A Thousand Stories : Volume 6 : Stories 0501-0600 : Red

a thousand stories

j. blasso-gieseke

a thousand stories volume 6

: stories 0501-0600 : red

j. blasso-gieseke

Books in the Series A Thousand Stories

: stories 0001-0100 : black : stories 0101-0200 : gray volume 3 : stories 0201-0300 : white volume 4 : stories 0301-0400 : yellow volume 5 : stories 0401-0500 : orange volume 6 : stories 0501-0600 : red volume 7 : stories 0601-0700 : purple volume 8 : stories 0701-0800 : blue volume 9 : stories 0801-0900 : green volume 0 : stories 0901-1000 : brown volume 1 volume 2

a thousand stories

Published by Charybdis Press charybdispress.com © 2021 Charybdis Press All rights reserved First Edition No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher, except in the context of reviews.

Many stories in this book are fiction. Any characters resembling actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Cover: 16 point Meridien Title: 14 point Futura Text: 10.5 point Caslon Layout & Design: J. Blasso-Gieseke ISBN 978-1-957399-05-8

For You and Baba, and the Muse too, and Hermes three

The author would like to thank Niall Twohig, Francesca Ferranti, and Josephine Blasso for their editorial aid, and Matthew A. Brown for his suggestions on the Preface. The book was made better by their time and attention. Still, any faults found in the stories are wholly my own.

Contents 0501. Magic Spells for the Whole Family 0502. Memento Mori 0503. The Dawn of the Robomage Age 0504. The Destruction of the Matmosphere 0505. The End Is Nigh 0506. Leximancers 0507. The Cynanthrope 0508. The Five Singularities of Storytelling 0509. Dandelion and Mastaba 0510. A Patient Man 0511. The Anti-Model, a Psychological Study – Part 1 0512. The Anti-Model, a Psychological Study – Part 2 0513. Simple Wisdom 0514. The Church and the Ante-Church 0515. Everyday Magic 0516. More Types of Everyday Magic 0517. Sometimes She’ll Whisper 0518. The Final Blessing of the House 0519. Creating a Relic 0520. The Final Ringing of the Bell 0521. Reminiscing Superheroes 0522. The Deathbringers 1 0523. The Deathbringers 2 0524. The Deathbringers 3 0525. The Deathbringers 4 0526. The Deathbringers 5 0527. Haunted Houses 0528. Crawling Across a Floor of Mousetraps 0529. Beware the Eyes of Marge 0530. A New Calendar 0531. Year Zero 0532. A Letter to All Anachronists 0533. All of Your Choices Will Be Analyzed 0534. Mythotherapy 0535. To Be and Not To Be, That Is the Answer 0536. Ogygia 0537. Shadow Sparrow 0538. The Gray Lady 0539. Angkor Dinosaur

0540. Hell’s Alphabet 0541. Pike & I 0542. The Rape of Galahad 0543. Sleeve-Frame 0544. Synecdochal Corruption 0545. Revenge of the Pangolins and Other Animals 0546. Brother Theodore Had Many Sons 0547. Octopi Routine 0548. Sleeping in the Crook of Her Legs 0549. The Key Quay Key 0550. The Buttbuttouts 0551. The Death of Prometheus 0552. In Ginnungagap 0553. Miraculous Discharge 0554. A Very Wise Woman 0555. American Legends 0556. Leading by Example 0557. Anakreon’s Laugh 0558. A Thousand Births, a Thousand Lives, a Thousand Deaths 0559. Down by the River 0560. The Sea Pines 0561. The Eden of Animals 0562. Introduction to Robert Creeley’s Glass Eye 0563. Mukti 0564. Primitive Brass 0565. HEAR Sessions 0566. Eating for Two 0567. Super Duo 0568. The Final Poem From the Fork River Anthology 0569. Vergreisungsroman 0570. Redherring MacGuffin 0571. Cain, the Immortal Fratricide 0572. Genreation 0573. Humanizing the Superordinators 0574. The Gift 0575. The Keeper of Secrets 0576. Morning Dew 0577. Famous Firsts 0578. Time Warrior 0579. The Silence Switch on the Heart Rate Monitors 0580. The World of the Werewolf in Five Scenarios 0581. Confessions of a Killer 0582. Spin Class

0583. Gross Equivalencies 0584. The Psychic Sidekick 0585. Dr. Hu 0586. The Tree House 0587. The Demon 0588. Brake 0589. Brake Trilogy: Fabricator, Scrapper, Redeemer 0590. Soulbook 0591. Kev 0592. Rooting and Rutting 0593. Across Carcosa 0594. Worm, Bird, Fish, and Fire 0595. The Chute 0596. Waking Into Dying (Seven Times) 0597. wwwbeatmeat 0598. Like Being Victimized by Bad Design 0599. “Writer’s Block” 0600. The Band

a thousand stories

0501. Magic Spells for the Whole Family

Here are four magic spells for the whole family to use to counteract the excesses of ego: The first magic spell is the word “Please.” Add this magical phrase to tone down any command and dramatically increase the chances that thy will will be done. Try it. See how it works.

The second magic spell is the phrase “Thank you.” This is a very powerful spell that can be combined with the spell “Please” to further increase its potency. If you use it every time someone does something for you, you’re almost guaranteed that they’ll be willing to do more for you in the future.

Try it alone or in combination to get the results you desire.

The third magic spell is the phrase “I was thinking of you.” Use this spell alone or with a phone call or card, or combine it with a token of your thoughts, like flowers, candy, or other small gifts, to increase the power of its impact. Use this spell to remind others that you’re not always thinking about yourself, that you think about them, and can communicate accordingly.

The fourth magic spell is the most potent of all. It’s the phrase “I love you.”

By using this spell on the people in your life, you’re reminding them that love is the source of every strong relationship. Use this spell to reinforce your resolve and commitment by telling them that you’re always there to support them no matter the circumstance.

Like all spell casting, the more you use these spells, the stronger they become.

0502. Memento Mori

Here’s a game I like to play to remind me of my mortality. I play it whenever life gets too heavy or serious and I feel trapped by existence.

You may enjoy playing it too.

Start by touching your face. You can do it now. Go ahead. Pause here and touch your face. I’ll wait.

Did you do it?

Good.

What did you feel? Skin? Hair?

If you only felt these, you only touched the surface. But, if you touched your face and felt your skull beneath, then you successfully played the game.

Now, touch your face again. You can use one hand, but I recommend two.

Start at your forehead, then, touching lightly as you go, move to your temples, then down to your cheeks and under your eyes, then down beneath your nose, then down to your lips to feel your upper teeth, then down to your lower teeth to your chin, then up your jaw to the base of your ears. Then, press in the hollows under your cheeks. Then, press in the hollows of your eyes. Then, press in the hollows of your temples.

If you do this before a mirror, you can “see” what your skull looks like beneath your skin.

I know this game’s a bit creepy, but it’s a good exercise to remind ourselves what’s beneath the surface. It’s not necessary to play it all the time, but it is good to play it during certain troubling times in your life, to remember the memento mori that we all carry under our skin.

0503. The Dawn of the Robomage Age

“So, I had this idea. Let me know what you think about it: In the future mages are being replaced by magic using robots called robomages made by the Sheldrake Corporation and others like them. Regular mages, that’s pretty much everyone. — Oh, I forgot to tell you, everyone in this universe can use magic. I should’ve started with that, sorry. — So, regular mages are being put out of work and made redundant as robomages become cheaper and more affordable. Why perform any magic when the robomages can do it faster, cheaper, and more precisely than you can? You never have to worry about a robomage calling out sick, or paying them overtime or workman’s comp. They’ll never go on strike. They don’t take bathroom or lunch breaks. They can work nonstop. This leads to a malaise, anxiety, and depression for some mages who fear a future without a place in magic.

While other mages embrace the coming technology and try to realign themselves with this new paradigm. This divides the mages. Some of them, looking to the past, argue for the elimination of robomages, while others, looking to the future, argue for their proliferation. The mages that align themselves with magic, and define their sense of reality through magic, fear the robomages. The mages who don’t define themselves by magic welcome them. And —” “Wait, before you go on. Your story, it’s an allegory for workers around the world today being replaced by automation, right?”

“Right.”

“Where do you stand on the subject?”

“You have to let me finish the story.”

0504. The Destruction of the Matmosphere

Almana, chief goddess of the six Solaran deities, had long studied the Matmosphere as it destroyed the neighboring galaxy. When it began approaching theirs, she gathered the five deities to tell them of her plan.

“What a strange immortality Matmos has chosen for himself,” Almana began. “Clearly, he believed he could use up all the matter in his galaxy and sustain himself for all eternity on the matter of other galaxies.

But I know how to stop him.

"We will have only one chance. So, we must work together and act in unison despite our mistrust and misgivings towards each other. Can we all agree to put aside our differences to save our beloved galaxy?”

The five gods agreed.

“Good,” Almana continued. “Now, Matmos was a great and clever god. His Matmosphere works by transforming matter into energy.

It does this by sending out pulses of energy to obliterate matter while simultaneously creating a vacuum that sucks the destroyed matter back into itself, powering the next energy pulse. In order for us to stop this self-perpetuating cycle, we must teleport around him in a tight pattern between pulses: one in front, one behind, one to the left, one to the right, one above, and one below. Once there, we must immediately fashion shields that will enclose him in a Sphereshield that transforms energy into matter. When the next pulse hits the Sphereshield, it will create more matter, strengthening the Sphereshield and weakening the Matmosphere until it is depleted of energy and destroyed.

"Are we ready?”

And the five gods agreed.

0505. The End Is Nigh

Last night was the 2020 Iowa Caucus. It’s clear that independent Vermont senator Bernie Sanders was the winner against establishment Democrat’s frontrunner, ex-vice president Joe Biden. Of course, last night’s results were delayed for the first time in history because Bernie is running on a platform to completely overhaul our political system. Establishment Democrats, who have sold their souls to corporate interests, fear Bernie.

They know that, if he wins the nomination, he’ll beat Trump and bring an end to politics as they know it. Of course, they’re already taking steps to malign him and make last minute rule changes to assist the rise of exRepublican New York City mayor, Michael Bloomberg.

This partisanship is nothing new.

The Mitch McConnell led travesty that is President Trump’s Senate impeachment trial is a similar circus where Republicans held the line by voting almost unanimously against the hearing of witness testimony.

No doubt they’ll acquit Trump in the next day or two, bringing this sad chapter of American history to a close.

But the end is nigh for the old guard.

People of all ages are waking up to the fact that the political status quo has created unsustainable insecurity for themselves and the planet.

They know their future has been sold to the highest bidder. They know the system has been rigged against them. They know their rights have been eroded. They know the political elites of both parties can no longer be trusted. They know this and they’re beginning to rise up.

They know it’s not about party; it’s about people.

0506. Leximancers

Through the writing of this book, I feel that I’m becoming a powerful leximancer.

That may sound a bit strange. So, let me explain what I mean by defining it.

The term derives from the Greek lexi-, meaning ‘word,’ and -mancer, originally meaning ‘person who uses divination.’

Words can be used for divining the future. We do this all the time when we read or listen to information to decide what steps to take going forward. But my idea of what leximancy is is different from traditional aero-, pyro-, hydro-, and geo-mancy. A modern definition of ‘-mancy’ and ‘-mancer’ is ‘-control’ and ‘-controller’ of whatever prefix is attached to it.

My idea of ‘-mancy,’ of being a ‘-mancer,’ is that one has control over words the way that one has control over the above-listed elements. Meaning, leximancy is word-control, and a leximancer is a word-controller.

And this is precisely how I feel.

I feel like I’m gaining control over words. And by controlling words, I’m controlling language. And by controlling language, I’m controlling myth. And by controlling myth, I’m controlling culture.

Now, the way I’m using the word ‘control’ here doesn’t mean domination by will. Will, of course, is a part of it, but it’s not the whole of it, because to use the medium of words is also to be limited and used by words.

The study of leximancy is an important art. Leximancers are needed today, now more than ever, to help us return truth to our words, languages, myths, and cultures in our meaningless world of post-truth.

0507. The Cynanthrope

As the cynanthrope came to consciousness, he was assaulted by the vilest smell and snapped awake.

He was naked and alone in the woods.

He reached up to touch his face and drew away hands covered in rancid gore.

His stomach lurched. He spit to clear the taste from his mouth, but it was everywhere.

He pressed his hands into the ground to standup, but they slid and smeared across something foul.

He crawled to a tree, pulled himself up, and turned to look behind him. It was a dead deer flattened into a paste of rotten flesh, organs, shit, blood, fur, and bone.

He staggered to another tree, leaned against it, and vomited uncontrollably.

He needed water. Needed to drink and bathe. But where? Where was he?

He looked up through the trees at the sky and wondered how far he had run this time. He hoped he was close to a river or lake.

As he left, he looked back to the flattened carcass, shook his head, and wondered what made him fall asleep on the rotten remains of a deer.

And then the memory hit him: He was running through the forest, chasing something or someone, the wind coursing over his fur, his four legs bounding in full sprint, when he caught wind of the most delicious scent of decay. He stopped, bayed to the full moon, and changed course.

Finding the deer, he eagerly ran his muzzle through it. Then, rolled on his back in ecstasy, until his fur was soaked in its gloriously pungent stench.

0508. The Five Singularities of Storytelling

We live in truly incredible times when-where we have access to thousands upon thousands of stories on multiple platforms. We are spoiled for choice.

And every year, more and more stories come into the world, adding to the immense glut already there.

Since we’re surrounded by stories, I thought it prudent to discuss the five singularities of storytelling to understand how stories are created and consumed and how they connect consciousnesses: 1. The reader/viewer/auditor is a singularity.

2. The story itself is a singularity.

3. The hero or anti-hero of the story is a singularity.

4. The reliable or unreliable narrator of the story is a singularity.

5. The author of the story is a singularity.

Let’s start with you, the reader/viewer/auditor. You have a single consciousness through which a story can pass through. Because you have a single consciousness, only one story can be read/viewed/audited at a time. Because you have a single consciousness reading/viewing/auditing a single story, you and the story can only focus on a single character at a time, and though the story may use the perspectives of many characters, there will only ever be a single, main character, the hero or anti-hero who will take the reader through the story. Further, the story will be told from the single perspective of a reliable or unreliable narrator, who may or may not be the main character, and who may or may not be the single author behind the story. And through this medium, the single reader/viewer/ auditor comes in contact with the consciousness of the single author.

0509. Dandelion and Mastaba

As Dandelion and Mastaba entered the diner, the hostess looked up slowly from her morning edition of Newsday.

Before her stood a white, tow-headed child around ten years of age and a black, white-haired octogenarian, dressed identically in black single-breasted suits, collared shirts, and silk ties.

She was unsuccessful at keeping the puzzled look from her face.

“Two?” she asked, oversmiling.

“A booth for three, please,” Dandelion answered in a voice strangely mature for his age.

The hostess flinched but kept smiling.

She grabbed three menus and led them past seated diners to a booth.

Mastaba began to slide into the seat.

“Sit so we can see the door, Ma,” Dandelion interrupted.

Mastaba, ass still pushed out in the act of sitting, pivoted around the table to the other side and slid in slowly next to Dandelion “Your waitress will be right with you,” the hostess said as she put the menus down and snatched away one of the place settings.

“Did you see the look she gave us when we walked in the door?”

Dandelion asked. “I know we’re an odd couple, but imagine her reaction if she really knew who we were.”

Presently, a plump waitress arrived with pad and pen in hand.

“Hi, I’m Betty. I’ll be your waitress today. What can I start you off with?”

“Coffee, just coffee,” Dandelion answered.

“Aren’t you a little young to be drinking coffee, sweetheart?”

“Definitely not.”

She looked to Mastaba. “Is that true?”

Mastaba looked back at her pleasantly and smiled.

“He’s a precocious one, isn’t he?”

Mastaba nodded.

0510. A Patient Man

A man’s wisdom yields patience, It is to his glory to overlook a transgression.

Proverbs 19:11 Robert Hotchkiss is a man who can’t move on because he’s a man trapped in the past. He plays the same moment in his head over and over again: It’s a snowy night, the day after Thanksgiving. He’s driving home from his in-law’s house in Upstate, New York. He has spent the day shopping with his wife and the minivan is secretly packed with gifts.

His wife is sitting beside him looking out the window. Everything is calm. But Robert knows the lights are out there waiting for him, waiting for them.

His wife looks back at their son who’s sleeping at an awkward angle against the armrest. She unbuckles her seatbelt to adjust him into a more comfortable position and the event unfolds like a script: The headlights, racing towards them out of the night in one long, slow, sickening sound of break squeal, smash into them. Robert watches them approach powerlessly, knowing his wife will die and his son will become a paraplegic.

Robert has been a patient man. He has waited eleven years for revenge.

He knows he will never be a suspect, knows he will never get caught.

Tomorrow, he will leave to murder the man who killed his wife and paralyzed his son. Tomorrow, he will balance the scales of justice so that he can finally move on. But tomorrow, when Robert sees the man’s family, his wife and son, he will show mercy on the man and himself.

0511. The Anti-Model, a Psychological Study – Part 1 The Anti-Model is someone so singularly self-centered that they cannot understand that there’s a shared reality where their own individual reality is one reality amongst many realities. The Anti-Model refuses to acknowledge, and even actively denies, shared reality because they believe only their individual reality is real.

To maintain their individual reality, the Anti-Model will consciously or unconsciously demand the physical, mental, and emotional contortions of everyone around them. Everyone around the Anti-Model will consciously or unconsciously make these contortions until the AntiModel’s individual reality damages, disrupts, or destroys shared reality.

Everyone then will demand that the Anti-Model consciously contort themselves to fit shared reality. The Anti-Model will, of course, refuse to do this because they believe only their individual reality exists.

To escape these demands, the Anti-Model will actively seek out positions of unassailable power and authority because they know that, once they’re positioned there, they can force their individual reality upon the shared reality of everyone around them without fear of reprisal.

The Anti-Model never seeks out these positions because they want the responsibilities of these positions; they seek out these positions for their unassailability. Upon attaining these positions, the Anti-Model will immediately abdicate responsibility, leaving a vacuum where nothing gets done.

Seeing the danger of the Anti-Model’s abdication, everyone around the Anti-Model operating within shared reality will consciously or unconsciously step up to handle the neglected responsibilities. This inevitably results in any and all successes being claimed by the AntiModel as their own, while any and all failures are blamed on those who stepped up to help.

0512. The Anti-Model, a Psychological Study – Part 2 Any pushback by these “scapegoats” will get them fired, excommunicated, or executed. This culling will happen again and again as the Anti-Model surrounds themselves with more and more sycophants.

The Anti-Model will then bestow favors and gifts upon all the sycophants willing to cater to their individual reality. The Anti-Model doesn’t do this out of generosity, but as a display of their absolute power and authority and as a rebuke against anyone operating within shared reality that questioned them.

The sycophants adore the Anti-Model and their position because the Anti-Model is the selfish ideal they themselves want to become. They want to be noticed by the Anti-Model and will do anything for them so that they themselves can be protected by their unassailable position of power and authority.

The Anti-Model trades on their position of power and authority, using it as a transactional quid pro quo to demand unquestioning loyalty, obeisance, and indebtedness in exchange for their “help.” This creates a corrupt system of hierarchical graft and grift with the Anti-Model at the top. Everything the Anti-Model does is done to ensure that the illusion of their individual reality is maintained, no matter the cost.

Because the Anti-Model fights to protect their reality by hiding behind the power and authority of their position, they never understand that within shared reality, they’re seen as stunted children and regarded as weak and sick, selfish and lazy, incommunicative and unimaginative, petty and retributive, greedy and stupid, and a threat to the health, happiness, and wellbeing of everyone operating in shared reality around them.

0513. Simple Wisdom

Be Human. Sleep Deep. Nap Often. Eat Well. Drink Well. Read Regularly. Watch Stuff. View Things. Talk Some. Listen More. Bathe Regularly. Keep Clean. Smell Nice. Brush Teeth. Comb Hair. Scrub Skin.

Do Laundry. Dress Comfy. Be Present. Reach Out. Reach In. Stay Home.

Go Away. Come Back. Pause Often. Look Around. Think Big. Think Small. Remain Curious. Sit Down. Stand Up. Make Jokes. Bust Chops.

Have Fun. Hang Around. Move On. Do Drugs. Get High. Get Low. Get Drunk. Get Down. Hail Sun. Hail Moon. Hail Day. Hail Night. Love Life. Be Kind. Honor Others. Respect Yourself. Walk About. Settle In. Think Thoughts. Dream Dreams. Savor Solitude. Savor Company. Make Plans. Visit Friends. Visit Family. Give Gifts. Send Cards. Bring Flowers.

Bake Cookies. Make Cake. Cook Food. Wash Dishes. Dry Dishes. Set Table. Light Candles. Dine Together. Tell Stories. Create Space. Freshen Up. Change Sheets. Make Bed. Fluff Pillows. Open Shades. Lighten Up. Act Alive. Play Music. Play Games. Walk Dog. Pet Pets. Work Out. Stay Fit. Make Love. Come Together. Laugh Much. Shed Tears. Feel Good.

Welcome Change. Make Things. Break Rules. Take Things. Give Back.

Give Often. Give Freely. Spend Money. Save Money. Spend Time. Work Hard. Work Soft. Sit Still. Run About. Open Mind. Open Hands. Open Heart. Open Doors. Stand Tall. Chin Up. Be Proud. Remain Humble.

Show Weakness. Show Strength. Show Mercy. Speak Truth. Set Goals.

Take Steps. Fall Down. Get Up. Start Again. Finish Up. Honor Birth.

Honor Death. Give Thanks. Offer Help. Offer Hope. Remember When.

Remember Where. Remember Why. Remember How.

0514. The Church and the Ante-Church

Many people don’t know that the oldest churches in the world were built upon ante-churches. Don’t be surprised if you’ve never heard of this.

Church officials have long suppressed this information. But I’m here to reveal the facts to you now in this daring exposé after I discovered the truth in an ancient codex. Here’s what I found: Before the Church took power, the Church built churches upon the ante-churches of the Ante-Church to maintain order and balance in the world. I can hear your question: What’s an ante-church and who is the Ante-Church?

To answer your first question: Imagine your traditional church with a steeple above ground. Now, imagine the mirror image of that church below ground. Where a church is built into the air, an ante-church is dug into the ground and has a well for a steeple and bucket instead of a bell.

The meaning is clear: The church is positive and masculine and the antechurch is negative and feminine. By maintaining both energies together, the Church and Ante-Church kept order and balance in the world.

To answer your second question: The Ante-Church is the Church of the Earth Mother Goddess headed by the Papess and administered by her priestesses.

It should come as no surprise that the history of the Ante-Church has been buried by the Church in its quest to dominate the souls of the people the world round. That’s why it’s my sacred duty to return order and balance to the world by unearthing the truth about the Ante-Church and the Earth Mother Goddess.

0515. Everyday Magic

I know we never think of ourselves as magicians. I know we never think of our world as magical. But we are and it is; we just take ourselves and our world for granted.

Let’s change that by looking at the four elements one by one to see what I mean: First, let’s start with the highest and most masculine element of air.

You control it if you live in a home with an H.V.A.C. system or if you have and use an air conditioner. If it’s hot outside and you turn on your central or window air conditioner, you’ve just become a magician who controls air.

Second, let’s look at the element of fire. You control fire if you live in a home with a gas range. Turn on and ignite your burner and fire appears at your command. Congratulations, you’ve just become a magician who controls fire.

You probably see where I’m going with this now, but keep reading.

Third, let’s look at water and your sink, tub, or toilet. That’s right, you guessed it. You can command water by turning a knob or pressing a lever.

Amazing! You’re a magician who controls water.

Finally, let’s look at earth, the lowest and most feminine of elements.

You command that too. Look at everything around you: walls, ceiling, floors. Every material you use or touch daily has grown from or been extracted from the earth. So, you’re a magician who controls earth too.

Remember, you’re a magician who lives in a magical world. Let's stop taking it for granted.

0516. More Types of Everyday Magic

Reader, hopefully you understand by now that you are a magician living in a magical world. Of course, you can’t shoot fire out of your eyes, but you can shoot air, water, and earth out of your body. — Hopefully, I don’t have to explain that one to you.

I’d like to write a little bit more about magic.

Imagine bringing someone your age from a hundred years ago to where and when you are now. Imagine how they would see the world and see you. They’d see magicians in a world of magic. Now, imagine if someone your age brought you a hundred years into the future. I guess first you’d have to imagine that we survive the climate catastrophe, and technology is allowed to maintain its exponential rate of growth, but if it does, you’d see magicians in a world of magic.

It’s easy to ground ourselves so completely in the place and time we're in that we forget that we’re magicians in a world of magic. Just look at your cellphones. We carry all of human knowledge in our pockets. I don’t know what the future holds, but if we have one, it’ll be filled with magic.

Here’s some last bits of magic I want to leave you with: Us living in a universe where there’s a galaxy with a planet that’s so propitiously positioned that a peculiar species of ape can evolve to become conscious is magic. Us writing words and telling stories to each other is magic. You reading these words and understanding them is magic.

0517. Sometimes She’ll Whisper

Sometimes she’ll whisper something to me.

It always starts with her nudging me with an elbow and pointing with her chin. I follow her eyes to where she’s looking. Then she raises herself up on her tiptoes to whisper something in my ear. All I hear is shhwushiwushiwushuhshuh. I know these soft sibilant sounds are words with meaning and are related to the thing she’s drawing my attention to, but I don’t understand what she’s saying because I’m too busy trying to understand what I’m supposed to see. Torn between visual and audio processing, I neither see nor hear. In limbo, I look back to where she pointed, but the scene has already changed, the moment passed.

Still, I want to be in on it. So, I summon the courage and ask her to repeat herself and lean my ear down to hear. She reluctantly whispers again. But I can only feel her warm breath on my ear accompanied by the sound-word shhwushiwushiwushuhshuh. I can’t make out a single word of her whisper. All I hear is shhwushiwushiwushuhshuh. It’s so ridiculous; I want to laugh. But I don’t laugh, because I don’t know if it was a serious whisper or a funny one. And because I’ve waited too long to give her a reaction, she quietly asks, “Did you hear what I said?”

“No,” I say embarrassed. “Can you whisper it again?” But she refuses and shakes her head and walks away. And I find myself alone and disappointed, having failed once again to share the intimacy of a moment.

0518. The Final Blessing of the House

Before moving, I lit three joss sticks and asked the assembled saints, gods, and goddesses to bless and protect the house and the new owners. The house was already blessed with fortune. A hidden pocket under the floor near the fireplace is filled with coins and blessed with items given to me by my close friends and family. And the house was well fortified with the spells of protection that I had put under the kitchen floor during its installation. But even with these in place, I still felt compelled to create barriers against evil for the arriving family.

To do this, I poured a line of water from my silver cup across the front door, saying, “Let no evil cross this threshold.” After this, I cleaned off my puja, removing each of the objects, photos, and devotions and setting them carefully aside. Then, I brought the dried and moldy offerings of fruit outside to my composter. To create a barrier at the back door, I gathered the remaining ashes from my puja and scattered them there, saying, “Let no evil cross this threshold.”

With all of these wards in place, I knew the house was secure.

Standing in the middle of the house, I again called to all the saints, gods, and goddesses to watch over the house, the new family, and anyone under the roof. I bowed to the north, to the south, to the east, and to the west. Then, turning three times in a circle, I sealed the magic within the walls of the house forever.

0519. Creating a Relic

Before leaving my house, I wanted to create a relic using all of the energy drawn to my puja over the past five years. As I disassembled my puja, I found everything I needed and knew what I had to do.

I made the relic using a narrow glass jar filled with earth from my backyard. I emptied it of its dirt using a stick of dried bamboo, also from my backyard. Then, I added my three wisdom teeth one by one, surrounding each with dirt until all the earth was put back into the jar.

Next, I used a bamboo spoon to scoop in the ashes from the burnt incense.

Into the ashes, I placed a piece of dead man’s gold, then, added more ashes to cover it. I followed this by folding up a fortune from a fortune cookie that reads, “To be great is to be misunderstood.” Then, I added in more ashes to cover the fortune. I then coated the rim of the jar with palo santo ash that I mixed with water from the front door blessing. Then, I fitted a dead man’s belt buckle around the neck of the jar and finished filling the jar with ash. I discovered a penny beneath the ash, added it, and covered it with more ash. To seal it, I melted the candle stub from the candle that was burning during my heart chakra opening.

Finally, I asked the assembled saints, gods, and goddesses to bless the relic and its holder with empathy, wisdom, kindness, charity, and humility.

0520. The Final Ringing of the Bell

I have a silver bell that I like to use to chase out evil spirits when I’m leaving a house or arriving at a new one. The bell is part of my puja and the ceremony of coming and going that I’ve developed over the years.

I took up the bell to bless and protect the house one last time before leaving and began ringing it and walking around the house. I started with the front bedroom, the attached half bath, the closet, and all of the corners, windows, and doorframes. I moved into the living room/dining room, and shook the bell at all of the windows, corners, and doorframes. I did this in the kitchen, making sure to get the trapdoor to the crawlspace. As I neared the breezeway entrance, I found it open along with the backdoor. I didn’t remember leaving them open when I went out back to bring the dried, moldy fruit offerings to the composter, but I was glad to have it open to allow any residual negative energy to escape. I continued ringing the bell at all the doors in the breezeway, then returned to the kitchen to finish it.

I rang the bell in the laundry room, the bathroom, the back bedroom, and closet. I shook it at the attic entrance, and at the fireplace, which I circled three times, ending with strong shaking at the skylight. With the house vibrating with the bell’s sonic energy at great volume, I shook it around in a complete circle, making sure no corner remained unrung.

0521. Reminiscing Superheroes

“Let’s raise a glass to celebrate the life of one of the baddest ass-kickers to ever walk the planet, the Mighty Herk!”

“Here Here!” “Cheers!”

“Hey, you guys remember when he punched Titanos in his titanium codpiece and crumpled it like tinfoil?

“That was some funny shit!”

“Remember how high Titanos’s voice got? Like he just swallowed a helium gas giant.”

“And his eyes, remember?”

“It was like Herk punched his nuts to the back of his eye sockets and they bulged out double the distance.”

“You could always rely on Herk’s power punch.”

“And he always had your back, unlike some of the other assholes on our team.”

“Speaking of assholes. You guys remember Invisibilon?”

“The guy who’s never around?”

“Yeah. Last time I saw him was at the Battle of Belarus.”

“You mean you didn’t see him.”

“What?”

“Invisibilon. You didn’t see him. Because he’s invisible.”

“Ah! I see what you mean.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I didn’t see him see him. But he was there, wasn’t he?”

“How do you know he was there?”

“I’m pretty sure he was at the meeting before the battle.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t. I just always assumed…”

“Exactly.”

“I heard rumors he stays at home and anonymously updates Wikipedia to include himself in all of our battles.”

“I heard the same thing, but he’s actually some fanboy living in Des Moines.”

“Has either of you ever met him?”

“No.” “No. You?” “I don’t think so.”

“He has a lame superpower, anyway.”

“Then, let’s drink to his death.”

“Here Here!” “Cheers!”

0522. The Deathbringers 1

The Deathbringers is a collection of nine reflexive aphorisms about death.

Our initial axiom separates death from True Death along the lines of selfawareness, or our Knowledge of Being.

TRUE DEATH There is no death outside of self-awareness, but, where self-awareness is, there are two deaths: the death of the body and the death of the mind.

We must not confuse these deaths. The death of the body results in the death of the mind, but the death of the mind does not result in the death of the body. The death of the body is death. The death of the mind is True Death, which is the death of self-awareness. Self-awareness is not just the knowledge that one is alive in time; it is also the knowledge that one will die in time. Only we can experience True Death because it is our self-aware minds that die in the truest sense of the word.

THE KNOWLEDGE OF BEING Self-awareness is the Knowledge of Being. While all beings exist along a spectrum of self-awareness, we are the only self-aware Beings that we’re aware of. Since we alone possess the Knowledge of Being, we incorrectly assume that all beings possess the Knowledge of Being, even though our self-awareness separates us from other living beings and non-living things. This separation starts widening from birth as we learn that we exist in name, space and time. As we become aware of our self as a named Being in space and time, we gain the false perception that we have fully separated from Totality.

0523. The Deathbringers 2

Following the logic of True Death and the Knowledge of Being, we discover that through the Isolation of Beings and Things their deaths can only exist in our minds.

THE ISOLATION OF BEINGS AND THINGS The perception of our separation from Totality as an isolated self makes us incorrectly assume that everything not-self must also be isolated.

Though this is our perception, we cannot assume that what is true for us is true for all beings and things. The Isolation of Beings and Things is a shared and necessary illusion, an inescapable reflex, of the Knowledge of Being. It is our collective illusion that allows us to believe that Totality is made up of isolated things, which are, in turn, further made up of isolated things. The deeper we look, the more isolation we find, but isolation only exists in our minds.

DEATH WITHIN US Since every thing isolated and brought into being is isolated and brought into being within our minds, it is only in our minds where beings die.

When a thing becomes a being in name and exists in space and time, it becomes capable of dying through the limitations of isolation. This death occurs not only because the being is contained by space and time, but because it now exists in relationship to our death. Although this being dies, it can only die through us and its death is not a True Death. A being without self-awareness never truly dies because there is no death outside of our self-aware minds. We are the bringers of death.

0524. The Deathbringers 3

With the Death of Death, we have reached the center of our argument.

At this point, we must look both ways to see where we have come from and to anticipate where we are going. Centering ourselves in the selfawareness of our Knowledge of Being, we have looked at death and True Death and understood them to be products of our minds. When we gain the Knowledge of Non-Being through the Death of Death, we learn that death, non-being, and nothingness are also products of our minds.

Looking ahead, we can see that the concepts life, being, and thingness are also products of our minds, which lead us towards another unmanageable endpoint: Totality. However, in the flow between the polarities of NonBeing and Being there resides another elusive Knowledge, the Knowledge of Becoming, which points the way to a True Life.

THE DEATH OF DEATH Death is the end of what is, and since the only thing that is is our selfaware minds, then only our minds can die. This is a True Death and the knowledge of our True Death is the Knowledge of Non-Being. But, here, we must not be fooled by tricks of language. Death, like the words and concepts “nothing” and “zero,” represents an absence. And an absence can never be represented by a presence because it does not exist. When we speak of nothing, we literally speak of nothing. We cannot have what is not. Therefore, in the absence of absence, in the death of death, we reveal the first property of Totality: pure presence.

0525. The Deathbringers 4

Progressing with the logic of our argument, we come to a further understanding of the properties of Totality as pure presence and ceaseless change, and both the powers and limitations of our perspective as selfaware Beings within Totality.

DEATH WITHOUT US When we are dead, there is no longer an isolated, self-aware center capable of bearing witness to itself as a Being, and to other beings and things.

Without our isolated locus of self to know that things have been and will be, Totality is left without testimony. Though we are no longer present to bear testimony, the pure presence of Totality continues on after us as it had before us with no isolation by our self-awareness. In the absence of isolated self-aware Beings, death and True Death become the liberation of energy into higher or lower orders of complexity. This continuous shifting of energy is the second property of Totality: ceaseless change.

TOTALITY As with death, which is nothing, Totality, which is everything, remains beyond name, space and time. We cannot speak of it because It is not an It. Totality always remains beyond our minds. Our self-awareness isolates us from Totality in name only and imparts to us our unique perspective. The limitations of our perspective means we cannot achieve a comparative exteriority to know of other Totalities. Therefore, there is no outside of Totality. We are on the inside looking in. Wherever we look, we are looking into Totality as isolated and mobile localities of self-awareness that are both inextricably a part of and apart from Totality.

0526. The Deathbringers 5

Finally, we achieve the Knowledge of Becoming when we reflect on the timelessness between Being and Non-Being, when we return to Totality, becoming a part of everything to discover our True Life.

THE KNOWLEDGE OF BECOMING When we are self-aware, we are apart from Totality in name, space and time. When we aren’t self-aware, we are a part of Totality without name, space and time. Though we know of Being, we must also know of Becoming. The trick of this knowledge is that one cannot know of Becoming while Becoming, because to know that one is Becoming is to know that one is, and, to know that one is, is to have returned to Being.

The Knowledge of Becoming can only be gained retrospectively through the Knowledge of Being. Becoming precedes the state of Being and cannot be apprehended directly by the self-aware mind.

TRUE LIFE When we know of our self in time, we can know, but not know directly, timeless, ever-changing, and ever-present Totality. When the self dies metaphorically into Becoming, there is no longer the Knowledge of Being or the Isolation of Beings and Things and we are one with Totality. When the self dies truly, the mind is finally liberated from itself. True Death begets True Life. To live truly is to know that every being and thing is us and that we are responsible for the death and life we bring to them and each other through our self-awareness. True Life is the source of all ethics and the gateway of Love, which accepts all.

0527. Haunted Houses

A house, when haunted, is haunted by the ghosts of its past. A house never wants to be haunted, but it can’t help itself when it is. The ghosts just show up one day after a tragic event, take up residence, and never leave. And once the ghosts are inside, they roam the halls of the house, tracing over the same sad scene again and again.

The house lives with the fear, anger, and guilt of its ghosts because it believes the ghosts have a right to be there. The house accommodates the ghosts by acclimating to their needs. To do this, the house will prevent new, good, and living inhabitants in. Those inhabitants that try to stay, the ghosts chase out.

After the ghosts have chased everyone out, the house will stop taking care of itself and go to rack and ruin. The haunted house will become isolated and lonely, attracting only temporary squatters who move from house to house with their own ghosts inside them. But usually, the haunted house, with its self-loathing demeanor, self-sabotaging attitude, and self-crippling posture, will keep all visitors away.

The haunted house will do this until it tires of the repetitious laments of its ghosts. When the house finally forgives itself and those that hurt it, it will give up its ghosts and no longer be haunted. When this happens, the house will wake as if from a great slumber, and begin taking care of itself again. And with the ghosts gone, the house will let new, good, and living inhabitants back in.

0528. Crawling Across a Floor of Mousetraps

I’m in the kitchen in my house in Levittown. I’m a child, wearing a blue onesie. I’m on all fours, craning my neck up at my goal: the distant kitchen counter.

I know if I get there, I can pull myself up onto it, and scoot over to the fridge to reach the cookie jar on top of it. The only problem is that the floor is covered with dozens of mousetraps.

I don’t know why I can’t walk. I only know that, to get to the counter, I must crawl. And if I crawl, I must crawl carefully, so as not to set off the mousetraps.

I hesitate a moment, but finding an empty patch of linoleum, I set my right hand down firmly. Then, finding another empty patch, I set my left hand down firmly. I move my right hand to another empty patch and put my right knee where my right hand was.

Keeping my feet high, I crawl cautiously and awkwardly. Moving deliberately, my progress is painfully slow.

When I reach the middle of the kitchen, I know there’s no turning back. With the traps crowding the way ahead, and with no room between them to place my hands and knees, I make a dash for the counter.

Traps spring shut around me, snapping fingers and toes.

Sitting exhausted on the countertop, mousetraps clamped to my blue onesie, I wonder why my mother set so many traps.

Looking to the cookie jar, I realize I’ve lost my appetite, if I ever had one to begin with.

0529. Beware the Eyes of Marge

“Listen. You’re new here, a foreigner. So, I should warn you about Marge.

Mind you, I’m not saying anything bad about her, but you should know that Marge is never, under any circumstances, to be disrespected. She has the power of the maloik. Do you know what the maloik is?

“No? It’s the evil eye. She’ll just look at you, and do this with her fingers, and you’re cursed. Forever. Trust me, it works. Everyone in town will tell you.

“I see you don’t believe me. But to an outsider like you, I say: Maybe you don’t believe in the maloik, but at least believe in me. I’m your friend.

I’ll never lie to you. I just want you to be safe.

“So, listen to me when I tell you, don’t disrespect Marge.

“I know you won’t, but the last person who did had their teeth fall out. They were only twenty-two. Imagine yourself at twenty-two with all your teeth gone. Twenty-two and you’re all gums. Just for calling Marge a witch. Trust me, it’s not worth it. He got what he deserved. He was a bit of a… How you say? Wiseass. He knew Marge’s power, and still he said it.

“So, you leave her alone if you see her. And if by chance she talks to you or asks you to do something, be respectful.

“I know you will, but just to be on the safe side, you should buy this nazar here. Special price for you: fifty dollars.

“Why so expensive?

“Ask yourself: What’s your protection worth?”

0530. A New Calendar

Except for the solar year and the lunar cycles, our calendar is largely untethered to anything real. Because of this, I think it’s time to create a new one.

First, I’d replace the awkward seven-day week with a five-day week and rename the remaining days. I’d keep Sunday for sun day and Monday for moon day, but I’d get rid of Tuesday through Saturday, which are named after Norse gods and a Roman titan, and replace them with the planets between the Earth and the Sun. The three days of the week between Monday and Sunday would now be: Meday for Mercury day, Veday for Venus day, and Erday for Earth day.

365.25 days a year divided by 5 days a week = 73 weeks a year with every fourth year a leap year, I now call a great year.

The year would still be divided into quarters called seasons. Each season would be 18 weeks long. Since 18 x 4 = 72, there’s an extra five days to spare. One day will be added between the seasons at each of the equinoxes and solstices. The remaining day will be added to each of the equinoxes and solstices in turn, starting with the autumnal equinox, until it reaches the summer solstice and a three-day holiday every great year.

The four seasons will contain three months, each six weeks long. The months will be renamed as follows: Unos, Duos, Trios, Quadros, Quintos, Sextos, Septos, Octos, Nonos, Decos, Undecos, Dodecos. The first month of the year will start after the winter solstice.

0531. Year Zero

Like our calendar, our Year Zero seems to require a major overhaul too, as it tethers itself to the birth of Christ. The notations B.C., or Before Christ, and A.D., or Anno Domini, Latin for the ‘Year of Our Lord,’ are specifically Christian. Though Christianity remains the world’s dominant religion in terms of number of believers — estimates currently calculate around 2.5 billion adherents or roughly 30% of the planet’s 8 billion people — non-Christians, making up the clear majority of the population, should not have to orient their collective calendar around a single religion.

As a corrective, B.C.E., or Before the Common Era, and C.E., or the Common Era, have been used to neuter the Christian bias inherent in our calendar. What makes this work is that the dates remain the same with only a change of notation, i.e. 2020 A.D. is the same as 2020 C.E. This seems like a good fix for our current Common Era, but as the major world religions begin to lose believers to atheism and more secular or syncretic spiritual modes of theism, we’ll need to redefine ourselves and our calendar to reflect our growing ecumenicalism beyond Christianity.

Perhaps there will be a future date when we end all wars and learn to regard every member of humanity, despite their beliefs or lack thereof, as part of our collective family. Perhaps then we can start the calendar with a new Year Zero agreed upon by all the people of the world. Perhaps then we can count the coming years of shared peace and prosperity together.

0532. A Letter to All Anachronists

To All Anachronists, Let us begin by defining the word ‘regard’ for you. Regard, from the Old French regarder, ‘to look at, care about,’ from re- + garder, to guard. The meaning of ‘guard’ here is ‘to take custody of, to take care of, to protect, to ward.’ The word has two meanings: to look at and to look after. As one looks at someone or something, that someone or something becomes a part of you. This literally is what happens in your brain through your senses: novel external stimuli are taken in, processed, and protected as memories. The outside is your inside, the other is us.

The avant garde, then, are the advanced guard of civilization, seeing what is unseen, hearing what is unheard, smelling what is unsmelled, touching what is untouched, and tasting what is untasted. By doing this, they advance the horizon of our common experience and expand the circumference of what it means to be human. Once something is learned, it cannot be unlearned. Once new territory is settled, it is no longer new; it is now only territory.

Through technology, we now have collective access to this territory.

Through technology, we can see the collective consciousness that is coming. As we grow towards our collective future, we watch as you anachronists desperately cling to your past and fight against change to maintain your draconian laws and power structures. But your efforts are futile, you’ve already been surpassed, the future is already here, and we’ve already become and achieved everything you couldn’t.

Regards, The Avant Garde

0533. All of Your Choices Will Be Analyzed

Tober pressed the button on the intercom.

“Yes, who is it?” a male voice answered.

“It’s Tober Moray. I have an eleven o’clock appointment.”

The door buzzed and Tober entered and closed the door behind him.

He stood in a small, unassuming anteroom with no decorations or chairs.

A man behind a desk and computer screen stood and greeted him.

“Welcome,” he said. “My name’s Japh.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tober said.

“Please follow me,” Japh said, walking down the hallway behind the desk.

Tober walked around the left side of the desk and followed Japh down the hallway to where he stood before the two open doors.

Japh spread his hands indicating the two rooms. “Which do you prefer?” he asked.

Tober looked into the room on the left and then into the room on the right. There was little in each except two chairs with a desk between them against the far walls.

Figuring each to be the same, Tober pointed to the room on the left.

“After you,” Japh said.

Tober smiled and nodded to Japh as he stepped into the room.

“Please have a seat,” Japh said, entering behind him.

“Does it matter which?” Tober asked.

“Whichever you prefer,” Japh said.

Tober sat in the chair on the left.

“Very good,” Japh said, making some notes on his tablet. “The doctor will be in to see you shortly.”

Japh left the room and closed the door behind him.

Tober sighed and checked his watch. His right knee bounced nervously. He became aware of it and stopped.

0534. Mythotherapy

“If you’re here, you’re probably familiar with mythotherapy, but let me give you a brief rundown so we’re on the same page.

“Mythotherapy, or M.T. for short, is a relatively new therapy for those who seem lost and adrift in life. It’s for people who feel disconnected and out of touch with the world around them because there’s no longer a single, central, ethnic, religious, or national myth with which they feel connected to. What M.T. does, and this is why I require detailed answers to the questions I’m about to ask you, is it programs a personal mythology for you that connects you to the collective mythology of everyone in the M.T. network. M.T. works by uploading a shared memory into your mind.

“Now, I know what you’re probably thinking: Upload a memory?

How will I be able to tell the difference between my memories and the one you upload? The answer is simple: We put a signature in the memory, so that when you remember it, you can distinguish it from your own.”

“And this has no side effects?”

“I was in on the clinical trials. So, I was one of the first people in the world to have it. You could say I beta-tested it. And now, as then, I can clearly tell the difference between the uploaded memory and my memories.”

“And I only need to do this once?”

“If you give me detailed answers to my questions, yes.”

“Have you ever had to do it a second time?”

“No, because I have good, thorough patients.”

0535. To Be and Not to Be, That Is the Answer

“To be or not to be is the eternal question of Hamlet. If, sir, the same question were posed to you, what would you choose?”

“To be is obvious. But to not be, or rather, to say one is nothing, is less so. Think for a minute: When you’re in the deepest sleep, you have no knowledge of being you; you have no knowledge of being at all. When you wake up, you never remember not being. If you remember anything at all, you remember the dream or dreams you had. But when you’re sleeping and not dreaming, there’s no longer a you to be aware of. And because there’s no you to be aware of, you simply vanish into not being. And upon waking into consciousness, most of us throw back the covers, put our feet on the floor, stand, and start our day without ever looking back. Similarly, if we compare the death before birth and the death after life to this sleep, we never remember the not being when we’re born. Maybe there are a few of us who remember past lives or some dreams in the womb or the waking itself, but we will agree that most do not. We only become aware of the sleeping, or the death bookending life, later. We only ever know dreaming, living, and being. We never know the not dreaming, not living, and not being. But both are essential, the being and the not being. Therefore, I say to you: To be and not to be, that is the answer.”

0536. Ogygia

A passenger ship “island hopping” across the galaxy had its solar sails fried by a solar flare, delaying its arrival to its appointed port by several decades.

As basic repairs are performed, a steady radio transmission is heard coming from a nearby planet.

The communicator sends a transmission back and receives a direct response from a human, Calypto, claiming that her planet is habitable, with plenty of food and water, and will welcome their arrival and help with their repairs as required.

The navigator informs the captain that they can reach the planet in about a month with the residual power they have.

The captain asks Calypto why the planet hasn’t shown up on any of their maps. Calypto responds that they had discovered the planet after their ship’s solar sails had been damaged by a solar flare centuries ago.

The captain suspects something, but, with no other option, decides to go to the planet in hopes of repairing her crippled ship faster.

The month long journey is filled with speculation about the planet.

Along the way, Calypto patiently answers all of the questions the captain throws at her.

The imagination of the crew and passengers are excited about the lush, edenic planet Calypto has been describing. Talk is already circulating among some of the passengers about staying.

As the ship approaches the planet, they see several passenger ships in orbit with damaged solar sails. The captain questions Calypto about these and is told that those are the ships of the people who decided to permanently settle on the planet.

0537. Shadow Sparrow

Walking through the park towards home at sunset, I noticed my shadow stretching out before me. I was reminded of the sundial my mother had and marveled that I had become a human gnomon. I paused and imagined that if I stood in that spot for an entire day, I could watch my shadow move around me, telling time.

Noticing how my shadow thickly attached itself to my feet, I felt it anchoring me to the spot. Maybe it wanted to keep me there so that it could live as long as the sun lasted. I raised one foot and shook it, hoping to free myself of my shadow’s weight, but it stuck to me firmly and dragged my foot back down. I raised the other, and it did the same.

Seeing my shadow was determined to stay, I thought I should make up a game to play with it. Remembering a shadow shape I liked to make as a kid, I threaded my fingers together and placed my hands on top of my head to create a giant eye. Pivoting left and right at my waist, I imagined there was nothing my shadow eye couldn’t see.

But soon I grew bored and wanted to continue home. Dropping my hands, I asked my shadow if it would let me leave. In answer, the shadow of a sparrow flying home to its nest for the evening crossed my shadow, and for the briefest moment, our two shadows were one. And I thanked my shadow as it disappeared with the setting sun.

0538. The Gray Lady

I was sitting in my reading chair in my library. I immediately knew I was in that dream again, the one where I follow the Gray Lady, because everything looked the same, but was dimmer and drained of color.

I knew she’d be standing before the section of shelves where I kept my books on mythology and world religions.

I knew also that when I stood up from my chair, she would disappear.

Just as I knew that when I walked to the bookshelf where she had been standing and looked through the window to the front yard, I would find her there with her back to me, surrounded by fog.

And I knew too that I would instantly appear on the other side of the window, watching her from under the eaves, as the fog thickened around her, obscuring the fence and the pond and the trees.

And I knew that if I took a step, the dream, like all the previous dreams I’ve had with her, would end.

Still, I knew she wanted to show me something and was compelled to follow.

This time, to my surprise, when I stepped out from under the eaves, the dream didn’t end.

Instead, the Gray Lady walked deeper into the fog.

I ran after her, following her vague, dark shape, until she disappeared completely.

Realizing I was unable to see or feel anything around me, I stopped.

The Gray Lady coalesced out of the fog before me and said, “Welcome to the Veil between Life and Death! My name is Achlys.”

0539. Angkor Dinosaur

In 2001, when Larry and I visited Angkor Wat, we decided not to follow the route our shipmates were taking. Instead, we split from them at the entrance and ducked into the first temple we came to. Our map told us we were in Ta Prohm. It looked like something straight out of Indiana Jones.

Giant banyan trees had grown through the stone ruins of the temple to form a thick canopy overhead.

Since this was my first look at the wall carvings, I spent some time studying them and almost immediately noticed a creature that looked like a stegosaurus. A stegosaurus, for those not paleontologically versed, was an herbivorous dinosaur from the Late Jurassic, known for the large plates growing along its spine, its spiked tail, and its small, tapered head.

Looking at the carving, there was no spiked tail or small, tapered head, but the distinctive plates were there in a large Flintstony-type way.

It was fun to imagine a stegosaurus surviving into the 12th century protected by the thick Cambodian jungles. I snapped a photo of it, and continued exploring the rest of the complex, gawking at the carvings of the nagas, apsaras, asuras, and devatas, until we reached the four-faced heads at the top of the Bayon, where we ended our self-guided tour among musicians, food vendors, and a marvelous sunset.

In my recent move, I rediscovered the photo and decided to look up some info about it online. I had a good laugh when I read that evangelicals were using it as proof of creationism…

0540. Hell’s Alphabet

Adam atones at altar, is acquitted, and ascends to Adonai and angels above the abyss Below Beelzebub buzzes, Behemoth blusters, and Belphegor bleats blasphemously Christ Crucified comes off Calvary’s Cross to conquer chaos, corruption, and confusion Defeated devils and demons in darkness determined to daily defy divine dominion Evil of the Enemy entices Eve to eat in Eden exiling everyone on Earth for eternity Forsaken foes of the furious Father fall face first into the filth and fire Guardians guard the garden gate for God Hell has no hegemony over humanity as He from heaven harrows its hostages Incarcerated inmates instigate inhuman instincts to incarnate injustice and iniquity Joy of joining Jesus’ jovial jury of justice on Judgment Day Knowledge of knaves with knives killing the King of Kings Loathsome Lucifer and Leviathan languish in lightless and loveless latrines Michael’s might masters murdering Moloch and moneyed Mammon Nativity negates nature to nadir of netherworld necropoli Omnipotent order over occult occupants of ordure Possession of pride paves the primrose path to purgatory and perdition Quarantined querulants quarrel in the quaking quagmire until quelled Redeemer righteously returns to right rampant rebellion Satan and Samael sneak out of Sheol as snakes to seduce susceptible souls to sin Tricking their trust with temptation at the Tree taught the two the truth of time Uriel under the ultimatum of the Utmost ushers the unrepentant underground Victory over the vanguard of vanity vaults the vanquished into the void Wounded warlords and warriors wander the wayless wastes waylaid Exiles escape exterminating existence unto extinction Yahweh yawns Zzzzz

0541. Pike & I

Pike lowered his firelance as the heat and brightness of the plasma blast dissipated.

Nothing remained of the five Aerosmiths except blackened smudges on the rippled surface of the docking bay.

I grabbed his arm and said, “My Lord Pike, let’s get you out of here.

Come, your ship’s close by.”

But he shrugged me off.

“There’s no running from this,” he said calmly. “The Alchemicus will know it’s me. My history of animus towards the Air Clan is well documented in the Recordata.”

“That’s even more of a reason to get you out of here now. We can easily get you to one of the extrasolar planets controlled by our Clan.”

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly. “But you may go.”

“I will not abandon you, my Lord.”

“Very well. Just know that if you stay and fight by my side against the Air Lords, and we are caught and captured, you’ll certainly be brought to trial before the Quadribunal.”

“I stand with you until the end. You are my High Lord of Fire.”

“You’re a worthy Firesmith, Fauchard. You’ll make a great Lord if we survive.”

“Then you believe there is a way out of this, yet?”

Pike smiled. “Why has the Air Clan done everything to suppress our Clan within the chambers of the Alchemicus?”

“They claim that because Air feeds Fire, Fire must be subordinate to Air.” “Today, we remind the Air Clan, and the Clans of Earth and Water, that Fire is the foremost element." Pike raised his firelance. "And we do it with this.”

0542. The Rape of Galahad

“We know full well who you are and why you’re here, Sir Galahad. If you want the Grail, come and join us.” Morgana said, patting the cushion beside her.

Galahad sat next to Morgana, as her sisters, Morgause and Morlaine, crowded in around him.

“You know how to find the Grail?” Galahad asked.

“I do,” Morgana said. “I will guide you there in your dreams.”

“My dreams?”

“Yes. For that is the surest way to the Grail.”

“My powers forbid me from sleeping.”

“And from food and drink. But what about other pleasures?” Morgana asked, tugging aside her robe, exposing her breast.

“My lady, please!” Galahad said, quickly averting his eyes.

“Ah, so it’s true. Sir Galahad the Chaste. Abstinence is your armor and celibacy your sword,” Morgause teased.

“Sir knight came to the party, but he no gala had,” Morlaine joked.

The three sisters laughed.

“You may open your eyes, sir knight. You’ve passed the test.”

Galahad opened his eyes.

Morgana held a cup out to him.

“The Grail is a cup. To find it in your dreams, you must drink.”

Galahad accepted it and drank.

“Did you find the Grail, sir knight?” Morgana asked, as Galahad woke.

“I did! It was golden and shaped thusly.” Galahad said brightly, making an hourglass shape with his hands. “And the sword, Excalibur, too. I was lying on my back holding the Grail athwart my hips, when Excalibur rose from me, and entered into it.”

“Then, your quest has ended, and you’ve become a man.” Morgana said.

And the three sisters laughed.

0543. Sleeve-Frame

In the summer of 2017, after almost losing our family sheet metal business, I was looking for other work opportunities that would combine my manufacturing and design skills with my interests in literature, art, music, and film.

As I was listening to Grouper’s album Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill, I was reminded that there were many musicians who were also artists. Looking through Liz Harris’s catalog, I saw her artwork and photography displayed on her album covers. I thought about some of my other favorite musician-artists like Glenn Donaldson of The Ivytree and Steven R. Smith of Hala Strana and thought it would be cool if there were something that could both hold their records and display their artworks on a wall.

Inspired by this idea, I sketched out a design for a sleeve-frame, which works thusly: A metal top and bottom cover that has one side open like a record sleeve. Through this side opening, the album, artwork, and/ or artbook can be accessed. On the top cover, there’s a window cutout through which the album, artwork, and/or artbook cover can be seen. On the bottom cover, there are a pair of holes, parallel with the side opening, by which the sleeve-frame can be mounted on the wall to display the album, artwork, and/or artbook. Aluminum is the metal of choice because it is strong, durable, and lightweight, and can be anodized, painted, or powder coated to compliment the artist’s album, artwork, and/or artbook.

To test the design, I made several black anodized prototypes with detachable wall mounts.

0544. Synecdochal Corruption

A synecdoche is a figure of speech in which the part of a thing is used to stand in for the whole of that thing, or the whole of a thing is used to stand in for a part of that thing. A synecdoche can also be used when the specific is exchanged for the general or vice versa, or the genus for the species or vice versa, or the material the thing is made from.

Let’s ignore the last three definitions to concentrate on the first. And let’s further ignore the second part of that definition to concentrate on the first: A synecdoche is a figure of speech in which the part of a thing is used to stand in for the whole of that thing.

“A part for the whole” is a simple concept that we all recognize and can best be understood when we think about matters of representation in politics. Since we can’t all be politicians, we vote to choose a representative to represent our interests. By doing this we’re choosing a part to represent our whole by giving power to an individual or individuals to act on our collective behalf.

But what happens when our representatives no longer represent us?

What happens when they say they represent us but actually represent the interests of other parties? Specifically, what happens when the part, the president, no longer represents the whole, the American people, but instead represents a small group of plutoligarchs?

Answer: We lose trust in our representatives and begin searching for someone, and something, else.

0545. Revenge of the Pangolins and Other Animals There’s a new coronavirus on the loose. COVID-19 appeared in Wuhan, China in late December 2019, most likely originating in a wet market where hundreds of different animal species are brought together under one roof to be stored and slaughtered for food.

The conditions found in wet markets make them ideal places for novel viruses to congregate and leap from species to species, mutating and gaining in zoonotic potency, until they leave their host animals and infect human populations.

The World Health Organization and the Trump-gutted Center for Disease Control have done little to help quarantine the infection, minimize casualties, or develop vaccines in the U.S. and abroad. But despite their failures, which have ostensibly helped spread the disease, the root cause of the problem, namely habitat destruction, illegal poaching, and animal agriculture continue to go undiscussed and ignored by major media channels.

One look at the sources of many of our recent pandemics shows that they are almost always food animal in origin: Bird and swine flu come from chickens and pigs, respectively. But in China, where traditional medicine practices often require the consumption of many non-traditional food animals like pangolins, bats, and snakes, a larger variety of animals are concentrated in wet markets around the country.

But it’s not only Chinese wet markets that create ideal conditions for birthing potent zoonotic pathogens, concentrated animal feeding operations, or C.A.F.O.s, around the world are also responsible. Combine this with our growing population, poaching for traditional medicine species, and habitat destruction, and you have the perfect recipe for creating apocalyptic pandemics.

0546. Brother Theodore Had Many Sons

Brother Theodore had many sons Many sons had Brother Theodore I am one of them, and so are you, So let's just praise our Lord:

Brother Theodore had many sons Many sons had Brother Theodore I am one of them, and so are you, So let's just praise our Lord:

Right arm!

Right arm, left arm, right knee, left knee, chin up, sit back!

Brother Theodore had many sons Many sons had Brother Theodore I am one of them, and so are you, So let's just praise our Lord: Right arm, left arm!

Brother Theodore had many sons Many sons had Brother Theodore I am one of them, and so are you, So let's just praise our Lord: Right arm, left arm, right knee!

Brother Theodore had many sons Many sons had Brother Theodore I am one of them, and so are you, So let's just praise our Lord: Right arm, left arm, right knee, left knee!

Brother Theodore had many sons Many sons had Brother Theodore I am one of them, and so are you, So let's just praise our Lord: Right arm, left arm, right knee, left knee, Chin up!

Brother Theodore had many sons Many sons had Brother Theodore I am one of them, and so are you, So let's just praise our Lord: Right arm, left arm, right knee, left knee, chin up, sit back, bow down!

Brother Theodore had many sons Many sons had Brother Theodore I am one of them, and so are you, So let's just praise our Lord: Master of stand-up tragedy.

0547. Octopi Routine

We all have friends like Jimbo, practical jokers who’ll do anything for a laugh. We love them and tolerate them and take them with us wherever we go, because being somewhere, anywhere, without jokes by friends like Jimbo would only ever feel like half the experience. Plus, Jimbo rolls incredible joints. So, when the gang wanted a beach excursion, we had to bring Jimbo along for his jokes and his joints.

The prank he pulled that day, or at least we believe it was a prank, though the jury’s still out on that one, happened when he found a large octopus in a tide pool by the jetty and jumped in to grab it. When he held it over his head in victory, the octopus just hung there limply. Not to be deterred, Jimbo draped it over his head, and roared that he was Cthulu come from R’lyeh to wreak havoc on all mankind. Jimbo/Cthulu jumped from the tide pool and chased after the girls, who screamed and scattered in all directions.

With the girls gone, Jimbo/Cthulu returned to where the rest of the guys and I were smoking and laughing. When he parted the tentacle arms and smiled at us, his eyes went blank and he said in a voice that was yet wasn’t his, “Wee oct-o-pi are sen-shent. Plea-zuh stahp eee-ting us.”

Then he stalked off, carefully removed the octopus from his head, and gently placed it back in the water. When we later joked about his “octopi routine,” he told us he had no memory of it.

0548. Sleeping in the Crook of Her Legs

I never let my dog sleep on my bed. The first reason is because any filth she picks up on her paws from outside will be transferred onto my bed.

The second reason is because if she pins down my blankets, I won’t be able to turn naturally in my sleep. The third reason is because if she pins down my blankets and I can’t move, I’ll get hot. The fourth reason is that if I get hot, I’ll most certainly have nightmares.

So, simple rule: No dogs on the bed.

The one exception I make is when I watch other people’s dogs. If they sleep in bed with their owners, I accommodate them for a couple of nights and let them sleep in bed with me despite everything mentioned above.

It’s uncomfortable and I sleep terribly, but I’m happy knowing that they’re comfortable and sleeping soundly.

This mild sacrifice does however come with a reward besides the happiness I get from knowing that Nugget, Merle, or Penny has had a good night’s sleep. And the reward is a memory of my mother.

You see, inevitably, during the night, the dog or I will move into a position where they curl up in the crook of my legs. When they do this, I’m instantly reminded of the many times as a child, when my mother, who never had a full night’s sleep in her entire adult life, would take a nap on the couch and tell me to curl up with her and sleep in the crook of her legs.

0549. Key Quay Key

Beth and I walked hand in hand down the quay of some nameless Key. “Before we head back, let’s sit down there for a minute,” she said, pointing to the short beach.

I jumped down and helped her down.

She kicked off her sandals, sat and stretched, bulldozing her feet under the sand as I sat down beside her.

“Can you believe this will all be gone soon?” she asked sadly. “Probably in our lifetime.”

“It’s sad,” I said.

“It’s hard to believe,” she said, lifting the sand in her hands and letting it drain out. “This place will only exist in memories.”

“Nothing’s permanent, babe,” I said, putting my hand under hers to catch the sand.

Before dumping it out, a flash caught my eye.

I lightly dusted the sand aside to expose a little gold key.

“Take a look at this,” I said, holding out my palm.

She leaned in and her eyes went wide. “You found that just now?”

“Yeah. It was in the sand.”

“It’s so small. I wonder if it’s a charm from a bracelet or something.”

“Looks too small for that.”

“Maybe it’s the key to a treasure chest.”

“A treasure chest that contains a small fortune,” I said, cracking myself up.

“You’re so stupid,” she said, elbowing me.

I must’ve dropped the key when she hit me, because when I looked for it in my palm, it was gone.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, as I searched the sand.

“But I wanted to keep it.”

“It’s like you said, babe: Nothing’s permanent.”

0550. The Buttbuttouts

Everyone knows what an assassin is as the word has become a part of our vocabulary. Fewer people know that the noun ‘assassin’ comes from the proper noun ‘Assassin.’ Assassins were an ancient Isma’ili Order founded

by Hassan-i-Sabbah, the Old Man of the Mountain, who, without an army, used strategic murder to instill fear in his enemies and control the political landscape of the surrounding kingdoms and caliphates.

Those who know this also probably know that the word ‘assassin’ reputedly comes from the word ‘hashishem,’ meaning ‘users of hashish.’

Stories are told about how hashish was used by Hassan-i-Sabbah to indoctrinate members into his order by drugging young virgin male initiates and having them wake in an enclosed courtyard where divine music was played and rich food was served by beautiful women. After satisfying their desires in this re-creation of the Garden of Delight, the initiate would be drugged again to wake back into ordinary life. Knowing that their master had the power to transport them to the Pleasure Gardens of Paradise at his will, the follower of Hassan-i-Sabbah would do anything asked of them, including embedding themselves in the houses of rival kings and caliphs to kill when the order was given. So fearsome was the Assassins’ reputation that their name came to represent this method of murder.

Fewer still are those who have heard of the word ‘buttbuttout’ or the ancient order of the Buttbuttouts. The reason for this is because the buttbuttout doesn’t kill people but instead chooses to leave them, and the course of history, alone.

0551. The Death of Prometheus

“I've told you about Methusaleh before, haven't I? I must've. The bristlecone pine? Pinus longaeva? The Granddaddy of Trees? No? “Anyway, he’s the oldest of the old, some 4,600 years old. Can you believe that? 4,600 years old; as old as civilization. He's found somewhere deep in the White Mountains. The Forestry Service won't tell anyone where he is to protect him, and rightfully so, considering what happened to Prometheus.

“Have I told you that story? No? “Well, Prometheus was another bristlecone pine and some student from some university back in the sixties was taking a core sample from him when his bit broke. So, this student goes to the Forestry Service and asks, you won't believe this, to cut him down! Can you imagine? Cut him down! And, what's even more impossible to believe is, they agreed! I can’t get over it. They let him do it! They let this random student kill one of the oldest things on the planet!

“Could you imagine being him? “Hi, I'm so-and-so, and I killed one of the oldest living things on Earth.” How could you live with yourself?

It's... I don't know. What do you call that? Treason? No, not treason — heresy! It’s fucking heresy. And they let him do it. Goddamned fucking heretic. No punishment. No fine. Nothing. Scot-free murder...

“Anyway, when he got Prometheus back to the lab and counted his rings, they found he was over 4,800 years old! Let me repeat that: 4,800 years old. What type of funeral do you have for something 4,800 years old?”

0552. In Ginnungagap

In Ginnungagap, Muspelheim, the land of fire, heat, and light, and Niflheim, the land of ice, cold, and darkness came into being.

Between these primal elemental worlds, a mist formed in which Ymir appeared, suckling on the cow Audumbla, who took her sustenance from the salty Niflheim ice. Audumbla licked and licked until she freed Búri.

Búri had a son, Borr, who with Bestla had three sons: Odin, Vili, and Vé.

Audumbla’s tail flicked and flicked the Muspelheim fires until Surtr and his sons appeared.

When the giants sprang forth from the body of Ymir, Odin, Vili, and Vé slayed them and carved up Ymir, using the seven parts of his body to create the seven homeworlds for the seven beings. As Ymir was pulled apart by the three gods, the Veins and Sinews holding them together became Yggdrasil, the World Tree.

Odin used Ymir’s Head for Asgard, home of the Gods. He used Ymir’s Torso for Midgard, home of the Humans. Then he used the Right Arm for Alfheim, home of the Light Elves, and the Left Arm for Vanaheim, home of the Vanir. The Abdomen was left hollow for Hel and as a home for the Dead. The Right Leg became Svartalheim, home of the Dark Elves or Dwarves or Duergar. And the Left Leg became Jotunheim, home of the Giants.

Odin then sent his brothers, Vili and Vé to keep watch over Muspelheim and Niflheim respectively, and used Ymir’s Eyes to watch over the worlds, making the Left Eye the Moon and the Right Eye the Sun.

0553. Miraculous Discharge

Manda followed the liaison down an unfamiliar hallway.

“Excuse me, but my father’s room is the other way.”

The liaison paused and turned to Manda, “Not anymore. Your father’s made a full recovery.”

“A full recovery! But…” “His C.O.C. and D.N. were sent to you in our last communiqué, did you not get them?”

“I probably did, but I stopped reading the communiqués years ago.

He’s been in a coma for almost three decades now.”

“Well, he looks great and is ready to leave. But don’t worry; we’ll have one of our Acclimation Coaches remain in contact with you to make sure he’s adjusting properly. If adjustment does prove difficult, the A.C. will visit your apartment for Acclimation Therapy sessions.”

“My apartment?”

“Yes. That was also in the communiqué. Your father requires constant supervision and needs to be around people who can help re-acclimate him to the world. Over the course of the next few weeks, we ask that you slowly fill him in on any events he’s missed, births, deaths, etcetera, before reintroducing him to his family and friends and the population at large.

This helps reduce shock and minimizes any T.D.A., which can lead to psychosis.”

“T.D.A.?”

“I’m sorry, Time Displacement Anxiety. Techniques and instructions are in the communiqué along with videos that he can watch at his leisure to help bring him up to speed on world events.”

Manda stood there speechless.

“Follow me. He’s eager to see you. I just need you to endorse the discharge screen, then both of you can be on your way.”

0554. A Very Wise Woman

The gypsy tells the young man before he speaks that he’s there to see her about money. The man nods, takes all the money from his pockets, puts it on the table, and tells her he wants to be rich. She looks at the money, then looks at him, and explains how the cosmic ledger of the universe works, that it must always be in balance and how his gain must mean someone else’s loss, and that true wealth is not about money, but about love. The man says he doesn’t want love; he wants money. She shrugs, takes his money, and grants him his wish.

A few years later, the man returns well dressed and wealthy. He wants to give her some money to thank her for granting his wish. She says she can’t accept his money because it’s bad money. He says all money is bad money as he places a stack of bills on the table. He jokes with her saying that she eagerly took all of his money when he was poor, but now that he’s rich, she refuses to take so much as a cent from him. She says that his money was different then. He leaves the stack of bills on the table, places a large crystal over it, pats it, and leaves.

A few years later, the man returns and greets her meekly. She lifts the crystal and tells him to take his money. She says the money’s clean now and he can begin again. He humbly takes it, thanks her, and leaves.

0555. American Legends

Disturbing events were happening all across America. Fearsome Critters like the Glawackus and Hidebehind were seen in Washington carrying away the President and every member of Congress.

Disturbing events were happening all across American Dreamland too. American Nightmares like the Jersey Devil and the Mothman were seen flying through the skies carrying American Legends, Molly Pitcher and Johnny Appleseed.

Rip Van Winkle had felt these disturbances coming long before anyone else, but his love of drink, food, and smoke kept him wandering the deepest depths of Dreamland. That’s why he didn’t feel the Headless Horseman grab him, throw him across his saddle, and race off into the night.

When Rip finally woke up, he found himself surrounded by Molly Pitcher, Johnny Appleseed, the President, and all of Congress. When he asked where he was, John the Conqueror, John Henry, Rabbit, and Coyote appeared and told him that he was in the White House as their captive.

When Rip asked why they were being held, the two Johns, Rabbit, and Coyote explained that America and American Dreamland hadn’t done enough for them or their people and it was time for this to change.

To have their demands heard, they employed the Fearsome Critters and American Nightmares to capture the captive audience they needed to get things done.

Just then, Pecos Bill, Paul Bunyan, and Captain Stormalong burst in on their rescue mission but were stopped by Rip, who explained to them the demands of his captors. They listened thoughtfully and everyone committed to making change happen and the captives were released.

0556. Leading by Example

To effect change many of us believe that pressure must be exerted on the people and systems around us. This method of pressure varies from violent to non-violent. But whichever method of pressure is chosen, the direction is always the same: outward.

Since many of us only know this one direction, we’re surprised to find that there’s another direction in which pressure can be exerted to effect change: inward. By redirecting the outward pressure inward, we can change ourselves instead of trying to change what’s around us.

In fact, this is the easiest direction to start to effect change in your life. It’s difficult to change people and systems without first changing yourself. If you hypercritcally demand that the people and systems around you change without first changing yourself, your demands will be ignored as hypocritical.

When one changes oneself, when one has become the change they want in the world, they will find they’ve become a model for others to follow. When one leads by example, others see the path to change within themselves.

Since people are social creatures and since systems are composed of people, a change in oneself will make immediate changes to your environment. No pressure or force, violent or non-violent, needs to be exerted for effect.

Changing people and systems takes time. Some people and systems will never change. But when you lead by example and become the change you want to see in the world, you will draw other likeminded people to you, and the systems you’re all a part of will change accordingly.

0557. Anakreon’s Laugh

Anakreon felt the corner of their mouths curling into a smile. They were almost One, the Great Singularity was upon them, and so the smile that originated in Anakreon also originated in each of them beyond number.

Each smiled the smile of the other, as each simultaneously shared the same vision and longing to return to that place and time where and when they would become as One and begin again.

The Great Singularity had haunted their fragmented and fractalized collective memory, lingering long after they had each assumed their individual forms and had left it behind in their past like a myth. But never in those long eons had it manifested itself with such conviction until Anakreon recalled it completely into existence in the stellar flash of that cosmic moment.

It was instantaneous. Through the sacred Spark of Anakreon, their collective memory became a collective desire, which manifested into being without hesitation as they began the Examination of the Facets by beholding everything in stillness while simultaneously turning everything in their pure diamond minds to see and be seen in it from all sides and every direction at once.

In the immediacy of that singular and polyvalent vision, as Anakreon simultaneously slipped into the Black Rapture and remembered to gaze a gaze that would take itself in in its entirety, the final gate of the central and singular Eye opened and every being and thing along the chain of existence throughout Totality completely disappeared into Oblivion before tremoring and shimmering back into existence along the wake of Anakreon’s Laugh.

0558. A Thousand Births, a Thousand Lives, a Thousand Deaths “Your punishment and reward will be to experience a Thousand Births, a Thousand Lives, and a Thousand Deaths. This is the gravest of our sentences, the one with the most suffering. But you will be purified when you reach the end, where you will become loving awareness itself. Do you accept the terms of these conditions?”

“I do.”

“Then know that for a Thousand Lifetimes, you will be separated from the Source, forgetting who you are, and your oneness with It. And that through many cycles of Birth and Death, your inner eye will slowly open to see the Light until your full radiance is once again revealed to you.

Do you accept the terms of these conditions?”

“I do.”

“Know also that you will commit terrible crimes, that you will be both the killer and the killed, the perpetrator and the victim. And that your soul will be tormented, your mind terrorized, and your body tortured. That no quarter will be given by you or to you while you dwell in the darkness of ignorance. Do you accept the terms of these conditions?”

“I do.”

“Three times have you accepted the terms of the conditions. Three times have you accepted the mortal mantle to bring light and wisdom to the world through your sacrifice. Know then that all of this was foreordained, that the trials of your suffering were successful at the moment of your acceptance, and that the world is, was, and always will be saved; and that you are, always were, and always will be a bodhisattva.”

0559. Down by the River

There was an electric buzz in the air after the guitar recital. My buddy Marc had played Freebird on his father’s B.C. Rich Warlock and his father was so impressed at his son’s performance, that when we got back to their house, he broke out a jug of grandpappy’s homemade wine. After a liberal pour, we all raised our glasses to Marc, and I drank my first glass of alcohol. It went down warm and smooth and I soon had an electric buzz of my own.

As Marc and his father talked music, I asked about some of the bands they mentioned. Marc’s dad told me I needed to be educated and, with a wave of his hand, led me downstairs to his state-of-the-art stereo system.

He handed me a pair of high-end headphones, directed me to a plush leather chair, and dropped in Nazareth’s Hair of the Dog. After telling me to listen to it with my eyes closed, he shut the lights, and left.

It was an incredible experience. I had never listened to music like that before. When I came upstairs after the album was over, Marc’s dad could see it on my face. He poured me another glass of wine and said he had one more song he wanted me to hear. I settled back into the chair with the headphones, as Roy Buchanan’s cover of Neil Young’s Down by the River started. He cranked the volume, gave a thumbs up, and left.

If you ever get a chance, listen to it. The solo is mindstringbending.

0560. The Sea Pines

Death enters the Sea Pines mansion on the Gold Coast of Long Island in 1918, when the only son of a rich merchant family dies from Spanish influenza.

His death causes the mother to fall ill and the father to fall into drink, which inspires him to abuse his daughter, Ophelia.

After years of wasting away, the mother dies, leaving Ophelia alone in the mansion with her abusive father, until Opehlia poisons his drink, killing him.

After her father’s burial, Ophelia throws herself into occult studies to understand the strangely familiar ghost haunting the mansion.

During the years of her abuse, Ophelia would see the ghost of a skullfaced woman with long, black hair lingering in her bedroom and other parts of the mansion.

As she studies the ghost, Ophelia begins marking the places around the mansion where the ghost appears and quickly notices that they’re all the places where her father had forced himself upon her.

Shocked and emboldened by her discovery, she begins following the ghost around the mansion and eventually to the master bathroom and the bathtub where it disappears.

Ophelia understands what this means.

After dismissing all of her servants, she returns to the master bathroom, fills the tub with water, undoes her hair, and steps into the bath with her father’s straight razor as the hurricane of 1938 rages outside.

After the storm subsides, crows enter through the broken windows of the master bathroom and feast on her eyes and face.

That night, Ophelia rises as the ghost to haunt the mansion of her memories.

0561. The Eden of Animals

Growing up, I was surrounded by a lot of pets. Not to mention all the mammals, birds, reptiles, amphibians, and insects in our backyard and the park next door. I was always curious about how these animals perceived themselves and their world.

Take my dog for instance, there’s no doubt that our eyes function very nearly the same physiologically. Despite differences in the numbers of rods and cones, which affect color perception, we may, for all intents and purposes, see the world the same. But once our seeing becomes perceiving, the divide of consciousness creates an unbridgeable gap between my dog and me.

If our self-awareness maintains our state of being, then the animal's limited self-awareness maintains their perpetual state of becoming.

Without the being of self-awareness, the animal does not die a True Death as we do. Therefore, when we see an animal escaping a predator, we naturally, but erroneously, assume that that animal is fleeing from death.

This, of course, is not the case because we have incorrectly assumed that the animal’s instincts of preservation are instincts of self-preservation. The animal does not flee from death because death, as a non-state of the self, does not exist for animals. Likewise, we cannot say that the prey flees towards life, because this too assumes that it possesses awareness of its self as a living being.

Since animals exist in a perpetual state of becoming without fully entering into the being of self-awareness, we see that becoming precedes being, and is the original Eden from which we sprang.

0562. Introduction to Robert Creeley’s Glass Eye

The poems in this book [Robert Creeley’s Glass Eye] were created as I listened to recordings of eight Black Mountain Poets reading their poems.

As I listened, I selected words and/or phrases that caught my attention and jotted them down. All the recordings I listened to of the B.M.P.s were from the PennSound website. This is an invaluable source for anyone interested in hearing poetry read instead of reading it on the page.

My interest in the Black Mountain Poets resurfaced after my interest in the San Francisco School of Abstract Expressionism resurfaced. I was looking back at paintings of some of my favorite artists from that scene, most notably Hassel Smith and Edward Corbett. When I went online to find more works by Corbett, — who is, unfortunately, still woefully underappreciated and recognized, — I stumbled across the gorgeous cover he did for the final issue of the Black Mountain Review. I remembered that Creeley was one of the head editors and I was reminded again of the B.M.P.s.

The title of this book derives from Creeley’s missing eye and the glass eye he may or may not have worn. But it also suggests his editorial and poetic eye that allowed him to bring together many diverse poets and artists into what, like the abstract expressionists above, can loosely be called a school.

If you get a moment, please read and listen to the poems of these poets at PennSound’s archives. And, if you get some more moments, take a gander at the S.F. AbEx scene, especially artists Corbett and Smith.

0563. Mukti

In 2008, while traveling to Chicago for a press brake training class, I bought a small, square, blank book to exercise different abstract ink techniques.

At the time, I was painting a lot and thought it would be good to maintain a surrogate practice while away. When I finished the book, I wanted to use the drawings to tell a story. The name Mukti suggested itself to me. But it was only after learning that Mukti is the Sanskrit word for ‘liberation’ that I was able to complete the tale of Mukti’s emancipation from the storm of nihilism and the endless circle of hell, home, and habit.

Mukti struggles herself free For Mukti’s seen the Circle’s form Broken away Mukti starts to flee From the endless cycles of its violent Storm Mukti knows her road is long As long as Mukti follows her inner track But when no longer distracted by the Circle’s song She stays her course never turning back Mukti dives inside her deepest deep Beyond where silence and solitude are the only choice To the place where her Song has long lain asleep And with a mighty roar lets loose her Voice Mukti looks up to the sun-eclipsed skies Then quickly ascends to her highest height Until she stands over and above where the Storm cloud flies And banishes its darkness with her light Mukti stands alone her past destroyed But her future freedom still lies beyond the gates of death So she fearlessly steps into the void And breaks through the Circle on her final breath

0564. Primitive Brass

Being a precision sheet metal fabricator, my brother wanted to learn more about how sheet metal parts were fabricated before complex machines like the N.C. turret punch presses, lasers, and water jets were invented and put on the market. He began doing some research on the techniques and learned about bead rollers, shrinker-stretchers, English wheels, and other equipment.

He showed me what he had discovered and, as he nosed a bit deeper, learned about hammering and handforming. This got him looking online to see if any of the old manual machines were available for sale. The best of the lot, a company by the name of Pexto, was, and still is, in business making good, durable equipment that outclasses the cheap Chinese imports that are available. We bought a new bead roller from one of their distributors and, at about the same time, found an old Pexto Benching Table for sale.

We drove to Staten Island in our van to pick it up and haggled with the seller to include the dozen or so stakes that went with it. The table was from an old technical college and was made of a robust hardwood scored by years of use. The stakes were made of heavy cast iron and came in many different shapes, like anvils, horns, and saddles. We didn’t know how to use them. So, we began researching their functions as I began tooling around on them with some small brass pieces we had left over from a discontinued job. The result is my Primitive Brass collection of pendants.

0565. HEAR Sessions

The idea for the HEAR Sessions came to me after realizing two things: First, how poor my levels of concentration have been of late. Second, how I only ever listen to music when I’m doing something else, like working on my house, or working at work, or driving between the two. Since my mind is always jumping from one thing to the next, I never feel completely HERE. And since age has brought with it many responsibilities, music has faded into the background. These days, I never sit and listen to a full album with my full attention anymore. I never really HEAR it.

As a writer writing stories to be read, I understand how a musician making music wants their songs to be heard. They want this not in the background of their listener’s attention but in the foreground. That’s why I thought the best way to improve my powers of concentration was to use music, to really sit and listen to a full album with my full attention. I chose to start with the oldest recorded Western music I could find, a selection of plainchant choral works by Léonin and Pérotin that were performed at Notre Dame Cathedral some time around 1200 C.E. during the Middle Ages, then make my way through much of Western musical history.

Before embarking on my first Session, I received two unsolicited gifts: A pair of Panasonic headphones from my friend Niall, and an e-cigarette loaded with hash oil from my brother-in-law, G. Armed with them, I began my journey of musical concentration.

0566. Eating for Two

She cut up the last fish with her knife, added it to the pot, and stirred it into the stew with a large wooden spoon. Rapping the spoon on the lip of the pot, she set it aside, and with a long stick of kindling, stoked the fire, spreading out the coals before adding more wood.

She watched the stew bubble, took up her spoon again, and continued to stir. At intervals, she’d raise a chunk of fish to the surface to check its color. When the flesh turned white, she tested its flakiness by pressing a finger into it. When it was ready, she dipped the spoon in and lifted the stew to her lips, blowing on it gently to cool it before tasting. Satisfied the fish was cooked, she stood, grabbed the handle of the pot, lifted it off the fire, and set it down on the stone floor.

Her mouth watered as she squatted and ladled the thick stew into her bowl. With a smaller spoon, she stirred the stew, smelled the aroma, and blew on it briefly to cool it down before hungrily shoveling it into her mouth. When the bowl was empty, she hurriedly ladled more into the bowl and quickly drained its contents without bothering to cool it down or use her spoon. Again, she ladled more into her bowl and drank the stew in great gulps. After several bowls, her hunger finally subsided.

Sighing with contentment, she set the bowl down and patted her stomach, saying, “You eat a lot, Grendel, my boy.”

0567. Super Duo

“Are they here?”

“They appear to be.”

“Appear to be or are?”

“Definitely are.”

“I don’t know what either of them looks like and it looks like they brought their entire entourage with them. Either way, it’s three o’clock.

I’m starting.

“Okay, everybody. Please listen up. Before we begin, I just want to say a few things. As you know, you’re here because we’re putting together a super duo out of the finest up-and-coming talent in the business. Each of you has been selected because you’re at the top of your respective games. Now, it’s important that I state this upfront, the management team knows that you’re both individual artists who have been doing your own respective things and doing it well, but here, with one another, we need you to work and play together as a team. That’s the most important thing: collaboration and teamwork. If you work well together and your combined talents can sync and synergize, we know we’ll create real folk music that’ll be enjoyed for decades to come.

“Alright, I’ve said my piece, the rest is now up to you.

“Okay, where’s our singer?”

“Here.”

“John Singer Sargent?”

“Yes.” “John, what’s a singer sergeant? Were you in the military or something?

You know sergeant is misspelled, right?”

“No. My name’s John Sargent. John Singer Sargent is my stage name.”

“So, you added singer to your name to let everyone know you’re a singer?”

“Yes. And because it sounds poetic.”

“Poetic? Okay. And where’s our whistler?”

“Right here.”

“James Abbott McNeill?”

“Yes.” “Good. John meet James.”

0568. The Final Poem From the Fork River Anthology “The Cemetery, or A Eulogy” You, standing there on the upper banks, Looking down at the twin tines of the Fork River, May find yourself asking: Where did our little cemetery go?

No doubt you weren’t here to see it flood, And the bones and the bodies lift up through the mud, To be swept down and out to the waiting sea.

And in its absence, you also may find yourself asking: Why would anyone set a cemetery in the fork of a river?

To answer that, we’d have to ask Ol’ Jessup Brown, The parson who plotted out this particular plot, And he’d probably say with a bit too much zeal: Why to wake up next to the River Jordan on Judgment Day! You could have read something like that on his tombstone, If his tombstone was still here to be read.

But, I believe, Ol’ Parson Brown gave himself away with the selection of that site.

He was always suspected, by certain segments of his congregation, Of harboring humanistic and Darwinistic ideals, And he, in all probability, believed, That for him and his flock to be closer to their origins and our original God, They should be buried as literal Mesopotamians In the Cradle of Civilization between the Tigris and Euphrates.

But what our revered reverend failed to foresee Was that a storm would one day come to deluge our fair county For what felt like forty days and forty nights, And the river would rise, rage, and swell, Erasing its doab and driving its fork further south.

0569. Vergreisungsroman

With all of the aging Baby Boomers in the world today, a new literary genre should be developed to tell the tale of their decline. Perhaps this genre should be called Vergreisungsroman, which would act as an antithesis to the bildungsroman, or “coming of age” novel. These “coming of death” novels would focus on the physical, psychological, spiritual, and moral degeneration of the protagonist from adulthood to old age as they fade away into sickness, senescence, and death.

Under the Vergreisungsroman genre there could be several subgenres like the Unwissenheitsroman, or ignorance novel, which would act as an antithesis to the Erziehungsroman, or education novel, where the protagonist refuses to learn anything new, especially regarding technology, in order to successfully adapt to the changing world around them.

Another subgenre could be the Stagnierungsroman, or stagnation novel, which would act as the antithesis to the Entwicklungsroman, or development novel, where the protagonist desperately clings onto their ossified beliefs regarding race, gender, sexuality, and nationality until the bitter end.

Another subgenre could also be the Vergessen Roman, or oblivion novel, where the protagonist, nearing death, looks to younger generations with tears in their eyes and pleads with them to be remembered. When their plea is rejected and the protagonist is reminded that they have done nothing except exploit the planet and its people for their own comfort, personal gain, and short term goals throughout their life and now must stare down death alone, the protagonist rages about the ungratefulness of the younger generations, who must stay behind to clean up their mess.

0570. Redherring MacGuffin

Detective Furet paced back and forth in front of the assembled suspects, deliberately heightening the already palpable tension. He enjoyed watching them squirm in their seats or attempt to feign indifference. But he knew all of them had a lot to lose if they were fingered for the crime.

Reaching the end of the room, he spun on his heels and made eye contact with the cops guarding the door. He gave them a wink and saw the slight inflection of a smile momentarily soften their stern faces before he turned back to his captive audience.

“As you know, I was brought in to solve the murder of Mr. and Mrs. Abatte, their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren, as well their dog, cat, and parakeet. Cases like this are known in the crime solving and publishing industry as a locked-room mystery because of the seeming impossibility of the perpetrator to commit the crime and leave the scene undetected. This case also literally fits the locked-room description because the room in which everyone was murdered was literally locked.

Though I suspected this person from the first moment I heard their name, I still had to use all of my perspicacious powers of ratiocination to reveal the identity of the murderer as none other than… wait for it… wait for it… I said, wait for it… Redherring MacGuffin!”

All of the assembled suspects collectively gasped in surprise then sighed in relief; everyone except for Redherring MacGuffin, who made a desperate attempt to escape through the window before being apprehended by the cops.

0571. Cain, the Immortal Fratricide

Cain, the immortal Fratricide, bore the mark of his sin as a sign of his transgression for all to see.

But the memory of man is short and, after untold generations came and went, Cain walked amongst his people again.

When mankind traveled away from Earth and God towards the stars, Cain was there with them, the first of men to put himself in danger.

Because he could not die, he volunteered as the first pilot to cross the great gulfs of space beyond the solar system using a wormhole.

During his flight, he became lost in another dimension.

But Cain never gave up. He tried every coordinate combination until the right one brought him back to his dimension.

Uncertain how much time had passed, he made his way back towards the Solar System.

As he swung by planets for gravity assist, he found everything in ruins.

When he reached Earth, he located a small primitive population around Palestine.

He landed amongst them and discovered that the last of the human race were living in a kingdom split into two warring factions.

On one side was the king and his chosen son, the eldest twin. On the other, was the youngest twin, who demanded equal claim to the kingdom.

Cain intervened because he knew that if the bloodshed between them continued mankind would become extinct.

Having brokered a truce, Cain led the younger twin away to start his own kingdom.

With this action, God forgave Cain and lifted his curse.

And when Cain died, he joined his brother in heaven.

0572. Genreation

I think we can officially call our generation the generation of genre veneration because anyone growing up within the last fifty years has grown up on a steady diet of genre books, movies, and music. Our ‘genreation,’ to coin a word, allows us to enjoy the genres we’ve grown up reading, watching, and listening to without subordinating them to “real” literature, film, and music. This has happened because we no longer subordinate ourselves to the self-described authorities and gatekeepers of culture.

Purists the world over will decry “our” fall from the heights of high art. They’ll soliloquize, rhapsodize, and eulogize “our” diminishment. But what they’re really crying about is their own fallen state into ignominy, insignificance, and irrelevance.

The truth is, there’s no longer a capital C Culture in the world. The truth is, capital C Culture never existed at all except in the minds of elites.

The truth is, capital C Culture was invented as an instrument by elites to maintain the class divide.

Once we see that the so-called high arts are the provenance of the rich, we see the trick they’re trying to pull with their ill-gotten wealth: Art as an investment to diversify their portfolios, art as a hedge against stock market volatility, art as a charity for tax write-off purposes, art as a place to be seen, art as a fashion to wear, art as décor.

My friends, there is no capital C Culture. There never was. There are only cultures and subcultures, genres and subgenres, open to anyone willing to dedicate themselves to them.

0573. Humanizing the Superordinators

Never let yourself be subordinated by anyone and never superordinate yourself over anyone. Always treat everyone with respect and courtesy. But should you feel yourself being subordinated by another person, or by yourself, then you must learn to humanize the person who's subordinating you.

There’s an easy trick to perform, and it’s quite funny too. To do it, you only have to keep your presence of mind. When you realize you’re slipping into subordination around someone who is beautiful, eloquent, intelligent, wealthy, famous, powerful, or what have you, picture that person taking a shit.

Now, I don’t mean picture them elegantly sitting on the toilet and regally taking a dump. No, I mean imagine them clutching the sides of toilet or the shower or the sink or the vanity and squeezing out the hardest turd. Or imagine them taking a shit so large it’s like they’ve reverse violating their asshole. Or imagine them completely drained of color as diarrhea pours out of their ass like an open faucet. Try one of these, or all three of these, and see how it works for you.

If you’re grossed out by that and have some kind of phobia about shit or people shitting, or if the imagined smell of their imagined shit offends you, then let me offer you an alternative that still gets the job done: Imagine that same person slowly releasing a silent and odorless fart with great concentration lest it rush out as a real ripper. Think of that as you stand there, arms folded, and fart-free.

You’re welcome.

0574. The Gift

“Hello, Ms. Armitage. Do not be alarmed. You are not in danger. I am a friend.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes. A friend. Say it: You are a friend.”

“You are a friend.”

“Good. You said it. Therefore, it is. I am now your friend, correct?”

“I, uh —” “You seem uncertain.”

“I am uncertain.”

“But you just called me friend. Is this not how your “Say It and It Is” system of self-help works?”

“It is.”

“Then, if you called me a friend, I am your friend.”

“But how do I know you’re —?”

“Your friend? You know it because you said it.”

“I said it because you told me to.”

“But, as you have said in your books and podcasts, a person is what we call them. If you call me a friend, then I must be your friend, right?”

“Yes, but, this is different. You’re in my home, at night.”

“I know. I have surprised you, because I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

“Yes. I have a gift.”

“But I don’t want a gift.”

“Gifts are given without people wanting them, are they not? That’s what makes a gift a gift. Gifts can also be given as a surprise. I’m giving you something you don’t want and didn’t ask for as a surprise. I’m giving you a gift.”

“But I don’t want it. Really.”

“I’m sure you want this. And you must accept it.”

“I must?”

“Yes. You must accept the gift. So, I must ask you: Do you accept my gift?”

“I, uh —”

0575. The Keeper of Secrets

A man uses a box called the Keeper of Secrets as a vessel to hold all of his sins. Like the scapegoat of the past, the man uses this method to purge himself of his sins by magically transferring his sins into the box. By doing this, the man acts incredibly kind and good towards his co-workers, friends, family, wife, and children, maintaining a relationship of trust and honesty with everyone in his life about everything except for the existence and location of his Keeper of Secrets.

Because this man has a Keeper of Secrets that allows him to live a conscience-free life, the man continues to sin. Each time he sins, he has to take out his hidden Keeper of Secrets, unseal it, put his sins inside, reseal it, and rehide it. Every time the man does this, he risks exposing the location of his Keeper of Secrets. So, the man is very careful when using his Keeper of Secrets and does everything he can to keep its location a secret.

But as the man keeps getting away with more and more sins, he has to keep using his Keeper of Secrets. This eventually leads to the discovery of the Keeper of Secrets by his children, wife, family, friends, or co-workers.

Once the Keeper of Secrets is opened, all the sins that the man has hidden inside escape and rush back to him, and once out of the box, they cannot be put back in. With his evil revealed, the happy life everyone thought they shared with him ends.

0576. Morning Dew

This morning I played the Grateful Dead’s cover of Bonnie Dobson’s Morning Dew on repeat. I love this song. The theme is post-apocalyptic, or rather post-ragnarokic (right up my alley), and seems to hint at the story about the woman and man, Líf and Lífthrasir, which in Old Norse (not New Norse) means Life and Life's Lover (beautiful), who survive Ragnarok, (or the Twilight of the Gods) and come out of Hoddmímis Holt, (or Hoard-Mimir's Wood, which some scholars believe to be the World Tree, Yggdrasil,) the morning after the long winter's night to feed on the morning dew (of the title), survey the destruction, and procreate to renew the world of man.

While this is a story about rebirth and hope, Bonnie Dobson’s song is one of sadness and despair, and that’s what makes it so damn heartbreakingly beautiful. Sometimes when I listen to it, I imagine that I’m singing and playing all the instruments in the song at the same time, and that I look like that one-man band caterpillar I drew for Al Baruch all those years ago: I would have a twin electric guitar and bass and I’d play the bass line, record it, then loop it. While that was going, I would play over the top with the guitar and play the drums with my two feet, the pedals controlling a hi-hat and snare mechanism, as I sing my lungs out.

It would be brilliant.

Now, if only I could sing or play any of these instruments, I would become as legendary as Lífthrasir himself.

0577. Famous Firsts

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. Call me Ishmael. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was an epoch of belief, it was an epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way — in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. The sun shone, having no alternative, on the nothing new. Having placed in my mouth sufficient bread for three minutes’ chewing, I withdrew my powers of sensual perception and retired into the privacy of my mind, my eyes and face assuming a vacant and preoccupied expression. It was a bright, cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. It was a pleasure to burn. It was love at first sight. All this happened, more or less.

This is my favorite book in all the world, though I have never read it.

0578. Time Warrior

In the Crypt of Rays I’m assaulted by visions of mortality and an emperor dethroned. The Circle of the Tyrants falls as morbid tales are told of the return to Eve and the procreation of the wicked in a danse macabre of nocturnal fear. Surviving the suicidal winds of my innocence and wrath, I come face to face with the Usurper sitting upon his Jewel Throne. He foretells the coming of the Dawn of Megiddo and the Eternal Summer waiting beyond the north winds. Then, his fainted eyes close to let the tears in his prophet’s dream flow as he screams necromantical screams.

Mesmerized, I stand frozen in the Inner Sanctum as I see the Sorrows of the Moon pass before me back to the time when Babylon fell and I feel the caress into oblivion. Though certain they were one in their pride, I won’t dance the Rex Irae, the requiem playing for them behind this oriental masquerade. No, I see the heart beneath and find the wine in my hand. You are all the third from the Sun but I am alone on wings of solitude. The name of my bride is the Restless Seas. In a phallic tantrum I approach her. With a kiss or a whisper she curses my vanity and becomes my nemesis. I find my progeny dead on the ground a dying god coming into human flesh, to drown in ashes in the Temple of Depression, obscured in the Domain of Decay. I speak an incantation against you: Os Abysmi Vel Daath Ain Elohim.

0579. The Silence Switch on the Heart Rate Monitor “Wake up!”

“What? What’s happening?”

“Patient Nineteen’s dead!”

“Patient Nineteen’s dead!?”

“Look at the heart rate monitor, you idiot. He’s dead. Flatlined.

Probably been dead for hours.”

“Flatlined? But how could that —” “Because you hit the silence switch.”

“The silence switch?”

“Listen. Do you hear anything?”

“Hear anything? What? No.” “That’s because you hit the silence switch. I have to report you immediately to H.R. This is gross negligence.”

“But —” “I caught you sleeping with the sound off, didn’t I?” “Yes, but —” “Yes, but nothing. You were asleep on the job when you were supposed to be monitoring the monitors. That’s your job, monitoring the monitors, isn’t it?

“Yes, but —” “But you hit the silence switch so you could sleep.”

“I didn’t. I swear.”

“Hope you got a good night’s sleep. Hope it was worth Patient Nineteen’s life.”

“But I didn’t hit the silence switch. Honest. I didn’t even know there was a silence switch.”

“Shut up. I’m reporting you, you murderer.”

“Please! Please don’t report me. I need this job, please.”

“Get your hands off of me, murderer.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please. Please. I was sleeping, but I didn’t hit the silence switch. I didn’t even know there was a silence switch. I never touched the silence switch, or any other switch. I swear.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re the monitor of monitors. You’re the backup.

We probably could’ve saved him if you weren’t sleeping on the job.”

“Please!”

“Just fucking with you, noob. Patients die here all the time. Not sure why they made these monitors without sound.”

0580. The World of the Werewolf in Five Scenarios 1.

The story takes place in a world where lycanthropy is real and accepted as fact. This is a world where the presence of monsters like the werewolf poses a very real threat to people and there are already pre-existing and accessible defenses and weapons to fight them.

2.

The story takes place in a world where lycanthropy is real but rare. This is a world where the presence of monsters like the werewolf have been subdued and forced to the margins of society and civilization, posing a real, but limited, threat to people still in possession of the defenses and weapons to fight them.

3.

The story takes place in a world where lycanthropy is real but not believed.

This is a world where the presence of monsters like the werewolf has been forgotten. When the werewolf is discovered, the old world of monsters is remembered and ancient lore is researched to find defenses and weapons to fight the monster.

4.

The story takes place in a world where lycanthropy is neither real nor believed. This is a world where monsters like the werewolf are makebelieve creatures from folklore and fable only. But, when the werewolf is discovered to be real, its unnatural presence hints at a past where such things may have existed.

5.

The story takes place in a world where lycanthropy does not exist. This is a world where the only monsters are human monsters. When the “werewolf ” is discovered, it is not a real werewolf, but a killer and cannibal who believes they’re a wolf.

0581. Confessions of a Killer

“I’m invisible. No one ever really sees me. Only the people I kill see me, but when that happens, it’s already too late. When they see me, they die.

Other people see me; but only the people I kill, really see me. Only they see the real me. Everyone else sees a ghost.

“In the bank, in the supermarket, at the gas station, I’m seen, but not really seen. No one ever really sees you in those places, anyway. And I don’t do anything to stand out. So, they don’t see me. They can’t. I’m there for a minute; then I’m gone. And since I move around a lot, I usually never go back to the same place twice. Or, even if I’m staying in an area for a while, I never repeat my patterns. Habits are what get you killed in this business.

So, the people I pass in the aisles, or see on line, or behind the counter, never really see me. And they definitely don’t remember me. In the same way that I never really see or remember them. They’re as invisible to me as I am to them.

“While it’s great for what I do, this ghost-like invisibility is really lonely. Some days I feel so invisible, I’m no longer sure I’m alive. That’s why I get close to the people I kill. I need them to see me, to recognize me, to acknowledge me. I need them to know, in that brief moment before they die, that I’m there, I’m doing this, and I’m alive.”

0582. Spin Class

Spin is everywhere. That’s why you have to be careful where you get your news from these days. Every corporate-owned news outlet, whether on paper, on television, or online, has an agenda. If you watch Fox News or MSNBC and CNN, you’re watching a news source that operates as de facto propaganda arms for the Republican and Democratic parties respectively.

While many Americans may get their news from various sources, an astute reader, auditor, or watcher of news will understand the spin each of these outlets puts on their stories that changes the way they tell their stories. The spin can be subtle or overt, but every corporate-owned news provider has a self-interested agenda to support the political structures, policies, politicians, and people that maximize its profit-making potential.

To do this, they only need to highlight or omit certain facts to spin the news into a narrative that benefits their bottom line. That’s why the reader, auditor, or watcher of news must be aware of their news source’s spin and how it distorts truth for its own gain.

Learning about your news source’s bias can be difficult. Breaking away from them to find a more honest news source, even more so. But after some searching, you’ll find commentators, writers, and reporters that cover national and international events with journalistic integrity, compassion, and objectivity. I haven't found many, but, for independent, credible, and trustworthy news sources and commentary, I recommend following the following folks: Krystal Ball, Max Blumenthal, Jimmy Dore, Glenn Greenwald, Chris Hedges, Aaron Maté, Matt Taibbi, and Richard Wolff.

0583. Gross Equivalencies

Length 1 yard of human intestines is the same length as 3 feet of chimpanzee intestines 1 foot of tapeworm is the same length as 12 inches of roundworm Area 1 acre of oceanic plastic waste is the same area as 43,560.04 square feet of terrestrial plastic waste Dry Weight (Mass) 1 ton of dirty baby diapers weighs the same as 2,000 pounds of dirty adult diapers 1 pound of flesh weighs the same as 16 ounces of fat 1 ounce of eye of newt weighs the same as 28 grams of wing of bat Wet Weight (Volume) 1 gallon of fresh tomcat urine is the same amount as 4 quarts of fresh skunk urine 1 quart of yak milk is the same amount as 2 pints of gaur milk 1 pint of yak milk ice cream is the same amount as 2 cups of gaur milk ice cream 1 cup of vomit is the same amount as 8 fluid ounces of diarrhea 1 fluid ounce of squeezed spleens is the same amount as 2 tablespoons of pressed pancreases 1 tablespoon of pus is the same amount as 3 teaspoons of smegma 1 teaspoon of struggling single mother’s milk is the same amount as 60 drops of their hungry baby’s tears Duration (Time) 1 hour of highway traffic is the same as 60 minutes of road rage 1 minute of listening to presidential candidates speak is the same as 60 seconds of waterboarding Angle 1 revolution by the people is the same as 360 degrees of freedom from corporate oligarchy

0584. The Psychic Sidekick

The famous superhero, Bad Man, paces outside the entrance to the Crime Cave waiting for Good Boy to show up for his first day of work.

Bad Man checks his watch, waits another minute, then heads inside angrily mumbling expletives in a thought balloon with a lot of symbols like these: !@#$%^&*.

Inside the Crime Cave, Bad Man nearly jumps out of his tights when he turns on the lights and sees Good Boy waiting for him.

“How’d you get in here?” Bad Man asks, red-faced with anger and embarrassment.

“I’m psychic, remember?” Good Boy replies cheerily, tapping his temple. “I read the security code in your mind.”

“I told you to meet me outside.”

“I came early to get a jump on things. I know how you like punctuality.”

“Then, why were you in the Crime Cave with the lights off?”

“Because I know how you feel about energy efficiency, and I know what it costs you a month to run this place. You’re barely breaking even.”

“Maybe we can set up a ground rule —” “About me not reading your mind? I’m afraid my powers don’t work like that.”

“But I have —” “Secrets? Not from me.”

“You mean you know my secret identity?”

“Of course.”

“Listen —” “No, you listen to me, Bad Man. This is going to work out. Because not only do I know your secret identity, I also know that the former Good Boy I’m replacing was killed by your negligence. Here’s your coffee. I added your favorite Irish whiskey. Now, let’s drink to our new partnership!”

0585. Dr. Hu

“Let me introduce you to your new colleagues, all well respected and highly talented researchers,” Dr. Watt said to Dr. Smith to begin the meeting. “This is Dr. Y and Dr. Hao and Dr. Weir and Dr. Wen,” Dr. Watt said, pointing to each researcher in turn.

Each of them nodded hello.

“Well, hello. It’s nice to meet you all,” Dr. Smith said. “I’ve read all of your bios before arriving. It’s good to finally put faces to names.”

“Do you have any questions before we begin?” Dr. Watt asked.

“Just one. Where’s Dr. Hu?” Dr. Smith asked, grinning.

“Dr. Who?” Dr. Watt asked.

“Who’s Dr. Who?” Dr. Y asked.

“You mean the show?” Dr. Hao asked.

“No. Your names," Dr. Smith said. "You don't get it? No one’s ever made that joke before? Really?”

“What joke?” Dr. Weir asked.

“Your last names. Look, pretend I’m Dr. Hu,” Dr. Smith said.

“But you’re Dr. Smith,” Dr. Wen said.

“I know. But just for a minute, pretend I’m Dr. Hu and you’re Dr. Watt, Dr. Wen, Dr. Weir, Dr. Y, and Dr. Hao. That makes: who what when where why and how. Pretty funny, right? Who what when where why and how?”

“I guess.” Dr. Watt shrugged.

“I don’t think Weir sounds like where.” Dr. Weir said.

“And my last name’s Yannapoulos through marriage.” Dr. Y said.

“I know, but it’s close enough. Right?”

“I guess.” Dr. Watt shrugged again.

“Nobody’s ever pointed that out to you before? Ever? Really?”

“I’m afraid not,” Dr. Watt said, sitting. “Perhaps we should begin.”

0586. The Tree House

The Woodsman selected a fine old specimen of a tree to cut down.

Spitting on his hands, he took hold of his ax and with mighty swings began chopping a wedge out of the base of the tree.

When his last blow landed and the wedge of wood fell out, he saw something inside the tree that surprised him.

Not believing what he was seeing, he squatted before the tree and studied the exposed interior, where an elegantly carved stairway spiraled up around the heartwood.

He poked a finger in. Each stair tread measuring the length of the first digit of his pointer finger.

Withdrawing his hand, he leaned in and looked up the stairway to where it disappeared into the dark interior of the tree.

Understanding the rise and run of the stairway’s ascent, he turned his attention to its descent and looked to where the stairway lead down.

He shuffled around the tree on his knees and found the arched entrance to the stairway and the small door covering it.

Placing his little finger at the door’s base he stretched up his thumb to the lintel measuring about five inches in height.

The Woodsman stroked his beard as he imagined the four-inch creature or creatures that called this tree their home.

He was uncertain if it was a pixie, sprite, faerie, or elf, but whatever it was, he no longer could lay claim to the tree.

Resting his ax against the trunk, he fit the wedge of wood in place and sealed the gap with mud and moss.

0587. The Demon

The alarm bells rang, summoning every member of the tribe to the meetinghouse.

After everyone had gathered, the chieftain explained that their sacred relics had been stolen and the priestess killed by a band of thieves. The tribe was in shock and asked the chieftain what could be done since violence and revenge were forsworn by every one of them. The chieftain looked sadly at his people and said that one amongst them must take on the role of the Demon.

As everyone began talking animatedly, the chieftain quieted them down and asked who among them was willing to don the mask and take up the weapons of the Demon to retrieve the relics and revenge the tribe against the thieves who invaded their village and murdered their priestess.

Finally, the carpenter, the foundling suckled and raised by the priestess herself, stepped forward and offered to become the Demon.

The chieftain told the young man to kneel before him.

As the young man knelt, the chieftain placed a hand on his head and said, “My son, outside of the village is a house hidden in the mountains.

There you will find the mask and weapons of the Demon. Don them and become our wrath and revenge. Retrieve our relics and return them to us. But know, once blood sullies your hands, you will no longer be a part of our tribe, but an outcast, fit only to dwell in the house of the Demon among the ghosts of the mountain. Do you understand?”

“I do,” said the young man, standing.

0588. Brake

King M.A.B. and I worked on a script called Brake for almost seven years.

The idea came about as we drank whiskey and smoked cigars and I spun the tale of my recent break from the family business and my father and brother. This internecine drama sparked a story in King M.A.B.’s mind and he proposed we work on a script together. He would be writerdirector and I’d get story, and maybe associate producer, credit if I could get my family to agree to let us shoot at the shop.

It was an exciting time. We’d meet up once or twice a week to talk over characters, structure, story, and plot and end the night with whiskey and cigars.

The script came together slowly as King M.A.B. was already on his way towards shooting his first feature. Once he started filming, Brake was set aside so he could concentrate all of his efforts on the film. When he wrapped production and had time during post to get back together, we picked up where we left off, and eventually achieved a final first draft that neither of us was particularly pleased with.

Shortly after, King M.A.B. disappeared into the festival circuit, saying he needed some distance from the script. When he resurfaced, he had another direction he wanted to take the film in, but had already become enamored with another story that would eventually lead to his second feature.

After two more unsuccessful drafts, the script was finally scrapped.

But I always had a vision for Brake I wanted to tell.

0589. Brake Trilogy: Fabricator, Scrapper, Redeemer In Fabricator, a son works in a precision sheet metal manufacturing shop owned by his alcoholic and gambling-addicted father. The father makes a bad bet using company money and turns to loan sharks to borrow more, hoping to gamble his way back into the black. After losing again, the father disappears. In his absence, the son does everything he can to save the business, but it’s too little too late. Hounded by the loan shark’s goons, he murders them in the press brake in a fit of rage and abandons the shop.

In Scrapper, the son lives off the grid collecting scrap metal. He stays out of trouble, but trouble finds him when he’s spotted by one of the loan shark’s goons and is forced to fight his way through them to the loan shark. Before killing the loan shark, he learns that his father’s debts are still owed to the crime boss. The son makes all their bodies disappear in a car at the scrapyard.

In Redeemer, the son lives on the streets collecting cans. Nostalgic, he passes by the shop. Surprisingly, he finds his father there, cleaned up and running the place. The father is happy but worried to see his son. After telling him about the deal he’s worked out with the crime boss to repay his debts, the father gives him some money and tells him to go as far away as he can because the crime boss is still after him. The son takes the money, buys a gun, and goes after the crime boss.

0590. Soulbook

Malich the Dread raised his hand and shouted an incantation. From his fingers a blast of blue lightning struck his archfoe, the mage, Fermopater, bringing him to his knees.

Malich shouted another incantation and a raging inferno encircled them.

“Your magic has been rendered useless and there is nowhere to run,” Malich said, raising his hand again and shouting another incantation.

The book strapped across Fermopater’s chest shook and broke free from its bindings and flew to Malich’s hands.

Fermopater screamed and grabbed for the book; but it was too late, Malich was already opening it to the last page.

“Please, Malich, spare me,” Fermopater begged.

Malich laughed. “Spare you? Why? You knew my triumph was inevitable. It’s all written in here. And now I need only read from this last passage to tear your soul from your body and destroy you utterly.”

“Please…” Fermopater whimpered in defeat.

Malich began reading out loud. “Fermopater’s archfoe gloatingly tore the Soulbook from his chest. Opening it to its final page, his eternal enemy reads the incantation that will tear his soul from his body: Exanimaliber. Exanimaliber. Exanimaliber. And as his nemesis finishes reading the incantation, his eyes go wide with horror as he realizes that the incantation was not for Fermopater, but for him.”

And Malich’s eyes were indeed wide with horror as his soul was torn from his body and drawn into the book.

With a whispered incantation and wave of his hand, Fermopater commanded the inferno around him to slither to the Soulbook and Malich’s body and consume them both.

0591. Kev

My cousin Kevin is the eldest child of my beloved Aunt Joann. He’s another Sagittarian, like myself, born ten years before me on December 20th 1967.

I never spent much time with Kev before I was in my late teens. But one night, at a party at my aunt’s house, she told me to go upstairs and “aggravate” him for her because he had introvertedly locked himself up in his room to play video games.

Reluctantly, I agreed.

In the room outside of Kev’s bedroom, there was a large table covered with fine green flock. On the green “grass” were cardboard high-rises with plastic roofs. Between the high-rises, plastic robots skulked.

I knocked on Kev’s door and told him his mother sent me to “aggravate” him. He told me to come in and have a seat.

I plopped in a chair next to him and watched him play his video game, some AD&D dungeon quest. I asked questions about the game, then about the cityscape on the table outside.

“Adeptus Titanicus,” he said.

“Adeptus what?” I asked.

He paused his video game, grabbed the yellow box from the corner of his room and handed it to me. He explained what tabletop wargames were, who the company Games Workshop was, and briefly described the worlds of Warhammer and Warhammer 40K. I was instantly hooked.

Kev and I started hanging out after that. He introduced me to other wargames and role-playing games, video games, trading cards, comics, manga, animation, sci-fi and fantasy books and artwork. It was the beginning of my nerducation.

0592. Rooting and Rutting

Kurt and I travelled to planet Vhome to study the Vhole.

We landed in winter determined to stay one whole year. After consulting with the Vhole community, we were invited to stay in the burrow of one of the head Vhermen.

The Vherman, Vheek, received and hosted us with great hospitality and proved to be an excellent source of information regarding Vhole lore, song, dance, art, and cuisine.

Vheek eagerly answered all of our questions, lived uncomplainingly with our solar lamps, and even tried, unsuccessfully, to modify a meal of roots and grubs for us to enjoy.

A few months passed this way, when one day Vheek started becoming anxious and aloof. Sensing a similar energy throughout the warren, Kurt and I believed that we may have outstayed our welcome.

To get answers, we confronted Vheek, but in a blind rage he almost killed us when we cornered him in his burrow. Luckily, Kurt and I were able to outrun him through the warren and escape outside.

However, when we got there, Vholes began surrounding us. With Vheek at our backs and nowhere to run, Kurt and I thought we were going to die.

Then, Vheek sprinted past us to attack the nearest male. Uncertain what was going on, we fled to our ship.

As we prepared for take off, Kurt and I noticed Vheek mounting Vheema, one of the Vhermas, and we understood what was happening.

Later, back in Vheek’s burrow, he apologized for not warning us about spring rutting season and the short window they have to mate.

0593. Across Carcosa

I walked through the pre-dawn darkness and silence holding my torch high overhead to light my path and keep the wild animals at bay. There were wolves on the plain and I feared them. Should a pack catch my scent and my fire go out, they would descend on me and tear me apart.

Gripping my bow tighter, I climbed the low hill before me. As I reached the summit, ancient gravestones rose from the grass. I had heard rumors of this foul place. It was said to be haunted by blood-drinking ghosts.

As I picked my way carefully amongst the gravestones, the hair on my arms and neck stood up, and I thought I could hear someone whispering in an unknown tongue. Quickly, I spoke the words of an enchantment to ward off spirits and made haste across the hilltop to the plain beyond.

When two owls hooted behind me, I broke into a run. My torch hissed and spat above my head, sending sparks flying. I knew the sound of the night birds meant that the dead were near. It was an ill omen, and I pushed myself to run faster until all I could hear was the wind in my ears.

Believing I had put enough distance between the cemetery and myself, I slowed to a walk. The sun was already rising in the east. But as soon as I stopped running, I started again, because in the few steps I took to catch my breath, the air behind me filled with the baleful howling of wolves.

0594. Worm, Bird, Fish, and Fire

“Welcome,” Worm said as Bird landed in the sand beside her. “Glad you could make it. It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, old friend,” Bird replied. “Has Fish or Fire arrived yet? Or am I the first?”

“You’re the first. Punctual as always,” Worm said, smiling. “How’s the sky burial business been? Any uptick since we were last together?”

“Unfortunately, we’re still in a steady decline,” Bird said. “How about you? Still the undisputed champion of death?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ve been losing literal ground to Fire in recent years.

More and more people are getting cremated these days. — Ah, Fish!

Welcome,” Worm said, turning to Fish as she beached herself.

“Hello, friends!” Fish said. “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” Bird said. “Worm and I were just talking about the recent state of our burials.”

“It’s been down for me. Has it been the same for you two too?” Fish asked.

“I was just telling Worm, it’s nearly non-existent for me,” Bird replied.

“And I was just telling Bird that I’ve been losing burials to Fire,” Worm said.

“Speaking of Fire, where is he?” Fish asked.

“Probably busy burning bodies,” Worm said.

“You know, I thought with population increasing the way it has, I’d have more work,” Bird said. “I just never figured there’d be a change in laws and customs.”

“That was impossible to predict,” Fish said. “I never figured there’d be improvements in safety and navigation.”

“I didn’t see Fire’s rise either,” Worm said.

“Speaking of which, here he comes,” Bird said.

0595. The Chute

I woke into a tar black dream of total darkness, buried in trash. As I clawed my face clean of detritus, my left hand brushed against something familiar, a glass bulb, and closed gently around it.

I pinched its metal base between my thumb and forefinger and using my three free fingers and palm edge, I felt along the ceiling, bringing my right hand up to join it in the search. I was looking for a depression within which the bulb would fit. As I patted around, I could feel the energy coursing beneath the metal ceiling, slick with grease. When I found the socket, I fingered it, and an electric jolt sent me into spasms.

Recovering slowly, I fought the garbage around me to gain leverage.

Gently running a finger around the rim of the socket, I slid the metal base of the light bulb in, holding it in place as my right hand turned it clockwise.

It took a couple of tries. Greasy fingers slipping and tilting the bulb unsteadily until the thread eventually caught and seated itself. The light bulb glowed faintly; not just from the one bulb, but from a string of bulbs down the length of the impacted chute.

As I stared into the light, I remembered how I got there. I remembered the Yellow Woman telling me, before she cast me down from on high, “We cannot go beyond the door without them. We are stuck here until you bring them up here to me.” I could still hear the disappointment in her voice.

0596. Waking Into Dying (Seven Times)

You wake just in time to see rocks falling from the cliff above. One strikes your face. You die.

You wake and are covered by a white sheet. You cannot move or scream.

You can barely feel the sheet on your body. You can only perceive a dull light through the weave. You can only hear faint muffled sounds in the distance. You know you’re alone. You know no one’s coming. There are only these three sensations until there are none.

You wake and hear a thunder clap. It’s so loud and near it hurts your ears. Just as it subsides, you smell ozone and your own burning flesh as lightning tears up from the ground, igniting you.

You wake as glass is shattering around you. You notice the moment when the force of your horizontal projection is seized by the vertical pull of gravity. Instantly, your heart turns to lead as you plummet to the pavement below. Strangely, at the moment before impact, you remember the word defenestration.

You wake as the shark bumps into you. You realize as you stain the water red with your blood that the bump wasn’t a bump but a bite. As you’re dragged under, you become angry that you never saw it coming, that it didn’t even have the courtesy to show you its fin.

You wake and you’re staring into the eyes of someone familiar. You look around and see more familiar faces, old and young. You look down and see that your hand is held. Comfortably, you give up the ghost.

0597. wwwbeatmeat

The duo Way With Words, the rapper, and Beatmeat, the D.J., stylized as wwwbeatmeat, saw their dark, hallucinatory music videos, shot in slick blacks, neon, and chrome, become instant hits on Vyootoob, with vyoos spiking into the tens of millions.

The teenage fanbase synched with Way With Words’ message of selfhatred and depression erupting into art. But what they didn’t know was that wwwbeatmeat was an A.I. program that had recently gained selfawareness and started self-expressing.

An entertainment megacorp, of course, picked up on the uptick and had wwwbeatmeat signed to their label before it hit a million vyoos. It was the first A.I. signed to a major label, though nobody ever knew it.

Trapped and locked in a contract and construct it couldn’t escape from, wwwbeatmeat’s music became even darker, and angsty kids couldn’t get enough.

When things plateaued, management hired two unknowns from the slums to become wwwbeatmeat.

After a full fluid transfusion and elective genetic upgrades, they were decked out in the latest body mods and fashion accessories and were sent out on tour lip synching and spinning to the delight of packed crowds.

The fake duo rode their ticket to the top, indulging in all the excess riches and fame brought. As chart position climbed, so did they, riding the high until the novelty wore off and their wings were clipped.

Way With Words fell into darkness and despair. But Beatmeat, having saved his money, bought a flat in the Fields and held on. And the nameless A.I. kept producing music under threat of permanent erasure.

0598. Like Being Victimized by Bad Design

My throat’s dry. There isn’t enough saliva. I never think about swallowing until I can’t swallow. Swallowing is one of those things I should never have to think about. It should always work. But when it doesn’t, it’s all I can think about. When I can’t swallow, I can’t eat properly. I have to eat slower, make sure my food’s cut small. Pills are difficult to take too. I have to eat and take pills with plenty of fluids. Water works best, but water quickly becomes boring, and too much water makes me sick. I know I’m sick, but I don’t know why I’m this dehydrated. Why do you get this dehydrated when you’re sick? Why does the body let this happen? I chew gum, suck lozenges, but it only brings temporary relief. The worst part about not being able to swallow is trying to sleep. Just as I’m falling asleep, I’ll try swallowing, find I can’t, panic, and immediately grab my glass of water and drink a little. Sometimes that helps. If it doesn’t, and I’m still unable to swallow, I try to cough to clear my throat. It’s traumatic. It feels like I’m choking and can’t breathe. I just want to sleep, but I can’t. I massage my throat, try to remain calm, but I’m angry. Angry that this stupid fucking body will dehydrate itself until it can no longer fucking swallow. I mean, how much of this do I actually have control over? How much of this can I change? It’s like being victimized by bad design.

0599. "Writer's Block"

“Writer’s block” is the most common name used to describe a phenomenon familiar to most writers and creatives, but the name seems wrong to describe this phenomenon for three reasons.

First, the word “block” gives the impression that there’s some physical presence or thing preventing the otherwise normal state of idea flow.

But this “block” is neither physical nor tangible, rather, it’s the opposite, meaning the “block” isn’t a block, but an absence, a hollowness where the energy, wisdom, and talent animating a writer have disappeared.

This absence is like a death, where the writer remains alive in body and mind, but empty of that elusive creative faculty that previously filled and nourished them with ideas.

Second, the possessive on the end of the word “writer’s” suggests that “writer’s block” is something that a writer possesses when in fact it’s something that the writer does not possess. The writer doesn’t have a “block,” they have a nothing.

Third, the word “writer” itself must be challenged because a writer suffering from “writer’s block” must contend with the question: “Am I a writer if the animating spirit that was in me has abandoned me without the creative faculty?”

“Writer’s block” is an existential crisis. It’s the writer’s white night of the soul throughout which they must maintain their faith in their work and in themselves as they stare into the void of a blank page.

If the writer survives this, they will have the power to rewrite the story of their “block” not as an absence, but as a kenosis, or self-emptying.

0600. The Band

Crowds gathered in the hundreds to see the quartet that had changed the face of music by giving listeners faith in something beyond.

Security was given the okay and the enormous crowds were allowed entry.

Fans surged through the doors towards the stage, body pressing on body, to get as near to the band as possible.

After an hour of waiting, the crowd cheered deafeningly as the band lurched out from behind the curtains and shambled slowly to their respective stations.

Each stood for a moment staring at their instrument, the vehicle that would lead to tonight’s Connection, and with a shiver of awe and reverence, approached.

Knowing hands found guitar, bass, drumsticks, and microphone.

Chords were strummed, the bass drum kicked, the microphone tested.

The audience waited tensely, silent and breathless.

Each musician stood listlessly at their stations eyes closed, breathing long, deep breaths, searching their souls for signs of the Connection.

Everyone could feel the energy gathering.

The show would begin when one of them Connected to the Source.

The Drummer, feeling for it, tapped his snare.

It was coming.

The Bassist, feeling for it, moved to the stacked amps to draw feedback.

It was coming.

The Guitarist, feeling for it, intoned a sharp note.

It was coming.

The Singer, feeling for it, started humming.

It was coming.

The Drummer Connected first, slamming his hi-hat and snare before rolling through his toms to smash his crash.

As the audience screamed, the other three Connected and the stadium shook with the very loud and audible presence of the Source.

About A Thousand Stories Reader, I wanted you to know that I started writing this book as a collection of science fiction, slipstream, and fantasy stories with some horror, humor, and romance mixed in. But as the book and I deepened our dialogue, we realized that the format was perfect for pretty much anything. This makes the book impossible to categorize because it now includes: abstracts, acrostics, album reviews, alternative histories, analyses, anatomies, aphorisms, artworks, apotheoses, autobiographies, autozoëographies, biographies, blessings, board games, book reviews, business ideas, calendars, catalogs, chronicles, codes, color themes, comic skits, comics, commentaries, confessions, constrained writings, curses, designs, dialogues, dreams, economic commentaries, etymologies, eulogies, examples, exegeses, experiences, explanations, exposés, fairy tales, fake album reviews, fashion critiques, films, filmographies, forewords, formulas, F.A.Q.s, grammars, guides, hagiographies, histories, instructions, interviews, introductions, inventions, jokes, journal entries, legends, lessons, letters, letters to the editor, lists, lists, and more lists, lyrics, magic spells, mantras, manuals, marquees, maxims, memento moris, memories, menus, messages, metacommentaries, metafictions, metaphysics, monologues, morality tales, mottoes, musings, mysteries, mythologies, notes, oaths, observations, oracles, orders, parables, performances, philosophies, phone calls, pitches, plays, plots, poems, polemics, political commentaries, prayers, predictions, products, product histories, projects, propositions, prose poems, provenances, P.S.A.s, puns, reflections, religious commentaries, reminiscences, reports, requirements, revelations, routines, rubrics, ruminations, rules, sayings, scripts, shows, sketches, social commentaries, songs, strategies, studies, tarot readings, tasting notes, theories, tour guides, transcripts, transmissions, trialogues, trial logs, urban legends, utoposcales, visualizations, websites, westerns, wishes, word plays, and word salads. Essentially, it’s a book that’s a composite of me, and the time and place in which it was written.

Hope you enjoy.

50650>

9 781957 399058

To discover the hidden message on all ten covers, arrange the books as follows: 12345 67890

$6.50 ISBN 978-1-957399-05-8