the Trump administration remove subsidies for EV vehicles? First, it plays to his base but secondly, removing the subsidies slows demand until we can fill those gaps ourselves. Part of the ‘Big Beautiful Bill’ earmarks billions to start addressing the failure points mentioned above.

What non-military leverage do we have VS the Chinese?
We hold the upper hand. China imports 13 million barrels of oil every day,  9 Bs of natural gas every day, 40% of their food every single day.and they need access to the American dollar system to acquire those goods. They are a closed capital account - no one will accept Yuan as payment. That is a single point of failure for them.

Conclusions: We should let the CCP know - make it very clear - that if they attack Taiwan, the first thing we’ll do is take them out of the dollar system. Pushing that button would be easy - but it will hurt us too in the short run. It may be a better deterrent than those US carrier strike forces - which are still an option if it comes to that.
.
.
Songs for this:
Canary In a Coalmine by The Police
Invisible Sun by The Police

Fall changes erase
the cheap substance of summer
with holiday joys.

Multicolor leaves,
multicolor lights with turkey
delights and kinship.

Our atmosphere is a bubble - like the fizz you find in Champagne.
Have you ever been to a dentist, and done it without any pain?
Have you ever enjoyed wireless or traveled the sky in a plane?
Then you’ve experienced science - the modern world's quoin.
Climate change has been proven - the result of our human reign.

Have you noticed the west coast's on fire - and seen the gulf hurricanes?
We're in the hottest decade ever and only half the country gets rain.

Did you ever use a computer - have you ever been on a train?
Did you ever see television - do I really have to explain?
Science deniers aren’t new - they once claimed cigarettes weren’t bad,
and thousands died from cancer - science deniers be ******.
Our civilization’s based on science - it’s the modern world's quoin.
Climate change has been proven - the results of polluting our domain.

The trick is to take
your eye off the ball - forget
and enjoy yourself.

When you realize
- ultimately, life's a
suicide mission.

Do the flowers fret
even as they bloom? Are swans
gracefully worried?

Ignore that small voice
- enjoy life's pleasures, thrills,
and delight in love.

We’re the crew of the spaceship boring - on a one year mission.
The situation's literally life or death - this isn’t science-fiction.

The crew is an actual family - ideal for such a quest,
but none of us volunteered for this - it’s more like house arrest.

We seek out no adventures, we avoid interaction if we can.
We boldly go absolutely nowhere - isolation is the plan.

Wander into our orbit - we’ll scan you with our sensors.
Our station's sealed to aliens and we don't let any enter.

Our voyage is just symbolic we're not in outer space,
the commission is simple self-sacrifice and it happens at turtle pace.

If you need me I'll be me in my capsule, safe in my virtual void,
sequestered for the greater good and shelved like an unwanted toy.

I had a date! (not a great date but a date.) Could our covid nightmare be ending?

An actual one-on-one date - can you imagine? It was with Noud, a university student (from Holland) I met a couple of weeks ago.

Noud, to be accurate, is a man. He’s 22 and I’m 17 (18 in 3 months). My mom was skeptical but we’ve been around Noud and he seemed pretty nice. It wasn’t like I was infatuated with him, this was a practice date.

I hadn’t been on many one-on-one dates before this (5). I was thinking my 17th year was gonna be a breakout year for dating - but NOT. The over-a-year pandemic lock-down put an end to that.

Anyway, here’s a date tip for older guys: if you’re sincere about something - say “sustainability” - don’t talk about it at dinner - all dinner. In fact, if you’re an intense, serious person - on any subject - take that secret to your grave.

We had dinner - that we picked up and picnicked with. After dinner, things went all WWE. Once we were back in his car, it was as if I became a birthday present he’d been waiting months to open. He pressed in like that was an established, almost impersonal fact.

For someone claiming to be interested in “sustainability”, he moved to the chest massage - skirt-search portion of the festivities pretty quickly - and that didn’t really work for me.

At one point, wrestling in his tiny electric car - which pitched like a rowboat in an angry sea - I felt his tongue in my eyebrows… yeah, my eyebrows.
“What are you DOING?”, I asked, digging my heals into the floorboard to gain enough leverage to push him away and wiping my face with my sleeve.
“You taste good,” he said (hear it with a slight Arnold Schwarzenegger accent).
“I’m NOT a gelato,” I complained, while maintaining a stiff-arm.

Hey, it was a long lock-down year - we’ve all missed dating, we’re all out of practice and maybe some are trying too hard - I get that.

This isn’t a “metoo” story - Noud took “no” for “NO” once I went to my big, “dog command voice,” but sigh Noud will NOT be getting a rematch.

My coldness wakes me.
Trees blush in first light.
Curtains rustle with breeze.
Bird choir.
Coffee's waft.
Morning rewards.

I’m a sentinel, fair Romeo
- scanning the liquid dark,
and ready to whisper alarm
at the first sign of romance.

Senryus about my
favorite - my one and
only - mom (so far).

"Mom!, I understand!!"
5 minutes later - wait, what did
she want me to do?

Eating my breakfast
cereal, “Mom!, let’s go to the
lake!,” Mom says, “Can’t.”

“I can’t wait to be
a lifeless professional,”
I say to my bowl.

Mini-heart attack:
Your mom says: "OK, I need to
ask you a question."

Oracle please tell
me, (free of charge) about the
future that will be.

Show me the bright secrets
of love - be a mystic guide
for my bored heart’s relief.

What kisses may be played
on sweet, future nights with no
tentative whispers please.

Help me conquer the
confusing compresence of
desire and unease.

He’s a very famous shell-man.
Who thought he was coated with teflon.
Can a narcissist be taught a lesson?
By him, the prosecutor and judge were threatened,
could the legal system withstand his aggression?
Yeah, his guilt was proven beyond question,
and now he's a 34-time convicted felon.
What’s he going to tell poor little Barron?
I doubt the judge will send him to prison,
but there are still some outstanding questions.
Like will his followers shake their obsession?
Will craven Republicans still nominate him?

A party scene, in
Senryus - from last March, when a
party could happen.

He looked at me
like a treat. “You,” he said,
are looking hot girl!"

“I’m only hot in
in the dazzling reflection
of your lust,” I said.

“Then you’re on
FIRE,” he said as he put
his hands on my hips.

“Your girlfriend’s looking,”
I said, - she and I nodded.
His hands retracted.

He brushed his hair
back over his ears, "some
other time.” he said.

“He was set to Jump
you,” My friend Kim teased, "No,
not really.” I shrugged.

"You disappointed?"
I snorted "yeah right,
His GF was watching."

"OH!," Kim realized,
"You were posing!! You're
STILL a ****** - I KNOW!!”

“SHUT UP!!” I laughed,
putting a hand to her lips,
“That’s secret info!”

“Sophomores are
ALWAYS virgins.” Kim said, “Not
Lisa, of course."

We turned, smiled,
and waved at Lisa - she
was dating three guys.

Kim says, “She could give
us both one.” "Leftovers," I
said, “should mean pizza.”

My master’s degree's a senior’s cruise - most of the other students are thirty and even forty-somethings. Good for them, for making the (75K) investment, it’s hard, and they all look very serious. I am too, of course.

It’s busy and constant - but it’s business analysis - it's not hard, like chemistry (see retrosynthetic analysis) and I’m lucky, I’m fresh off uni - used to working problem-sets and reading a couple of hundred pages a night.

That said, last week was wearying. I look forward to Fridays (like everyone), as the light at the end of the tunnel. Then my Grandmère FaceTimed me asking if I could go through an ‘investor deck’ and give her advice. “Look at it and give it to me.. unsweetened,” she said
(“Regarde-le et donne-le-moi... non sucré”).
‘Sure,’ I thought, ‘maybe I can tell van Gogh how to paint or Taylor Swift how to influence as well.

Surely, asking someone to do something late on a Friday afternoon is a minute refinement of cruelty, but I couldn’t say 'no'. That didn’t mean I was happy - I’m very jealous of my time. It’s too easy to toss the sauce on my routines.

I took an hour and looked it over, then gave her a poetic answer,
“It’s an options fog, masquerading as opportunity.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said. I know that old bird, she’s nuanced. Was that a test? There was a smile in her voice.
Part of me longed to say, “Sometimes, like on a Friday night, one head’s better than two,” but I didn’t - because what night would be good for a surprise assignment?

Two hours later, Chella and I had some students over for cocktails. Four of them (2 guys 2 girls) were Japanese. Their English wasn’t great, but we had fun. They brought a bottle of nihonshu (sake), that stuff is like water - seriously.

So I made them martinis. Their eyes bugged out with their first sips, but first martini sips always taste like gasoline. It’s the second martini that starts to taste like mother’s-milk. Before long, they were smashed and then they started singing.

That was when the real fun started. They had karaoke songs on their phones. We sang, we danced. They taught us some songs and we did the same.

“At this point in our lives,” Chella said, “It’s important to bop so hard,” everyone cheered. What a slay - she was so real, so feral for that.
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Songs for this:
Something Every Day (Little Wizard Mix) by Swing Out Sister
Yoru ni kakeru by YOASOBI
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Our cast:
Chella - A tall, lithe black girl, from Liberty City (Miami) Florida with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs’ from Yale and currently a Harvard Master's candidate.  She had it rough growing up - she was buying skin-care at Trader Joes! I'm showing her some things.
Your author, a simple trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia with a Bachelor of Science in Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry from Yale, currently a Harvard Master's candidate.
Grandmère, my very French Grandmother. Tiny, frail looking and privately very funny - but don’t underestimate her or ever try and bull$hit her - she's a Mogul.

I've passed the disenchanted one, in the empty hallway
I've heard the isolated girl, arguing in the mirror
I've seen the angry hermit girl reflected in the toaster
I've noticed the crazy girl, crying in the shower
I've enjoyed the whispers of the poet talking to herself
Her latest performance had the largest audience yet
the flowers were captivated but the cat left unimpressed

The home where Chella grew up, in the ghetto of Liberty City Florida, had beige carpets so old that pieces of the tuft and twirl would come out of the backing under-foot.
The  apartment window shades were white floral plastic rectangles cut from an old shower curtain.
She shared a bedroom with two younger siblings and the overhead lights were naked light bulbs.

she grew up in the a noisome ghetto of Liberty City Florida
she never knew her dad
she won’t talk about her mom
she hated the flaw of things
nothing worked, not the dishwasher
or the air conditioner they couldn't afford to run.
There was no wi-fi for the no computer
Her mother worked two or sometimes three part-time jobs
They added rice to hamburger-helper to stretch it.
Maybe you got a pair of shoes for Christmas and chicken, not turkey.
They were poor, used clothes poor, food assistance poor, third world poor.
She got a used bike once, for Christmas. It was stolen.
At 14, she babysat for months to get a Rihanna mini-backpack.
It was stolen.
But they lived 2.5 miles from the beach.
It was a 53 minute walk. She couldn't afford the bus.
She knew not to hitchhike.
She kept a knife in her right front jeans pocket.
She studied at school or at the beach
She practically lived at the beach
Her wardrobe was a one-piece swimsuit under cut-off jean-shorts and flip flops.
What friends she had were at the beach.

A wino, who couldn't really talk, looked out for her at the beach because she once gave him a dollar.
One night he pulled a knife on a **** who was bothering her. The police came and took his knife.
“I’m SO sorry,” she told him, “I’ll get you another one,” but he mumbled in his incomprehensible way, and waving the idea off, he shuffled over to a garbage can, and leaned it up to reveal eight other knives under it.

We were looking at some of our high school pictures together and we realized that my designer, high-school freshman prom-dress that I bought with my allowance ($6,000, on sale, with no fitting) cost more than her mom’s car.
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A mini playlist for this:
Baxter (These Are My Friends) by Fred again.. & Baxter Dury
Runaway by Slick Rick
Redemption Song by Mitchell Brunings
Breakout by Swing Out Sister
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Our cast:
Chella - A tall, lithe black girl, from Liberty City (Miami) Florida with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs’ from Yale University who is currently a Harvard Master's candidate.  She had it rough growing up - she was buying skin-care at Trader Joes! I'm showing her some things.
Your author, a simple trust-fund baby from Athens, Georgia with a Bachelor of Science in Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry from Yale, currently a Harvard Master's candidate.

My mom's passionate about Newton's second law of thermodynamics.
She uses a "mom" version which can be stated as:
"Daughters tend toward disorder if not managed."
If I'm nothing else, I'm vigorously, meticulously managed like a tiger that must be turned judiciously from one situation to another lest a foot be forfeit.
"You're too young for"... is more than a formulate, it's a knife-like rule-tool, to dampen upheaval, banish trespassers, and put the "new" under glass" just out of reach. It's forever primed, there in the parenting tool-belt and can be thrown with the gunfighter's liquid, skillful ease.
So when I say I'm into something "new," I mean I've tiptoed into that Tartarus where you find the scandalous, like short skirts and Internet *******.
The "new" is prima-facie proscribed until it's proven cold, safe and harmless then blessed like an old Disney movie.
Our impromptu confinement in suspending the world has allowed me unaccounted moments to sample and measure how this "new" might fit into my life.
So it is  now that I wake up every morning ready for crime and I live but a hairsbreadth from punishment yes, I've discovered one of God's greatest gifts and seductions - coffee.
After about a week, my brother, while I'm reading the news, transparently focuses my mom's attention on the cup by my iPad, by glancing, slowly with his eyes. My mom is fleetingly lost, then she alights:
"You're too young for coffee," she says.
I look up and groan.
Then, as she moves to collect the now-banned item, I send a sisterly glower to my brother who stands blithely and innocently sipping from his cup.

Write on me - I’m a blank page,
here to meet expectations.
Scribble, erase - copy and paste,
refine me with your impatience.

I’m a canvas for you to paint on
make of me what you will.
Make of me art - I’m ready to start,
paint me into a corner.

Showcase me in your gallery -
display what you've acquired.
I'm a mannequin for ******* -
arrange me with your desire.

Put me in your drama
I'm longing for the part
improvise, I'll close my eyes
the ****** will be art.

Now I understand
why dogs get so excited
about going out.

You’ve stopped talking to me and I don’t know why...

I hate this - this feeling - this anguish, with it’s retinue of mysteries.

Was it something I said? I’m sorry - I curse my rebel lips.

Was it something I didn’t say? I’m sorry - I was the unaware child.

I’m just a girl – not some faultless machine

There needs to be a manual – a manual for... everything - so Id know.

Is there a more contemporary narrative than disappointment at the hands of this Internet plaything - this toy-like trap we hope will inform us and we think we command?

I know questioning destroys some things.. but I don’t understand.

I don’t understand.

Let me introduce
David Dennison - wealthy,
*****-minded man.

Credit card in hand
and his pornographic plans,
for *** on demand.

Little girls attract
him - his daughter's body
teases and distracts him.

Of course Jeff Epstein
knew the way of it - the pay
& get away with it.

David’s lawyers
smoothed the way - and he’s the
President today.

*David Dennison is Donald Trump's alias in non-disclosure agreements with prostitutes

Dream job interview:
"What are you good at?" "Sarcasm,
sleep and speed texting."

I don't think that drug
companies know what real
fruit tastes like at all.

How hard will it be
for our kids' generation
to find user names?

Please remember:
I'm here for you if you
don’t, in truth, need me.

What if you feel like dancing?
I mean when you’re in class
or standing in a pandemically
distanced line - you know
INAPPROPRIATE times?

And what if you feel like singing
but you’ve been told your singing
is like the screeching of an angry cat?

What if you’re being stared at
because you’re pencil tapping
or head bobbing to a happy tune
that’s only playing between your ears?

What if you’re smiling to yourself
despite having to read 300 pages
every night for homework?

Happiness can strike, like a thunderclap
or in my case - the morning alarm.
I mean, have you ever found yourself
quivering with uncontrollable happiness?

I feel like we could
sing one of those righteous
civil rights anthems.

“We shall overcome”
goes to the pandemic point,
and we could hold hands.

Our kinship is dear, and earned,
with simple sacrifices.
Our struggle isn’t over.

You know what you want, get it. Make sure it responds to your needs - remote-control it, sub-routine it and on-demand it - wring it out.

But once you have it - something changes, doesn’t it? It loses some luster - it isn’t PERFECT, **** it. It wears out or becomes obsolete and the lust is reborn, refocused.

Do you want me? I think you want me - you seem to want to possess me - but do you actually want ME?

What if my DNA could be used to create a perfect, cloned replica - right down to the pheromones - a perfect doppelganger.

Only this - me-two - would be a commandable pleasure doll shipped, Amazon Prime - and perhaps made with a rich, warm polymer skin that wouldn’t age - wouldn’t that be even better? I think it would be better.

But forget about me - with THAT kind of technology. Think about the licensing fee Rudy Pankow could get, or gasp Chase Stokes! - ***!!! dancing around the room

yelling out “Mom!!, MomMMMMMM!!, I KNOW what I want for Christmas!!”

I was dazzled - in
a summer spell - did we both
name it as special?

Was it the summer
freedom - the sparkling lake
that summoned magic?

The constant sun sent
a subliminal message
with its rise and fall.

It won’t last, it said,
there's an expiration
date approaching fast.

The short-lived summer
proved a brief, insubstantial
memory making.

I see them in reflections - the orange juice glass at breakfast or my iPhone where they can pop, like notifications - I keep my phone face down.

They usually want to tell you something - how it was for them - their history. I discount these emotional messages - they come with the jester's assumption that I care - that I need the performance and will get involved.

“What are you doing?” My mom asks, as I’m taking all the shiny, mirror-like ornaments off the Christmas tree.
“The glare gives me a headache” I say, without stopping.
“Your Grandma does that too”, she says, wiping her hands on a Santa-themed dish-towel.
“Really?” I say, but I know that and I know why.

I started having nightmares, when I was in first grade. My mom thought I had an overactive imagination but when she described it to my grandma, she soon showed up for a visit.

Over the next few weeks my Grandma told me about our “gift”. About how we were both born on the same day, under a waning third moon, in Autumn. That we're both “Yins,” doxies (sweethearts) of the dead and that we could, at times, see and hear people who were between stops on their way to their after-lives.

That’s why the dead parachute into my unused moments from reflective surfaces. They can be anxious or in despair - when their death is cruel or sudden but I'm an adolescent - I'm in school - what can I do??

The presence of water discourages them - which is perfect - can you imagine seeing spirits in the reflections of your bath? EEUUUWWW!  You’ll hardly ever see me without a water bottle or polarized sunglasses - which seem to break-up the images. I'll not be smothered in other people's afterlives.

thunderstorming skies...
my tongue reaches to catch the
important raindrops

the lightning's flash
causes me to flinch in surprise
then an after boom!

A squeak of fear
static electricity
makes my hair rise up

maybe inside is a
a much better place to be
in a thunderstorm

You know, I used to be happy all of the time.
What the heck happened? I used to go weeks
without crying, I used to love going to school.

In fairness, I liked real school - not the sad,
sterile, anti-social, virtual experience.

When I'm mad I get silly, then mean. I don't
always know why - angry is the answer, but
I don’t always get the subconscious analysis
behind it. That's a bad day - I'm truly sorry.

If I could step back, in those moments,
and think - clearly - I'm about the luckiest person.

I'm a hundred pounds of privilege
- if we rounding up - but pressurized,
stressed like a movie submarine in deep dive.

I think I miss people - like in an assembly
- before it starts - where a hundred conversations
clash like the random patter of rain. That’s one
of the sounds of joy.

The civilized brain is soaked in the opinions,
and shared experiences with others. These virtual,
interactive shadows on flat screens can't fill the void.

Please care.
Love's slants and spins have me dizzy.
Thy laughter's the star I navigate to
Thy voice a song I listen for
Thy touch I long for

Please care.
I make heated love's impious oaths.
Thy sigh is my pleasure as well
Thy smile is worth gold
Thy look my is my sun

They say they run in packs
with the mighty unicorn.
The stories bridge the boundary
between faith and Internet ****.

Oh, the elusive boyfriend.

I thought I’d hidden one in the closet,
but I rummaged top to bottom
then remembered - argh! -
I lost him last August!

My palette is empty
after over-busy school
and tense homework.

By the time dark night
staggers onstage, sleep is my
longed-for, **** muse.

I’m greedy for sweet,
numb sleep or perhaps to dream
love-flushed fantasies.

The question arises - in high school - "how do I break up with...."
So, as a public service - may I present:

Handy break-up Senryus.
Pick one to quickly, cut that old
relationship cord

I'm sorry, What'd you say?
I can't hear you confused look
- we’re breaking up.

You’re the guy that
every school girl seems to want...
- today's their lucky day.

It's time we took
our relationship to the
previous level.

I still cherish the
initial misconceptions
I had about you.