I'm looking deep into her eyes

Looking into her eyes...
is like opening a door that leads...
to another door

Wait..really?  OK...I open the door.

This door leads to a long, winding path,
like the winding path of your love.  
The path leads to a third door

O...K. I open the door.

This door leads to a spiral staircase
descending down, down, down,  deep
into her soul.
At the bottom of the staircase is--

A door?

A door.

I open the door

The door is locked.  The key might be under the mat

Seriously?  I check under the mat

Nope, not there.  Maybe try under the small rock next to the door

Oh for the love of...I check the rock

There is a key

Wonderful...I unlock and open the door

Inside this door is a large atrium
the glass ceiling giving way to a
beautiful summer night, the stars
twinkling in the distance.  At the
far end of the Atrium, there is a curtain

Sigh I pull aside the curtain

There is a door

Come on!  I open the ruddy door.

You find yourself in a long hallway,
with fine art hanging along the walls.
Crimson carpet lines the floor.
At the end of the hall is a door  locked
with a combination biometric
fingerprint scanner/retinal scanner

What.

You have 10 seconds to unlock the door
before the hunter-bots de-atomize you

What!?  Ok! I try my fingerprints and eye!

The door unlocks and the hunter-bots stand down.
In the next room are three vials.  Two of them contain
terrible neuro-toxins that will lead to an excruciatingly
painful death.  The third will allow you to continue on
to the next room.  You have 30 seconds to choose before
you are terminated

What the hell is this!?

This is the path to true love hidden deep in her eyes

No, this is insanity!

15 seconds

OK!  Geez!  Umm..Vial Number 2!

You're totally dead

Oh god!

Just kidding.  None of them had poison...was just messing with you

THAT'S IT!  I'M DONE WITH THIS

Really?  There's only one more door.  I swear

...Fine.  What ridiculous thing do I need to do to open it.

It's already open.  You find yourself in a circular room
with a pedestal in the center.  On the pedestal is a hand
written note.  On that note is the key to everlasting happiness

I pick up the note

You smell sweet hints of your beloved's perfume and
notice the care that each word of the note was written.

What does the note say?

My love:

Next Tuesday Only --  Buy One-Get One Free at J.J's Pizza.  Cannot be combined with any other offers/coupons.  Must present coupon upon purchase.  Expires 1/14/14

...An expired coupon for Pizza?

Such a wonderful expression of love!

How do I get out of here...

You see a door
.

He owned books on many subjects
leather bound, with complex concepts
on which he'd ponder and reflect

He had it all, in some respects.

He could lecture quantum physics,
English literature and economics
He was renowned in academics

Though many found him quite eccentric

He explored the world only to find
That there's more to life than a brilliant mind
That there was a piece of him...undefined

See, He had never loved. He'd never pined

He knew all the math, knew all equations
He'd been to every corner of every nation
He'd learned 28 languages, knew every translation

But he was distraught by this realization

The pain he felt was too great to bear
He sank into the deepest and darkest despair
His heart was in need of dire repair

Finding love was his only prayer

He bumped into her by happenstance
and what began as an ephemeral glance
became a sucker punch from romance

She thought he was sweet, so she gave him a chance

That's when the world's smartest man finally learned how to dance

You slowly walk down the avenue of normality
Ignoring the side streets and oddly placed alleys

Change, you feel, is strange and unnerving
You stay straight and narrow, no veering or swerving

You look at us weirdos and our strange machinations
you speed up your pace with much trepidation

You're so busy keeping to the road that's more traveled
that you are completely unaware that it's turning to gravel

You're walking alone, and the road has all but decayed
the streets that you passed up, now bustling highways

Your fear of the odd and peculiar, the offbeat uncommon
has led you to become alone, forlorn, and unwanted

Everyone's different
Everyone's weird

Everyone has secrets that no one will hear

You wanted to be normal, and normal you are
now you're a minority, among the bizarre

What would I do for you?  There's lots of things, actually


I would spontaneously start speaking Hungarian for you...but it probably would sound like nonsense

and some Hungarian dude

   Would be all like "Haver, nem beszél magyarul"

        I would shrug, because
        
              I don't know Hungarian...

But I'd still do it for you, if you wanted me to.



I would fly us to ancient Mayan burial grounds, where we could

   Learn all about a lost culture

           We would run into a cursed
                
                   Mayan Chief, but he'd actually be pretty cool
          
              He would teach us how to do a rain dance,

         Every once in awhile he'd look at you and say "kíichpan"
  
   and I'd be like..."Dude, back off..."

                       He's like 2000 years old...
                                
                         ­    He's way too old for you.



I would carve you an Ice Sculpture in your likeness

        Taking care to make sure that every detail was perfect and reflected
          
            Your beauty
              
               In every possible way.

     I'm not too good at Ice Sculpting, though, so it might just end up looking
              
            Like an oddly-shaped block of ice.


      Sorry...

            I hope you would like it anyway



For you, I would count to infinity

     Which might not sound like a feat, at first

   But then I would count back to zero

  I'm pretty sure no one's done that before....

     I won't be able to do it all in one day

So it might take awhile...

                  Hope you don't mind waiting for me




    I would write poetry every day for you


            Because I know that I would never run out of things
  
       To write about







....Well, maybe every 'other' day.

Joel's mole dug a hole
in a grassy knoll....
the mole hit a pole
and started to roll....
he hit a troll
and they smoked the whole bowl
of mind control.  

The troll asked for a toll,
but the mole was on parole.  
Joel's mole has no soul.

He was definitely dead.  That much could be gathered.  He was standing over his own body, sixty feet away from the car.  fifty-nine feet away from  the telephone pole.  The pool of blood on the blacktop was rippling from the sheets of rain that were piercing it.  The rain bounced off of his lifeless eyes, staring on into the cloudy sky.   His shocked expression was forever frozen on his face.  He walked around the corpse, both fearful and excited.  He was dead....He was DEAD!  He was on the other side!  He looked around, searching for the 'white light',  but all he found  was a man dressed in a ratty  trench coat staring directly at him.  Rotting teeth smiled at him under a grungy  Fedora in a way that reminded him of a jack-o-lantern carved into the likeness of Indiana Jones that had been left out past Thanksgiving.  A withered hand beckoned him.

He was not hesitant.  He was not fearful.  

Those were emotions controlled by a brain that was currently about as useful as a bag full of gelatin.  He strode forward and took the man's hand.  It was neither hot nor cold.  They were no longer in the rain.  They were in a room with a large monitor
sitting in front of a station of various knobs, buttons, and switches.  A large leather chair apathetically awaited use .  He was aware that none of these objects  actually existed, because they were in the place where things don't exist.  Still, he sat down
and turned on the monitor.  He looked at the labels.  Some were obvious, such as P L A Y,  P A U S E, and S T O P.  Others were strange, like the ones labeled F I R S T S and L A S T S.  He pressed the former.  A list appeared with items as simple as "Kiss" to ones as specific as "Sprained Left Ankle in November".

He chose the former.

The screen went blank, then a video appeared.  It was a boy and a girl lying on a hill on a blanket at the onset of dusk.  The boy he instantly recognized as himself. The boy brushed his hand against hers.  She let him.  Fingers now entwined as they stared at each other.  At the time it had felt like hours, but it was less than a
minute before lips pushed apart to make way for tongues.  His first kiss.  It didn't take him long to figure out how the machine worked from that point on.  

He spent years going through every second of his life and reliving it from a new perspective. It didn't matter, he had all the time that never was and never would be.  He saw his mistakes and his triumphs, his loves and his heartbreaks.  Finally, he decided he was
finished.  It was time to go.  The man in the Fedora smiled.  Smiled that Cheshire smile

They were in a hallway.  It seemed to stretch for miles.  Every twenty paces or so, there was a person, standing on a platform, obscured in darkness.  He walked to the first one.
A light flickered on.  It was his mother.  She looked like she did when he was a boy, vibrant and full of life.  She never lost that, even as her body aged and her health declined, she always had something to smile about.  He talked to this apparition of his mother.   They talked for hours about his life, of random topics.  Things they had never had time to talk about when they were both alive.  After some time, she gave him one of her wry
smiles.  He nodded and made his way to the next person.  His father.  

He continued this for quite some time.  He talked to everyone from his brother to a guy he used to get high with in college.  Years passed as he said his final goodbyes to all the people in his life
that he had ever known.  All of them were happy for him.  All of them had something to tell him that he had never known about them in life.  None of them were real.  When he was done, he turned to the man in the fedora.  A smile.  A smile that had a personality all its own, a smile that simultaneously showed compassion and seething hatred.

The last room.  No one said it was the last room, but it had that feeling of finality to it. It was spartan, nothing in it except a marble floor that seemed to stretch for eternity in every direction.  It probably did.  In front of him were two pedestals.  On each of those
pedestals was himself.  The one on the left was wearing a fine tailored suit, had radiating skin and a smile that cameras feasted on.  The one on the right was a stark contrast.  The teeth he had left were hanging lazily from the roots.  His hair that he had left was thin, oily, and ridden with lice.  His mouth turned upwards in an insane grin that was only
matched by his thirsty, bloodshot eyes that seemed to bulge from his pockmarked skin

                                          They both spoke at once.

You were born on                                           You were born on
July 3, 1985.  Your                                           July 3, 1985.  Your
parents fed your                                         mother died when you
curiosity at a young                                     were 4.  Your father
age.  Your passion                                   turned to alcohol.  He
was art.  You painted                                 took his pain out on you.
your first work when                                     You dropped out of    
you were nine.  By the                                high school and moved
time you were 16, you                             as far away from this
were renowned as a                             life as you could.  You
artistic prodigy.  You                      quickly discovered a bad crowd.
attended the Art                                     You met a girl, Cindy.
Institute of Chicago                                       You got her pregnant.
on a full scholarship.                                   You started selling drugs
It was there that you                                     to make ends meet
would meet Claire,                                       for your accidental family
your future wife. By                                       It wasn't long before
the time you completed                                     You made a mistake
your school, every                                             and ended up in jail.
museum wanted a                                        years later, when you
piece of your work                                       were released
hanging in their gallery                               you found that Cindy      
Your work would be                                       had killed herself
remembered for                                                   and your son.
hundreds of years after                                       You had no job          
your death.  You had                                                 no skills
a wonderful family,                                        You spent your days
fame, fortune, and                                          doing odd jobs for
everything that came                                   money.  Money that
with it.  You lived                                           You spent on drugs
until 89, where you                                        Until the age of 45
died peacefully in                                       Where you froze on a
your bed, surrounded                           street corner, surrounded
by loved ones.  This                        by human excrement.  This
is your life's best                                           is your life's worst
possible outcome                                         possible outcome



He nodded, then looked at the man in the fedora.  That smile crept up.  A smile like a hyena. He snapped his fingers.  Two doors appeared.  One was Oaken and battered.  The grains of wood barely visible over years of neglect.  The other door was new and had just been  painted with a fresh coat of sky blue paint.  

The man spoke for the first time.

This is the last decision you shall ever make.  The door on your left will lead you to the  afterlife, and the judgement that awaits you.  Whatever is decided, that is where you will spend eternity.  The door on the right will allow you to be reborn as a new soul.  This one will no longer exist.

He gave it a good long ponder.  Had he been good enough in life to pass the judgement?  What if he ended up in a hellish nightmare for the rest of eternity?  Could he do better
if he started fresh?  The thoughts swirled about him like a whirlwind until finally.

Years later

He chose.

The man in the fedora smiled.

We will walk through the Cherry blossoms
in Japan, hand in hand, meandering through
the falling petals.  Our winding path
will weave through the countryside  with
no goal in sight.  We will stop in front of a
particularly beautiful tree, whose branches
are just beginning to look naked.

I will look at you, brush a stray blossom
from your hair...and whisper

           Aishiteru
               .                                                                ­                   
                   .                                                                ­                
                     .   .                                                                ­            
                               .                                                                ­          
                                     .                                                                ­        
                             We trek the Arctic circle and witness
                             the absolute beauty of the Aurora Borealis.                       
                             We're be bundled tightly in our parkas,                                     
                    ­         but we are still be able to feel eachother's                                   
                  ­           warmth.  We laugh as we throw snowballs.
                             We lie in the snow and make angels.                                          
               ­              Well...they'll start out as angels, but in the                                 
                            ­ end, they'll just look like snow that two people                          
                             have just rolled around in.                                                  
           ­                                                                 ­                      
                                              We can't help it.  As we embrace,                             
                           ­                   I whisper
                                                     Negligevapse                                                    
­                                                         .                                          
                     ­                                     .                           ­             
                                                          .     ­                                   
                                                         .                                          
                     ­                                   .                             ­             
                                                     .                                            
                   ­                              .                                                  
             ­                              .                                                        
       ­                                                                 ­                          
         We stroll the beaches of Hawaii, refreshing ocean                                    
         breezes cool us.  I picked you a flower,
         which you now wear in your hair.  Your cinnamon                               
         brown skin offsets your beautiful white smile.                                       
         We run through the breaking waves, our feet                                                
         leaving ephemeral indentations that are as                                             
         fleeting as our cares.  We fall over into                                                     
       ­  the surf and let the ocean wash over us.                                                     
        ­                                                                 ­                         
              I kiss your nose and tell you                                                          
   ­                   Aloha wau ia oi                                                               ­             
                              .                    ­                                                
                ­                  .                                      In China, we race eachother along   
                                     .                               .   the Great Wall to see who can get 
                                        .                   ­        .    to the end first.  We both end up   
                                           .                     .       dragging eachother across the         
                                             .               .           finish line...which happens to be      
                                                 .   .   .               a few hundred feet away.          
                                                 ­                        The locals shake their                
                                           ­                              heads disaprovingly, as we stifle      
                                                    ­                     a giggle.  I lean in and remind you  
                                                           ­                                       
                         ­                                                   Wo ai ni..                    
                                                             .  .                      .            
                         ­                                 .       .                     .          
                                                       .            .                   .          
                                                     .               .                 .            
                                                   .                  .   .   .   .  .            
                                                 .                                                
               ­                In Soviet Russia, girl kiss you                                              
               ­                and I gladly let her, for she                                               
              ­                 and I have had one too many shots                                 
                          ­     of *****.  Our faces are rosy and                                       
                      ­         we lean into each other as our feet                                     
                       ­        make hard noises on the cobblestone                                       
              ­                 streets.  Saint Basil's Cathedral                                          
             ­                  looms over us, as our lips dance                                           
                ­               a familiar dance.                                                           ­       
                                                                ­                                  
                              ­            Ya tebya liubliu                                                        
 ­                                                .                                                
                                                 .                                                
            .  .  .  .                          .               ­                                   
         .             .                      .                                         ­           
       .                .                   .                                                      
      .                    .  .  .  .  .  .                                                 ­       
    .                                                           ­                                   
We gaze at the Taj Mahal, a building                                                         ­   
built for a man's true love. I would                                                            ­      
build you a city.  we take in the                                                              ­          
mighty majesty of Everest.  I tell                                                             ­                
you I'd climb it for you.  You tell                                                             ­              
me to stop being silly, and say
you'd get bored waiting for me.
I give you a back rub instead.                                            

  Hum Tumhe Pyar Karte hae 
                                                            ­             We travel the dutch  countryside
                                              ­                            and kick off our wooden shoes to
                   .                                          ­            watch the tulips blooming.
                       .                                            .     I dedicate an entire field to you.
                          .                                 ­    .         You blush.
                              .                           ­   .         we fall asleep in front of a windmill,
                                 .     .                  .          watching the shapes of the clouds pass
                                         .      .      .             over us. I whisper in your ear
                                                             ­                                                                 ­      
                                                                ­       Ik hou van jou
                                                             ­             .                        
                                                                ­         .                          
                                     ­                                  .                            
                                   ­                                  .                              
                                 ­                                  .                                
                               ­                                  .                                  
                             ­            .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .                                           ­ 
    France has never been as beautiful as                                                               ­   
    it is now that you're here.  We skirt                                                            ­         
    the cities and explore the countryside,                                                     ­           
    Endless fields and clear skies bring                                                            ­     
    out our inner children, and spend the day
    romping and rolling until our clothes                                                          ­  
    are stained and our muscles ache.  I                                                         ­             
    lay beside you, panting.  In between                                                          ­       
    breaths, I manage to impart                                                           ­                
                                                ­                                                            
    ­                                                                 ­                                       
               Je t'aime                                                           ­                                 
                   .                                                                ­                        
                    .                                           ­                                             
                   ­   .                                                             ­                         
                        .              ­                                                                 ­     
                          .  .  .    .    .       .          .                                                    
                                                                ­                                            
                    ­                                            We explore Roman ruins and concoct      
                                                   ­             our own love story had we been born      
                                                      ­          in the Ancient city.  I would have        
                                                    ­            been a mighty General, who saved      
                                                     ­           you from a terrible dicator.  You            
                                       ­                         tell me to stop quoting Gladiator.       
                                               ­                 We share a kiss under the shadow           
                                               ­                 of the colleseum.  I brush your         
                                                   ­             hair from your face...                       
                                  ­                                                                 ­       
                                                         ­                  Ti Amo                              
                                                                ­               .                          
                                                                ­                                          
                      ­                                                        .        ­                    
                                            ­                                                              
  ­                                                                 ­        .                              
                                                                ­                                          
                      ­                                                                 ­                   
                                             ­                           .                                  
  ­                                                                 ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­                
                                                ­                    .                                      
     ­                                                                 ­                                    
                            ­                           You smile and reply                                   
                        ­                                                                 ­                 
                                               ­             I love you, too

I arrived at the church at 5:30.
It took me a bit to find the place

  there were only a couple half-inflated baloons
  to mark the occasion.
  Those, and a small sign with an arrow, which led
  
      down some stairs and into a cafeteria.  An
      older lady greeted me.  She had a calm smile
      on her face.  The kind that comes with age, that
      says that you've been there, done that.

"Are you here to give?"

           Of course.  Why else would I be here?

  "Yeah"

She leads me to a table that has a number of tall dividers
set up on it to prevent people from peeking at someone
else's personal life.  Like I care if you've had syphilis in
the last year...well I might if it weren't all men in here.

I start filling out the form.
No, I don't have an STD
No, I haven't spent a time totaling more than 5 years in the UK before 1996
No, I don't use drugs
No, I haven't had a fever in the last 24 hours
No
  No
    No
  No
No

I do admit that I have been out of the country recently.

I hand my sheet to another lady.  "Where did you travel to?"

    "Japan, mostly Tokyo and a few places just outside"

    "Carol, could you check Japan on the list?"

She turns to me.  "I'm almost certain that's OK, but I have to check".  Another contented smile.

I sit down to be interviewed, we go over the questions once more.

    "Alright, I just need a small sample before we begin"

She takes the sample with a small contraption that
fits over my finger and jabs a small hole.  She runs
a quick test with the blood, letting a droplet fall
in a test tube filled with a blue liquid.  

The droplet sinks to the bottom.  She checks a box.

Apparently we're good to go.

  I'm given an empty blood bag and a number of rubber-banded vials
and pointed towards a circle of beds in the middle of the room.

I walk up and a portly gentleman takes my bag and asks me
which arm I'd like it in.

"Right"

I pause.  

I want to be able to check my phone while I'm doing this.

"Actually, let's do left"

He gives a grin.  "Here, hold both your arms out"

I comply.  I immediately notice that my right arm
has a very accessible vein.  We're doing the right arm.

Oh well.

   "Let's go with the Right"

I smile and sit on the plastic seat

He swabs my arm with that wonderful orange/yellow dye
and gives me a stress-ball to squeeze, to help the process go
quicker.  He comes back with the needle.

I look away as I feel the uncomfortable breach of my skin.
It's a small pinch followed by a dull sensation, my body
telling me "That isn't supposed to be there, get it out".

         I hate needles.

I feel a light sweat break and my breathing quickens
ever so slightly.  It's ok because the hard part is over
I squeeze the stress ball every few seconds and I chat
with the man.

His name is Nick, and he's been doing this for a few years.  
He used to work in a restaurant, and then he worked for a
flooring company.  
He remarks
    on the fake grouting that the floor in this room has.  

You  can tell that he loves his job, that he's satisfied with life.

He comments on the t-shirt that I will receive for doing this

(because who would do it if they didn't get a t-shirt, right?)

He says it looks like a blueberry snowcone and tells me a
rather entertaining story from his youth about blueberry
snowcones.  

I pipe in with my memories of the Tropical Sno  shop we had
when I was a kid.  

The bag is filled, the needle is removed.  A bandaid is placed,
and then my arm is wrapped with a smily-face bandage.

I give him a left-hand shake and go sit at the refreshments table

I drink a Pepsi.  I hate trail mix.

After about 10min or so, I get in my car and drive home.
I put on the blueberry snow-cone colored t-shirt and sit
down to read a book.  I think about the people working
at the blood drive, and I think about how happy they
seemed.

I wonder to myself what the difference is between someone
who gives blood and someone who gives time.  I have friends
that travel the world for the Peace Corps, living in third world
countries with no running water, no niceties.  I think of friends
who could sit in blistering heat, helping to build a house for
someone they don't even know.  I think of myself, who thinks
that donating money to the Leukemia foundation and donating
blood to the Red Cross is somehow equivalent to donating sweat
and an able body.

I should really do more
maybe then I'll earn that smile
that those folks wear so proudly

You will read this poem aloud in your head

You'll read this line in an Australian accent
You will read this line in a British accent
This line here, you'll read in a cockney accent
In Russian accent, you will read this line...with *****

This line will be read in your best friend's voice
You will read this line in your mother's voice
You will read this line in your father's voice

Or maybe you won't.  I'm not a f*ing magician.

Geez..

HaHA, I've done it!  I've created a device
That can tap into my subconscious
and translate it for all to hear.

I will win the Nobel Prize!
I will be rich beyond my wildest dreams!
People will LIKE me!

So let's see here....I put on the cap, set the throttobombulator to 8.
Adjust for fuzzy dialation...set the circuit threshold to .79, make
sure the lucid translation synapses are firing...and yes.  The next
words you hear will surely be written in History books one day,
much like Thomas Edison's first phonograph recording, or the
first telephone call!

Neural connection is active.  Transmitting

TRANSGENDERED KANGAROOS FORNICATE IN THE
PURPLE SHADE OF BETTE MIDLER'S THIGHS.  PLEASE
PERFORM ******* AT THE BEHEST OF BUDDHIST
MONKS WITH LISPS.  COUNT TO TEN AND BECOME
A BUXOM BLONDE ***** WITH BOUNCY *******.  
WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE, CINDARELLA IS
ON HER KNEES AND ELBOWS BECAUSE IT'S ******
HARD TO GET LOW ENOUGH TO PLEASURE A DWARF

Oh dear.  This can't be right....now where's that 'off' switch?


JACK AND JILL WENT OFF THE PILL SO JACK COULD
BE A FATHER.  JACK WENT DOWN TO LONDON TOWN
AND PUNCHED THE DALAI LAMA.  EDIBLE *******
GIVE YOU INDIGESTION.  DO YOU KISS YOUR MOTHER
WITH THAT MOUTH, BECAUSE YOU SHOULD. (AND USE
SOME TONGUE THIS TIME)

Oh My...Ladies and Gentlemen, It's clear that my invention
is experiencing technical difficulties.  If you would please be patient---

SATIN BRAS DON'T CHAFE.  NONE OF THE SMURFS
HAD BLUE ***** THANKS TO SMURFETTE.  I WONDER
WHAT MARY MAGDELINE WAS LIKE IN THE SACK?  *

STUPIDSmashPieceSmashof GARBAGESMASH

DoNT LikE iT?  tucK iT bAcK!!

Connection Lost*


I...erm...clearly have some more work to do before it is ready
for the *****--er..public.  I have run into some...translation
errors...and need to re lubricate--CALIBRATE a few things.

Please don't tell my mother.

I wear my emotions on my sleeve

  You ignored the gentle wash label...

bleached them with your stained whites

   as you sat on top of the machine

                           in your underwear

                  enjoying the good vibrations

You even had a cigarette after....
   lipstick stained, hanging from your smile

            Reminding me that it was, after all, my fault
            and I should be more aware of what I leave
lying around

"I'm not Martha F*ing Stewart"

That's the first honest thing you've told me today.

When I look at you,
all of my
logic
common sense
appropriateness
seems to evaporate
as my primitive brain
takes the wheel

We won't take our clothes off
We will tear them off.
Rip them off
Ravage them
Destroy them
We will brutally punish the fabric
for getting in the way of our sins,
it will fall tattered to the floor
as we don new clothing
made of our sweat and fingers

Our lips will find one another
then they'll find our necks
then our chests
then our stomaches
then....we'll see
We'll draw maps of our bodies with our fingers
and then we'll explore them with our tongues.
Nothing is sacred
Nothing is off limits

I want to make you feel ecstacy
I want your legs wrapped around me
I want your fingernails digging into my back
Leave scars, I insist.
Our bodies will press together
cause fusion
cause confusion
I don't want to know
what is mine
and what is yours
I want to be
so hopelessly
lost in you
and you in me
that we might never find our way back
Why would we ever go back?

As the rhythm becomes more staggered
I want to be looking into your eyes
We're seeing stars and we're relishing
every single tiny little moment
every feeling
every fleeting sensation
until we collapse into
eachother's arms
too tired to move
swimming in a
river of passion

You still smell delicious.
I want you again.

This is a formal complaint to one Cupid
on behalf of the population of earth.

We find that you've become somewhat,
how can we put it mildly....
      unsavory
ever since you started drinking.  We've
found that you have not been taking
your job seriously at all since that time

We were understanding at first.  Your
job?  It's not an easy one.  It tolerates
almost no failure, and requires both
physical and mental capacity that is
beyond what most of us can spare.

However...we feel that the alcohol is
affecting your judgement and character
in a way that we can no longer accept.
Below, we've listed the particularly
heinous abuses of your power


1.  Taking bets on what you can make people fall in love with.  John is now smitten with a cactus while Jenny can't stay away from the inflatable Santa Claus on the Morgans' lawn.
2.  Having very attractive women fall in love for your...erm...personal pleasure.  That's just offensive
3.  Having members of the same family fall in love.  The vulgarity of it all is just appalling!  It's an ****** epidemic!
4.  Shooting your arrows at Rhinoceroses and then laughing as they charge a poor unsuspecting person is not funny.
5.  Likewise, shooting an unsuspecting person and having them fall in love with a Rhinoceros who doesn't reciprocate is equally unfunny
6.  Last, but not least...Please fix the Republican Candidates.  Mitt Romney and Rick ******* are trying to get married next week.  While I'm happy that they are now "for" gay marriage, this cannot be tolerated.


So?  Do you have anything to say for
yourself?  Is that alcohol I smell on your
breath?  You don't even care, do you?
Well...we have no choice but to revok---OW!

Oh dear.

There was once a rich and powerful man, known throughout the globe
for his accomplishments, for his wealth, for his power and his vision
He built his empire from sand and dust, with blood and bone

One day he desired to become immortalized in a fine painting

He wanted it to be the finest painting ever conceived -- painted by the hand of a god
He wanted people to look upon the work with tears in their eyes, staring at the beauty
that they beheld

He scoured the nation, looking for the artist that would create his masterpiece
day after day, lines formed at his estate as he took each one in
and sampled their artwork, and their sketches.

Weeks passed

None impressed him.  He became distraught

"Is there no man in this world who can possibly create the wonder that I desire?  Is there no man who can immortalize me in such a way that words could not describe the perfection?"

A voice crackled behind him.

"Well...no MAN can.  I, however, am not a man"

He turned to see a short creature behind him.  It was short with blue skin and orange eyes.  It's sharp teeth gleened as it smiled.

"What on earth are you?  Why are you here?"
"What I am is no matter, though you can call me Velnard. What I'm here to do is paint you"

The man frowned

"What is your cost?"

"I only ask that you never leave the painting that I've created"
"I would never leave it anywhere!  If it's as wonderful as I hope it to be, it would stay with me for eternity!"

Velnard smiled.

"Then we have an agreement!"
The man smiled and extended his hand, which was grasped firmly by a claw

Suddenly, a large canvas was hanging from the ceiling

The man looked around

"Where would you like me to stand?  Have you no paint?"
"Ah!  You can just stand there for a moment.  The paint will be ready shortly"

The man stood, regarding the small creature.  His hand was itching after shaking on the deal.  Minutes passed.  Neither party moved.  The man became impatient.

"Are you going to start?  I have other things to attend to today."
"I think you'll find that this is more important"
"Well then get to it already!"
"I already have"
"You've done nothing the entire time we've stood here!"
"No, the paint is nearly ready"

The man had lost his patience.  "This is ridiculous", he spat, as he derisively flicked his hand at the creature, motioning him to begone.  He heard a splatter on the floor and looked down.  On the ground, a foot or so in front of him was a droplet of pinkish-brown paint.  He looked around for the source, to no avail.  He stroked his chin thoughtfully as he looked at the creature.

"What are you playing at, Velnard?"

Only then did he notice something was odd.

His chin felt wet.  He pulled his handkerchief and wiped it off and when he looked down, the white cloth was covered in a similar pigment as what was on the floor.  He looked at his hand to see it was covered in paint.

"What trickery is this!?"

He wiped it away, only to find more.  He frantically wiped more to see the pinkish tint turn to red.

Velnard piped in

"It would do you well to stop that.  That's blood.  Well, actually it's paint...but it was blood."

The man was livid.  "What have you done to me!?"

"I'm painting" was the curt, rather emotionless response.

The man felt the oozing moving up his arm and to his chest and looked down to see his clothes starting to drip, no longer as fine cloth.  He lifted his leg, and it made a sickening sound as it peeled from the ground, leaving a black imprint on the ground.  The rest of his body was beginning to look like the Sagrada Familia.

He tried to yell, but his teeth and tongue were becoming more malleable by the second.

"WHAT HARVE YRU DORNE TER MEER"

"I'm immortalizing you, my dear friend!  You're just about ready!"

"THRSRSNORTWHRTIWRNTD"

Velnard cackled.  "Perhaps not what you wanted, but what you agreed to.  One should always read the contract before shaking hands with a strange creature."

The man started to cry, but his tears only served to smudge his eyeballs, making it difficult to see.

"Oh dear, you're going to smear your colors if you keep that up.  Anyway, we're at the moment of truth!  The canvas is ready"

The man struggled to stay upright as his knees slowly were softening.  His breathing became ragged as his insides started melting.

"You have a choice, my friend.  You can either stand here and melt into a puddle of you-colored paint, or you can use the last of your strength and jump into my canvas.  You will be immortalized and people will gaze upon your beauty and cry tears of joy.  Is that not what you wanted?"

The man's mouth was drooping as if he had heard some rather shocking news, his body now looked like a failed attempt at pottery.  He knew another minute and he wouldn't be able to move the few feet to the canvas.

"Tick tock" chimed Velnard

The man, in despair, willed his goopy muscles to make one more movement.  He dove towards the canvas, splattering himself across it.  A giant human-shaped splotch mark was all that was left.  The room became quiet.

Velnard walked up to the canvas and touched it.  The ink shifted and splayed until it became the man.  

He was glorious.  He was immortal.

Just as he was promised.

There was a universe.
In this universe...was a galaxy
In this galaxy...was a planet
On this planet...was a man
In this man...was a heart
In this heart...was a cell
In this cell...was a nucleus
In this nucleus...was a proton
In this proton...was a quark
In this quark...was a gluon
In this gluon...was....


Where was I going with this?

Umm....

You're awesome.

I'm terribly lost

It seems that every fork
that I encounter
on this road of life
I choose the one
that puts me further from my goal

Everyone else seems to know where they're going
It's really quite frustrating.

Do I really have that bad a sense of direction?

I've been looking for you for years
The one I can give my heart to
It's here
in this box
all *******
with fancy twine and tissue paper.
It has a tag on it that says "From:  Hopelessly in Love"
I haven't filled out the To: yet

I will once I find you

I want to meet you
I want to become your friend
I want to fall in love
I want the feeling of your hand in mine
I want lazy summer days spent laying on the grass with you (just watching the clouds drift by)
I want frosty winter nights curled in a blanket with you (sipping hot cocoa in my arms)
I want to smile for no other reason than because
you are happy
I want to share your fears and sorrows because
no one should have
to bear them alone

I want to find the one
who is worthy of this affection
who is worthy of my time
who is worthy of my love

I will present my heart to you
when I find you

If I find you....

...I hope I find you

Lewis had taken his date antiquing.  It seemed the kind of sophisticated, adult activity that he felt would reinforce the fact that he was, in fact, a sophisticated adult.  Never mind that he knew next to nothing about antiquing...except that it was a thing sophisticated adults apparently did.

It was clear within the first twenty minutes or so that she wasn't really feeling it.

She was friendly and amicable, but it was clear that she was being polite for the sake of being polite.  It was the kind of polite that meant she wouldn't be returning his phone calls tomorrow.  For his part, he didn't make a fuss.  He played his role and continued the date as if it meant something.

He even went so far as to purchase an ornate mirror at the last shop they visited.  A mirror he'd probably never have even looked at on a typical day.

Lewis dropped his date off at her flat, insisted on walking her to her door (had to keep up appearances), and gave her a brief hug before going back to his car.  The mirror was wrapped up in the back seat of his small Toyota, making it impossible to use his rearview mirror.

He didn't even bother taking it out of the car when he got home.  Perhaps, he thought, someone would steal it and save him the trouble of pitching it.

The next morning, to his annoyance, it still filled up his back seat.  He had to go to work, and he figured he'd have to get it out of the car sooner or later, so he pulled it out and awkwardly managed to get it into his front door, where he left it leaning against the wall of his front hallway.

Lewis walked by the mirror almost every day for a week before he finally decided to hang it up.  He had bought it, after all...might as well make use of it.  He hung it up in the hallway and then largely forgot it existed.  It wasn't until several months later that he discovered its strange properties.

He had been running late for work, and in his hurry had spilled coffee over his shirt.  His initial annoyance at having to change was replaced with a sharp pain as the hot coffee burned through his shirt.  He was haphazardly unbuttoning the shirt while walking by the mirror when he stopped.  He looked again.  The coffee stain had disappeared.  Lewis finished unbuttoning the shirt and looked at his chest, where he found no mark or sign he had even had an injury.  Thinking himself crazy, he ran back to the kitchen to find that there was, indeed, spilled coffee still on the table.

That had been the beginning.

The power had gone quickly to his head, as power is wont to do.  He could change just about anything in his environment, so long as he was clever and could do it in front of the mirror.  The more he focused, the more accurate the results were.  He imagined that he was holding the deed to a mansion that was for sale downtown.  He found that not only was this the case, but the mirror had taken care of all the pesky details that would have otherwise conflicted with this.  He imagined his bank account filled to the brim with money.  Lewis imagined a whole new life for himself.  

It was at this point that he decided to test the limits of his new found power.  He stood at the mirror in his underwear.  Not horrible looking by any means, but definitely not an attractive man by most standards.  His hair, oily and unkempt, fell listlessly down on his forehead.  a paunch belly accentuated knobby knees and elbows.  His face was rather round and a bit pudgy, though fairly average overall.  He looked himself over disdainfully, and begin to concentrate.

First his stomach started shrinking, as if someone was letting the air out of it. It flattened, and abdominal muscles etched themselves into the skin.  The rest of his body followed suit, transforming itself into his ideal.  An alpha male.  A leading man.  At the end of it all, he stood in front of a stranger.  Even his eyes had changed.  They looked back at him through the mirror, full of confidence and a spark of defiance.  He almost caught a mischievous smile playing at his lips.

The change was immediate.  Between the money and the new face, he became social elite, hosting parties, attending events.  The mysterious newcomer, whose fortune seemed to have appeared out of thin air.  He relished every minute of it.  Instead of chasing people, begging to be noticed, people were begging to be noticed by him.  It was everything he ever wanted, until she came into his life.

She was an environmental lawyer for a large law firm.  She had it all.  Intelligence...strength...beauty.  Her name was Claire. She could stare right through him.  She didn't care about his power.  She didn't care about his charm.  The more he tried to win her over, the more she pulled away.  That, of course, did nothing to deter him.  If anything, it made him desire her more.  It was driving him insane.

Things finally broke down.  He was at yet another party, but he was no longer enjoying himself.  He hadn't been enjoying himself for weeks.  He sat at the bar, downing glasses of alcohol almost carelessly.  He saw her outside on the balcony, and he stumbled his way over to her.  He managed to slur out something along the lines of "Hey baby" along with some semblance of a crude pickup line, which earned him a martini hat and five red marks across his perfectly shaped face.

He drove home, managing to get his car mostly in his driveway (that poor mailbox never saw it coming).  He lumbered into his house, intending to fall asleep, when he walked by the mirror.  Suddenly, his inebriated brain had an amazing thought.  Why should he continue chasing her?  He had a mirror that granted him anything he wanted.  

He stood in front of the mirror.  Once again, he almost imagined that his reflection was sneering at him, but he put it out of his mind.  He imagined Claire, in all her perfection, deeply in love with him.  He continued to focus, as much as his mind would allow him, when suddenly he felt hands around his waist.  He turned around, and found her standing behind him, beckoning him forward.

She led him up to his room and laid him upon the bed.   At first, he was ecstatic, but as the night continued, he became uncomfortable.    She was wrong.  She was not natural.  She was focused fully on him as she had her way, but he was unable to meet her gaze.  Every time he did, her face seemed to move out of focus, like a dark shadow was covering her.  He couldn't linger there long, and it filled him with dread.  Eventually the alcohol took its toll, and he fell into a fitful sleep, with her wrapped faithfully around him.

The next morning, Lewis went back to the mirror and wished her away.  Then he panicked.  He called one of his acquaintances and discovered that the actual Claire was still alive and well.  It had not been her.  He felt relieved, but this quickly turned to depression as he fell into a chair, racked with guilt at what he had brought into the world, however briefly.  Unfortunately, he wouldn't get a chance to make any more mistakes.

The next night, Lewis found himself awake.  It was about 3 AM.  He hadn't remembered waking.  Nor did he remember walking down the stairs to the mirror, but here he was.  He stood and stared at the mirror, back to the man he had become.  He smiled that mischievous smile.  Wait.  He hadn't smiled.  Why was he smiling?  Lewis attempted to move away, but he was stuck in place.  The mirror version of himself allowed its smile to widen, and Lewis felt his mouth tugging upwards to accommodate.  The reflection raised its arm, and Lewis helplessly raised his arm as well.  

Lewis vaguely noticed the entire room he was in filling with a dense fog.  The rest of the world blurred out into obscurity except the mirror with the devilish face of Lewis's counterpart.  The reflection spoke, and Lewis's mouth moved along with the words.  "I sure appreciate you helping me out of there.  Hope you don't mind hanging out for awhile."  He flashed that terrible grin.  "I'll see you around"

Lewis waved goodbye, and his reflection stepped away from the mirror...leaving him in darkness.

He was always a quiet man,
never seemed to look up...

as if his eyes were afraid of
what it might mean to
see the sky

His gaze seemed neither
fierce, nor soft.
Neither attentive or lost

He would never look at you,
it was as if he was looking everywhere
except where you happened to be.

I never saw a smile cross his lips
I never heard a laugh escape his lungs
I never heard him curse
I never heard him yell

When he spoke, I could hear the dust
falling off his breath

It wasn't a monotone sound, but I imagine
he sounded like what trees or mountains
would sound like, had they voices.

He existed in the loosest sense of the word

He was an oddity and an enigma
His quietness and unobtrusiveness
could be somewhat offputting

Yet...he was often able to blend into
the background like a rain drop
in a storm.

You can imagine our surprise
when he stumbled into town one
hot afternoon, clothes looking like
he'd fallen into a vat of red paint.

Splattered. Head to toe.
In between his head and his toes,
cradled in his arms, was the
body of a young girl

He had found her in the woods,
he had said, voice devoid of emotion.
She had been lying off the path,
in a pool of crimson.

An investigation turned up nothing
The people, in need of a murderer,
settled on the only man they could.
The man who hadn't shed even one tear
over the death of a young child

The trial was a farce
The kangaroo court adjourned
Death by hanging

The man remained silent throughout
the proceedings.  Quietly answering
the frothing prosecutor's questions
with the same demeanor as someone
would use when discussing the weather

He wasn't defensive
He wasn't derisive

He didn't plead, nor pray
when the verdict was announced

On the day of the execution
nearly everyone in town was in attendance
Most of them couldn't tell you why

The noose around his neck, he stared
back at the crowd.  Stared through them,
as if they didn't exist.

When the rope snapped taut,
The man flailed as his body
involuntarily spasm'd.

When he finally passed,
his body swinging lazily
under the gallows,
I caught the hint
of a smile

Only for a moment.

I found it odd

That he would only show
a sign of life
as it was ending

I could not write.  There was a drought in my mind
I could not concoct a single ****** line.  I told my wife
My dear, I think it's high time
I went and refilled my inspiration

I walked to the store, the one at the end of my block
I surveyed my mind, yet still it was locked.  I shook my head
I can't believe I waited this long to restock
my nearly empty inspiration

Once inside, I browsed the multitude of  sparkling aisles
Searching for a brand to match my writing style.  With little luck
It was difficult to find one worthwhile
to serve as my inspiration

I started reading the descriptions on the boxes
_________________
E­xtreme Naivete
Do you like Rainbows, puppies, unicorns and sparkling vampires?
EXTREME NAIVETE might be just the inspiration you need to
explain to the world why Justin Bieber's hair is just the perfect shade
of blonde.  Remind everyone that there is sunshine and happiness
in everyone's heart if you just help them find it.  Perfect for the 10
year old in all of us that hasn't yet faced the harshness of reality.

Side effects include:  blatant ignorance of the fact that most people
are complete self absorbed *******, increased use of smiley faces,
and tendency to dot your i's with hearts.
_________________

­_________________
Dark and Brooding
Doesn't life ****?  Do you hate how everyone sits around and acts like
nothing is wrong with the world?  Do you feel like you're the only one
who has ever felt this way, like, ever?  Don't get mad, get...eh...whatever.
Tell your depressing story to anyone who will listen with our brand new
DARK AND BROODING inspiration.  Tell the world how you feel like
cutting your wrists and how every day is cold and meaningless.  Write
words that are as black as the clothes you picked up from Hot Topic.  A
perfect gift for a suburban teenager of successful parents trying to rebel.

Side effects include:  Using generic metaphors that include the words
'cold', 'dark', 'lifeless', and 'pointless' to describe your life; the sudden
urge to dye your wardrobe black and gray; and wearing an excessive
amount of eyeliner.
_________________­

_________________
Hopel­ess Romantic
Is there one person for everyone?  Do you want to be able to describe
the way your heart feels in excruciating detail down to the way your
"ventricles ventriculate doubly so" when your special someone is near?
Perhaps you should try HOPELESS ROMANTIC, the newest
in our ever growing line of inspirations.  Your misguided love will
reach new heights with all of the new words you will be able to use
to describe it.  you will be so mushy, that we'd recommend not
standing on open sewer grates after using this product.

Not recommended for stalkers or near ex girlfriends.  Side effects
include the inability to wipe that stupid grin off your face, random
urges to serenade women, and the sudden desire to quit your job to
search for your one true love.  We do not recommend mixing this
inspiration with EXTREME NAIVETE
_________________

­_________________
Bitter Lover
Heartbroken? Lovelorn?  Sexless?  Have you been feeling alone
recently, but can't quite find the words to explain it?  Well worry
no more!  About that...at least.  With BITTER LOVER, you can
focus all your hatred for the concept of "love" into acidic lyrics
of disapproval.  You will be able to spew forth a torrent of
spite and poisonous barbs towards anyone who even looks
like they're happy with their significant other.  Why should
they enjoy themselves?

Side effects include anywhere from snide apathy to seething anger
whenever you hear the songs "Kiss Me" or "Linger",  the inability
to see that your friends want you to stop depressing them and get
on with your life, and the urge to get drunk and tell people how
much marriage *****.
_________________


­After I finished reading, I shrugged my shoulders and sighed
This clearly wasn't the best solution to try.  I went home
I picked up my pencil with pride
at my growing inspiration

Did you know Ninjas have a language
That we can't understand?
While it isn't terribly complicated
it can be tough to comprehend

I happen to be fluent
I've studied for some time
Below I've crafted a poem
using Ninjutsu as my rhyme














































I can only hope you found
my poem to be delighting
there are few things I enjoy
quite more than ninja writing

I
Icy fingers wrap around
my legs and arms.  They
sink their daggerlike nails
into my skin, and force
me to go to places
that I shouldn't be

Thick polluted smoke
enters my lungs, and
fills them with the
darkest tar.  I cough
and spew out words
that I shouldn't say

Slimy tendrils slither
into my ears and wrap
around my brain.  They
snake into the crevices
of the gray matter, and
force disturbing thoughts
to the surface of my mind

It's the Devil, my dear
who spits out poisonous
barbs that make you cry,
Not me.

It's the Devil, my love
who stares at you with
those cold red eyes,
Not me.

It's the Devil, mon cherie
who whispers sweet nothings
that always turn to cold lies,
Not me.

Don't you know I love you, babe?


II**

Please forgive my insincerities
It's not me at all, you see
There's a devil controlling the things that I do
and wouldn't you know it, he's not fond of you

He made me take a gander of the lass with the cans
It was all him when I forgot our dinner plans
Don't blame me when I stumbled in drunk
He likes tequila, who would've thunk?

When our ******* session was somewhat abrupt?
He was the reason I was forced to erupt
When foreplay became no play, who else can I blame?
He's bad at back rubs, and we'll toss just the same

He's crass and uncaring and remarkably rude
He's insensitive, boorish and  unimaginably lewd
He's not me, my dear, of that much I'm sure
I'm wonderful, loving, tactful, and pure

So the next time you're thinking of starting a row
for something I've done, or something I've blown
Take a deep breath and look into my eyes
and maybe catch a glimpse of the devil inside

They're a normal family
As normal as they can be

The father is a veteran of WWII
He runs a tight ship
but one can tell by
looking into his eyes
(the one that works)
that he loves his wife and children

The mother isn't a homemaker
because she's forced to
she actually loves the challenge
of keeping a household in order
it gives her something
to take pride in

The daughter is sweet sixteen
bright as the stars in the night sky
She wants to be a concert pianist
drawing in crowds of thousands
to listen to sweet melodic
sensations

The son is naught but an infant
slowly learning the benefit
of moving in order to get places
his eyes constantly wander
in wonder at his surroundings
innocence in its true form


They are a normal family

But they're not.

Look closely at the father

You can see the mangled remnants of his chest
Where he fell on top of a grenade
He is, indeed, a veteran of WWII.  
His name is on the large memorial in Washington D.C.
Just another young man willing to sacrifice
for something he believed in

His wife died in 1926 from complications during pregnancy
She never got to see her daughter's face
as the doctors carried her from the room
The mother's pale face and unliving eyes
staring at a nondescript hospital ceiling

The daughter's crushed skull is the byproduct
of a drunk driver who is still haunted by
the vision of teenage dreams sliced
apart by windshield glass in 1985
He drinks alone at home now

The child has a gunshot wound through his neck
a stray bullet from a gang fight that found flesh and blood,
just as the man who pulled the trigger intended it to
every time the infant giggles, one can hear the gurgle shortly after

This family exists somewhere outside our consciousness
They don't go on vacations to Disney World
You won't see them at the corner grocery store
They don't Celebrate the Holidays
They don't have
    a favorite sports team
    a favorite pair of shoes
    a favorite band
  
What they have is eachother
four random souls that found one another
lost in the ether
living their afterlife
the best they can

We met a very long time ago.  We both were world travelers,
and we both desired a deeper understanding of our past.  We
met by chance, and it was not love at first sight.  I found her
to be far too passive and cautious, unable to see the thrill in
life.  She found me too brash and reckless, willing to put
myself above others to achieve my goals.  We both had our
points, I guess.

We kept running into each other.  It became a competition
to see who could leave the site with the most artifacts.  At times,
it was quite a heated battle.  Words were said.  Lines were drawn.
This went on for quite some time before we realized we could
do much more for our science if we worked together.  The
first few months were hell.  We spent our days silently
working in each others shadows.  We spent our nights
at opposite sides of our tent, poring over the data from
the day prior.

I don't remember the day it happened, nor the year,
but I do remember it was raining.  We were arguing
about the proper reference notation for a particular
discovery when she turned and called me a callous ****,
right before tripping on a branch.  I was about to
laugh and tell her it served her right, but just at
that moment, as her wet hair framed her oval,
tear-streaked face...

I truly saw her for the first time.

I think she must have done the same, because she
didn't say a word as I picked her up and brought
her to the first aid tent.  She bit her lip quietly as I
treated her swollen ankle.  We both knew it,
though neither of us would ever speak it.

Things were different now.

Our newly forged companionship breathed new
life into both of us.  There was no terrain, no peak,
nothing on heaven and earth that could stop us.
If there was something to be discovered, you had
**** well know it was going to be us doing the
discovering.  It was a golden age when I was by
her side and her by mine.

Our travels finally took us to the unknown during
one particularly muggy summer deep in uncharted
jungles in the south.  We had heard whispers on the
wind of a legendary artifact, one that had been cited
in ancient texts throughout the ages.  We didn't know
exactly what it was, but our nature compelled us to
find it.

We were laughed at, blacklisted by our own colleagues.
We started losing supporters, slowly at first, but soon
our funding was drying up.  Despite every reasonable
chance we had to turn around, we simply could not. It
was emblazoned in our DNA that we must pursue this
unknown thing.  It became our passion, only superseded
by our love for each other.

We did find it.

Eight years later, in the middle of the rain forest, in a spot
so remote that it had never had human footprints, we found
an underground system of caves.  We set into them, and
immediately found ourselves lost.  Traveling for what seemed
like weeks, we survived on moss and spring water.  Just as we
were about to finally extinguish our faith that we would find
what we were seeking, much less our way out...

There it was.

It was stone, approximately 3 feet in diameter, and sat on a raised
pedestal.  It had raised markings on its surface that resembled a
language, though no language that I had ever seen.  The regular
sound of water dripping into it was the only sound outside of our
ragged breathing.  It was a well.  It was our well.  I don't know how
we knew it, but at that moment we both realized that this was the
purpose of our existence.

As we peered into it, we saw what I can only describe as the separation
of time from space.  What I saw burned itself into my brain, threatening
to drive me mad.  The last thing I remembered hearing was a voice inside
my head telling me "At the end, it shall begin".

We woke up at our home, this vivid memory still fresh in our minds,
thinking that it had been a dream, until we saw ourselves.  We were
young again, just as we had been the day we had met.  Further
investigation showed us to be, for better lack of the word...Immortal.

At this point, the years feel like they flew by like rifling through the
pages of the book.  Empires rose and collapsed.  Weather patterns
changed, tectonic plates shifted, it all was mundane at times.  The
one thing that seemed to plague the human race throughout the
eons was the concept of hatred, which saddened us.  We were like
ghosts, sitting on the boundary of humanity, but even that great
chapter eventually ended.  I won't bore you on the details of how
the human race met its demise.

We walked the empty planet watching rivers erode into canyons,
as forests became deserts.  Volcanoes erupted, violently altering
the landscape.  Species continued to evolve, eventually giving way
to other intelligent beings.  They too built massive civilizations
on the planet that humans had once called their own.  They also
made beautiful arts that were a wonderment to our eyes.  They also
hated. All of them eventually ended up in the museums of their
successors, ancient bones the only sign they ever existed.

Five billion years later, the Sun enveloped our planet.  We did not
feel the burn, but we were left with the unfortunate problem of no
longer having solid ground to stand on.  We floated throughout
the universe, hand in hand. We laughed, we cried, we made
love in the place where no one can hear you scream (in ecstasy).
We couldn't speak, but at that point we didn't need to.  The universe
continued to expand, as we continued to float aimlessly.  We had
seen more than any intelligent being could begin to fathom.  We
remembered everything, nothing was lost to the haze of forgotten
memories.

Eventually, the universe slowly began contracting.  I won't even
bother telling you how long it took.  It waned down and down.
It became the size of a nebula...the size of a galaxy...the size
of a planet, until it was so small that it could fit inside of your
wallet.  We contracted as well, our atoms pushing together
as we embraced each other.  It shrank until it was the size
of a single quark, with us inside it.  2 minds occupying
an infinitesimal space.

The we exploded

In nanoseconds, we expanded destroying the emptiness
and filling it with light and heat and life.  We became
every atom in our own universe.  It was freedom, to
no longer be trapped inside of a body, but to just be.
There's no word that can properly describe it.

Billions of years later, our first intelligent life came
into existence.  We did our best to nurture it, but we
admit we are not perfect. We may have taken too
active of a role early on, giving miracles to those
who we deemed kind, and punishing those who
we deemed wicked.  Eventually we realized we
were doing more harm than good.  We retreated,
becoming mere observers of our own creation.

Hate still existed, but we also saw wonder and beauty
that far out shined even the worst souls, much like
light banishes the darkness with such ease.

People always think of God as some all knowing,
all powerful being that knows your soul and
passes judgement.

We sometimes wonder if they would be amazed

or disappointed

to find out that God is just two star crossed lovers
who lived just a little too long

Max didn't even want to be there.  His coworkers had invited him, and he hadn't had an excuse handy.  

In truth, Max's coworkers didn't want him to be there, either.  They had secretly hoped that he wouldn't come.  Everyone else was going, though, so they felt bad not asking.  Now they wished they hadn't

Here he was, though, sitting around a table in a seedy local pub, waiting for "The great Garbo: Magician and Hypnotist".  Probably just another hack who was filling time between kiddy birthday parties.  The show was supposed to have started ten minutes ago, but hadn't, and now Max was being forced to socialize with people who he spent a great deal of effort trying to avoid most of the time.  It was crap, and he wasn't happy about it.

In truth, Max was very unhappy in general, but in a way that his brain was unable to put into concrete words.  He'd been unhappy for so long, in fact, that he didn't even recognize that he was unhappy.  He had just long ago come to the conclusion that the world was unpleasant, and he was the only person who understood that.  Everyone else was a foolish prat who could barely keep from being distracted long enough by the next shiny toy to notice.

He regarded his mostly empty beer that he had been nursing.  He heard his co-workers talking about some new superhero movie when the lights finally dimmed and a man walked onto the beer-stained stage and threw his cape (the **** had a cape!) dramatically over his shoulder.  "Good evening, my fine ladies and gentlemen!  I, the Great Garbo, welcome you.  You may have seen so called 'magic' before, but I promise you that when you leave here tonight, you will be filled with awe and wonder!"

Max yawned, rather loudly, to glares from his co-workers, as Garbo continued his spiel.  He looked lazily around the room, hoping to catch the eye of the waiter for another drink.  If he was going to be forced to watch this swill, he was going to at least be liquored up.

By the time Max looked back towards the stage, Garbo had wrapped up, and was starting.  He began with a number of standard tricks with rings and never-ending handkerchiefs.  Each time, Max would mumble something under his breath.

"...Obviously had it up his sleeve"
"Trick ring, there's clearly some sort of mechanism there"
"...had that deck set up before"

Meanwhile, his co-workers shushed him as they attempted, in vain, to enjoy the show.

Soon, though, the magician got more creative, juggling a set of ***** that turned into doves, which then flew back into his hands as ***** again.  Then he turned his entire coat from dingy black to a brilliant  red with a wave of his hand.  Max remained steadfast in his desire to remain unimpressed.  Surely this was some sort of electronic trickery.  He stifled another yawn, then decided to go to the restroom.

He got up, and tapped one of his co-workers on the shoulder.  Was it Reed?  Or James.  His co-worker looked at him warily.  "Hey James, I need to take a ****.  Need to get through".  He looked annoyed.  Must've been Reed.  "Can't you wait until the act is over?".  Max rolled his eyes, and then mustered up as much sarcasm as he could (which was quite a lot). "I'm sure the 'Great Garbo' won't miss me.  I'll just be a minute".  Reed (yes, definitely Reed) sighed and got up to pull his chair back so Max could get out.  Max picked his way through the surprisingly large crowd towards the bathrooms, not apologizing on the way, when he heard a voice.  "You sir, you would like to volunteer, would you  not?"

Max turned, and Garbo was looking at him expectantly.  He hadn't heard what Garbo had been talking about. He recovered his wits and responded "Nah, I'm sure one of these simpletons would love to, though".  From the crowd where he had left he heard someone yell "Oh come on, Max, maybe he can hypnotize you into having a sense of ******* humor".  Max gave the finger in the general direction of the voice, earning him a few boos from the crowd.  Garbo put his hand up to calm the crowd.  "Come now...Max, is it?  Surely you've been impressed with some of the show tonight?".  Max scoffed.  "I'm impressed that you're able to make a living off of parlor tricks", he said, before turning back towards the bathroom.

"Max, I think you need to come up here"

Max suddenly stopped.  He felt like he had been going somewhere else...but that couldn't be the case, he was supposed to be going onto the stage.  He turned and amiably made his way up the few stairs

"Now Max seems to be unimpressed with the show.  Shall I show him some real magic?"

The crowd clapped

Max wondered how he'd gotten on stage.  He had been going towards the bathroom....he needed to...

"Max, you seem unhappy to be here.  I think I know what'll cheer you up, though."

Garbo reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small rubber ball.  

Max suddenly came back to himself.  "I don't know what drugs you gave me to convince me to get up here, but this show is over and I'm leaving.  I'll be sure to let the police know that your show relies on your audience being high"

Garbo grinned a toothy grin as Max walked away, and then spoke right before Max got down the first step, dragging each word out carefully.

"Who's...a...good....boy"

Max stopped and considered this.  I mean...he certainly wasn't bad.  There was certainly room for improvement, for sure, but he wasn't bad, so he must be good.  He slowly turned and stared at Garbo, and was surprised as his mouth started moving.

"I am."

Wait. What?  Max's mind reeled and his eyes widened in fear, but he did not run.  His legs didn't want to move.  His eyes seemed to be locked onto the ball.  That looked like a really nice ball.  He wanted it.

Garbo took a step forward.

"Who's a good boy"

This time Max answered more confidently.  "I am.  I'm a good boy"

The crowd clapped and whistled, though they weren't sure what they were seeing.

Garbo moved the ball back and forth, and Max watched it intently.  
He wished Garbo would throw the ball.

"Who's a good boy!"

"Me! I'm a good boy!"

"Whosagoodboy!"

"I am!  I am!  I'm a good boy!"

Max had fallen down on all fours at this point, though he barely noticed.  Everything seemed to be growing in size.

"Who's a good boy!"

I am!  

"Who's a good boy!"

(I am!)
Woof!

"Do you want the ball?!"

(Yes! Yes, throw the ball!)
(Oh god, what's happening?!)
Woof! Woof!

"Do you want it?!"

(Make it stop!)
(Yes! Throw it!)

Max could smell so many things, now.  He smelled the beer, he smelled Reed's aftershave.  He smelled the strangeness that Garbo reeked of.  Garbo scared him, but Garbo also had a ball.

Garbo finally relented and threw the ball, and a yellow streak flashed by him as an excitable Golden Retriever ran to intercept it.

Max picked up the ball in his mouth and stood proudly.  There was still something scratching at his brain, though, and he couldn't figure out what it w--what had happened?  Everything was wrong.  He couldn't stand up.  Max wanted to yell for help, but to do that he would need to drop the...

...ball!  He had the ball!  The man who threw it was calling for him.  He ran back towards the man, who pointed at the ball.  The man wanted the ball, but Max didn't want to give it back.  It was his ball.  Suddenly, the man had a treat.  Max dropped the ball and took the treat.  He heard a loud sound and he turned to see...

..the crowd.  The crowd was up on their feet cheering.  His mind filled with fear again as he realized that something was terribly wrong.  He felt wrong, everything looked and sounded and smelled wrong.  He was a....

"Good boy, Max.  Good boy!"

Max received a pat on the head, and the scratching at the back of his head faded a little.  "Crate, Max", said the man, pointing to a small crate at the edge of the stage that several people in the audience could have sworn wasn't there at the start of the show.  Max ran to the crate, where he found a bone and a squeak toy, which he bit into to hear the satisfying noise that it made.  Laughter echoed from the outside of the crate as the man closed the door.

"Everyone, a round of applause for my assistant Max!"

Suddenly Max resurfaced.  He was acutely aware now that he was in a cage.  Fear gripped him.  Surely his co-workers had noticed!  He strained to look through the bars of the crate.  He spotted them, and they were applauding excitedly.  He saw, with trepidation, that his coat was no longer on the chair where he'd left it.  He had been erased from their memories.  A guttural terror crept up through his stomach which became a frightened whimper as the sound was forced through his new snout.  No one seemed to hear him.

Max lost track of time, but eventually the show ended and everyone left.  They wouldn't remember what happened, only that they were left with a feeling of awe and wonder upon leaving.  They wouldn't remember Max.  At this point, Max was curled up in the back corner of the crate, unwilling to move even as Garbo opened it, reached in, and started scratching his head.  

Suddenly, as if the final structural support of a dam had been breached, the endorphins from the scratch overwhelmed what remained of Max.  He was filled with the warmth of something he had been unable to feel his whole life.  His tongue lolled out of his mouth and he started panting excitedly.

Max was happy.

There are voices I hear
that are unusually clear, it's quite an awful racket
What do you mean? I hear nothing
You don't?  I hear something
Me? I can hear only quacking

They argue and bicker
I swear I get sicker each and every day
I think you're crazy, my son
He's fine, Obi Wan
Guys?  These ducks are coming our way

The least I can say
is that on rather slow days, I listen to combat the dullness
At least someone's not bored
I'm a Sith Lord!
Oh crap! one those ducks has a cutlass!!

It could be worse I suppose
but they always impose on the moments of silence I cherish
Man, he wasn't joking!
Those ducks are force choking!
If we don't leave, we're all going to perish!

One day I know
They'll finally go, and my sanity I will gain back
Quack quack quack quack
Quack quack quack quack quack
Quack quack quack quack quack quack quack!


*sigh

Dear 27 year old me

This is you when you were 12.

I know that you're probably
busy counting your 100 billion
dollars or hanging out with
John Travolta or something,
but hopefully you find time
to read this.

I'm sure you are now
the CEO of some huge company
and have a huge mansion on
the coast of France or something.

You're probably dating a super model
and have servants to wait on you hand
and foot.  Maybe even your own theme
park.  Who knows?  I mean even without
the theme park, you can't complain.

I'm sure some mornings when
you get into your flying car
and zoom off to your office
on the Moon, you wonder
how you got here.  You
wonder if you deserve to
be where you are today.

I just wanted to tell you
don't worry about that crap

Just keep being awesome.

See you in 15 years.

----------


Dear 12 year old me.

Stop writing stupid letters
and study.  You are not
helping our cause at the
moment.

Sincerely
15 years late, 100 billion short

If I had a dollar for every poem I wrote....

I'd have like a billion dollars

Because I would just write a program
that spits out random words and phrases

Then someone would tell me that they're
only going to pay me 50 cents per poem
if I'm going to be like that.

I'd be like "Whatever, dude...that's still half a billion dollars"

Can't be greedy, you know.

Then they'd try to pass some sort of law defining what a poem
can and can't be, spending millions of tax-payer dollars to stop
me from writing poems like this:

SHITAKE DUCK FOOTBALL
magnifying glass eats adolph ******
can I be valentine bubblewrap
I think so maybe
I peanut butter 1975 Yankees
Did you ****?
Robocop.

The judge would rule in my favor.  That would really ****
off the poor saps that had to pay me for my poems.


Doesn't really matter though....





No one pays me for this ****.

Oh dear
Oh dear
I've happened upon a queer
I don't quite know
how this should go
luckily I have my rulebook here

Morality for Fools
tells me homosexuality is a sin
Now I'm allowed
To yell it out loud
and tell him how naughty he's been

Oh dear
Oh dear
My neighbor's wife is licking my ear
Oh what should I do?
What happens next?
Lucky I keep the rulebook on top of my desk

Morality for fools
tells me that adultery is wrong
so I ask her to leave
and she seems a bit peeved
as she was itching to get out of that thong

I'll be the first to confess
It's sometimes a mess
to keep it all straight in my head
You see, I have no morality of my own
so I use the book's instead

It's perfectly fine
and I really don't mind
It's so much simpler this way
I'd rather be told what to do in my life
than make my own choices all day

1.  If you aren't moving your hands while telling a story, it's a boring ******* story.  Add in something to make it exciting, like a chance encounter with a tiger.  So what if no one believes that tigers walk down 5th avenue, at least your story doesn't **** any more.  You know whose story ***** now?  That ******* who doesn't believe a tiger can make it in the big city.

2.  Make bad mistakes every once in awhile.  How will you know that you don't want to be part of a Colombian Drug Cartel unless you try it out for a few weeks?  Who knows, maybe you'll find out it's your true calling.  Maybe you'll stage a coup, take over the whole thing and get the hot girl in the red dress.  But no, you're sitting at your computer reading this.  My point is, drugs are bad ok?

3.  Don't be that guy who thinks he's better than everyone else because he always "does the right thing".  You know why he's never made a mistake?  Because he doesn't have a real life.  His life is as real as a Ken Doll's unmentionables.  Yeah it's all smooth and shiny, but he can't have any fun with it.  What's the point of  having a life that can't be potentially ruined by terrible decisions?

4.  Take chances.  and I don't mean by putting "Piccolo Pete's Face Burning Tabasco" on your hotdog.  I mean walk up to the next girl you see and give her a passionate kiss the likes of which she hasn't had since 3 days ago when she drunkenly made out with some random dude at a bar.  Yeah, you may feel like you've just been kneed in the groin and/or maced multiple times in the eye...but you know what?  You just made out with a beautiful woman, and you've got a good lawyer.

5.  Don't take advice from people you don't know.  Especially some random person on the internet, those people are just shady.

I found you hiding in your painting

I distinctly remember saying
that you reminded me of Monet

Beautiful without trying
          Elegant Simplicity

You said I was like Seurat

Up close a jumble of emotions and thoughts
that seemed to contrast, but then all made
sense when you took me in as a whole

That night, we drank our fill
we danced under the fresco moonlight
   Our colors bled together as our lines,
boundaries, and vision blurred

Perfect Chaos.  Dali would have approved.

But..your lips. Those perfect lips
dripping
in crimson red oil
contrasting pastel skin
remained crisp and vivid in my memories
They left their mark on my canvas

A smile beckoning, drawing me

That night, so long ago...

We painted a masterpiece

There was a time that I found my life
to be boring
inane
bourgeois
some...other fancy sounding word
but that was before I discovered how amazing
life could truly be. That was before I discovered
InsaniFree. I bought it over the phone
for $14.83 and let me tell you

I couldn't be happier now.

You just take a teaspoon a day, and your
annoying
    controlling
        bothersome
sanity just slips away,never to be seen again.
Why within the first day I had quit my job of 25 years.
Just up and quit!
I walked into my boss's office and told him I was done.
Done being underpaid and overworked.

Well...
I might have actually just ran in covered in toner
with my pants tied around my head and tried
to jump through the window only to find it
was reinforced glass...
but it's practically the same thing.

Anyway...

I have a new job now as a "Rodent anxiety theorist".
It's so exhilarating and I've never felt more fulfilled
as a member of the work force. I spend my days
carefully observing the small critters at the park
to see what makes them tick.

Quite literally the best job ever.

Well...
I guess it technically isn't a "job", as I don't really get paid.
I basically run around throwing acorns at squirrels, then write
down what they do on napkins. They generally run away,
but I think they're starting to mobilize. I've got my eye on them.

Isn't it amazing what you can do when you don't let your
stupid
   oppressive
       restrictive
sanity stop you from doing the things you want?


Just a week ago I left my wife of 12 years. I told her
I couldn't stand her unrealistic expectations anymore.
"Dear, you need to spend more time with your son"
"Dear, we don't talk enough"
"Dear, take out the trash"
"Dear, please stop cutting locks of my hair while I'm sleeping"

Women, am I right?

I'm so much happier now. I'm marrying my dream girl next month.
Literally.
As in she's a girl that only exists in my dreams.
The paperwork will be tricky, but I think I can manage.


Now that my goodfornothing sanity is out of the way,
I can focus on lifelong dreams like
traveling the world
learning a new language
or just running through a mall and seeing how many people
I can squirt with ketchup before security tackles me.
I could never do these things before.

Well...
I guess technically I can't do them "now"
since I'm writing this from my padded cell,
but I know it's only a matter of time
before my new wife gets here with the paperwork.

She's great.

I hope she hurries though...I think I saw a squirrel.

Wait for laughter.

When I was younger,
as our lips met
I was so eager
to free you
          from your fabric bonds
I was in such a hurry
to liberate you
         from the oppressive clothing
that was strangling your body
                inhibiting your beauty
                hiding the soft curves of your skin
I treated our time together
like a small child would treat a Christmas gift,
Greedily tearing away at the wrapping paper
to retrieve the object of his desire.

Unaware that anticipation can be just as rewarding
as the reward itself

My priorities have shifted
          I've learned

Let me just lay next to you
admire you as you bite your lip
   enticing a kiss.

    Just a small one

Let me run my hand down your arm
as my fingers find yours and
   i n t e r t w i n e

Let me watch as your eyes follow mine
into the place where no words
need be spoken

I want to listen to your heartbeat
                   There's no need to rush this.

I want to get lost with you in this moment

                 Just for a bit

Before we're lost in the passion of the night

Yesterday, I walked up
to a tiger, and asked him
if he was jealous of
the leopard's spots

As it turns out

Tigers don't talk.

On a related note,
I no longer walk

You hit me like a thunder clap
                                         snap
                                 crackle
                              pop
                       ­ I don't wanna stop
                          don't wanna quit
                          can't wait one minute
                 We never had a choice
                                  we never had a chance
                              as we dance
                through this second glance
                                                 romance
                                          fancy that
                                I'm on my back
                        You attack
          we both see black
   black and blue
It's always been you
your warm rain upon my skin
                         You'll always win
                               I'll always grin
                   as your storm washes me away
                              to start again
                                     another day

Are you bored?
Do you feel there's no point to the things you do?
Is your life missing an element of excitement?

Fear not, I have just the thing

Put the Awe back in Awesome
Put the back Zing back in Amazing
Put the Fanta back into Fantastic

What?  Fanta is great.

Anyway

It's rather simple.  

The next time you have to do something you find boring, depressing, or unfulfilling, do it FOR SCIENCE!

Some examples:

I'll be out later, I have to do my English homework...FOR SCIENCE
I'm giving the big presentation tomorrow...FOR SCIENCE
I got into a car accident this morning...FOR SCIENCE
I don't feel so well, I need to use the crapper...FOR SCIENCE.  I'll be in there awhile.  For Science.
Someone tried to steal my purse, so I stabbed them...FOR SCIENCE

I guarantee that if you use this handy tip, your self esteem will rise, and people will find you exponentially more interesting!

Or they might think you're crazy

They definitely won't think you're boring, though.

So go out there and show the world what you're made of

For Science!

This poem is reserved
for the love of my life
Its lines are only
placeholders
templates
for what is to come

There is no meaning right now
so don't go and search for it
These are cold, emotionless words
ready to be replaced with fire
when the time is right

This stanza will be filled at a later date
This line will be about her laugh
This line will be about the look she gives me (you know the one)
This line will be about the spark in her eyes
This line...mmm...will be none of your **** business.
It's a private moment
It's between her and I
The one with the reservation
to my heart

One day this poem will mean something
One day these lines won't be empty
Someday

But not today

Hey Brain

You again

Yeah...you ready to write now?

Nah

Seriously!?

Throw me a bone, I beg you I plead!
Don't make me grovel from down on my knees!
I want to write verses, stanzas, and rhymes
I want to write odes that span hundreds of lines!
You don't understand the depths I would go
if only you'd let my creativity flow
within me there's power of unfathomable wonder
I will rip apart planets, I'll tear universes asunder!
I want to dip my brush into the paint of my mind
and just go to town until my mind paint is dried.
Paint that will land on more than the canvas
the floor, ceiling and walls will be stained with this madness!

My mind is spinning with various hues
greens, reds, and yellows -- purples and blues
My heart's 'bout to beat right out of my chest
and trust me, dear brain, that'd be a magnificent mess
If I go too much longer, I may go insane
and start writing of kumquats who dance in the rain
with whom are they dancing out there in the rain?
Why, none other than the late Saddam al Hussein
and those kumquats are making Saddam a mite jealous
due to the fact that they have much better moustaches
And why do kumquats have moustaches you wonder?
I'm so glad you asked, 'cause they're from the Down Under
Yes those kumqats were Australian, but they're not long for that land
Tom Selleck just ate 'em.  Rhyme like Yoda, I can

See what you do, when you do this to me?
When the one thing you do is not a **** thing?

My apathetic brain, why must you sit here and fight
Put down your defenses, and
just.
let.
me.
WRITE.

Umm...you just...kinda did

Oh.  Thanks...I think.

*Whatever

I bet you thought I didn't have anything left in the tank.  Bet you thought that I was done giving mind blowing advice on how to approach this crazy thing we call life.  Well...you were wrong.


1.  Often cases, how good a story you end up with is inversely proportional to how good a decision it was that led to it.  Don't be afraid to make some bad decisions every once in awhile, because those are the stories you're gonna be telling for years to come.  Even when you know it's a bad decision.  Sure, you might wake up naked in a ditch on the New Jersey turnpike with a some blurry memories, a hangover, a tattoo of some girl named Francesca on your chest, and an ounce of black-tar ****** shoved up your ***...but you know what?  You started this little adventure at a black-tie dinner party in Santa Monica, so I'm willing to bet some interesting **** happened between here and then.

2.  Don't be someone who never breaks the mold.  When you're lying on your death bed and someone asks you to tell them about your life, do you want to lean over and whisper to them that you always did exactly what people expected?  That you carefully listened for society's cues on how to represent yourself at every point in your life?  **** no.  You want to tell them you broke off the road and went searching for the oddities that this world has to offer. You want to tell them that you gave the ******* to society and did what you wanted because, you know what?  It's your ******' life and you only get one shot at it, so you might as well make it memorable.  Being normal is boring as hell.

3.  Talk to everyone.  Talk to them about uncomfortable things.  Talk to them about their hopes and dreams.  Talk to them about their fears.  Just ****** talk to them.  Real conversations always leave you with something you didn't had before.  Real conversations make you think about your positions.  Get passionate when you talk.  Challenge their views and allow yours to be challenged as well.  Do you think you know everything?  Yeah, I bet you do.  Why aren't you out solving everyone's problems then, you selfish *******.

4.  Whoever you are, be proud of that.  If you're not proud of who you are, chances are you arent happy with yourself.  If you're not happy with who you are, change something.  If you're still not happy, change something else.  Still not happy?  Guess what.  Change another ******' thing. Are you happy?  Good.  Now change something else anyway, because an interesting life isn't built on stagnation.

I hope you've all learned something today.

Also, I'd like to remind you to never take advice from strangers on the Internet.  That's just stupid.

The boys, the boys, they can't help but stare at her
as she's talking, she's walking in iambic pentameter

She breathes in italics
Words fall from her lips
San-serif movements
Punctuate her hips

She writes, she paints, her dreams soak the paper
such beauty, such beauty, my willpower waivers

Her eyes tell a story
in which I want to belong
Only she knows the ending
as she has all along

I wish, I want, a new story to start
with her, with her, with all of my heart

The mind of the insane is really not that difficult to understand

It's rather simple

You see, when you eat the blue macaroni while
singing "Modern Major General", you must
remember to Stop.  Hammer time.  If not,
the rhesus monkey will shoot lemon rays
at your hampster with dead lifeless eyes.

Those terrible eyes

If that happens, then your only recourse
is to do the Darkwing Duck and hope
that you don't eat pancakes before
noon.  Also, don't forget the most
important thing of all:
Banana.

Like I said.
Simple.

Now go eat a muffin.
It makes you fly.

When I was but a boy
no older than 4

       I insisted that the number of pickles
       on my sandwich be representative
       of my age.  

4 years.  4 pickles
5 years.  5 pickles
6 years.  6 pickles


This went on for awhile.

    Eventually, though, I felt it was time to end that particular tradition.

28 pickles was getting ridiculous...

I sit in her garden
listening to the lilting of the birds
feeling the grass tickle my bare wrists
chilled water of the brook meanders past, satiating my toes
while the flowing shadow of the elm lets in specks of the sun
as the wind steps through the leaves.

I'm lazily following an ant as it crawls upon my knuckle when I hear her

Come and find me, she says

She stands among the red ivy, as it madly creeps up the ancient brick behind her

I stand up and walk towards her

The ivy wraps around her wrists and ankles
It weaves in and out of her hair, flows around her neck
It envelopes her hips
Panic sets in

Come and find me, she cries, as she is finally enveloped

She is gone.
The wall of ivy has stolen her.

I rip at it, tear at it.  I dig in.

I'm surrounded by ivy, as I look back I see a tunnel
a small opening of light indicating where I had started.

It seems miles away
How long have I been here?

It is then that I look at my hands

They are covered in blood

Crimson drops fall from the torn ivy

Come find me

I gasp

"Are you OK, honey?"

She's sitting next to me on the sofa
sipping her cocoa while mine sits
on the coffee table, getting cold

She lays with her legs across me now,
she's wearing a sundress that tempts
but she's unaware.  She tells me about
what our eldest son did while I was working

I should be so proud of him, she tells me

She must be aware of my look of confusion,
as she again asks me what's wrong.

I look down at my shoes as I explain that
I don't remember having kids.  I brace
for the anger, but as I look up I only see

tears

as she cradles the womb
that has denied her happiness

The tears well up, and they fall to the ground
I do my best to comfort her, but she's eroding
each drop taking away a part of her
until only a puddle remains

It starts raining.
I'm soaked to the bone
I'm walking to the bridge where I know she'll be
She likes it because it's falling apart.

She's standing at the edge, looking down.
The ravine is much deeper than you would expect
the bottom is a black pool of water

She's sitting at the edge, tossing pebbles over the side
oblivious to the creaking and moaning of the bridge
trying to warn her away.

She sees me stop at the foot of the bridge, and looks at me
with those piercing blue eyes.  You just don't say no to eyes like that.
They look me over as that familiar feeling washes over me.
I'll do what you want.  Just say when.  Just keep looking at me like that.
A hand beckons me to sit down, I carefully oblige.

We both know what happens next, but we sit in the silence for the longest time

Finally, she takes my hand...and we're falling.

As we plummet, she holds me tight and whispers in my ear

You found me

The bottom races towards us

Blinding light

and I am at peace

Look!

See the multitude of orbs
of varying
              sizes
                   shapes
                       and colors

There are beads as well.

One train leaves Santa Fe going east at seven eleven
destination's unknown and the speed is irrelevant
Another leaves Boston at eight twenty five
We know when it left. When will it arrive?

If eighteen percent aboard are practicing Christians
and twenty eight percent are worshiping Krishna
what percent will be spared when the trains have collided?
Which subset will have a better chance of survival?

If there are five homosexuals with their life partners
and thirty two fundies with hate signs and markers
What are the odds that of the forty-two mentioned,
that ten gay folks survive.  Was it divine intervention?

If you factor and account for wind speed and sun
If you double check your figures (and carry The One)
Are those who climb from the wreckage unharmed
more righteous than the ones who lie dormant and calm?

How long will you stare silently at the equation
searching for a solution that leads to salvation?
When all is said and done at the end of the day
There are no survivors, so says F=ma

So
You've found a girl who can hold your gaze
You've found a girl with those sinful curves
                that    girl    with the     lips     that you want sayin' your name

Oh she's beautiful alright.  How did you get so lucky?

Maybe you're not as lucky as you think you are?

Does being
    luscious, limber, lavacious, and alluringly lustworthy
make up for being
    lewd, lethargic, and a lackadaisical liar?

So what that she's
    ogle-worthy, optically pleasing, orgasmically ideal
if she's
    offensive, ostentatiously ornate, and overbearing?

She may be
    vivacious, voluptuous, and sexually voracious
She's also
     vain, vapid, vacuous, a vengeful *****

Don't let her
   exotic, ****** efficaciousness
Blind you to her
  egocentric, evasive, envious  nature
  
Those lips won't look so   enticing   when they're spitting poison barbs into your heart


Wouldn't you rather  have a girl
Who is likeable?
Who is original?
Who is vibrant?

Who is enough to make you happy?

It's all you need

Do I have to spell it out for you?