Friday, November 28, 2014


"it must be the tryptophan" i implored my guardian. he was my guardian so he'd know the answers. "no," he replied, "this is indie theatre". "with an "re"?," i asked innocently. "yes, that's what it's about," he mentioned, "with an ie, otherwise we'd be an Indianapolis Colt." i wide-opened my anime eyes and beheld the art and started to water. too much cider. "this is so lovely," i stammered, "i've never seen such freedom." "you're not seeing it," he learned me, "you're feeling it." "am i trippin' on tryptophan?," said i, "this can't be real." "yes and no," is the learned reply, "yes cos it's in the name, no cos those two things can exist at once." "leave me here, " i explored, "i want to pursue my calling. i hereby relieve you of your guardianship." "you do need to relieve, " he smiled, "but that's not how it works. today is a gigantic shopping day, today is not like other days and shopping days, today is for giants, for gigantics, do you want me to buy you a tv with a screen so gigantic it doesn't fit into the Earth?" "no," i boomed, "that's bad for the environment. happy weekend, go on and gorge yourself. i'm fulfilled by my little itty bitty self on this hard wooden chair that's two sizes too small. the uncomfortableness allows me not to fall asleep, to keep my senses sharp so i can overanalyze what i see later. these are my people, this is my troupe, i finally belong. i want to be an indie actor one day, i want to perform in front of a man and his guardian in an empty theater, i want the audience to feel uncomfortable. when they don't know when to clap, when they laugh only nervously, i know i have done my job. art for art's sake is the greatest Christmas miracle of all. go on, i have my tv right here in front of me. i don't need a plug."



Wednesday, November 26, 2014


Saveola is knee-deep in mud and beaming her true teeth. Brother Wax can't help but to look but he hasn't looked at her yet.

Saveola: it's good. you seem calmer now.

Wax: how can you tell?

Saveola: you're not drawing circles with your marshmallow stick anymore. you're making broken triangles. you're not pounding the stick anymore, you're gliding it along the lake mud lovingly, as if guided. it's good, though, it's good to get things off your chest. praying isn't the same, you need to talk to another living person.

Wax: everyone prays in their own way. i'd be a wreck without my long periods of prayer. i'm not sure if it's prayer or meditation or a time to gather my thoughts, but this place provides the solace and the time.

Saveola: i tried to sit still once but i thought i would go crazy. this damn modern time of ultra insta everything and digital roses.

Wax: why am i called Wax?

Wax looks at Saveola's forehead, the seat of her third eye. he takes the stick and plugs it into his ear.

Wax: simple, i have wax in my ears. i bathe, i shower, i use the steam, but i can never get the wax buildup out. cotton swabs, sure, but the doctor says i've been sticking them down in my ear canal dangerously. it's true, i've started to see red on the tip. goes back to my mouth. i had a big mouth when i was young, why i'm so quiet now. as in i had a physically big mouth with a misaligned jaw. surgery was too expensive so it stays misaligned to this day. that's why my wax is so out of whack. whack wax. it got so bad i was forced to go to the doctor to have him manually remove a large snake chunk of wax from both ears with an electric tool. he plopped the snake in front of the nurses and the three of them had a good laugh. i've distrusted people ever since.

Saveola: i'm sorry. but is that really reason enough to become a monk?

Wax: no, this is my name, i hear it with pride. the wax allows me to shut out the outside world and focus on those tiny sounds only animals can hear. i'm honing it every day, it just takes time. soon i will be able to communicate with nature, with animals, with my animals.

Saveola writes something in her green notebook. it starts out as words starting with I but ends up a picture of whiskers.

Wax: Carrie helped me not for one day. she was there as my caring arm. whenever i had more questions about how best to integrate a kitten and a cat who had been man of the house alone for so long, i went back to the pet store on various days and times and she always seemed to be there. never caught her at lunch.

Wax: Carrie, things are getting a bit better. i let the kitten out with the cat for ten minutes in the morning when i change their litters and bowls and check my instagram. they play rough. the cat doesn't know his own strength, he tosses the poor kitten around like a rag doll thinking it's normal. the kitten has learned to use her small frame to her advantage, she squeezes into tiny cracks under armoires and low living room displays. i feel her fear. i never press my luck, never, i make those ten minutes eight, i count down fast in my mind to get it over with and return the kitten to her room. i think things are improving but it is just a perception after all. no perception is reality, only Jesus knows reality. there are incidents. one time the little kitten got into the room she is never to go into, my man cave lined on the away wall with dusty garbage bags full of unused pots and pans and metal sticks and detritus from the life of a bachelor. i freaked out, i got so angry at everyone around me, nobody seemed to care as much as i did, i live alone in a house surrounded by a world of strangers. one time the kitten was innocently tugging at shoelaces when the cat didn't like that very much on a whim. he uppered his head slowly and assumed the attack position. before the inevitable melee, i tore the kitten's claws from the flying shoelaces and carried the kitten to her room and closed the door. one time i saw the cat sniffing at the kitten's cute water and food bowls. that couldn't be good. then the rambunctious kitten of course takes the first opportunity when the door is open to enter the cat's room and sip at his water and chew his food. i became peeved before the cat could, carried the kitten away, ferried the kitten away in my arms, and along the way during the ride told her that she had a death wish.  the kitten doesn't listen, she lives in her own world, she seems nervous, or perhaps it's nervous excitement at being newly alive, she doesn't care much for her own room or her own food or her own water or her own litter. y'know, the organic litter i purchased for the kitten as a healthy alternative to the dusty clay litter?

Carrie: it's okay, i'm here for you. don't worry. if you take nothing else from me, remember to not worry. the cat will adjust, and so will she. no death, only delight at what's to come. is the kitten eating the dust litter?

Wax: i don't think so, but she doesn't really use the organic litter. she thinks the cat's big bowls of food and water and his big, covered-for-privacy litter box are hers as her princess right. she goes in his litter, combining the two as one, and thinks nothing of it. the smell is pungent but sweet.

Carrie: good and bad. life. i suppose it's ultimately okay as long as she doesn't eat it. this is good, though, it's leaning everything toward when the two are free to roam together in all rooms. it's hard to believe now, but one day the cat will be the leader, he'll guide the kitten through the ins and outs of life in your house. belief. eventually, on that happy day, it'll be more cost-efficient to have just one set of bowls and one litter for them to share. you'll have to get bigger bowls and bigger scoops.

Wax: i'm not thinking about that but i'll buy them here. money is no object. this project of love is the subject.

Carrie: patience, patience, patience. time is a river, built up from many midnights.

Wax: built up like protective wax...

Saveola: what?

Wax: what? i can't hear you.

Saveola: where are your fur babies now?

Wax: they're with Carrie. she's tending to them at my house. i'm not worthy, i'm not worthy to be their owner, their master, i have to understand them first, i have to see what they see, smell what they smell, hear what they hear. that is why i am in the wild. i must be one with the animal kingdom, for it is the kingdom most closely aligned with the Heavenly Kingdom.

Saveola: you can use my notebook as your progress report. you seem to have a lot to return to. being a monk isn't for you.

Wax: keep your notebook, you have a life. it is me, though. monasticism isn't donning a robe, it's a mindset. walls will always close in on you in life, you must learn to breathe in the enclosure and recognize the opportunity.

Saveola: tell me more about love.

Wax: Carrie, my children are doing better, getting along. fifteen minutes now. i'm still apprehensive whenever both of their heads attack the bowl of food at the same time, but i've learned to laugh at it, too. one night, the kitten was lost. i was frantic. i looked everywhere, i became a cat and got on all fours searching, hunting, sniffing, under the armoire and display. nowhere to be found. the cat stood sentry by the glass sliding door of my closet. he never moved as i moved all over. tiring, i joined the cat on his spot, and i slid the glass door open, and there she was. he knew the entire time, he had smelled her, her scent was with him forever, etched in his heart. i needed to learn from him, i needed to be at his level.

Wax turns towards Saveola. he looks her straight in the eye. his eyes are red from the lake mist and his crying. Saveola locks into his stare, picks up her pencil, and writes something in her green notebook without looking at the page. her lips are pursed.

Wax: i have a dream. i have a dream that one day my cat and my kitten will be brother and sister. they will run side by side and tumble without hurting each other. they will be in the same room and take turns eating and drinking. hell, the cat will get bored with the kitten and leave the room. my red eyes will look at them both looking at me, four eyes to two, both of their heads and their four kitteh ears side by side, they'll meow simultaneously, and the cat will lick the kitten's forehead. i have a dream.

non-awkward pause.

Saveola: Christmas is upon us. do you believe in miracles?

Wax smiles.

Saveola: i must be going. i have the entire season of Over the Garden Wall i have to marathon off my dvr. i've been busy with finals.

Wax: i heard that was excellent, unlike the norm, complicated, rich storytelling. i watch some shows now and then when i'm not busy thinking my thoughts. Cotard believes in complete media immersion, he's a big fan of porn, but i believe in restraint. this is a monastery after all.

Saveola's lips puff up in a kissing shape. she looks down at what she has written and sees that it was good. she smiles at Wax and gets up from the rock she was sitting on. the pain of the points in her ass is suddenly released.

Saveola: thank you. this way out of here, right?

Wax: yes. but no one leaves this place. the fireflies leave with you, in your overalls pocket, providing extra light. a little piece of the monastery travels with you in your travels. ghosts are real here. what you imagine, what you conceive, becomes reality. Christ is real here, He doesn't live on the tongue of a prayer's breath. i see Him walking on top of the lake right now.

Saveola: can i use your stick?

Wax: it's not my stick, it comes from this place. the stick, so simple and yet so everything: it plays, it holds marshmallows, it draws, it communicates, it waxes, it's a crosier and an office of staff.

Saveola: and it's now my walking stick. peace be with you.

Saveola stuffs her non-stick hand and notebook into her pockets and makes her way to the front gate. there's first that bridge, though. it's dark, or perhaps it's light but the canopy covering of the thick brush makes it appear dark. Saveola reaches the middle of the bridge and looks out over the water. there are a lot of chirping fireflies, there are a lot of tiny presences, and yet the entire area is uneasily quiet. she gets down on her knees, on the spot of the bridge that is cracked and leaking out mud. she slides her crotch until it touches the muddy ground which was designed to be a muddy floor. she closes her eyes, realizing the best things were never meant to be written down. she absorbs


she needed those four minutes. she is recharged and makes her way to the front gate. the entire monastery is one giant jungle, it's difficult to make out what is a tree stump and what is an office carved out of a tree stump, but she does manage to locate Cotard's official office officium. the good monk is feet-up scrolling his instagram away.

Saveola: knock knock. hello, Brother.

Cotard: hello, my beautiful. make a connection?

Saveola: yes, thank you. thank the others for their warmth and hospitality. this has been an experience. i can see what my father saw in this place. my mother, too.

Cotard: your parents' courtship was the stuff of legend round here. Marcio and Rya, the greatest love story ever told.

Saveola: how did you know i was their daughter?

Cotard: you look just like your mother. Rya, a raging beauty tempered with kindness, i'll never forget her face.

Saveola: i have a lot to live up to. i'm born into royalty, and into tradition. i hope i make the most of my college years, i hope it's not all a bust, i hope i get that lasting romance.

Cotard: patience, my child, it'll come, just keep plugging away, tending to your studies, and you'll be led into wonderfully wacky unpredictable directions, like the flight of a firefly.

Saveola: i hope Wax's deepest desire comes true.

Cotard: all things are possible in Christ. i know, it's my job to know everything and everyone, what's in their hearts and what they've done, naughty and nice.

Cotard puts his two hands on his big belly as it shakes.

Cotard: i can't wait to get Wax his gift come our big post-Mass bash on Christmas Day. speaking of gifts, i'll send one to your dorm room. and to your parents' house. say hello to Marcio and Rya for me.

Saveola: yes, the fruitcake. every single year. i do appreciate it. it's a little chewy, but. i will.

Cotard: i'll send you something else this year.

Cotard touches his shaking belly again. he rubs it in rhythm with the jiggle.

Cotard: y'know, our front gate is mystical. legend has it that when a person goes through the front gate to the outside after having spent a spell in our monastery, he or she sees visions of a future left behind, or a future of possibility, depending on whether the person becomes a monk here.

Saveola: i'm off. i'll be back.

Cotard: nice. we watched that just last week, by the lake on a huge white sheet.

Saveola passes by monks raking away orange brown autumn leaves. they wave their hands in rhythm when they have a spare moment from their raking, never missing a beat. Saveola does wave back politely but gets a dooming pang in her gut that it really is time to leave this place, its mud is starting to seep inside her, she's overstayed her welcome. she reaches the front gate before she knows it. she doesn't know it cos she was in trained thought. as she approaches the gate, she sees the dusty path in front of her. over the gate on the other side she sees Carrie holding a double-headed leash. the cat and the kitten are there. the two critters are not on the leash cos that's silly. the pets are by Carrie's side, running and playing and carrying on and being free. then, Brother Wax enters the picture with his hand on Carrie's shoulder. Wax sports a long flowing monk's beard but his cowl is the hoodie from a sweater one might wear in New England. no tonsure on his head, he's merely going bald gracefully. as time goes by. aging the ages. the family of four speak Latin to each other, the ancient language, the correct language, the one most closely aligned with the Kingdom. it's gibberish to Saveola and everyone else, but not to them, they speak intimately, they belong to the same club, they communicate with animals, it's Pig Latin.

Saveola closes her eyes four times to change the channel, skew the image, but it's always the same dream before her. she can't get the principles to change, she can't get the principals to change, she can't get herself into the picture.


Tuesday, November 25, 2014


go read Taking Things Seriously. now you understand. now i understand. now we understand:

"step into any living room, office, studio, or den of any engaged, imaginative, passionate person, and you'll find an item that though not seemingly valuable is reverentially displayed as though it were an irreplaceable and precious artifact."

1. think about your environments---home office, vehicle. what sort of inanimate objects hold special meaning and/or significance to you? list them, share why they hold a special place. photos or it didn't happen:

* take a look at the third pic from above there. in two days i'm gonna have fun, as you can see. wait, that's the food?

* one pic below are my precious kittehs. my big orange tabby cat is the adult now, man of the house, big brother to the tiny spotted one. the big one was so happy to have another one in the house that he shrunk back down into a kitty as you can see. that's called animal magic, we humans don't have that and can't understand.

* remote control: i display this reverentially and prominently under my bed. without my remote, i can't escape the harsh reality of (my) life and escape into cartoons and anime. this is a real-life sonic screwdriver, it fixes things instantly, like my sour moods. whenever the power goes out, i am not calm...

* (Dish) satellite dish: how's this for a win? it's not a catch in the end zone, but it's my kind of victory. i was just about to get Dish Network cos i was blindsided when my old cable returned early-morning Toonami shows back to their ungodly-hour time slots instead of giving me the east-coast feed so i could watch a show that came on at midnight at 9PM and still get my beauty sleep. well, if i had done that, i would have missed all the shows i am so desperate to risk my health on to stay up and watch. Dish Network unceremoniously dropped Cartoon Network in their spat over money. can you imagine how i'd be? i wouldn't be calm if that happened to me. that rhymed. Seuss. score one for being too poor to afford to change. keep the change, i can't afford it. well i could afford it if you gave me that change. how many coins is that? enough for the bus? so i can go watch my shows at Best Buy?

2. are any of your treasured items worth money? heavens no! stuff that is worth money is worthless! only love matters. one man's trash is his trash but it's trash, not love.

3. would you ever part with that item? if yes, under what circumstances? bus fare. i'm obviously not talking about the cats, folks, talking about the audio-visual.

4. what is the oddest or strangest item you covet and proudly display? i know what The Book says, but i can't help it. i know i shall not covet, but she's hot. she's a beaut. she's the latest model. i stole her away. i broke up a family. it's my neighbor's remote control...



Friday, November 21, 2014

Wednesday, November 19, 2014


Brother Wax still hasn't looked at Saveola. he hits his marshmallow stick on the muddy monastic ground by the campfire by the lake. the magic marshmallows have disappeared from the stick.

Saveola: so that settled the argument. cuteness wins out in the end.

Wax: yes. it was simply too late, she was already integrated into the family, the large brooding cat and the spunky kitten would have to get along, they had to, my heart would break if they couldn't. i would let them out together on a rare occasion, let them stare each other down. the kitten had no fear, as young people tend not to, she gleefully pawed at the cat's wary face. the cat roughhoused the poor kitten, sliding her on her side and sticking his giant scary mouth onto her little head. must've been terrifying for the little kitten. she got up, though, each time, willing to accept this was how it was, ready for a big brother while said brother was pissed off at having to share his food, water, and litter. he was king for so long and suddenly the princess is born.

Saveola: why are you called Wax? it's not cos of the candles, that's too boring. it must be a complicated reason befitting a man such as yourself. still lake waters run deep. it's not that you appear like a wax statue to those you don't trust, never talking, only listening, that's insulting. is it because you wax philosophical? poetical?

Wax: i was worried when they "played", the cat had an obvious size advantage over the naive kitten. what he thought was ordinary play could injure the little one. it was a death game right before my red eyes. i was in fits. i still hadn't learned coping methods to life. i still hadn't found my divine default, Christ. what is yours?

Saveola stumbles around the rock she's sitting on, it's jagged and hurting her small butt. she moves a red hot water bottle closer to her feet. she keeps thinking to herself she might be the first human Wax has an interest in.

Saveola: coping strategy? i'm but a pup. test-taking, that's what i need it for. still learning, always learning, i'm young but not naive enough to think i'm not young.

Wax: i needed to get a new litterbox for the kitten, she was using a makeshift foiled lasagna pan filled with the cat's dusty sand. i panicked and had to improvise when i first got her, i wasn't sure i would get her in the first place. i went to the pet store to buy it but i really wanted to buy company. i needed advice. a beautiful woman, as all are, with eyes as crystal-clear-blue as the ocean by this monastery greeted me and instantly took my panic down a few pegs with her soothing voice.

Saveola writes in her green notepad I GUESS I'M NOT HIS FIRST :(

Wax: this woman sprung from the well of human kindness like an unexpected secret brook bursting forth to add to the river of life after finally eroding the rocks that were blocking it enough. it didn't have to be Carrie, caring Carrie, it could have been another goblin hellbent on adding to my cynicism of human nature and blowing me further away from society. but it was Carrie, thank Christ, a beautiful woman with a kind mouth whose words made my eyes meet with hers.

Carrie: don't worry, i'm here to help. this is what i live for, this is my calling, to douse the flames of pet-lovers' worry. i get pet lovers, i get their flame of passion, loving pets more than man, and doing everything to shield precious innocent pets from the low-hanging open-eyed brutality of man, who uses his intellect to lord over his place in the food chain rather than lead. the cat, the dog, is your son, your daughter, they keep you warm at night when the two-legs in your life are always busy, pets have no agenda other than to be there by your side. they forget when you forget to fill their bowl because you were busy working, they never hold it against you, they lick you in the morning just the same, they don't know nor want to know about grudges. they love perfectly.

Wax: Carrie touched my shoulder.

Carrie: don't worry, how can i help? you said on the phone you needed a new litterbox? easy enough, the open-aired starter one over there is the one to get, not too expensive, don't get one with a roof, not yet, she's too young, she won't appreciate that extravagance the way your cat does. all we have is blue, sorry about that, but you said she was a tomboy...

Wax: i'm scared about losing them. will i have to give up my beloved son to keep the kitten? no, not in a million years, he has been my only companion. and in this short time the kitten has grown on me, too, she's a part of me, she's a space in my heart i didn't know was a hole, i can't give her up, i'll do anything to keep them both, they are within me, my kin. when is the right time? how long do i have to wait before i can integrate them fully and not have to open and close doors anymore? i should have just done the shock treatment thing, huh. y'know, just immediately intoduce the kitten to the cat and let them figure it out, no hiding one from the other. it's so sad when i hear the kitten cry behind a door. she's in jail in there.

Carrie: don't worry, it will be okay. you have to separate them at first. don't give in to those mews, tough love, it's for everyone's benefit. it's not her prison, it's her safehouse. look at the cats we keep in their plastic spaces in the store here. see? they're sleeping. that's what she'll do, she'll go to sleep in the comfy bed in the room and not think another thought of discomfort. you have to take the longview. patience, patience, patience, it's sorely lacking in this sped-up world of ours, i make it a point to take spa days off during the week to recharge in silence. you have to get away from it all to continue with it.

Wax: i felt some other force guiding my lips when i said to Carrie: it's a good thing God took the longview with humans. Noah's Ark didn't have to happen.

Carrie smiled with her blue eyes.

Carrie: it most likely didn't. we humans are fascinating specimens, stumbling around thinking we know everything when we know nothing, but thinking we do, somehow faking it with guile and deceit. we must take a lesson from our guileless animal friends, they exist in the pure moment of now, they have no concept of time, no need to be somewhere or to be someone other than exactly who they are. they would make successful Buddhist monks if they cared to learn religion. never underestimate the power of instinct, it's more powerful than will.

Wax: once again a force allowed me to talk of force: it is a force endowed by a beautiful artist in the sky.

Carrie: are you using clay litter?

Wax: i have no idea. i don't pay attention to such things.

Carrie: for the kitten, it's not good to have a lot of clay and dust in the litter, they can ingest it. better to have organic litter. i recommend this brand.

Wax: i never felt more like a hippie one with nature than when i bought something organic for the first time.

Wax: separate scoop, too, i need that.

Carrie: i'll ring you up over here. it comes to some money.

Wax: i paid that money, whatever it was, money meant nothing to me, price was no object, my pointy ears were subjects. i asked Carrie, pled with her one more time to give me a concrete answer, concrete, not like the organic mush i bought: how long is this gonna take? two more weeks? a month? how gradual does it have to be? five minutes a day? ten? an entire swath of an afternoon?

Carrie: your heart will lead the way. it's different, every circumstance, every pairing reacts differently to each other. just trust that the cat won't injure the kitten, not intentionally, he's just playing, roughly. the cat has to maintain his dignity, he must be dominant at least for a couple weeks, roaming the areas of your house with authority, not giving in to the cute little mushball of another cat in the house. once that is established, and really the kitten has no choice but to accept the house rules, the cat will start to soften around the little one, he'll instantly get more mature about it and be less brash and more introspective, allowing the kitten to go wild around the house without much more thought or reaction.

Wax: when she spoke of HEART, i envisioned in my mind the statue of Jesus pointing to His Sacred Heart. i knew what she meant, what that meant to me.

Saveola draws four hearts at the top of her notebook page. in pencil.

Carrie touches Wax's shoulder at the end of the checkout line.

the smoke rising from the campfire is the perfect film screen.

Carrie: don't worry. have faith.

Wax: i left the pet store with more confidence, with hope. but hope is just the first step, actualization is the last.

Saveola: self-actualization is the ultimate. i hope my college years don't end up being a waste of time.

Wax smiles.

Wax: this report of yours is a sure A, that's a start, a first step. every journey begins with a first step, the key is letting someone push you to further steps along the way.

Wax carves something on the wet ground with his stick. circles. Saveola reaches for a tissue from out of her overalls pocket. she sneezes ferociously. her nose is runny and goopy with gold.

Wax: the high air gets to some people, messes with their sense of balance, with their allergies. my nose doesn't notice, it's steel from years of training and conditioning, i can smell things a mile away, that's how i detected you.

Saveola dabs her nose with the tissue and doesn't know where to put it now that it's used.

Wax: i did that, too. for years and years. for some reason i forgot how to blow my nose. when i'd get sick, i'd use the tissue only to wipe around the area of the nose and quickly throw the tissue away. i forgot to do the most important part, actually blow my nose to release all the mucus.

Saveola: it's gross.

Wax: yes it is, that's why my unconscious mind worked to forget it for me, i fought hard against instinct, but you have to let your body live, exist the way it was meant to, and not worry about anything else. it's freeing. blow.

Saveola inhales a huge breath in and lets a gallon of mucus spew out into the tissue and ground.

Saveola: i don't want to spoil this nature.

Wax: but everything's nature. throw your tissue into the campfire, its flame is cleansing, it mixes all of life together into one air which it expels into the ether, the place everything is bound for, like a sneeze, violent but then gone, the fire is


some silence passes between the young woman and the monk who hasn't moved an inch off his spot. but it is not awkward, rather reflective.

Wax: jacking off.

Saveola's cheeks turn red but they were already red from her cold.

Saveola (meekly): come again?

Wax: exactly. jacking off. jilling off. i do it, we all do it in the monastery, we don't talk about it but we know. well, Cotard talks about his. it's the only way we can survive inside the confines of this place. it's the only way we can continue. it's a great stress-reliever. endorphins and all that. it's natural.

keeping her runny nose hidden planted in her book, Saveola moves her hot water bottle closer to her socks. she takes off her socks and slides her bare feet into the mud and muck and lets out a sigh of relief.

Saveola: my cold's getting better as my body parts get colder.

Wax: you're adjusting.



Monday, November 17, 2014


i'm sick. my throat is as raw as the best kind of sex. out of cough syrup. could make some...nah, better just buy it. purple has always been my favorite color...

1. when i can't sleep i__________howl at the moon. that's how i say Goodnight, Moon. then i R-E-L-A-X. sleep is all i've got left, i must sleep, i can't not sleep, dreams are my only escape and my only currency. to make sure i do the deed i wear a nightcap like Scrooge did at night. i pour a nightcap into my nightcap and sip it from my nightcap. unlike Scrooge, i believe in ghosts cos i am one, a ghost in a shell.

2. my dream bedroom would be full of ________Aaron Rodgers Fathead wall graphics.

3. if i could wake up anywhere tomorrow it would be_________the future. oh, wait...

4. i need to _________at night. rub one out cos that's when everybody's asleep and i have privacy. yeah, i rub the seasoning all over the meat, coating that thing good. this is gonna be one delicious surprise pot roast for the folks tomorrow night.

5. _________would truly be a nightmare. insomnia. i mean, how would that work for me? my entire existence is predicated upon me escaping from reality, not staying in it longer. the day i quit instagram is the day i join the Instagram Insomniacs Club, in that order. i mean, the picture of your apple can wait until morning.

6. night time is the right time to_________i looked up at the picture and there was but one response: in honor of Aaron Rodgers and Green Bay Packer Cheeseheads the world over, i will be the first man to walk on the moon and nibble some of the surface to prove it is made of cheese. that is what i was put on this Earth to do, to escape Earth.

bonus: please tell us about your last (erotic) dream: two sex kittens and i are in my bedroom. before anything happens i go to sleep cos i'm tired. i dream about a threesome.



Friday, November 14, 2014

Wednesday, November 12, 2014


the monastery had fared well since the epic love story of Marcio and Rya had shaken the status quo. which is to say it grew. everyone inside the cold walls thought hard. they always thought hard but this time it was about more than eternally waiting to die and wondering if they made the right decision for their various eternities. some of the committed hoods rethought their priroities and went apostate. this was good. stagnant rigidity to the old ways spells death, even for an institution like a Catholic monastery which had long since died in the eyes of a tech-savvy world which scoffed at it as some relic. borrowing from another religion, as all good religions do, some of the monks left...for sort out party, get laid, get hands laid upon them in street brawls, and generally to fill their mouths with all manner of white stuff, mostly cake. some eyes were opened and couldn't imagine going back, others woke up the next morning with a hangover, a tummy ache, and a desire for no other food but the body of Christ. this was good, it weeded out those who were not in it for the long haul to leave room and extra beds for the tech corporate types burned out with 9 to 5 who would "visit" the monastery for a lifetime. it grew, the monastery grew in numbers.

on Thanksgiving break, a studious woman---you could tell cos she wore glasses which dug into her nose---dressed modestly for the occasion in baggy jeans, overalls, and knit cap, approached the monastery gate. she was a beautiful young woman, as all are. she was a smart young woman, which is more important. she felt things deeply, which is something that can go either way. she was there doing a school report, or a report for herself. it was for sociology or psychology or the humanities or humanity. Brother Cotard raced to the entrance to unlatch the latch and let her into the inn, there was room. he was always first to greet the morn and any visitors and last to bed at night. he loved people, he was so gregarious he wanted to call himself Brother Greg but that was already taken. when he laughed, which was often at his own jokes, his belly would jiggle like a big bowl of jelly. he had no right to be cooped up in here, he needed to be out amongst his people, he was the lead singer starving for a crowd. he wasn't starving for food, that's for sure, he was pleasantly plump in all the right places, he loved food, but he claimed it wasn't a defense mechanism, he was hungry for Christ, Whose grace you could never get enough of.

Cotard: Saveola i presume? we spoke on the phone.

Saveola: landline i hope. otherwise you're breaking rules.

Cotard: my cell phone is filled with the latest apps, wham bam thank you, ma'am. and I make the rules round here *jelly laugh*

Saveola: thank you. cold out here.

Cotard: no, it's just that we're high up.

Saveola: was this place renamed?

Cotard: not exactly. it didn't have a name before cos nobody cared. now in honor of a great man who used to grace these windy halls, we have named the place in honor of him: With A See.

Saveola: come again?

Cotard: that's against rules. it's called With A See. see, Marcio often got confused with Mario, so we made it a point that it's Marcio with a C. and then the Holy See, get it? i came up with it. i'm so clever *laugh*

Saveola: see, you can come. of course that was you. i am so honored and blessed to be here.

Cotard: yeah, it takes visitors' breath away the first time they see all the vistas and waterfalls and ponds which have become lakes now and the edge of the ocean and the cliffs. we have Mass sometimes on those cliffs just to change things up. some like the change of pace, others take the opportunity to "accidentally" slip off the wet rocks and fall off the cliffs. that's one way to be exclaustrated from your vows.

Saveola: i've only been told stories about this place, but now that i see it with my four eyes it's in my heart forever. it does take my breath away, though, the wind is strong.

Cotard: you're here to see Brother Wax, right? right this way.

Saveola: if i didn't know any better, i'd think this was 1984.

Cotard: it was 1984 here, once. watch out for that first waterfall there, it's a doozy. water is our friend and our enemy.

Saveola notices how stark it is to have four placid streams of water converging so violently into that waterfall, crashing against the rocks below with a fury pent-up for decades. it's like it isn't the same water.

Cotard: Wax, he's a strange one. we thought he was deaf and dumb when he first arrived, but he was just shellshocked like everyone else who arrives here contemplating the contemplative life. with him, though, the shock is taking longer to wear off.

Saveola: why is he called Wax?

Cotard: dunno. probably me again. i put him straight away to work at the gift shop, selling our candles. it's an important task not meant for a rookie, we need all the money we can hoard, but i felt it was better to shock him out of it than gradually ease him into the life. he didn't fare well. he wasn't a people person so the whole customer service thing with a smile didn't take. he's not a smiler. he would go into his shell and not make the sale. he was a liability, but unlike the cutthroat tech business world, you can't just cut your losses, fire the poor chap, and throw him over the cliff, we keep all those who enter that gate. so, i moved him to the back room, no talking, just silently packing boxes of candles for sale. that was good, better. he don't talk to nobody.

the duo walk along a lake in the center of which is a small grandiose chapel with an open roof. three figures have their hooded faces in their books, singing. the fourth plays the waterproof organ.


Saveola: music has a way of speeding time up. look, it's already night.

Cotard: i need more things to speed time up, it's boring here, boring all the slow time. there's nothing to do, ever. well, he's right beyond there, watch your step, the first one is a doozy. i must retire to my cell now, have a lot of internet porn to catch up on.

Saveola slides down mud to a clearing by the lake. fireflies buzz around, portending the campfire, leading her to it until it is in front of her. as bright as the fire is, it's the four white mini-marshmallows on a stick that gleam the brightest and betray the location of Wax. he sits on a log alone, staring blankly into the fire. his eyes have not blinked for ages, he needs to refresh them with some of that lake-effect moisture.

Saveola: *smiles* you're not catching the flame. those marshmallows will never burn.

Wax (not turning to meet her eyes): do you know why i'm here?

Saveola: wow, i must be one hot babe, i've got yer mouth runnin'.

Saveola takes out a small faded green notebook with boxed edges and a pencil trapped in the loop of its upper spiraling.

Wax (still hasn't looked at her): wow, how wonderfully low-tech. paper, writing utensil, it worked for the ancients, and they are smarter than we'll ever be. i hate technology, especially modern technology.

Saveola: is that why you're here?

Wax: no, though it was like a computer virus. people talk of receiving their calling like an irritating phone-call ring. i never believed in that shit, but i do believe in moments, moments framed in time. the moment doesn't have its volume turned up, but you know when you're in the presence of one. it doesn't bang you over the head, it focuses your eyes on the subject slightly more sharply, like glasses. i was on a safari and i noticed a singular muskox apart from the herd. he was urinating. i saw it alone, only the muskox and i were in the frame, though i was traveling aboard a racing wagon with other tourists with binoculars. time stood still as i saw it in real time. greatest film of my life, a real movie. it struck me down, i cried heavy tears which streamed down my cheeks forming into a four-pronged waterfall falling off my chin. i saw in that the absolutely stone-cold beauty of nature, natural things, nature naturing, the natural order, a creature of God doing holy work, holy business, following his Creator's instructions, in and out, relieving to be filled again, absolutely according to plan, according to his divine design. i was to worship that design ever since. we are all creatures of God, naturally, natural, not meant to be sullied with man-made soot and machines, meant to reflect on ourselves in the surface pool of a lake to see what we really are, silently, alone in the wilderness, by the hypnotic crackling hum of a campfire. oh what happiness that is, what happiness that brings me! (he doesn't smile.)

Saveola is taking copious notes.

Saveola: i cry like that, a lot. we discussed in the pre-interview your love of cats?

Wax (smiles): my calling turned me into an animal-lover. i couldn't rightly keep a pet muskox in my home, so i got a cat from the shelter. he was a rebel, scratching and clawing his dominance all over my face. i thought about giving him up after week one, but Christ gave me the patience to continue. actually i didn't want to be lonely, something is better than nothing. he never really calmed down, he was a rabblerouser who would pick fights with me over who got the last milk. he likes to crawl onto my stomach as i sleep. i feared he would rip my face apart as i vulnerably slept and send me to Christ early. i figured if i got another cat, a kitten this time, a female, they're softer, that would quiet the situation. i don't think things through. i was so terrified on the drive home that the male cat would kill the new kitten that i immediately put the helpless lighter-than-air kitten in my room and locked the door. i dared not expose her to the claws of the male cat. they would have to learn to get along...eventually...without killing each other would be nice. patience is a virtue, Christ help me. the next day i contemplated giving the kitten up, i was fed up, my mind went south, i kept forgetting to open this door to let the kitten roam while closing that door to keep the cat out, and which door led to which room the cat was in, was the cat sleeping now? was it safe or is he tricking me and wide awake, licking himself when i opened the door? the simple task of opening the kitten's door to open the window to let air in and change her food and water became as complicated as modern society when the kitten, desperate to experience freedom, raced on her little paws out her door, knocking into the waiting cat's nose and across his maw, as if displaying some sort of stupidly unconscious little-guy triumph over Goliath. as i changed their bowls, four bowls now, not two, i thought hard and became resentful of the duo and my situation. i could have no social life now, my entire time would be used up opening and closing doors to keep them separated.

Saveola's pencil breaks in half.

Wax: that's it!

Saveola hides her face in her notebook.

Wax: that's it, i thought, i was gonna have a stern talking-to with this kitten. if it wasn't for this kitten, i would have carried on delighfully with the one cat as the king of the castle and me his slave, happily. but no, too much time had passed, i had already named this kitten, i couldn't give her up now. and i couldn't give my cat up, God forbid those such hard thoughts i had! he was my firstborn son. i opened and closed the door as per usual and sat down on the kitten's plush log for a chat. i looked her square in her eyes, they were so tiny i barely spotted them, and just told her plainly, y'know, this was probably not gonna work out, this whole situation was giving me too much stress, it wasn't good for my heart, i was already nervous as it was, how was i to find a date when i hated people, etc., especially modern people...

Saveola: why are you named Wax?

Wax stares away from the girl as is his monk training and into space, the outer space of the night. the campfire flames dance off Saveola's glasses and reflect off of Wax's large nose.

Wax:...the kitten looked at me after my speech and fell down into a curling C, wanting her tummy to be rubbed.



Monday, November 10, 2014


1. do you think sex is less important after age 50? the only number that counts when it comes to sex is the number on your sleep number bed. age is just a number. sex is just a number that you tally on your bedpost. everyone needs love all the time, age or no age, in this age or that age, it's a scientific fact that those that love live longer. those that are loved live longest. that is from a university study and those are never wrong.

2. were you ever squeamish about sex? at what age range? in my twenties when i was just starting out as a sexually-awakened stud about campus. i had all the energy but none of the technique. a lady who lived above my dorm showed me the ropes of in and out and turning over and stuff. she was a hard taskmaster but i needed that to stay hard. she would say stuff to me like, "you're doing it wrong." she came up with that "you're doing it wrong" internet meme before anyone else, but she wasn't into taking credit at the time, she told me she'd take over the world in another way one day. i believe she said her name was Missy the Master of Sex...

3. when did you stop being squeamish and start to relax and enjoy sex? not until Aaron Rodgers went on the radio and told the Packer fans and me to R-E-L-A-X.

4. what is sex worth to you? $5.50 on a good night, dollar more for extras.

5. what do you seek in exchange for sex? a stress-free life. my life is so stressed right now each word i type is stress. my grammar-check is not happy with me. more than anything, i see sex as a way to relieve the tension in my back and mind, it's a release, a glorious glorious R-E-L-A-X RELEASE.

6. is your sex life better now or five years ago? i was more active five years ago but i don't know if that was a measure of how much sex i was having or the fact that back then i still walked around and went to bowling alleys and stuff. this was before my cyberbrain was installed. now i'm not active at all...

7. would you answer your mobile phone (a call or text) if it rang/dinged while you were having sex? yes cos it could be Missy with my next one. Missy is my pimp now.

bonus: what is the one thing you wish your love interest understood about you? please be patient with me. i'm trying. i'm insane in the membrane. i'm not all here, or there, or anywhere. my world is constantly in shatters, it takes time to pick up all the pieces, especially those little shards that are so small to be safe you have to just store them in your pocket. bear with me. bare with me? please? in the bed with the bedpost? i want you. i need you. bear with me while downloading...downloading update patch...bear with us...downloading bar is not yet all white...does not compute...wrong hardware for this software...shutting down...error 404...shutting down...shutting down...



Wednesday, November 5, 2014


Ty: there is something about the night, its coolness is cool but betraying, you see things that aren't there but there are things there. just because you're paranoid don't mean they're not after you. this is the perfect time to strike, in the middle of the night, that's what all the famous wars do, right? they attack at night cos it's confusing and leaves the enemy with two black eyes. it ends tonight, it ends to begin.

Ty wakes up Tudey.

Tudey: but what about the three asleep on the sofa?

Ty: let them sleep together, they've earned it. Base Fase, Scootch, and Mario each provided their share to advance this plot, but i can't proceed the plot with them or they'll end up in plots. i'm not a good leader, i'm a new leader, but i already recognize the folly of dragging other people into your bloody affairs. i do it with you cos you're family. they are friends, new friends, and i hope to see them again. a man has to stand up and do what's right, at least once. this is that one time. are you ready to ride or die with me, Tudey?

Tudey: ride. i love you, bro, but it's a new love. i do it more for my bro.

Ty: this is for Dry Dream, so tragically taken from us too soon, and too soon i became a willing slave to the emotion stirring inside me, it was love at first sight with your brother. love is the easy part, protecting that love is hard. love is easily spoken but rarely shown. to act out of love requires giving everything of yourself, it requires dying.

Tudey: so we're walking to Lofton's pirate ship now, in the middle of the night, barefoot on the sand?

Ty: running together quickly on the sand so our soles don't feel it, no time for that Jesus sand quote, time to speed along on a devil's pace to our kill.

Tudey: you're right, it wouldn't be right of you to carry the three fellas along on your tenuous string of a plan. it seems the only reason these three characters existed was to fulfill your plan, they had no life or agency outside of that, they didn't live their own lives, for themselves. i feel their pain, i'm not sure i will ever creep out of my brother's shadow. i lied, i have been doing something for myself, i've been crying over myself. i've been crying a lot lately, but i keep it in. i have to be strong.

Ty: pain has propelled me and you thus far. let's go, we can't dally, we have to catch Lofton off guard.

Tudey: you have a plan, nigga? i don't want to die. i miss my bro but not too much to join him. i don't know what happens when you die and i don't want to find out. it's scary like Halloween.

Ty: i always have a plan.

Ty and Tudey cross the city line back into the hell of their hometown. the constant riots and protests against Lofton's police have given way to an eerie quiet. it's not that they stopped, nothing ever stops in Fancytown. they were quelled. the citizens lost this round but there are always more inside agitators. Lofton's pirate ship docked by the sea make the bay swirl its waves up down and all around the heavy bulk of the ship, Lofton as always in command of the water, no tide pool is formed, no current streams without first checking in with the boat and hitting its hull. the figure of the ship forms a huge shadow over the town despite it being in a location so at the very edge of the city that it barely touches the outer streets, much less the vital hubbub of the center. it forms a shadow and is the shadow itself, pale moonlight lightly lighting the ship, the circular orb in the sky halved.

Tudey: see them?

Ty: yep, i'll take care of all the guards. i swear i already see Lofton aboard his vessel. he will soon meet with my vessel, the gun i am armed with that gives me a million arms, or maybe just ten. i see Lofton without a periscope, that's how large he looms, he's that singular solitary figure at the edge of the ship, left side.

Tudey: port. i need some port to calm me down.

Ty: it will be all over soon. i'm not a marksman, i'm more, i shoot this gun with the rage of indignity, revenge is messy, it's never thought out, but it's effective cos it's primal. i never have a plan. i've never had a plan.

at this Tudey stops in her tracks by the ship. the guards are just starting to notice the two's unusual movement shaking up the still patterns of the night. the guards draw their guns---they are the only people in the entire city allowed to have guns now---and begin firing into the sand by Tudey and Ty's feet.

Tudey: fuck.

Tudey crouches down and holds her ankle.

Ty: hotfoot.

Ty shoots back, nailing one guard in the ear and the other in the neck. then he shoots all of them dead. he is suddenly by the side of a frightened, shivering Lofton who is up for one last feint.

Lofton: hughhughhugh, i'm supposed to be tracking you, but this works out fine. easier this way, get it over with, i was getting bored with the chase. Tudey betrayed me to you i suppose. ah Tudey, i see you there, i have good eyes, come on board. i thought we had something special, girl, i thought my brainwashing was getting through to you, i thought i had remolded you into an ally, formed a real friend, but i do admire your stabbing ability, woman. what happened to all of my guards, Ty? you killed them all? typical thug. where did you get the gun, we've confiscated all the guns in this city, i double-checked. all my fucking guards? i had, like, ten, or eight to protect my pieces of eight.

Ty knocks Lofton down by hitting his temple with the back of his gun. Tudey boards the ship and reaches a high spot near the golden ship's wheel, looking down on a taken-aback Lofton on his back. she takes out her blue knife from her ankle sock and jumps into the air, flying into Lofton's body, sticking the blade coldly into Lofton's war wound, his boil scar in his abdomen. Lofton reels in pain.

Tudey (screaming): THAT IS FOR MY DEAD BROTHER, BASTARD! FUK DA POLIS. feel it, playa, play the game right! get it right, mister, his name was D-R-Y D-R-E-A-M, dream about him, he was dead beautiful.

Ty: we here now, wannabe. whatup? THAT'S whatsup.

Lofton (shrieking): ahhhhhhh, i don't deserve this! i help the city!

Ty: ah, but you do, my brotha, you help yourself to this city, you make it yours with the fires you cause, so i say fight fire with fire. you're just the next one in line. every leader is supposed to be the revolutionary one, the one that changes everything, but he always ends up being just the next guy, the only thing fresh about him is that he's fresh and new. but oh how he stinks when his term is up, the stench of failure and time and familiarity soaks into every fake word he utters on the stand.

Lofton: you faggot! do you know what it's like to be a man? do you know what it takes? it doesn't take florid speeches and pretty talk and kissing ass, it requires destroying ass.

Ty: the only tail you could ever achieve was forced when you came to power. you couldn't come without power. it was your crutch that you whittled when you were a little boy whistling and dreaming of not being little anymore. you are a lousy lover and an awkward leader.

Lofton: it takes dynamism, and dynamite, it takes leaving your body to do horrible things for the greater good, it means dressing up as another character, or rather as a more determined version of yourself,


it means making hard decisions, risks, real risks which cost lives, this is the jungle, kill or be killed, every civilization is built on the backs of blood and bones.

Ty: and it's singularly amazing how all of those bones are at the whim of a dictator. so many lives gone, their air leaves the balloon of the balloons all strewn along main street, lining the sidewalks, celebrating the new leader's coronation. people instantly forget what the cause du jour is, they wake up, the next morning, wondering why there are guns in their hands, knife pricks on their feet, and bandanas on their minds, they are just happy to be alive, they want to live and breathe again. by that time, it's too late, folk are gone, people are slaughtered in the name of...whatever that was supposed to be. humans are masters at forgetting, that is the only thing they are masters of in our wide vast expansive green environment. nothing is ever accomplished, nothing ever changes except for the names. the little people don't want to be stepped on, that's all. everything, especially war, is about money. cash wins out. gold is king. it's about the one with the most bones.

Lofton: how do you know i'm not the man for the job?

Ty: cos i'm the man for this job.

Lofton struggles to remove the knife from his wound and manages finally to unplunge it with a prolonged groan. it's short-lived, though, for it's replaced with the barrel of Ty's gun. Ty pushes his gun right into the sensitive area of Lofton's wound through Lofton's white shirt, paralyzing him to the wooden-plank boat floor. some of the planks are starting to buckle, crack, little streams not following directions flowing everywhere on board. the ship is taking on water.

Lofton: i'm sorry for your friend. it wasn't me.

Ty: now you are? it's not like you have a gun to your head. the three of us here are gonna tell a story. no lies, just the truth, nothing but the truth. i'm a gentleman so i'll let the lady go first.

Tudey: okay.

Ty: not you, Lofton.

Lofton (grimacing): fine, i did it. satisfied? but it's not as clean as you think, nothing's clean, it's a dirty world. i was dressed as a ghost on Halloween, i thought that was hilarious. we were on patrol looking for vulnerable children and halting the perverts. i had become separated from my squadron and lost in the woods. i followed the wood path and started hearing the signs of riots and protests starting up again, scary on a Halloween night when the moon was playing tricks with the light. i thankfully reached the clearing and saw you, Tudey, all decked out as a princess.

Tudey: i was a slut but it was ironic.

Lofton: i approached you, i didn't know you lived in the house you were in front of. all of a sudden a scary big black man comes lunging at me. i didn't have time to react or think. i instinctively pulled my gun and shot through the white sheet fabric of my ghost costume. the bullet hit your brother and he died. it was an accident. simple self-defense. i thought he was attacking you. i found out the brother/sister thing after the fact.

Tudey: man, stop bullshitting! you don't look good, pardner. don't you want to come clean before the end? nigga you ain't about this life. who knows what lies in that great unknown afterlife...

Lofton (gushing blood): fine, i did it. but it was an accident. i shot him like i would anyone coming at me. i love to shoot at things, i was honed in the war, i shoot first and ask questions later, mostly the questions i need to stay free. these are the mean streets, this is war, this is discipline, this is control, this is fear, this is a police force which commands instant respect, in which every thug in my fair city will think twice before causing havoc with their shenanigan shit cos they know they're fucked, they're dealing with me, Lofton, king of the world with all the guns.

Ty (waves his gun): but not the biggest gun.

Lofton: i still don't know how you got that. the bullet pierced a hole in the white sheet i wore that night, forming a perfectly bloody ring, the hole rounded to a perfect circle and perfectly painted on the edges with deep red. the contact point and residue debris was splattered all over me and Dry Dream, the shot fired was extremely close-range, Dry was clearly just about to put his paws on me. i felt that i had been nicked by the bullet or something, shrapnel, as well. i was bleeding, and my blood mixed with Dry's blood all coalescing along the rim of that bullet hole in the white ghost sheet. i took off the sheet and tried to push it all the way into my pocket. it looked ridiculous. after zoning out while you gave me your diatribe, Ty, i waited for my ambulance and then my police to approach the scene. i probably should have gone after you two, but my body was motionless, still in shock over what had happened, and my discombobulated mind focused sharply on the biggest piece of evidence against me and before me: that huge Dry body lying motionless on the street. i made sure no one else touched or handled the body. i wanted to make sure Dry's body was cremated so as to lose any trace of him to me. not that my own police force would prosecute me, but there are other cities adjacent to ours who might have wanted a look.

Tudey: it's not emotional shrapnel tho. and did you know that bodies feel the cremation process?

Lofton (gushing): i feel, my lover, i really truly feel. i returned to this ship cos it's more important to me than life. i was thinking of stuffing the bloody sheet in the club but that would have been too obvious and dangerous. only on this ship do i feel secure, any location in the city is vulnerable, i don't feel protected there, the streets are dirty, pockmarked with endless riots and protests, it's a shitty place, i like to be apart from it. i had designs on tossing the sheet into the glorious ocean, but as we were doing our nettings in the sea looking for you i realized that some drunk fisherman might net up the sheet, it wasn't fail-safe enough. i needed a guarantee that this piece of incriminating evidence would never be found, would be near me at all times, i could look at it always with my eagle eyes. i tried, but the stain never washed off the sheet, it was as if the blood crusted into a brighter deep red upon knowledge that it would not be subjugated to the waters of God's ocean. i think of it as my ocean, but it is God's ocean. God can remove stains by dipping them in his ocean, man cannot remove stains by dipping them in his tap water. the bloody hole in the sheet stands there for all time, unable to be scrubbed off, for sins stain the soul forever. it indicts me silently, loudly. so, i stuffed it aboard this ship, that plank over there, underneath.

Ty: fish out the sheet and hand it to me.

Lofton: why? what's the point? let me penance in peace.

Lofton has no room to argue and with his last bit of strength tears up the ship floorboard and gives the white ghost costume with the bloody hole to Ty. Ty takes it and wraps it around his shoulders, wearing it as a cape.

Tudey: my turn, hold up, it's me. do you know the lengths i had to go, the path i've traveled? nobody understands another person's journey, it's done solitary and in the head. you must keep your head warm somehow, no one will do it for you. Ty told me how you had that black woman on your arm at the club when he first saw you. you obviously have a weakness for the chocolate arm candy. so i sacrificed myself and sought you out to see if you wanted my pussy. i thought if i gained your confidence, you would trust me with more information as you gabbed on in bed about your various accomplishments. i guess i lived up to my Halloween costume, i am a whore, but, wait, hold up, i ain't no whore, i did this for a good cause. everyone else in the world is a whore, they just don't wear the costume. the indignant things you did to me in that mansion bed of yours. i could never tell where your mansion was located, only that it was obviously in the suburbs of course, you had me blindfolded and driven in the back of a van every time we had our sick trysts. you never gave me any exact info i could pass to Ty, like locations of your men or stock supply or weapon systems or tanks, but i knew it was only a matter of time. why not become a police state, it's the natural progression. you were good at not slipping up with your future plans, our pillow talk consisted instead of you night after night bragging effusively over how you were a big shot navyman, you belonged in the water, you should have been a fish, you were at one with the raging seas, a modern pirate trying to bring the old ways back. so i figured if there was any evidence left it would probably be hidden in that belovedly stupid man-cave ship of yours. the one vital piece of info i did gather was when we were naked and i saw your glaring abdomen scar. the thing that disgusts me the most is you knew i was Dry's sister, the man you shot, and you still went ahead and raped me anyway. is your chocolate addiction that morbid?

Lofton: you have no idea. do you know why your mother was never around, constantly working? she's working for me at my mansion. i fell for your mother when i was just reaching adulthood and she worked at the bingo hall, she was the first woman to show me love, she listened to me though dismissed me as another inconsequential pipsqueak. i ascended to power to nab her, i loved her, all over her body, and i love her even now all these years later. i never knew your mother had kids, she distracted my mind from researching with her kisses. research is boring. she kept quiet about her family and i kept quiet about our arrangement, letting her return home sporadically to keep up the appearance that everything was busy but okay. i would have done anything for her, anything she asked of me, strike any deal to keep her. so what luck it was that the random person i shot ended up being her son! there are no coincidences, nothing is random. despite all i provided for your mother, i could tell she wasn't giving me her all, she was holding back, there was someone she loved more: her son. well now he was gone and she could be all mine. oh but there was also the daughter...

Tudey: LET HER GO, YOU WARPED FIEND!!! i'm way past your machinations, i played your machine and beat the game. when you pillow-talked to me about threesomes, i had no idea it was with my moms! i choose not to infect my head with your head, i keep my head warm with others. your thinking is simple, mine is complicated. get rid of men with guns and entice women with power, that's your method, that's how you quell, that's how you keep control. but love conquers all.

Ty: slavery, of course, the privilege of the white man. well you play the part to perfection but it is just a part. i've done a lot of research, research is good, thinking is good, using your head, it quiets the mind, it quells feelings. i found out that you played a big role in the previous war when power was exchanged, the war before your war. you were a young soldier for the cause. you blew up the city council building, didn't you. another crime that mysteriously disappeared from your docket.

Lofton: yes i did, some of my best work. i was scared i hadn't backed up far enough and the bomb would blow me up as well.

Ty: it did blow you up. and you are scarred. my mother and father were on the city council and were in the building that fateful day. you made me an orphan. now of course back then we little kids don't think much of consequences, we just act, do stuff recklessly, we certainly don't think that something we do will have ripples twenty years later. how could you imagine that you created your own killer that day? and no, not the bomb. you thought you'd be protected in your gang, as all gangs protect, and you were, that act proved to the higher-ups that you meant business, you were able to skip a few grades, climb the ranks, and enter the leadership of the new regime and eventually one coup, two coup, and you're the head of the snake ready to be chopped into and turned into two snakes. my parents were simple decent folk trying to make a positive change in this city. unceremoniously silenced. much like the silence of this night. before, they had occasion to patronize the bingo hall of Dry's mom. i never knew this, they never told me, but a connection was made between our families way back then. so when i met Dry and Tudey for the first time recently, it wasn't chance, it was destiny, the furthering of the happy string, continuation of connection, the intensity after intermittence. *smiles*

Lofton (smiles): the interconnectedness of all things, i believe.

Ty: i went around home after broken home looking for love, for family, finding nothing but abuse. this hardened me and made me shy, i wasn't a people person cos people weren't people to me. i stuck to myself, from the city but not of the city.

Lofton: that's why i could never pin you down. i have maps of this entire city, i know where everyone lives. but you never had a home of your own. you were the ghost. where did you get the gun? where have you been hiding out with that gun?

Ty: i have the one gun you couldn't take, a gun lent me by my friends. friends stretch out further than city limits. your power burns bright but in one place, this place. another city doesn't recognize your worth, the one we escaped to has its own problems and ignores you. that's the problem with power, it's prickly, it's never satisfied, it must stretch out until it reaches no more land and is in the ocean. greatness must be big and great, right Alexander?

Lofton: i would have named my firstborn Alexander.

Ty: each of my three friends, Mario, Scootch, and Base Fase, contributed to this vignette before us. they provided comfort, respite, housing, bullets, and the gun. succor doesn't suck. my three recent friends. friends are good to have, make new ones always, it makes life easier. they are how i was able to elude your capture. strength in numbers, you know about that. i wouldn't have made it on my own, i'd have gone crazy inside my head. the interconnectedness of all things.

Lofton: i was too distracted to care about a whelp like you, i was enjoying the chocolate-covered fruits of my labor.

Ty: whelp!

Ty takes the gun out of Lofton's wound and points it at Lofton. Ty doesn't shoot, just points it at Lofton, points it at him.

Lofton: i did your friend a favor.

Ty: oh yeah?

Lofton: i poured Dry Dream's ashes into this magnificent ocean, i dumped him from this very ship. he's free now. i can only hope for such a ceremony when i go.

Ty: i see. that makes me smile. the interconnectedness of all things. i hope Dry is up there, or down there, happy and satisfied that there are no nobodies, everyone is important, everyone contributes, there are no accidents, accidental people, people are here for a reason, not just to be here.

Lofton is losing a lot of blood. his blood stains the wet wood of the chipping planks of the floorboard of his precious pirate ship. his blood mixes with the incoming water, salting the salt sea more. the ship and Lofton are slowly sinking.

Lofton notices Ty now, he can see Ty's face in the moonlight. clearly. Ty towers above him, he's wearing the ghost cape of evidence. beside Ty on his shoulder holding his other hand is Tudey, all black and beautiful, staring at Lofton intently. Ty points the gun down at Lofton's face, never shooting at Lofton, always pointing at him.

the three ripple the still night with their heavy panting.

Lofton smiles weakly.

one thing is for certain: Ty is white.


Tuesday, November 4, 2014


don't get down, Heaven exists, a perfect society is possible, the afterlife is real, just ask Missy from Doctor Who. she is the Master sure, but she is not a villain, she can be taken at her word. okay, she is the villain but it doesn't count cos she's hot. she's what you wanted Mary Poppins to be, Missy's a naughty missy who uses her umbrella for more than just flying. Missy generates the fanfiction and gets us ready for the first Female Doctor. dystopias are more interesting to write about and film, but a utopia can be long as it's not on FOX. if the show's on FOX it's doomed from the start. sorry, Mulaney. i mean FOX even canceled Family Guy, which was a dumb business decision. when they canceled the most intelligent cartoon of all time, Futurama, i wept openly. and don't get me started on how shabbily they treated Enterprise. we're all still waiting for that next Star Trek tv series...

you are creating a brand new society. describe it, name it, talk about its leadership and governmental apparatus (if any at all), objective, and mission statement.

what are the people of this society called?

i've thought about this long and hard. it's impossible. society inevitably corrupts everything, but without society there is chaos, and chaos is...chaos. is chaos the only way, the only free way? the only freeway? freedom is awesome, but is there such a thing as too much freedom? i watch Korra and The Last Airbender for these answers. cartoons are cool.

this society of mine is called Keaton. the people are called Keaton. population: 7 billion. every single person---male, female, bae, and other---all look like Michael Keaton. it's a utopia, there is no religion (or one unifying religion), no wars, plentiful resources, and foursomes in between lunch and dinner. the trees can finally breathe in that fresh, refreshing carbon dioxide cos we don't need cars and highways, we can fly. we don't need computers or mail or email cos we can read each others' minds. thus, lies don't exist, there is only truth between us, it is impossible to deceive and cheat cos we literally (and figuratively) are in each others' minds and imaginations. the only lie that occurred was this one time in band camp when that dude claimed he had invented the mind-reading shareware system we all use now. yeah, he wanted to make a shitload of money for himself and his lawyer but it turned out the whole thing was a scam. at first mind-sharing seemed intrusive and an invasion of privacy. the ACLU quickly buckled, though, and realized that resistance is futile to the Hive Mind. there is no need for corrupt governments, everyone willingly gives their share of food and drink so everyone can have something. everyone is malnourished but happy cos the collective is happy. we barely have enough to eat cos it's all spread out amongst us perfectly and socialism-y, but all that matters is the greater good, the individual doesn't exist, we are all One, One Heart, One Mind, One Love, One Time, One Thought, One God. there is only one individual left: Michael Keaton, the Birdman.

i lied, there are government positions. well more like tribal leaders. each mini-society within the society elects its own tribal chief. it takes a village, as our first female President taught us. this tribal leader must be free of personal ambition and have only the ambition to continue the utopia. the same way we can read minds is the way the potential leader's mind erases all of his or her ambitions along with all of his or her memories. there is now no more thirst for power in him or her, only thirst for water. these leaders HAVE to be fans of sci-fi---Star Trek, Star Wars---and not just cos T'Pol is a hot Vulcan, they have to be progressive in their thinking in wanting to shape the (kind-of) utopias Star Trek presents. you don't read history to avoid making the same mistakes of the past, you read good sci-fi to learn how to build the best future...and you read Philip K. Dick to get an orgasm.


objective: the point of Keaton is to wait for the afterlife, for only the afterlife matters, right? this life is temporary, the life that really counts is the next eternal one. sex is a fun way to kill time, but what counts is the place where time can never be killed again. we do it in a way that doesn't harm others. never harm other beings. if a fucking bee stings your face, let it. we sit around on yoga mats all day and do nothing...well, we meditate, which is the same as doing nothing. we all wait for the afterlife. yes our favorite drink is Kool-Aid but it's only because it reminds us of our childhoods. we avoid saying Beetlejuice 3 times, we dare not give it a second (collective) THOUGHT, definitely not a third thought, and we constantly look up to the sky, waiting for our blue spaceship to come and take us away to the next life. shhhh, i hear the magically-appearing phone box now...


...oh wait, sorry, that's just me coughing up blood, i haven't eaten well in years.