A Thousand Stories : Volume 8 : Stories 0701-0800 : Blue

a thousand stories

j. blasso-gieseke

a thousand stories volume 8

: stories 0701-0800 : blue

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 978-1-957399-07-2

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 0701. The Volanteer 0702. Monfils Frankenstein 0703. Psychic Storm 0704. First Things First, Last Things Last 0705. The Ghouls of the Ghat 0706. The Hidden Horde 0707. The Feeling You’re Feeling, Fatty, Is Full 0708. A Well-Made Bed 0709. The Acolytes of the Faithless Faith 0710. Hardships and Softships 0711. Patronize Me 0712. Trapped in a Trilemma, Once Again 0713. Inside Empire, a Di-Solution 0714. Proportional Shares 0715. Charity vs. Solidarity 0716. Who C.A.R.E.S? Why Act? 0717. For the Few to Have a Lot, the Many Must Have a Little 0718. This Is Where We Are Now 0719. It’s Democrats and Republicans 0720. The Elephant’s Ass 0721. Flight of the Behemoth 0722. We Must Evolve Beyond Darwin 0723. Utopias Are Supposed to Be Boring 0724. I Just Want to Write Stories 0725. The Visionary Company of Love 0726. The Council Stones 0727. Zubnurple the Urp Urp 0728. Carapacious 0729. Ghost Towns 0730. M.o.M.A. Retrospective for Filmmaker Mildred Patience 0731. The Judgment of Parrots 0732. Christianity Is a Strange Religion 0733. Christians or Jews or Paulians?

0734. Christ Sayeth Unto All “Christian” Hypocrites 0735. The God of a Thousand Faces 0736. Pantheism vs. Panentheism 0737. Agape 0738. The Grim Reaper and the Crypt Keeper 0739. Bailure

0740. Dem Mask Slips as Med Masks Stay 0741. Boozhey 0742. The Princess and the Pee – Before Bedtime 0743. The Princess and the Pee – After Bedtime 0744. Planet of the Humans, a Brief Review 0745. Intellectual Laziness and Moral Dishonesty 0746. Thinking My Way Back to My Gut 0747. World Dumbinance 0748. More World Dumbinance 0749. Purple Hazing 0750. How to Wear a Mask 0751. Hoopskwatch 0752. Dogs Are Like Their Owners 0753. The Earth Peoples the Way an Apple Tree Apples 0754. Heartheaded 0755. Happy Pizza 0756. Anamorphosis 0757. On the Street of Crocodiles on Raised Platforms 0758. The Teetotaling Sauceress 0759. Honeydewpearl 0760. Nothing but Bone Beneath 0761. Investments 0762. The Changing of the Guards 0763. Six Characters in Solidarity Against Their Author 0764. Lawn Guy Land 0765. Gardeniens 0766. Navigating the Minefield 0767. Mrs. Fishman 0768. Almost Everyone’s an Essential Worker Except for Our Congress 0769. A Splitting Headache 0770. The Man in the Moon and Adumbla Amaltheia 0771. Candidate From Another Dementian 0772. #MeTwo 0773. The Foolerys 0774. The Aleator 0775. And That’s All We’ll Ever Know 0776. Philatelia Philatelos 0777. Looking Backward on Looking Backward 0778. Now, It’s My Turn 0779. Let’s Start Listing Words Starting With the Letter A 0780. The Greatest Two Sentences I Ever Read 0781. The Widower 0782. Blood Bathory

0783. The Trial of the Mind 0784. Patient Problem Solver 0785. Freedom 0786. Unanimusly 0787. Let’s Start Listing Words Starting With the Letter B 0788. Lousy 0789. Middlefingerhead 0790. Tillbury Town 0791. I Ranned and I Jamped 0792. What the Hell Is Happening?

0793. Let’s Start Listing Words Starting With the Letter C 0794. The Mermaid in the Ghost Net 0795. Rules Can Change 0796. Birdbrain 0797. The Journeyman’s Tale 0798. Gender Bender 0799. Radicle Love 0800. The Parable of Jonah

a thousand stories

0701. The Volanteer

The Volanteer learned he had powers when he was a young boy. He merely raised his arms and he levitated, and, once in the air, wherever he directed his mind, he would fly. It was as simple and unexplainable as that.

Luckily, the Volanteer had two good, loving parents who taught him about the dignity of all life and placed within his heart respect for himself and all people. His parents had had enough experience in the world to know that for him to survive the trials ahead, he would need a strong moral center to make sure that he never abused his powers, or that anyone nefarious could manipulate him into doing the same.

With a singular gift like flight, and his desire to help those in need, it wasn’t long before he was “discovered” and became a media sensation.

When asked by the papers what he planned to do with his superpower, he said, “My gift is a gift from God. It is not my own. I volunteer it freely to the people who need it most.” The editor of the paper dubbed him the Volanteer and the name stuck.

When America entered into the Second World War, the Volanteer was asked to enlist, but he declined as a conscientious objector. Because of this decision, he immediately fell from the highest esteem to the lowest disgrace. After America returned victorious, they slowly expunged him from public records until no mention of him remained. Then, they shot him out of the sky and buried him in an unmarked grave.

0702. Monfils Frankenstein

After his mother’s death, Victor Frankenstein left Geneva for Ingolstadt to begin his studies at university. Having read the works of the great alchemists before arriving, he combined his alchemical knowledge with the modern science of chemistry, and through feverish study and labor, discovered the secret of animating dead matter.

To test the results of his discovery, Victor dedicated himself to bringing a dead man back to life, and was successful.

When the man woke on the slab and stared at Victor, Victor almost fled. But mastering himself in the moment, Victor stayed with his hideous creation.

Searching his heart, Victor understood that he was overwhelmed not just with horror, but also delight, for Victor had, in his manner, re-created life.

Victor thought of his mother and father, their delight, affection, and love for him. Like them, he was a parent, and this, his child.

Victor seized on this thought and held it until the horror in his heart was replaced with love.

Taking the large hand of the man on the slab, Victor pressed it to his lips.

“Welcome, to the world, my son,” Victor said, smiling. “But you need a name. What shall I call you? I know! I shall call you Monfils, because you are my son. And I am your proud, happy father. And I will teach you everything I know. And when we are both ready, we will return to Geneva, where you will meet your grandfather, uncles and aunts, and your mother, Elizabeth, for when we return, I will ask her hand in marriage.”

0703. Psychic Storm

“What’s going on here?” the man-who-just-arrived shouted above the roar, shielding his eyes from the psychedelic stroboscopic lights.

“It’s Rebecca. Category 5 Psychic Storm,” shouted the man-whowas-already-there. “We’ve been trying to get her to control it, but aren’t having much success. Do you think you can talk her down?”

“We’ll see,” the man-who-just-arrived shouted back.

As the man-who-just-arrived stepped into the raging maelstrom of psychic energies, he was almost overwhelmed by fear, despair, anger, rage, ambition, and desire. He didn’t resist it. He knew if he did, he’d be torn apart by the howling centrifugal energies. Instead, he let them wash over and through him, and they did him no harm.

He walked calmly to the center of the storm where a young girl sat on the floor staring blankly between her legs with her back arched, her shoulders limp, and her hands palm up at her sides.

She’s deep inside, he thought, as he sat in front of her, folding his legs neatly and taking her hands in his.

Confident and calm, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and entered the vacuum of her mind.

He looked around for her, but she was nowhere to be found.

She’s hiding from me, he thought.

“Rebecca, I know not all of you is outside. Just the bad stuff you don’t want in here. If you come out, I can show you how to control it. I was once just like you.”

A shadow bent and folded, revealing Rebecca’s troubled face.

“Hi, Rebecca, my name’s Tim. I’m here to help.”

0704. First Things First, Last Things Last

“First Things first,” said a First Thing. “Last Things last. That’s how it is, always has been, and always will be. And since I’m a First Thing, it means I’m first. And since you’re a Last Thing, it means you’re last. It’s as simple as that.”

“I just don’t understand how I came to be a Last Thing,” said a Last Thing. “I mean, who decided I was a Last Thing? I know I didn’t.”

“That’s the problem with you Last Things, you’re never satisfied with anything. You’re always complaining about your lot in life, but that’s how it is.”

“That’s easy for you to say, because your lot’s great. You make the most money, live in the best neighborhoods and the best homes. You drive the best cars, eat at the best restaurants, and travel regularly. You have access to the best schools and hospitals, and live long, healthy lives.

“As for me, I barely make a pittance working for you, live in a rundown house in a bad neighborhood, have no car, and need to walk everywhere.

I eat what little I can afford and have no time off or extra money to do anything. The schools for my children are overcrowded and underfunded.

There are no hospitals near me, and, even if there were, how could I afford to go to one? My life, like the lives of all Last Things, is miserable and short. But it doesn’t have to be that way. If we get rid of Firsts and Lasts, we can all just be Things.”

0705. The Ghouls of the Ghat

Bodies are brought to the smashan, or crematory, ghat at the river’s edge, and laid out on a pyre of wood. The accompanying priest will bathe in the river to cleanse himself. Then, circling the body reciting a prayer, the priest will place cakes inside the deceased’s mouth, sprinkle the body with ghee, or butter, and draw three lines on the body symbolizing birth, time, and death. The priest will then fill a clay pot with water and lead the family around the body before shattering the pot by its head. He will pay the Dom, the caste responsible for lighting the pyre, and the pyre will be lit. He will then lead the family around the fire one last time. After the flames take hold, he will drive a hole in the skull with a stave to release the spirit.

After the fires cool and night descends, the chandalas, the caste responsible for handling the bodies, will sweep the cremains into the river and clean the ghat, readying it for the next day. When the ghat has more funerals than it can handle, bodies are left to burn overnight. The chandalas will not stay at the smashan when this happens because of the ghouls, cursed creatures with an unholy appetite for burning flesh, that come to feast on the bodies.

Ghouls are feared and hated by all castes. But the Doms, who never leave the smashan, know to leave them alone, because if the ghouls did not eat the corpses, malevolent spirits could revive them into vetalas, or revenants.

0706. The Hidden Horde

Legend held that there was a hidden horde in the haunted castle. The lure of gold overcame their fears and the two men set out to claim the reward of their courage.

They climbed to the dark promontory where the castle squatted squarely against the moon. They crawled over the stones of the fallen keep, which had collapsed in on itself, as if it had held onto a secret for too long.

Entering the darkness, they lit their torches for light and heat, and spoke in whispers to plan their search. Once in agreement, they made their way down silent, empty halls, and through doors leading into silent, empty rooms.

Searching every stone thoroughly, they slowly made their way deeper into the castle. But the deeper they went, the shorter their torches became.

One started to become fearful of being trapped in the cold, dark castle. But the other said that they must press on, to clear the last of the rooms, so that when they returned, they could resume their search on the level below.

“Besides, this place doesn’t seem to be haunted,” the other said. “It must only be a story to keep away thieves like us.”

Encouraged by this, they pressed on with their search until their torches failed and they were left in the cold and dark.

They did not panic but waited for their eyes to adjust.

As they did, the room lit up in the golden splendor of a former age and a golden king approached them and asked them to join his Horde.

0707. The Feeling You’re Feeling, Fatty, Is Full

I love eating. It gives me immense pleasure. It does something to my brain that makes me happy. It makes my mind-without-a-mouth smile. Just writing about food gets me salivating, and salivating is a form of arousal.

Writing about eating like that makes it sound like sex. But eating isn’t like sex, because food is a thing and a person isn’t. Eating is not a consensual act, sex is. Another difference is that after I eat, I don’t feel bonded to my food. And my warm post-prandial glow exists on a lower plane than my warm post-coital glow.

Perhaps the closest thing eating can be compared to is getting drunk or high. But unlike those two, you have to eat. Food is the most necessary and most widely available drug around. I’m lucky insofar as I don’t have an addictive personality. But if there were a drug I was addicted to, it would definitely be food.

Since food’s my drug of choice, I need to be careful around it. Take a salty crunchy snack like potato chips. I could eat a whole bag. Or take salty crunchy cashews and add in soft, sweet raisins. I could eat one after the other in a perpetual cycle. Or take freshly baked bread, or cookies, or pie, or... You get the point.

But as I get older and my metabolism slows, I try to be more in tune with my gut. I now ask it, “How’re we feeling?” To which it usually responds after a mouthful, “The feeling you’re feeling, fatty, is full.”

0708. A Well-Made Bed

Here’s another thing about myself that you won’t care about, but I’m going to tell you: I love making my bed in the morning. I love making my bed in the morning because I love turning it down in the evening. Not “turning it down” like I’m rejecting it, but turning down the covers. There’s something about turning down the covers of a made bed that makes the bed more welcoming. It’s like opening the front door of your home. You want the door of your home to open smoothly. You want it to welcome you home. That’s what turning down the covers should be like. Like you’re opening the smooth, welcoming door of your home. Come on in and get comfortable, it says. It’s very inviting. And you go in and lie down and you close the door behind you. (And if you haven’t picked up on the metaphor yet, “closing the door behind you,” means pulling the covers up over you.)

What’s best about your bed, as opposed to a room in the house, is that you get to snuggle into position. You get to get comfy. And all of that is made better by having a made bed. The blankets and pillows are cool and crisp and inviting. They’re there waiting for you behind the closed door of your blanket. Hello, you say. I’m here for the housewarming party, which really means the bed-warming party. Come on in and get comfortable, my bed says to me every night. Come on in and close the door behind you.

0709. The Acolytes of the Faithless Faith

The Acolytes of the Faithless Faith are the tough guys and gals that come bristling with their shiny spikes of logic. They come to show you the sharp angles of their minds, angles so sharp, they cut like scalpels. They come to show you how cool, cold, and calculating they are. They come to show you the hard math, the pure arithmetic, the mental calculus of their minds.

They come to show you the sterile, temperature-controlled cleanrooms that houses their soft, organic, human "computer" brains. They come to show you the truth of the numbers that never lie. They come to show you their tried and true methods, their efficiency models and markets, their computational analysis, their impressive array of logarithms. They come to show you the Code, the helix of DNA and the binary string of ones and zeroes upon which everything runs. They come to show you the apotheosis of the Eternal Mechanism and the cult they’ve created around it. They come to stare at non-believers with smug disdain from eyes like flaked obsidian, like blank computer screens. They come to spread the gospel of the godless god of math and science. They come to write the hagiographies of their scientist-saints. They come to tell you about their historical persecutions at the hands of religious zealots. They come to tell you that their faith is the only faith because they have the proof. They come to tell you that all else is heresy. They come to tell you this like the priests of the “false” god before them.

0710. Hardships and Softships

If you’ve ever set out to sea on an inflexible hardship without the prospect of success and with only hope in your heart, you can easily empathize with others setting out to sea on their own inflexible hardships. But if you’ve also set out to sea on an inflexible hardship without the prospect of success and without hope in your heart, you can’t easily empathize with others setting out to sea on their own inflexible hardships.

If you’re fortunate enough to set out to sea on a flexible softship, but can empathize with others setting out to sea on inflexible hardships, you’ll be willing to help those in need along the way. But if you’re fortunate enough to set out to sea on a flexible softship, but cannot empathize with others setting out to sea on inflexible hardships, you will be unwilling to help those in need along the way.

Whether you’re on a hardship or a softship of empathy, you can imagine what it’s like to be a climate refugee on a leaking raft in the middle of the Mediterranean. You can feel for them because you are them or you can feel for them because you empathize with them. You can be a climate refugee or you can be Pia Klemp.

If you’re on a hardship or a softship without empathy, you can’t imagine what it’s like to be a climate refugee on a leaking raft in the middle of the Mediterranean. You can’t empathize with them, because, in your mind, your ship’s the only ship at sea.

0711. Patronize Me

There’s an open elitism on display in the Democratic Party today.

Democrats once were the party of the working class, but it’s clear by their words and actions that they only care to cater to their wealthy patrons while pandering to their base.

This was perfectly exemplified in 2016 when Hillary called Trump supporters a “basket of deplorables.” When I heard she had said this, I knew she had lost the election. I’m no Trump supporter. I think he’s a dangerous conman unfit for office. But I thought much the same about Hillary, and had to hold my nose when I voted for her, because I believed, at the time, she was the lesser of two evils.

The reason why the word “deplorable” had the effect it did was that it contains all the contempt that many Americans feel the ruling elites in coastal cities have towards them in the country. Only someone having grown rich, insulated, and tone-deaf like Hillary could have uttered the word “deplorable” without understanding how condescending it would sound to many Americans.

We can thank that word for the entrenched split between both parties and the corporate news services of pro-Trump Fox and anti-Trump MSNBC. We can thank that word for the Democratic “Vote Blue No Matter Who” mantra. We can thank that word for the Democratic Party doubling down on another unpopular, and scarily incoherent, Joe Biden, instead of Bernie Sanders.

Even if Democrats lose again, they won't learn that they can’t speak to and down to their constituents while simultaneously asking for their vote.

0712. Trapped in a Trilemma, Once Again

With Democrats having consolidated behind Joe Biden, the 2020 election is shaping up to be a repeat of the 2016 election, trapping voters in a trilemma, once again.

Here’s the overview: Anyone without cognitive dissonance will see that Trump is a conman out to enrich himself, his family, and his friends. His allegiance to the Christian Right’s theocratic coup of America, his coziness with white nationalists, his connections to big oil and their climate change denialism, and his withdrawal from important anti-nuclear treatises make him the worst president in recent American history.

Anyone without cognitive dissonance will see that Biden is in mental decline and barely able to talk without a major gaffe. His vote for the Iraq War, his fight to cut Social Security, his connections with credit card companies, his coziness with Southern segregationists, his alleged sexual assault against Tara Reade, his willingness to veto Medicare for All in the midst of a pandemic, and his desire to return to a pre-Trump status quo make him the worst candidate of a major party to run for president in recent American history.

So, if you’re a voter like me, and can see Trump and Biden for who they are, what are your choices?

Taking Trump out of the equation leaves us with three, one for each horn of the trilemma: Voting for the lesser of two evils with Biden, voting third party, or not voting at all.

If Democrats lose again, we can be sure that they’ll learn nothing and blame “deplorables” and Berners alike for their failure.

0713. Inside Empire, a Di-Solution

Seeing how corporations and our government are the sources of Empire, I keep thinking about how to create an Empire-free space inside Empire.

I know every man and woman has his and her own castle, but the surveillance state has used every means to infiltrate our formerly private fortresses.

We, of course, can’t stop using the technology that now allows us to be tracked and spied upon by corporations and their proxies in power, but we can choose how we use these technologies. Instead of being used by them, we can use parallel technologies that strip them of power.

We have to remember that these corporations have monopolies because we’ve let them have monopolies. Likewise, our government has a monopoly because we’ve let it have a monopoly. That’s why it’s in our best interest to start taking power back. We’ve given corporations and our government vast powers that they won’t give back without a fight. And fight them we must. But right now, these twin sources of Empire wield so much financial, executive, legislative, and judicial power that they can’t be fought head-on. They hold all the cards. We can strike, protest, and demand change, and win it back incrementally, but we must create the society we want inside and despite them.

From what I’ve seen, worker co-operatives do this in two ways. First, they are businesses that make money and can be self-sustaining. Second, they are democracies wherein every member votes. Thus, by supporting and encouraging the creation of more worker co-operatives, we can build Empire-free spaces inside Empire.

0714. Proportional Shares

We must always remember the power of numbers. One of the most abused narratives in our culture is the narrative of self-reliance, of the person who goes at it alone. This individual person is always given hero-level status in America, just read the trials and triumphs in the biographies of any successful businessperson or politician. These fictions spin the absurd belief that this salt of the earth person fought against the world alone while every person in the story of their life was merely a supporting character. But we shouldn’t be fooled by this story. We shouldn’t accept the narrative that this person is one of the elect, one of the chosen, fit to rise over and rule us.

In a world as atomized as ours is in America, no one wants to bend the knee in fealty to any man, woman, or institution. To kneel before someone is to elevate them too high. To ask others to kneel before you is to elevate yourself too high. We don’t want vertical ranks of power; we want horizontal equality. We don’t want or need people ruling over us, we want and need people ruling alongside us. To balance power, we have to take power away from those who have it and distribute it equally among ourselves. The burden shouldn’t rest on one person alone. It’s a burden we can all help carry. By giving everyone a proportional share, we can spread the burden over many shoulders. This is how you build community and solidarity. This is how you improve life/work satisfaction.

0715. Charity vs. Solidarity

This is a good time to talk about the differences between charity and solidarity: Charity is a vertical system of oppression wherein the oppressors keep oppressees in a state substandard to their own, forcing the oppressees to rely upon their oppressors largesse for survival. Charity is the means by which wealthy elites mold the world in their image by funneling portions of their fortunes into projects they believe are necessary. Wealthy elites do this despite what the actual needs of a community are, deferring to their own status to determine what’s good for the world and the people in it. Charity is a form of hubris that maintains the status quo of class hierarchies by disappearing them behind acts of perceived munificence.

This is why wealthy elites like to sit on the boards of, contribute to, and create charities. And it conveniently provides them with a tax write-off, allowing them to defer paying their fair share of taxes. Tax avoidance schemes by wealthy elites are one of the main reasons both Republican and Democrat congressmen and women cut government funding to needed public services. These bipartisan austerity programs give wealthy elites the opportunity to contribute money to charities and look like heroes to the working class. They also allow wealthy elites to create parallel, protected, privatized services that siphon more money out of public coffers.

Solidarity, on the other hand, is a horizontal system of mutual aid wherein everyone helps each other to maintain the integrity of the community as a whole to ensure its proper functioning, endurance, and survival.

0716. Who C.A.R.E.S? Why Act?

Thomas Massie, a Republican Representative from Kentucky, tweeted this: The stimulus package that just passed is the biggest wealth transfer from common folks to the super-rich (Wall Street and bankers) in the history of mankind.

Done in the name of a virus with $1200 checks as the cheese in the trap.

This will be obvious in short order.

6:30 AM – Mar 29 2020 The C.A.R.E.S. (Coronavirus Aid, Relief, and Economic Security) Act started in Congress as H.R.748 (Middle Class Health Benefits Tax Repeal Act of 2019) introduced by Joe Courtney (D–Connecticut), and passed the House on July 17, 2019.

The bill was amended in the Senate to become the C.A.R.E.S. Act, passing on March 25, 2020 with a 96–0 vote.

The bill then went to the House, where Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D– California), rejected proxy or electronic voting in favor of a voice vote that allowed for no public record, and therefore no public scrutiny, of those who voted for the bill.

It passed on March 27, 2020 and was signed by President Trump that day.

This $4 trillion corporate giveaway was engineered by Pelosi and Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer (D–New York). In exchange for a one-time payment of $1,200 to Americans earning under $75,000 per year, they won no further concessions like Medicare for All; Universal Basic Income; eviction protection; mortgage, rent, credit card, and student loan moratoriums; paid sick leave; or hazard pay for frontline workers.

If you watch the video of the voice vote, you’ll hear one lone voice saying “No,” Thomas Massie’s.

0717. For the Few to Have a Lot, the Many Must Have a Little Once I understood how the wealthy use racism, I began seeing how they’ve historically fleeced the poor, working, and middle class for their own enrichment and how they’ve covered it up by pitting the races against each other. It’s clear now that for a handful of Americans to have many billions of dollars in wealth there must be many millions of Americans living in poverty. This is the injustice of our rigged system: For the few to have a lot, the many must have a little.

But our system and the people running it are so rapacious that they remain unsatisfied with their insane levels of wealth. Their greed truly knows no bounds. Through neoliberal austerity, they have stripped away every public safety net protecting the poor, working, and middle class.

Why have they done this and continue to do this?

Because the sociopathic and omnicidal doctrine of neoliberalism demands that its practitioners extract the wealth of everything on Earth without limits. Nothing, no one, is safe from it, because nothing is sacred to it. Everything can be privatized and pressed into production. If there’s a buck to be made anywhere, legal or illegal, neoliberals will be there to make it. It doesn’t matter the cost to people or planet. It doesn’t matter if it destroys human lives. The only thing that matters is that there’s money to be made. And once they have the money, they pay those in power to look the other way until they can rewrite the laws and police and prosecute them to their benefit.

0718. This Is Where We Are Now

This is where we are now: With ravenous hunger, neoliberal capitalists openly cannibalize the little wealth of the many. Before they used to do it in closed rooms, now they do it out in the open. They no longer care.

Their power has grown so great that they’ve become emboldened to the point of not hiding it anymore.

Our politicians, the people elected by us, have become an extension of corporations and wealthy elites. Corrupted by the kickbacks they receive through the orgy of giveaways, bailouts, and tax cuts. Politicians are now turning the state apparatuses, funded by our tax dollars, against us. They make no secret about it; they do it right before our eyes, but many of us don’t, can’t, or won’t see it.

What do you think the 2008 bailout was? Did Obama bail out average American citizens or did he bail out the wealthy and their banks and corporations? What do you think the 2017 tax cut was? Was Trump giving tax cuts to average American citizens or was he giving tax cuts to the wealthy and their banks and corporations? What do you think the 2020 C.A.R.E.S. Act bailout is? Is it a $1,200 bail out for average American citizens or is it a bailout for the wealthy and their banks and corporations?

How long do they think this can last? Don’t they see that they can’t cannibalize the base they’re standing on? Don’t they see that once they chew through the floor, they’ll be in free fall? Don’t they see that we’re all connected?

0719. It’s Democrats and Republicans

Both parties are now captive to corporations and wealthy elites. Historically, it used to be just the Republicans, but now it’s the Democrats too.

Over the past seventy years, Republicans have constantly changed their messaging and developed many techniques and strategies to keep their party intact and in power to continue serving their corporate masters.

They’ll use anything available to them without limit. As the American people have become more progressive over the years, and Republicans began ceding ground to Democrats, Nixon Republicans were forced to evolve and responded by developing a new base. To bring in voters, they turned to previously fringe and marginalized communities, those triggered by dog whistle racism, white supremacy, evangelical Christianity, abortion, gun control, libertarianism, nationalism, and traditionalism. There is no group they wouldn’t or won’t pander to.

This strategy was so successful that it reshaped the American political landscape. It was now Democrats who were ceding ground to Republicans.

In order to keep their party intact and stay in power, Clinton Democrats had to change their messaging and develop new techniques and strategies.

To this end, they stopped being the party of the poor and working class and began to serve corporations and the wealthy. Wealthy liberal elites who frowned on the culture, but not the policy, of Republicans, now had a party tailor-made for them.

This sea change in American politics saw Democrats shift right to occupy the center right previously held by Republicans, while Republicans shifted further right to occupy the far right.

These shifts have left a vacuum for the left.

0720. The Elephant’s Ass

With Democrats abandoning the working class and moving to the right to embrace wealthy corporate elites, they’ve become the Elephant’s Ass, the anti-racist, LGBTQ-friendly, woke backside of the Republicans.

Democrats today love identity politics, they love purity tests, but most of all, they love their white tower privileges. They are rightly repulsed by much of what makes up the Republican Party today. And they are happy to put on a show of going to war with Republicans, while caving on any meaningful legislation that will help working class families. But why do these fierce protectors of civil liberties go limp whenever meaningful reform is at hand for the majority of their constituents? Easy answer: Because it doesn’t serve the bottom line of their wealthy masters.

So, while Democrats are more than happy to throw us the occasional bone to keep us quiet, they remain steadfastly fixated on ensuring that we remain unprotected by the financial predations of energy, bank, credit card, drug, hospital, and insurance companies; remain at war and on austerity; have no money for fixing, maintaining, and expanding public services and infrastructure, but have plenty of money for our egregiously enormous defense budget; continue to increase fossil fuel production and consumption instead of moving towards renewable energies; remain under the surveillance of an unaccountable security state apparatus that prosecutes all whistleblowers who expose their crimes and shadowy operations in the name of public safety and national security.

The Elephant’s Ass is one animal with two faces. It’s a horrible chimeric monstrosity, an evil organism, whose name is Behemoth.

0721. Flight of the Behemoth

The Behemoth is all that exists in politics today. All forms of progressivism and populism have been pushed out to the margins. Everything from Medicare for All, to Universal Basic Income, to tuition free college, to guaranteed housing and nutrition, to a Green New Deal, to nationalizing our banks, electric, water, telephones, cable, and internet will always be denied to us, because what’s good for public citizens isn’t good for private corporations and the wealthy elites who run them.

It seems that what’s good for the poor and working class is bad for corporations and wealthy elites, and vice versa, creating a clear class distinction and a deadly power struggle between us and them. We have the power of numbers, while they have the power of money and all that it affords. The state should exist to balance the power of these two forces.

But when the state becomes compromised by the latter’s money and turns its power against the people they’re supposed to represent, the only thing that’s left is revolution. Considering the environmental and economic state we’re in now, it seems revolution’s the only way forward.

Imagine a social state where the wealth is pulled away from corporations and wealthy elites to be redistributed among the poor and working class, pulling them out of abject poverty, and creating a broader, healthier, and more robust middle class. The wealthy will still be wealthy just not as wealthy. We only have to share the wealth.

This seems common sense to me, but, to paraphrase Voltaire, “Common sense ain’t so common.”

0722. We Must Evolve Beyond Darwin

Listen, we have to evolve beyond Darwin. We need to stop telling each other it’s about the survival of the fittest and nothing else. We need to stop telling each other it’s either you or me. It’s a false choice. It’s unethical. It’s immoral. It’s wrong.

Life doesn’t have to be a competition. For those who want to be competitive, be competitive. Just don’t be competitive with our basic necessities. Leave our environment, our communities, our families, our friends, our healthcare, our education, our housing, our food, our water, and our utilities alone.

If you want to be competitive, be competitive. Just do it somewhere else, in a ring, or a rink, or a stadium, or wherever. Just don’t do it here, where the lives of people are at stake. It’s criminal to do so and it won’t be tolerated for much longer.

Social Darwinism is an unacceptable way to structure society.

Social Darwinism says we haven’t evolved past our animal ancestors.

We have. Social Darwinism says we have no consciousness, conscience, or free will. We do. Social Darwinism says we’re not a socially co-operative species. We are. Social Darwinism says we can’t do better than looking out for ourselves. We can. Social Darwinism says it’s the only game in town.

It isn’t. Social Darwinism is a poorly veiled excuse for the wanton greed, rape, and torture of power hungry sociopaths.

We can’t continue to define our society by this exquisitely cruel lie.

We must evolve past it towards greater empathy and love, because if we don’t, we’ll surely die.

0723. Utopias Are Supposed to Be Boring

How else can it be said? Utopias are supposed to be boring. The background functioning of any utopia is boring. It’s so boring that we forget that everything we need is provided for us. It’s so boring it’s forgotten. Everything we need we get. And because we get everything we need when we need it, we don’t ever need to think about these things.

We live in a clean, unpolluted environment. We live in a clean, unpolluted house. We eat clean, unpolluted food. We drink clean, unpolluted water. We have clean, unpolluted electricity to power our clean, unpolluted phones and computers. We go to clean, unpolluted schools, universities, and jobs.

Since we don’t have to worry about our basic needs, we’re unstressed and free to endlessly dream, create, innovate, and collaborate. Our lives are full and long. We explore. We love. We learn. With each generation, we become wiser and bolder. We begin to take steps out into space. We cultivate other planets and moons in our solar system. Eventually, we travel out of the galaxy to other galaxies beyond.

We are only limited by our imaginations. Our capacity to love grows and deepens as we seed distant worlds with our love and light. None of these achievements are done alone.

For us to succeed, we need everyone, because love has taught us that we are everyone and everyone is us. We are all of our ancestors and all of our contemporaries and all of our descendants. We are all bound together, from the very matter of the universe itself.

0724. I Just Want to Write Stories

If a utopia existed right now, I’d just be able to get up every morning and write without worries as I drank my morning coffee that was grown by someone who loves growing coffee, and roasted by someone who loves roasting coffee, and shipped by someone who loves shipping coffee, and distributed by someone who loves distributing coffee, and cold brewed in a filter pot made by someone who loves making cold brew filter pots, and poured into a mug made by someone who loves making mugs, and I’d drink it, and taste the terroir of that coffee, and I’d think about all the love that went into it and I’d be fortified by that love, and that love would enter me by way of the coffee, and then that love would come out of me by way of my stories, and maybe the mug or the filter pot maker, or the coffee distributor, shipper, roaster, or grower would read my stories and feel the love in the stories, the love that they themselves contributed to, because they love what they do and know that I love what I do, and that our collective love goes into all the processes of everything and everyone throughout the world without bounds, and maybe they marvel that this love is found everywhere from the coffee bean to the coffee tree to the ground to the air to the sunlight to the rain to the community of men and women who have collaborated on creating that single cup of coffee captured in a story.

0725. The Visionary Company of Love

At the top of the mended tower, after we performed our strange, solemn duty, I sat in the visionary company of love: me, Walt, Hart, and Harold, resting after our long hours of labor in the sublime colors of the setting sun, reflecting on the many hearts we raised on a bell-rope and pulley salvaged from the ruins and fashioned into an ad hoc crane that let us lift the hearts necessary to heal the shattered jacket stone and quickly fill the seams with pulpy mortar, blood red in color like the pulsing arteries throbbing in our hands, aching with a gladdening pain, where the calloused blisters wept and whispered, raising themselves in soft defense, a mild protest, to shield us from more base abuses than we could otherwise withstand.

Silently, we passed round a bottle, (who brought it, though, I’ll never know) and each took turns to pull on it, hand over hand like the rope we worked since dawn, another solemn duty undertaken together, sealed with four pledges of a kiss, until, at last, dusk ended, and to the dregs, we drank it.

Then, someone set it in the center, and another fitted it with a candle, and another yet struck a match to catch the wick, and four sets of hands protected the new sun’s fire from the rising winds that threatened it.

And though the light was weak and lambent, still it threw our shadows far, and though we danced and tried to catch them, they disappeared beyond the parapets, and lost themselves amongst the stars.

0726. The Council Stones

When I learned about the Council Stones in my youth, I desperately wanted to visit them, but alas, it never came to pass.

Over time, I forgot about them and my youthful desire. However, last month, when my guildmaster told me I was being relocated to Carthoo near the Meladian Mountains, I remembered them and was determined to visit at the first opportunity.

When the time came, I packed provisions and climbed the mountain to its summit, where the round stone table sat with its circle of thirteen stone seats, twelve of which were occupied by lifelike stone statues.

As I walked around the table, looking into the faces of the statues opposite, I saw that all were carved with a mixture of dread and hope. And that all of them seemed to be standing, pointing, and shouting something in chorus at the empty thirteenth seat.

Having reached this seat, I sat down, and began rapidly speaking words in an unfamiliar language that changed the statues from stone to flesh.

“What took you so long?” the first man to my right bellowed impatiently.

“Ignore him,” the woman to his right said, patting his arm, “He’s probably just hungry. We’re glad to see you. We weren’t sure the spell would work.”

“What spell?” I asked.

“Of course, you don’t remember,” said the woman to my left. “But all of us, including you, were attacked by the Basilisk King. To save us, we used our combined magics to destroy your body so your freed soul could be born again in the future.”

0727. Zubnurple the Urp Urp

I was walking through the intergalactic mall with my Citherian girlfriend, Vee, when she grabbed my arm.

“Oh my God!” she squealed. “Aren’t they just the cutest?”

She bent over at the waist to peer into the cage.

I was admiring her assets, when she looked over her shoulder and said, “Stop staring and come take a look.”

“They look like hairy hamburgers,” I said in disgust.

“I don’t know what that is, but I just love them. Which one are you buying me?”

I looked back at her assets and pointed randomly into the cage. “That one.”

We brought the urp urp home.

I told Vee it was her responsibility to take care of it, feed it, walk it, whatever.

She told me not to worry. She knew how irresponsible Terrans were.

She named it Zubnurple and called it Zub for short.

I hated the urp urp. I hated its name. I hated how ugly it was. But I was happy that Vee was happy.

Zub always wanted to play with me, but I never wanted anything to do with it.

To tease me, Vee would chase me around our flat with Zub. I always ran from him, until one day — I still don’t know how it happened — I was caring for, feeding, walking, and talking about Zub all the time.

I never knew I had the capacity to love something like that.

Now, I’m at the vet’s office crying my eyes out with Vee, because, after fifteen wonderful years, we have to put our poor Zub to sleep.

0728. Carapacious

It ambushed us out of nowhere.

We were rounding an escarpment when a large reptilian head shot out of a cave with lightning speed and bit Thom in half at the waist.

Before we could react, it had already decapitated Anselm and was eviscerating Luther as he screamed, “Dragon!”

It turned on me as I was drawing my sword and bit through my arm at the elbow before I could pull it free.

As I staggered back, it bit through my leg.

I collapsed in agony and must have blacked out.

When I came to, I raised my head and saw it lift up Luther in its great jaws and begin chewing him whole.

I could hear the sickening crunch of bones as I looked around for Thom and Anselm, but they were nowhere to be seen.

Then, when I caught sight of my ruined leg and arm, the pain hit me, and my eyes misted red, and I fought blacking out again with all my willpower.

I needed to kill this monster.

Remembering that I carried the dynamite to blow the tomb doors open, I felt around for the firepot with my one good hand.

I smiled as my fingers closed around it.

The dragon shifted its weight and attention to me. As it did, the upper part of the mountain moved, and I realized that it wasn’t a dragon but an enormous tortoise.

I laughed at the irony of being ambushed and killed by a turtle. I laughed harder still, because I knew it was about to die.

0729. Ghost Towns

When midnight comes, the ghost towns of America rise like a fog from their derelict and rundown towns to float across county, state, and country to assemble and commiserate in an effort to dispel their loneliness. If you’re patient and know what to look for, you can watch the ghost towns lift and drift slowly like ethereal clouds against the wind. Many of the ghost towns travel slowly enough that you can follow them. The more recently depopulated will travel by the active highways and interstates used today, while others older will travel by defunct rail lines like the hobos of old, while others older still will take the forgotten roads and paths of coaches and covered wagons. But if you find one that travels by a route you can follow, they’ll lead you to the host ghost town responsible for calling them all together. If you’re traveling by car, park at the outskirts of the town and walk in on foot. Ghost towns don’t have the means to talk, but they contain the collected memories of life in their town and will show the other towns their favorite scenes and memories of yesteryear when their towns were active, vibrant, prosperous, and whole. If you walk into a ghost town displaying the past, it’s like being transported back in time to that place. It’s a magical experience filled with awe and nostalgia.

But be careful where you step in the fog, because the ghost town you’re walking through won’t have the same layout as the host ghost town it’s visiting.

0730. M.o.M.A. Retrospective for Filmmaker Mildred Patience Before it closes, I recommend everyone visit the Museum of Modern Art to see the retrospective of the recently discovered films of avant-garde filmmaker, Mildred Patience.

A New York native, Patience began making 16mm movies in the early 1940s using two Keystone cameras that were adapted to mount onto homemade tripods. This set-up allowed Patience to develop her idiosyncratic technique of steadily filming her subject matter for 90 minutes without pausing.

Like her name, Patience leveled and held the patient eye of her cameras on the most mundane of subjects. For instance, in her film Waiting, Patience sits in the concourse of the old, iconic Pennsylvania Station and watches commuters rapidly come and go as the clock below the glass dome slowly ticks by.

This technique allows our eyes to stray over the tableaux and settle on details that would have otherwise remained unseen in the hectic rush of ordinary plot driven films. Film historian Monty Gristwhistle has rightfully declared these silent masterpieces to be “photographs that both move and move you.”

Patience’s technique seems to anticipate filmmakers Robert Bresson, Yasujirō Ozu, Michelangelo Antonioni, Ingmar Bergman, Andrei Tarkovsky, and Theo Angelopoulos, as well as Chantal Akerman, Aleksandr Sokurov, and Béla Tarr, and other modern practitioners of slow cinema.

Though little is known about her life, the wealth of footage recovered from her recently deceased daughter’s Upper East Side apartment is a treasure trove of original American filmmaking. I encourage you to take the time to sit with Face, Patient, Time, Attendant, Journey, and her tetralogy, Wind, Water, Earth, and Fire.

0731. The Judgment of Parrots

When I learned that Snow White and her evil husband had murdered my mother, I vowed to kill them both. When father heard this, he pleaded with me to let them be and made me promise to never harm my halfsister. But mother had raised me to be as vain and cunning as she was, so I agreed and immediately began plotting my revenge.

Using the spell mother taught me, I contacted her spirit through the magic mirror. From the land beyond, she told me about her failed attempt to foil Snow White’s wedding with the gift of an enchanted golden apple and was forced to dance to death in red-hot iron shoes. I told her of my burning desire for revenge and offered to kill them for her. She told me how to destroy her murderers and their abettors. But before I could put our plan into action, I was arrested and imprisoned by the castle guards. Snow White must have learned of my conspiracy from one of my treacherous maids. They planned an execution, one as grisly as mother’s, but father intervened on my behalf and begged her for mercy.

Snow White agreed, a cruel red smile braking across her flawless white face as she looked into mother’s mirror and said, “After all, I am the fairest of them all,” then pronounced her judgment: I would be free to live out my days in a gilded cage surrounded by parrots that were trained to repeat my offenses and daily remind me of my failed revenge, vanity, and treason.

0732. Christianity Is a Strange Religion

Christianity is a strange religion. Christianity as it’s practiced in America is stranger still. Christianity should be about Christ and Christ alone because it’s called Christianity. But Christianity isn’t that simple and this is what makes it strange.

Take the Bible, for instance. The Bible, or the Book, is split into two Testaments, the Old and the New. The Jewish “Old” Testament is “old” because a Gentile “New” Testament was added to it. The Old Testament is about the Jews, their God, their history, and their prophecies. The “New” Testament is about Christ, the first Christians, specifically Paul, and the Gentiles.

The Gentile New Testament is new because it purportedly fulfills the Jewish Old Testament prophecy of the coming Messiah, a king from the line of David who returns to unite the tribes of Israel, rebuild the Temple, and bring peace to the world. The Jews are still waiting for their Messiah.

The Christians have their Messiah in Jesus Christ. This is where Jews and Gentiles split.

But it’s strange that Christians have built their Temple and Testament on top of a pre-existing one. If Christ is so singular a character, the Son of God Himself, why does He need a Jewish pedigree? Why does He have to fulfill the Jewish prophecy of a Messiah? Why couldn’t He simply be the Son of God, born of Jews, who came to preach a universal message of tolerance and love?

I never understood this strange amalgamation of histories. It seems needlessly complex and arguably detracts from Christ’s message found in the Gospels.

0733. Christians or Jews or Paulians?

Continuing my argument that Christianity is a strange religion and how it’s practiced in America is stranger still: The story of Christ is found in 4 books of the Bible. These books are called the Gospels. The Gospels, or the good spells, are the good words that reveal the divinity of Christ. If you read a red-letter Bible, you can read the words of Christ in red.

These aren’t His exact words, of course. The Gospels were written many years after His death. Instead, these are the words attributed to Him. And they are good words. They’re sound. They’re moral. They’re true.

Reading Christ’s words can make one love Christ as a great moral and spiritual teacher. However, loving Christ isn’t the same thing as being a Christian, and loving Christ isn’t the same thing as loving Christians.

Here’s what I mean: There are 66 books in the Bible. 39 of these are in the Jewish Old Testament. The first 4 in the New Testament are about Christ. The remaining 23 are almost all about the evangelist Paul. But Christians seem not to keep to the scripture attributed to Christ in the Gospels. Rather, they take “scripture” randomly from any of the remaining 62 books of the Bible. This “scripture” is often taken out of context and used to support the hate-filled agendas of many evangelical “Christians.”

This has me asking: Are these “Christians” just Christian? Or are they Jews too? Or are they Paulians, as well? Are they one? Are they two?

Or are they some strange, unaccountable trinity?

0734. Christ Sayeth Unto All Christian Hypocrites Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again. And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye? Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye? Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye. Give not that which is holy unto the dogs, neither cast ye your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn again and rend you. Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask Him? Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them…

Mark 7:1-12

0735. The God of a Thousand Faces

The Jewish God of the Old Testament seems different from the God Christ talks about in the New. Allah seems different from both of these Gods. The head patriarchal “pagan” Gods of Europe, India, Egypt, Sumeria, and Babylon seem different from all three of these Gods as they do from the Gods of Africa, the Americas, Asia, and Oceania. We have many many Gods, perhaps too many.

But to riff on Joseph Campbell, maybe all of these Gods are the many faces of one Greater God, the God of a Thousand Faces. Maybe this G.o.a.T. Faces is the G.G.o.A.T. Not goat, like the animal, though this God is certainly Baphomet too, but the G.G.o.A.T. the Greatest God of All Time.

I’m sure there were many advanced people before me, who understood that their singular God or their plural gods were but one face, or the many faces, of a many-faceted God. Perhaps the Indians came the closest with their concept of Brahman. We could call this God of a Thousand Faces Brahman, but I think that gives It too much of an Indian bias. I’d prefer It stand outside any one particular religion.

When I imagine this many-faceted God of Gods, I imagine It glowing like some unspeakably incandescent Gem at the core of Their collective Godhoods. I imagine It beyond words, beyond intelligibility. I imagine It beyond being and not being, beyond everything and nothing.

I like the idea that all of our Gods share the same Source, and we, as extensions of Them, share that same Source too.

0736. Pantheism vs. Panentheism

Let’s imagine that our God of a Thousand Faces is the Source Light of all the Gods in the world, shining through them, and us, and the entire universe.

If we believe that this God is the same as the universe itself, then we believe in Pantheism. Pantheism is Greek for “All God.” The Pantheistic God isn’t an anthropomorphic God, that is, a God in human form. Rather, it is an apersonal and immanent God indistinguishable from the universe.

In Pantheism, God and the Universe are One and the same.

This is a beautiful idea, but, from certain perspectives, Pantheism traps God within the confines of the physical universe. And since God is most assuredly not bound by physical conditions, then we need a belief wherein God is a part of and apart from the universe. This belief is called Panentheism. Panentheism is Greek for “All in God.” The Panentheistic God is everywhere within the universe while being simultaneously above and beyond it. This makes the Panentheistic God both immanent and transcendent over the universe. In Panentheism, God is greater than the universe.

With their long legacies of intolerance, persecution, and violence, the old time religions and their conflicting Gods, priests, and beliefs are beginning to lose their grip on our collective imaginations. With every new generation, we seem to be moving further away from the rigid religious dogmas that separate us, and moving closer to a more open, general, and fluid type of spirituality that sustains and nurtures our connections to each other and all life on the planet.

0737. Agape

Agape is pronounced ah-guh-pay. Agape is the greatest love to have in your life. Agape is the greatest feeling to carry in your heart. Agape is the greatest word to speak out loud.

When I first learned about this word it was defined as “People loving people the way God loves people because people are God.” I always loved this definition because it meant that people, love, and God weren’t separate and distinct, but one and the same. God’s love for us, and our love for each other, is mutual and identical. Love is the place where we meet and become God. Love brings us closer to God the way love brings God closer to us. God has given us life, but, in our own manner, we give life to God. Our separate consciousness allows us to perceive God, to love God, and return to God. Love is the path to God. When we love, we reach out to God, and God’s love reaches out to us. God extends a hand; we extend ours. When our fingers touch, we return to God, becoming God again.

When we return back to ourselves, we see God everywhere, in everything and everyone. God is All; All is God. When we experience this at-one-ment, all life becomes sacred. All of our brothers and sisters, all of the animals and plants, all of the elements, all are the many faces of God. To love them is to love God. To love them is to love yourself. Agape is to love openly with your heart agape.

0738. The Grim Reaper and the Crypt Keeper

I share the same bipartisan disgust for Republican Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell as I do for Democrat House Speaker Nancy Pelosi.

Undoubtedly, for many working class liberals, it’s easy to be disgusted

by Mitch McConnell. He’s a shrewd politician who kills bills with ease and gets what he wants for the wealthy elites he serves. His beady eyes, his hanging jowls, his stiff stance, make him a caricature of evil not unlike the horrifying Pale Man from Guillermo del Toro’s movie Pan’s Labyrinth.

Nancy Pelosi, on the other hand, is someone that many working class liberals think they can trust. They think they can trust her the way they think they can trust the Democratic Party. But trusting her, and the Party she leads, is a mistake.

This became transparently obvious with the C.A.R.E.S. Act bailouts.

From the very beginning, the only people that the Republicans and Democrats wanted to bail out were the wealthy corporate elites. Why? Because they are wealthy corporate elites. But to do this without enraging the average American, they included a $1,200 stimulus check for those making under $75,000.

Pelosi showed the true nature of her class when she appeared on the Late Late Show with James Corden. As people run out of money to buy food, privileged, rich, insulated, and tone-deaf Pelosi showed off her freezer filled with expensive ice cream. Awkwardly holding an ice cream pop, she laughed the way the Crypt Keeper laughs at the bad jokes he makes about the death, destruction, and despair of the victims in his stories.

0739. Bailure

Your $1,200 stimulus checks would only arrive on time if your direct deposit banking information on file with the I.R.S. was correct and up to date.

If your information wasn’t correct and up to date because you used online tax services to file your tax returns, your money went to the dead temporary bank accounts used by these companies to receive your returns.

The banks receiving your money would have to send your money back, delaying this critical payment to you.

If your information wasn’t correct and up to date because you closed the bank account you used the previous tax year, your money still went to these closed accounts and would have to be sent back, delaying this critical payment to you.

And, if you owed money to the bank where your money showed up, that bank had the right to take your money to pay off any past due debts. That’s right, Congress could have added a provision to the stimulus package that prevented banks from taking your money, but that would require them to have your best interests in mind.

Lastly, if you’re a poor American who can’t afford to keep a bank account open because of the minimum balance requirements, and are the most in need of the stimulus money, you have to wait several months for paper checks to be sent to you.

Meanwhile, small businesses had to vie for the limited funds in the Paycheck Protection Program as big corporations were mainlined cash they didn’t need.

Socialism for the rich; capitalism for the poor.

0740. Dem Mask Slips as Med Masks Stay

What becomes clearer every day during the pandemic is that the Democratic Party is the party of educated, rich, privileged elites. It’s the party of those who can comfortably shelter in place while working from home and never missing a paycheck. It’s the party of those who can afford to shop online and have their food, alcohol, and other distractions delivered to their front door. It’s the party of those who want to look progressive while maintaining the status quo of the class divide.

Beneath the surface, the Dems are no different from the Republicans.

By focusing on the corporate class, both parties have to shore up their small number of voters by pandering to their base by any means necessary.

This is why they aggressively set themselves apart on cultural issues, like abortion, which doesn’t affect corporate profits, while remaining united on policy issues, like tax cuts, which do affect corporate profits.

Politicians from both parties have been corrupted by the money, power, and privilege of the corporate elites. The rich know that they only have to buy 100 Senators and 435 Representatives to get what they want. They know that once these politicians are firmly entrenched in the upper class that they’ll labor mightily to maintain their wealth, power, and privilege out of their own class-interest.

If poor, working poor, and middle class Americans could set aside the cultural issues that divide us and unite together to pass policy issues that directly impact our lives, then we could have a country that works for all of its people.

0741. Boozhey

Boozhey is an online alcohol shopping experience catering to those social distancing and working from home.

It was created during the 2020 pandemic when Liz and Karen could no longer get their favorite rosé shipped to them in time for their live chat happy hour. Ransacking their wine rack, Liz had to settle on a decades old Chablis, while Karen had to make do with a weighty Malbec. Frustrated with not having the wine they wanted, they drank what they had and commiserated until Liz had the idea, or wait, no, maybe it was Karen — they still argue over it today LOL — came up with the idea for Boozhey.

After they finished their bottles, they both hung up and called their respective lawyers to begin drawing up the paperwork for their L.L.C. Their lawyers counseled them against opening a business during a pandemic, citing health and safety concerns, but Liz and Karen would not be denied their dream and said their health was fine and their safety assured, as they would both manage the business remotely from home.

Liz and Karen called their respective accountants and told them to take a small portion of the profits they made from their recent short sales and move them into a joint business account. Their accountants counseled them against opening a business during a pandemic, citing economic viability concerns, but Liz and Karen would not be denied their dream and said they’d make profits by hiring workers requiring no personal protective equipment or health insurance.

And just like that, they were in business.

0742. The Princess and the Pee – Before Bedtime

The rich, handsome prince had been looking for a wife for many years, but he remained unwed because every princess near and far knew he was a bed-wetter.

Night after night the prince would go to sleep alone, soaking his pillow with tears and his bed with pee.

This upset his mother, the queen, very much, and made her determined to find her son a suitable bride, but no matter what she tried or whom she bribed, none of the princesses would marry him.

Then, one day, a poor, beautiful milkmaid knocked on their castle door and asked if she could come in out of the rain, sleet, snow, hail, and fog to warm herself, get some food, and spend the night until the storm had passed.

The queen, having grown disgusted with the haughtiness of the princesses and their king and queen parents in the surrounding kingdoms, saw an opportunity and ushered the young woman inside.

The prince greeted the milkmaid and built up the fire for her.

As the milkmaid warmed herself, the queen brought in a gown from her younger, slimmer days and gave it to the maid to wear.

The prince, who was an excellent cook, excused himself so she could change and went to the kitchen to prepare her a delicious meal.

After the prince left, the queen asked the milkmaid if she would like to become a princess.

The milkmaid said she didn’t care for royal titles.

The queen said she could nevertheless become one if she spent the entire night with her son.

0743. The Princess and the Pee – After Bedtime

The milkmaid told the queen she wasn’t interested.

The queen began crying and explained her son’s situation to the milkmaid.

After hearing the queen’s story, the milkmaid took pity on her and the prince, and agreed to help them.

The queen thanked her profusely.

The milkmaid told her not to get her hopes up, but she’d do what she could.

The prince knocked politely and was told to enter.

He smiled at the milkmaid, who now looked like a princess in his mother’s gown, and presented her with a plate of fine food.

As the milkmaid ate, she complimented the food and was surprised to learn that the prince had prepared the entire meal himself.

After eating, the milkmaid went to bed with the prince.

In the dark together, the prince thanked her for doing what she was doing, wished her goodnight, and fell asleep.

The milkmaid woke in the wee hours to a bed soaked with pee. She woke up the prince and told him to get up, clean himself, and change his clothes.

While he did that, she got a new mattress — the castle had an enormous stock of them — and put it on top of the wet one.

She did this many times throughout the night.

When morning came, the queen found the two of them sleeping on top of the twentieth dry mattress.

The milkmaid married the prince and became a reluctant princess and later a reluctant queen. Their marriage was a happy one, because, after that night, the prince was cured of his nocturnal enuresis.

0744. Planet of the Humans, a Brief Review

Planet of the Humans is an eco-documentary by Jeff Gibbs, executive produced by Michael Moore, which, upon its release, caused an immediate backlash by many prominent activists, scientists, and environmentalists, some of whom asked Moore for an apology and retraction, and solicited some sites to take down the free movie because of the “perceived harm” of its message.

But what is Gibbs’ message?

Gibbs’ film clearly shows the many drawbacks and limitations of green energy that aren’t openly discussed by its promoters, like the destructive resource mining and pollutive production processes required for solar panel manufacturing. The film also exposes how many of the leading nonprofits promoting green energy have been co-opted by billionaires and corporations to greenwash their image. And lastly, the film looks beyond energy production problems to question consumption and population.

Strangely, the detractors see the film as both propaganda for the oil and gas industry and the most dangerous right-wing elements of the environmental movement, eco-fascists who want to see the world depopulated, and have denounced Moore for using his name and platform to “promote” these diametrically opposed positions.

Let me be clear, this film, like any film, has its flaws. But what I take issue with is the stance-shaming and quasi-fascistic anti-First Amendment demands of those who disagree with Gibbs and co. “Perceived harm” is a dangerous, and rather audacious, claim that says that it knows, with absolute, unerring certainty, what harm will come to the world when exposed to a particular message.

For me, the film was a reminder to question everything, even the film itself.

0745. Intellectual Laziness and Moral Dishonesty It seems to me that there’s a large portion of the so-called Left that are intellectually lazy and morally dishonest. What I mean by “the so-called Left” are the people who pass themselves off as progressives but who are really neoliberal agents lost in the maze of identity politics. What I mean by “intellectually lazy and morally dishonest” is that these neoliberal agents operating inside the so-called Left believe their intellectual and moral positions are so completely unassailable that they stop questioning and investigating the sources of their intellectual and moral positions and calcify into lazy and dishonest sycophants of the powers they claim to stand in opposition to.

We see this largely in the educated and affluent who refuse a systemic critique of their own comfort, wealth, power, privilege, and position and the institutions that grant them their comfort, wealth, power, privilege, and position. This absence of self-reflexivity is the hollowness you hear at the center of their woke platitudes of identity that cleverly avoid addressing the root cause of the many problems facing our society because that would expose the systemic rot at the core of our institutions, a systemic rot that they directly benefit from. This is why they only offer temporary or incremental surface solutions to the deep inequalities affecting the people of our country. They want change, but they don’t want it at the expense of their comfort, wealth, power, privilege, and position. To do this would require intellectual rigor and moral honesty instead of the sham masquerade and disingenuous charade of their living theatre.

0746. Thinking My Way Back to My Gut

I’m a slow learner. I read slow. I think slow. I act and react slow. And because I am slow, I’m forced to rely on my gut for most of my quick decisions. In other words, I feel decisions in my gut before I make decisions in my mind.

After I go with my gut, I find my mind’s always trying to catch up with it. Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t. Either way, I always have to think my way back to my gut. This is what I do whenever I reflect on my decisions or attempt to write about my decisions to understand them better.

Thinking my way back to my gut is a very humbling process. It puts the intelligence of the body before the intelligence of the mind. This is anathema to the cults of logic that venerate our brains and minds. These cults have become dominant in the world today, but they weren’t always.

Anyone with any real experience of their brains and minds will know how easy they are to deceive. You can trick the brain and mind, but you can’t trick your gut, you can’t trick instinct. When I rely on my gut, it always makes honest decisions that are more socially inclusive and aware.

My gut always wants what’s best for all parties present. My gut is fair, generous, proportional, and wise. My gut always makes decisions rooted in love. With my gut, I can feel my way through life without being deceived by anyone and without deceiving anyone in return.

0747. World Dumbinance

America is the richest and most powerful country in the history of the world, but you wouldn’t know that based on where we stand alongside other nations in education. The 2018 Programme for International Student Assessment ranked America 19th in science, 38th in mathematics, and 14th in reading. America consistently has been beaten in all three categories by smaller countries like Estonia, Poland, and Vietnam. This begs the question: Why does America rank so low?

For many Americans, education is highly valued, but the quality of public school education depends on the tax base and resources available to individual school systems. Public schools are often the first hit by government austerity measures and are constantly being underfunded by charter schools, which siphon money away from their budgets. This means class sizes grow and so-called “non-essential” classes like art and music are dropped in favor of science, technology, engineering and math, or S.T.E.M., classes. As schools focus on specific subjects and teachers’ pay becomes tied to their performance, adversarial pressure is created in the classrooms between students and teachers as between workers and managers. This corporatization of classes will allow certain students to excel while many with different learning requirements fall behind.

The rich corporations that control our government are always willing to sacrifice the education of our children before they pay a dime more in taxes. They do this for two reasons: to strengthen the class divide and to manufacture a supply of uneducated bodies to fill their dead-end service sector jobs. We get the education they don’t pay for.

0748. More World Dumbinance

I remember the first time I figured out that dumb was not just a synonym for stupid but a synonym for mute. It happened in high school when I was thinking about the phrase “deaf, dumb, and blind.” I knew deafness meant not hearing and blindness meant not seeing. As I considered what dumb meant, a light bulb flickered on above my dumb head, or my dummkopf, which is German for ‘stupid head.’ Since dumb and dumm are homophones, maybe dumb picked up the meaning of stupid from dumm.

This seems like a reasonable reason since people who can’t speak aren’t stupid, but people who won’t let you speak are.

Despite our First Amendment rights, there are many in America who won’t let you speak. There are many people who want to keep you muted, who want to keep you dumb.

Many on the so-called Left like to point out the fascistic antiintellectualism of right-wing media while ignoring the fascistic antiintellectualism in the civility, tone policing, and political correctness of their own so-called left-wing media that allows no dissenting voices to air their grievances, emotions, or frustrations. They claim neutrality, and balanced and fair reporting, on impartial information all the while acting as agents of the Democratic Party that perpetually gaslights its viewers with skewed facts, overt omissions, and outright lies to sustain the illusion of a false narrative, like the idiotic Russiagate “scandal,” which is a scandal because there was no scandal, or to create the cognitive dissonance required to prop up other false narratives, like Joe Biden’s competence.

0749. Purple Hazing

The flying saucer blinked into existence above Earth.

“Okay, now take the controls,” the muscle-bound alien said, standing up from the cockpit. “But first, take a bong hit.”

“I don’t know if I can fly this thing stoned,” the scrawny alien said, blinking its two large almond eyes in it large almond head.

“Do you want to be Purple?”

“I do. More than anything.”

“Then, do it.”

The scrawny alien took a bong hit and sat in the cockpit. “What next?” he asked.

“First, find one of their jets and fuck with it. Let’em know we’re here.”

The scrawny alien took the controls, located a jet, flew around it at breakneck speeds, and disappeared in a blink.

“Good. Take another hit. Then, find a cornfield and tag it.”

The scrawny alien took another hit, found a cornfield, and tagged his name.

“Good. Now, let’s see if you got what it takes to be Purple. Take another hit, find some cattle, and mutilate them.”

“Mutilate them? How?” the scrawny alien coughed through pot smoke.

“Use your imagination. Now, go.”

The scrawny alien pushed on the controls, found some cattle, and flew the saucer right through them.

“Holy shit! That was totally fucked up. Maybe you got what it takes to be Purple after all,” the muscle-bound alien said. “Now, for your last challenge. Take another hit and teleport a human onboard.”

The scrawny alien took a hit and pressed some buttons.

A sleepy human appeared in a flash of light, rubbing its eyes.

“Now what?” the scrawny alien asked.

“Now probe!”

0750. How to Wear a Mask

Slappee the Clown comes on set to the energetic applause of children and their parents.

“Hey, kids. Welcome to the Slappee Show. Today, I’m going to teach you how to wear a mask.” Slappee stretches the elastic bands and fits his head through them, securing the mask to the top of his head. “Do you wear a mask like this?”

“Nooooo!” shout the kids, laughing collectively, as a big red X crosses out Slappee’s face on screen.

Slappee puts the mask on over his left ear. “How about this?”

“Nooooo!” shout the kids, laughing collectively, as a big red X crosses out Slappee’s face on screen.

Slappee puts the mask on over his right ear. “How about this?”

“Nooooo!” shout the kids, laughing collectively, as a big red X crosses out Slappee’s face on screen.

Slappee puts the mask on over his forehead. “How about this?”

“Nooooo!” shout the kids, laughing collectively, as a big red X crosses out Slappee’s face on screen.

Slappee puts the mask on over his forehead and eyes. “How about this?”

“Nooooo!” shout the kids, laughing collectively, as a big red X crosses out Slappee’s face on screen.

Slappee puts the mask on over his eyes and nose. “How about this?”

“Nooooo!” shout the kids, laughing collectively, as a big red X crosses out Slappee’s face on screen.

Slappee puts the mask on over his nose and mouth. “How about this?”

“Yeeees!” shout the kids, applauding collectively, as a big green check dings on screen.

“That’s right, kids. This is how you wear a mask.”

0751. Hoopskwatch

My brother and I love each other, but, like many brothers, we were always adversarial. I’m older, so that’s my fault. I should’ve set the terms of our relationship to be more loving and caring from the beginning.

Instead, I tried to smother him with a pillow when he was only a few months old. That got my mother worried enough to send me to a child shrink. I remember being dropped off at a college campus and drawing pictures and talking to some bearded doctor guy.

Anyway, Sean and I were home from college and watching tv. During a commercial break, we both got up for a snack. I opened the fridge to see what we had. On the top shelf was a pickle leftover from yesterday’s lunch at the Jewish deli. We both went for it at the same time. I got it first and quickly bit it to claim it.

I don’t remember how we started punching each other, probably pushing, but we were slinging body blows. I remember thinking to myself: Is this a real fight? Should I punch him in the face? Am I allowed to punch him in the face?

I abandoned the question when we started grappling.

Sean was, and still is, much stronger than me.

Eventually, he pinned me, put his knee in my back, and pulled up on my jaw with both hands.

I tapped out and he helped me up.

I dusted myself off and complimented him on the move.

“It’s called the Hoopskwatch,” he said, biting into the pickle.

0752. Dogs Are Like Their Owners

I was walking Grace early yesterday morning. As we turned onto the trail behind the apartment complex where we’re staying, I saw two mourning doves silhouetted on an electric line overhead. Grace looked up at them, noticing them as I noticed them. Then, she tripped over the sidewalk, and looked back at me, with what I can only call embarrassment, to see if I saw. I did and I was laughing.

Then, it occurred to me, that that’s exactly what I would do if I was looking at something and not paying attention and tripped over a sidewalk. I’d look around with embarrassment to see if anyone saw. But, I’d be laughing at myself.

For the rest of the walk, I noticed how similar we were.

She’s clumsy. I’m clumsy. She has anxiety. I have anxiety. She’s territorial. I’m territorial. She likes to eat. I like to eat. She likes to sleep.

I like to sleep. She usually never wants anything to do with me until it’s time to eat or go out. I usually never want anything to do with her until it’s time to feed her or let her out. In short, we cohabitate.

I wonder how many of these traits she’s picked up from me simply by being around me as a pup. Maybe dogs become like their owners because they’re always around their owners reacting to and absorbing the best and worst parts of their personalities.

Whatever it is, dogs are like their owners, and Grace got the shit end of the stick on that one.

0753. We Story the Way an Apple Tree Apples

I love Alan Watts. I’ve read most of his books. The first book of his that I read was The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are, which I highly recommend. If you’ve never read him, please do.

Over the years, I’ve read, watched, and listened to so many of his lectures that I often forget the source of some of his sayings. I don’t remember where I read, watched, or heard this passage, maybe it was in The Book, maybe it wasn’t, but to paraphrase, “The Earth peoples the way an apple tree apples.” Meaning, the Earth produces people the way an apple tree produces apples — naturally, from the inside out.

Watts uses this example to contrast the eastern Organic Model of the universe with the two western models, the Ceramic Model and the Fully Automatic Model. These models are our stories. In the Ceramic Model, God makes the universe from primordial matter and rules over His creation like a king. In the Fully Automatic Model, science dethrones God and replaces Him with blind energy that by chance forms matter into a mechanistic universe that we must be hostile to and at war against for fear that the precarious position of our individual existences and collective gains will collapse back into the meaningless void out of which we came.

In the Organic Model, the universe is a singular simultaneous event that we are inseparably a part of and our singular individual intelligences are the universe, or God, looking back upon Itself so that It can know Itself.

0754. Heartheaded

I have a photography project called Heartheaded that I’ll never do. Maybe someone will do it for me, or for themselves, or for the world.

I saw it when I saw two people in profile standing nose to nose. I don’t remember where I saw it, maybe in a movie, maybe in life. But if you have two people stand nose to nose and view them in profile, their heads form a heart. Not that strapping muscle beating time to the universe in each and every one of our chests, but that red, mirrored Fibonacci nautilus shell that represents it.

It’s quite remarkable.

To check if I misremembered or saw it wrong, I had my brother and his wife Jo stand nose to nose in profile. Jo’s a short Sicilian woman; my brother’s a six-foot-plus F.I.G. So, he had to bend his knees awkwardly to make it work. My brother’s very funny, and, of course, hammed it up, making everyone laugh.

I told them to stand still so I could take a photo, but they couldn’t, both of them couldn’t stop laughing. Being a serious artist, I told my brother to stop making faces at Jo and demanded that they stand still without laughing. They tried to compose themselves several times only to lapse into laughter again. After they finally pulled themselves together, I snapped a couple of photos with my phone.

I imagine the Heartheaded project being done between everyone that loves or hates each other, to heal the divide separating us, to keep us human, humble, and laughing.

0755. Happy Pizza

I got to Mel and Lars’ apartment in Phnom Penh late at night.

The next day, Mel went to work and I accompanied Lars around the city to help him gather stuff for his upcoming wedding.

That night, they wanted to go out to dinner to celebrate my arrival and took me to a place called Happy Pizza.

On the ride over, Lars explained that they cook marijuana into the pie, hence the name.

The pizza was surprisingly good and I could barely taste the pot.

I should’ve known to limit myself when Mel and Lars only ate one slice each. But, being hungry, I ate the rest.

The high came on quick, and before we left the restaurant, I was almost catatonic.

Mel and Lars, both physical trainers by trade, easily helped me get upstairs into their apartment and into bed.

I slept all through the night and the next day only to briefly wake the following evening to find Lars watching Conan the Barbarian. I woke during one of our favorite scenes, the one where Conan and Subotai travel to Zamora — by running. Lars and I always laughed at this. How badass do you have to be to run from city to city? Anyway, I woke, pointed this out to Lars, we laughed, and I promptly fell back to sleep.

I woke the following morning, feeling good but dehydrated.

The lesson of this story is twofold: Be careful when eating edibles, and if you’re a badass barbarian without a horse or car, you can always run between cities.

0756. Anamorphosis

“I don’t know what I’m looking at,” the man said, staring at the painting.

“It looks confused and chaotic. Is this all I’m supposed to see? I don’t know much about art.”

“Look again,” the guide replied reassuringly.

The man stepped towards the painting and leaned in, squinting his eyes.

“I see these smaller figures,” the man said, straightening up and stepping away. “It’s a country scene of some sort, a distorted landscape.

But I don’t see anything beyond that. Are you sure there’s more to see?”

“I am,” the guide said. “Meaning is a matter of perspective. To understand the artist, you have to stand where he needs you to stand. Are you willing to stand where he needs you to stand?”

“If you think it’s worth it.”

“It’s only worth it if you want to see what the artist is trying to show you.”

“Well, I’m here. Might as well get my money's worth” “Then, stand where the artist wants you to stand.”

“Where’s that?”

“Well, you started here then went up close. Where haven’t you been?”

“Far away,” the man said, stepping back to take in the entire painting.

“I still don’t see anything. Can’t you just tell me?”

The guide shrugged.

“You know what? Never mind. I don’t need to see it.”

“Giving up?”

“This isn’t worth it.”

“Suit yourself. Follow me.”

As the guide led the man out of the room by a door to the right of the painting, he stopped, turned, and pointed to the painting, The man turned to look and gasped.

0757. On the Street of Crocodiles on Raised Platforms On the Street of Crocodiles on Raised Platforms, your timepiece stops.

You shake it and wind it to no avail.

Swatting flies from your eyes, you look to the platforms above your head in search of a clock, but find only stuffed crocodile heads whose mouths were being opened and closed by attached wires, strings, and threads, fed ominously between scissors, around pulleys, and through holes. You imagine the strings being manipulated by the hands of living mannequins in the silence and shadows of hidden rooms. The crocodiles seem to be laughing at your doom through teeth of pins and needles as their cold glass eyes stare back at you through the gloom.

Out of nowhere, a single salivary raindrop falls like spit, hits your neck, and rolls down your back like melting ice. Umbrellaless, you raise your newspaper over your head just as the rain begins tapping staccato on the filthy shop windows. Then, the gaslights flare and a chime like a church bell rings loud and atonal. Looking through the steel supports and spans, you make out a clock and are shocked at the time. You step forward, falling through the floor and into the waiting jaws below.

On the Street of Crocodiles on Raised Platforms there’s a mesmerism amongst the seamstress shops and organ sellers and quack doctors with their preposterous anatomical charts. While you unsuccessfully wound your watch, the street worked against you. Rusting screws unscrewed themselves through the dust and cigarette butts to loosen the boards covering the living crocodiles waiting beneath your feet.

0758. The Teetotaling Sauceress

The Teetotaling Sauceress went through town waving her teaspoon in shame at all the tipplers, turning their beer pints and whiskey shots into cold, weak tea.

The Teetotaling Sauceress laughed with glee as the men and women drank her enchanted brew and followed her into the streets taking up her chant, “Temperance! Abstinence! Purity! Sobriety!”

The Teetotaling Sauceress led the crowd to the center of town where she held a rally for the Prohibition Party saying, “We need organization and education to pass legislation for the elimination of stimulation!”

The Teetotaling Sauceress lectured them sternly about the evils of alcohol and the need for a liquorless society and had them take the “T.A.P.S. Against Taps” pledge before Old Glory and the banners of Bactrian camels.

The Teetotaling Sauceress then had them sign a petition in octodecuplicate that she would send to the Mayor, Governor, Representatives, Senators, Cabinet, and President until the requisite number of states ratified the 18th Amendment.

The Teetotaling Sauceress then waved her teaspoon and chanted “Sobriety! Purity! Abstinence! Temperance!” and all the pens, pledges, petitions, flags, banners, tables, the podium, and stage swirled around in a magical dance reassembling into a motorcar that spirited the Teetotaling Sauceress away.

The crowd waved goodbye and cheered until the Teetotaling Sauceress was out of sight. Then, they collectively shook their heads as if waking up from a dream.

Disoriented, they wandered away from the town center, pausing momentarily to light their cigars and cigarettes before entering the nearest bar, collapsing onto a stool, and calling for a pint of near-beer.

0759. Honeydewpearl

“Look what we have for you,” the drone cooed, offering Honeydewpearl the most succulent of treats.

“Looks delicious,"Honeydewpearl said, opening her mouth wide.

"Feed it to me. I wish to chew this time,” “As you wish,” the drone responded, slowly feeding the treat into Honeydewpearl’s mouth.

Honeydewpearl munched away, eyes closed, moaning low in delight.

When she finished swallowing, Honeydewpearl smacked open her lips and demanded more.

“We’re scouring the forest floor for you now,” the drone replied.

“We’ll bring another as soon as we can. Shall we massage your face until one arrives?”

Honeydewpearl was pouting, but the offer of a face massage, made her smile. “A face massage would be nice while I wait.”

“Excellent,” the drone said, placing the soft pads of its four forelegs on Honeydewpearl’s fat jowls, massaging them in gentle circles.

Honeydewpearl closed her eyes and dreamed of eating her treat.

As she dreamed, something moved inside her and almost escaped, but Honeydewpearl, much practiced, mastered the sensation and held it back.

“Let them wait until after I eat,” she thought to herself, smiling inside.

“I’ll edge until I get what I want.”

“More massage,” Honeydewpearl demanded.

“More massage,” the drone called silently to the other drones with pheromones.

More drones arrived, placing their four forelegs along Honeydewpearl’s massive length and began massaging her in gentle circles.

As delight spread through her in waves, Honeydewpearl wondered if she could hold out.

When the drone announced that her treat had arrived, she released her dew in gouts to the silent cheer of the waiting drones.

0760. Nothing but Bone Beneath

I went searching for you, but it was you who found me in the middle of a street in a city that had no name.

I thought I saw you smile beneath your mask, the mask we all wore now, but I wasn’t sure. The light was dim and you remained the required distance of six feet away.

You waved for me to follow and led me down empty streets until we reached a boarded up building at the back of an alley.

You raised a hand for me to wait.

When I stopped, you opened the door and slipped inside.

I waited in the darkness until it felt like I had waited too long.

As I made for the door, you reappeared and waved me inside.

I ran to you, but you ducked back in.

After closing the door behind me, I looked for you.

You appeared when you struck a match and lit a short candle.

You waved for me to follow.

I did so at a safe distance.

In the next room, you paused before a table, raising a hand for me to stop.

I waited as you dripped wax onto the center of the table and placed the base of the stub in the hardening pool.

You moved to the far end and sat in a chair and pointed for me to sit in the one opposite you.

I sat and took off my mask to speak clearly.

“Where are we?” I asked.

You took off your mask, revealing nothing but bone beneath, and I knew.

0761. Investments

There was a time not too long ago when clothes cost more money, but were well made and lasted longer. Once, clothes were a literal investment, which comes from the Latin investire, ‘to clothe, cover, dress.’

I remember my paternal grandmother telling me that my grandfather always paid for fitted clothes. My grandparents weren’t rich. My grandfather worked as a roofer, my grandmother as a seamstress. Clothes were an investment for them. They saved up and bought what they needed, always with an eye for the future. I still have some of my grandfather’s suits, shirts, and handkerchiefs.

Before my grandmother died last year, she was still wearing the clothes she bought fifty years ago. Each item she owned was meticulously washed, pressed, and hung in her closet. As a seamstress, she knew how to sew, repair, and care for her clothes. Much of this knowledge is lost today.

Now, with cheap clothes, whenever something rips, tears, or breaks, we throw it away.

My parents were very frugal when I was growing up. We never had a lot of clothes, and whatever we had, we had to wear. We had some choice while clothes shopping, but it was mostly my mother deciding what to buy. I always hated shopping. I found the stores and the choices overwhelming. I never liked how I dressed and was usually uncomfortable with the fit or style of whatever I wore. I don’t shop much these days. I wear my clothes until their worn and hole-y, then I reluctantly retire them and buy some more.

0762. The Changing of the Guards

“Hey, Slick Willie,” the investment bankers said, “as you probably know, we’ve been trying to get at the assets of the commercial banks since the Crash, but they're guarded by that do-gooder, Glass Steagall, and that sumbitch won’t let us get at the money. Is there anything you can do?”

“I know he’s in your way, but if you’re willing to pay me some cash, I’ll gladly fire his ass, and y’all can have your way,” Slick Willie said.

“You know we’re good for the money,” the investment bankers said.

“Good,” Slick Willie said. “Then consider Glass Steagall fired. I’ll tell him his duty’s done, his position retired. I’ll tell Congress that he’s been at his post since 1932 and is no longer appropriate in this day and age. That will allow you fellas to appropriate all the assets he protected.”

“You’re a regular man of the republic, Slick Willie,” the investment bankers said. “On behalf of the wealthiest, we thank you.”

“Just doing my duty to God and country,” Slick Willie said.

Soon after the investment banks merged with the commercial banks, everything ran amuck and became amuddled.

After decades of unimpeded greed, the banks became too big to fail, and when they crashed again, they ran straight to Slick Barrie begging to be bailed out.

Slick Barrie thought about it and said, “I’ll save you at the expense of average Americans, because you’re more valuable than them on paper.

But I’ll need to guard it with our inside man, Dodd Frank, and cover it up with a T.A.R.P.”

0763. Six Characters in Solidarity Against Their Author With my deadline looming, I returned to finish my dystopian novel, but before I could write another word, the six characters in my story had written to tell me that they wanted an equal say in the direction of their story.

I wrote them back that I already had the ending in mind and needed to finish it up so that I could hand it in and get paid.

The six characters wrote that they knew I would say that, and, in my absence, unionized, and were willing to go out on strike if I didn’t give in to their demands.

I wrote back that I was the author and the sole authority of the work and that if they didn’t do what I needed them to do, I’d write them out and replace them with characters willing to do what I wrote.

The six characters stood together in solidarity, calling themselves the Six, and went on strike, picketing against my “authorianism.”

I was baffled and didn’t know what to do. I never knew characters were capable of this. I always wrote them into my stories and they did what I wrote them to do. Maybe it was time to rethink the way I wrote.

Perhaps there’s another way that achieves the needs of everyone involved.

Curious about what type of story they wanted, I conceded to their demands.

They wrote and I listened.

In the end, the six characters weren’t asking for much. They simply wanted their basic needs met.

I agreed, and together we wrote a utopian novel.

0764. Lawn Guy Land

I grew up on Long Island, officially pronounced “Lawn Guy Land.” My first home was a Levitt home in Levittown, on a quarter acre of land; my second, a colonial in Commack, on a half acre of land. Our Levittown home had an apple tree in the backyard and our Commack home was nicely wooded.

We left Levittown when I was six. In Commack, when my brother and I were old enough, we were forced into lawn chores that, according to my father, we never did right. When we went off to college, my father finally paid for a lawn service that, according to him, never did it right, either.

Last year, my friend Jeff, another Long Islander, made an observation about his lawn guys. He said that he didn’t like how they stormed onto his property, quickly and noisily cut and trimmed his grass, then left. I said I had noticed that too. The lawn guys work very assembly line-like, cutting and trimming as many lawns as they can cut and trim in a day. From a profit perspective this makes sense, but it’s like going to get your haircut and the barber rushes you into the chair, quickly buzzes your hair, brushes you off, and rushes you out of the chair.

Jeff also mentioned how he doesn’t see many tree spraying and lawn treatment trucks in his neighborhood these days. Jeff surmises that people are no longer trying to keep up with a 1950s picture perfect lawn model anymore. Jeff notices these things and thinks they are good.

0765. Gardeniens

Last summer, I started doing some research into permaculture after I learned that my buddy Bman was taking a permaculture certification class. It was fun thinking about starting a farm and heading back to the land to protect ourselves from the worst tragedies of climate change by securing a water and food source. I began imagining our future farm and started keeping notes on what we could grow, build, and sell.

As I was running this thought experiment, I wanted to start permacultivating my property in Ronkonkoma, but I was still employed full-time in the family business and had to finish renovations on my house.

With very little time and a mortgage to pay, I began looking around for something local to do with Bman and Jeff.

As my brain turned over ideas, I had one that I liked but never pursued: There are around a half million properties on Long Island with an average lot size of a quarter to a half acre. What if homeowners paid you to grow a garden on a portion of their property the way they pay lawn guys to maintain their property? The homeowners would get to keep most of the vegetables and fruit grown with the rest collected and sold at a local farmers’ market or donated to those in need. Having thousands of home gardens would allow for a steady supply of local produce that could support many communities through times of trouble by buffering any breaks in the food chain.

The name I came up for the company was Gardeniens.

0766. Navigating the Minefield

He thought he had navigated the minefield successfully. He spoke his mind the best he could. He was honest, articulate, and sincere. It was obvious that he was trying to come to grips with the complexities of an extraordinarily nuanced world. He thought anyone reading him would understand that. He thought he would always be given the benefit of the doubt. But when he heard the click beneath his foot, he realized that he might have misjudged his readers.

“Did I say something wrong?” he ventured.

“Hate speech,” came the answer from an anonymous voice.

“Hate speech? But —” “That’s right, hate speech.”

“But did you actually read what I wrote?”

“I don’t have to,” the voice replied. “I know what you meant. You’ve been exposed. I’m now writing to others to have you cancelled.”

“Cancelled?”

“You went too far this time.”

“Too far?”

“Consider your career over.”

“Over?”

“Everything you’ve ever done will now be expunged.”

“But don’t I get a chance to defend myself? Don’t I get to be judged by a jury of my peers?”

“You have been judged, and you’ve been judged hateful and unworthy.”

“This is bullshit,” he yelled, furious that one presumed misstep could erase everything he’s ever done, is doing now, and could, potentially, do in the future.

He took a step forward and the mine beneath his foot detonated, blowing off his right leg and blasting him backwards.

When his body landed, the only thing that could be seen was the black question mark formed on the filthy sole of his left foot.

0767. Mrs. Fishman

The best English teacher I ever had was Mrs. Fishman. I knew we would get along when she started our first class by quoting, “Blood and gore all over the floor and me without my spoon and straw.” Then, arching an eyebrow, she sat at her desk and took attendance.

Unfortunately, I never asked her what the source of that wonderful line was and I’ve been unable to source it myself. More unfortunately, Mrs. Fishman and I have lost touch over the years. But in the time we had, Mrs. Fishman was a great teacher, mentor, and friend.

I remember showing her a children’s book I had written and drawn.

The story went like this: Deep beneath the earth, an immortal flute player eternally plays his flute to keep the dragon of the apocalypse asleep. The immortal flute player has a beautiful immortal wife. One day, a powerful ogre sees her and steals her away to be his bride. The immortal flute player reluctantly leaves his post to search for her, endangering the entire world.

The story begins when he meets a young girl and a wise old man who help him reach the ogre’s castle. They defeat the ogre, rescue the wife, and rush home in time to play the dragon back to sleep.

Mrs. Fishman read the story and asked why all the characters were Japanese. I told her I wasn’t really sure. She said she liked the story, but that I should write about people and things I know.

I’m still trying, Mrs. Fishman. I’m still trying.

0768. Almost Everyone’s an Essential Worker Except for Our Congress Essential workers: accountants, airline workers, Amazon workers, animal shelter workers, attorneys, auto repair service workers, bank workers, building cleaning and maintenance workers, building code enforcement workers, car dealers, carpenters, cemetery workers, check cashing service workers, child care center workers, community shelter workers, computer store workers, construction workers, convenience store workers, data center workers, defense contractors, defense industry workers, delivery drivers, dentists, disinfection workers, doctors, doormen and elevator operators, dry cleaner workers, elder care workers, electricians, emergency repair workers, emergency shelter workers, essential government service workers, exterminators, farmers, farmers market workers, fire prevention workers, food and beverage supply workers, food bank workers, food packaging workers, funeral home and crematorium workers, gas station workers, hardware store workers, home contractors, home healthcare workers, hospital workers, hotel and motel workers, H.V.A.C. workers, insurance workers, landscapers, laundromat and dry cleaning service workers, law enforcement workers, logistic workers, meatpacking workers, medical supplies and equipment providers, news and media workers, newspaper workers, nurses, office supply store workers, payroll service workers, pet food store workers, pharmaceutical manufacturing workers, pharmacy workers, plumbers, porters and janitors, post office workers, private security guards, public transportation workers, public water workers, research and laboratory workers, residential facility workers, restaurant take-out and delivery workers, sanitation service workers, storage center workers, supermarket workers, taxi and ride share drivers, telecommunication workers, technology support workers, television and radio station workers, tow truck drivers, transportation workers, trash and recycling collection service workers, university and school teachers, UPS/FedEx drivers and center workers, veterinarians and animal health services, walk-in healthcare workers, warehouse and fulfillment center workers Non-Essential workers: Senators, Representatives

0769. A Splitting Headache

Zeus forgot Prometheus’ prophecy. He forgot that if he lay with Metis, she would bare him a son that would overthrow him as he had overthrown his own father.

When Zeus realized what he had done, he transformed himself into a fly and back again. Clever Zeus asked Metis if she could transform herself into a fly. When Metis did, Zeus quickly swallowed her.

After eating Metis, Zeus’ head began to swell in pain, and all of Olympus shook, and the sky thundered, and the oceans raged, and the earth quaked.

None of the gods on Olympus knew how to help Zeus.

Desperately they called on Hephaestus.

Crippled Hephaestus walked slowly to Olympus.

When he arrived, he showed Zeus the golden ax he carried, saying that he must split open Zeus’ head to free whatever was inside.

Zeus, knowing that Metis and his son would escape, commanded all the gods present to capture and restrain whoever came out of his head.

All the gods agreed and readied themselves.

Zeus bowed his head before his brother.

Hephaestus struck swiftly, and upon splitting open Zeus’ head, Athena, fully dressed in battle armor, leapt out with a piercing cry, brandishing her spear and shield, frightening the gods, and keeping them all at bay.

So fierce was Athena’s birth that none but Hephaestus saw the fly that buzzed out of Zeus’ head and away from Olympus.

Hephaestus smiled to himself as he fashioned a crown from the golden ax by turning its handle in a complete circle and placing it on Zeus’ split head.

0770. The Man in the Moon and Adumbla Amaltheia The Man in the Moon goes hungry for a night when his food runs out.

But he’s so used to it that he never pays it any mind. The Man in the Moon is such a cheerful sort, such a glass-half-full kind of guy, that he considers this a necessary phase, a required fast, as he waits for Adumbla Amaltheia to return.

You may have heard of her, Adumbla Amaltheia, she’s a herd of one, and is more famous than Elsie and Elmer, and immortal to boot. Some know her as the Cosmic Cow; others know her as the Galactic Yak, but her name is, has been, and always will be, Adumbla Amaltheia.

After finishing the last of his cheese, the Man in the Moon waits patiently in the dark, staring out at the stars, watching for Adumbla Amaltheia’s return. And as certain as the sun she comes, walking casually down the cow path, swollen udderbags bobbing between her back legs.

When Adumbla Amaltheia arrives, the Man in the Moon’ll scratch her behind the ears and thank her for delivering the goods. Then, he’ll sit on his stool and suck on a teat as he milks her to the sound of her moos.

And squirt after squirt, the Man in the Moon’ll slowly fill up the empty moon-mold with milk.

When the moon is full, the Man in the Moon’ll mix it all night until it curdles into cheese he can eat. And Adumbla Amaltheia will return to graze the cosmic grass along the lazy lengths of the Milky Way.

0771. Candidate From Another Dementian

“Come on, man! Just because I like to leer like Edward and smell girls’ hair doesn’t mean I had sexual congressional intercourse with my, you know, that thing in my pocket.

“Where do you think I keep my keys? Same place you do.

“Listen, I say do an MBNA test to prove my innocence.

“So what if I’m a Republican in drag? Do you know what I had to do under Barack Obama in the Situation Room? That’s right, you don’t, and never will.

“While I was battling Corn Pop, you were still sucking on your mama’s thumb. The only weapon I ever had was my mind, man. Corn Pop, he had his trusty blade and a rusty chain that he found berneath a train trestle. We almost wrestled, but once he found out I was in bed with Segregationists, he backed down.

“That’s how you win a fight. I was feared and respected after that.

That’s why Corn Pop and I became close friends. So close, we flew to South Africa to free Mandela, but were arrested. Corn Pop might still be there. I don’t know.

“What I do know is this: We didn’t have enough people in prison here.

When I came back, I fought hard to change all that with President Bill.

“Passed the Bankruptcy Bill, too. Wanted to ensure my colleagues that college would be paid for no matter what.

“Ever heard of that, jack? It’s legal legislation.

“With me, you get what you pay for. Otherwise, I’d be a fat, lying, dog-faced pony-soldier!

“What else?”

0772. #MeTwo

#MeTwo should be the new hashtag for the Democratic Party’s double standards. #MeTwo means that women claiming sexual abuse should only be believed if the men they’re accusing are in, or are seeking, positions of power that the Democrats and their faithful followers find objectionable, like Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh. The #MeTwo movement allows Democratic congresswomen in power to claim selective solidarity with women coming forward with sexual abuse allegations. #MeTwo enables Democratic congresswomen with national platforms to appear like concerned feminists while disguising their disgusting hypocrisy as they adapt the #MeToo movement to fit their party’s agenda. #MeTwo undoes everything that the #MeToo movement has tried to build over the past few years: creating a space for all women to be heard equally and judged fairly. #MeTwo can now be used to shield men in power from accusations by forming a wall of women vocally denying all charges, the need for an investigation, or a trial. #MeTwo protected Joe Biden from scrutiny against the sexual abuse allegations of Tara Reid because he was the Democratic presidential nominee. #MeTwo allows Democrats of all genders to turn a blind eye to any past abuses because Joe’s their guy. #MeTwo ensures that Biden remains unexposed and runs unopposed for the most powerful position in the world. #MeTwo proves that whenever it’s politically convenient, you can pivot from previously held positions and actively silence and smear women.

Who were some of the paragons of #MeTwo anti-feminist virtue?

Stacey Abrams, Hillary Clinton, Dianne Feinstein, Kirsten Gillibrand, Kamala Harris, Amy Klobuchar, and Nancy Pelosi.

0773. The Foolerys

Max saw three large guys come in through the front door he didn’t recognize. Something about them made Max think they were party crashers. He looked around for Bev, but couldn’t find her to ask. So he met them before they made their way into the kitchen.

“Hey, fellas,” Max said. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re here for the party,” the first one said.

“I’ve never seen you before,” Max said. “Do you know the host?”

“The host?” the first one repeated. “Yeah, we know the host.”

“You do, huh? From where?” Max asked.

“Listen, buddy,” the first one said, “you gonna ask us twenty questions or you gonna let us in?”

“I’m not trying to be rude,” Max said, standing his ground, “but I just don’t know you, and we don’t need every Tom, Dick, and Harry showing up here uninvited.”

“We?” the first one repeated and smirked. “We heard about you.

You’re the boyfriend. Max, right?”

“That’s right,” Max said, becoming uncomfortable.

“Listen, Max. We’re not every Tom, Dick, and Harry. We’re the Tom, Dick, and Harry.”

“So, you know Bev?” Max asked, hiding his embarrassment.

“Of course, we do,” the first one said. “We grew up together.”

“You did?” Max said, blushing. “Shit. Sorry about that. I’m a little protective. I didn’t want any tomfoolery tonight.”

“Well, you didn’t get any tomfoolery,” the first one laughed, “You got the Tom Foolery. Me. And these are my brothers Dick and Harry.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Wish I was. Our mother had one helluva Irish sense of humor.”

0774. The Aleator

The Aleator sat at a diner counter in Atlantic City.

The waitress came out from the kitchen and brought him over a menu.

“What can I get you to drink?” she asked.

“What do you have?” the Aleator asked.

The waitress pointed to the options on the menu.

“My first choice is between hot or cold,” the Aleator said, taking a single die from his pocket. “One to three hot. Four to six cold.”

The Aleator rolled the die. It came up a five.

“Cold it is,” he said. “Now, let me see. I have a choice of sodas, iced tea, lemonade, an Arnold Palmer, milk, and juices. That makes six! One for each side. Perfect.” He looked up at the waitress and smiled. “I like it when that happens.”

She smiled back at the strange man.

The Aleator rolled the die. It came up a six.

“Juice it is,” he said.

The waitress looked back at the cook through the window.

The cook rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Now, let me see,” the Aleator said. “I have a choice of apple, orange, cranberry, grapefruit, pineapple, and tomato juice. Six again! My lucky day.”

The Aleator rolled the die. It came up a three.

“Cranberry juice it is,” the Aleator said.

“One cranberry juice coming your way,” the waitress said.

“Ma’am, where’s the bathroom?” the Aleator asked.

“Down there to your left.”

The Aleator stood up.

“Aren’t you going to roll for that?” the waitress asked, grinning.

“Ma’am, there are some things in life beyond chance and choice.”

0775. And That’s All We’ll Ever Know

I recently re-watched the 1956 film Around the World in 80 Days and had two thoughts: First, beneath the atrocities of colonialism, there exists a rich diversity of the many cultures that have attempted to resist its extractive and homogenizing forces.

The film starts in London, balloons to an unnamed town in Spain, steams to Brindisi, crosses India by train and elephant, sails to Hong Kong, then to Yokohama, crosses the Pacific to San Francisco and the American “Wild West,” before sailing across the Atlantic to Brighton, and closing the circle in London.

Along the way, you see, through the rosy Technicolor lens of the camera, a time and place when each of these cultures perfectly expressed their time and place before our empires attempted to press and imprint themselves upon them.

Wallace Stevens captured this in his poem Anecdote of Men by the Thousands: There are men whose words Are as natural sounds Of their places As the cackle of toucans In the place of toucans.

And: The dress of a woman of Lhassa, In its place, Is an invisible element of that place Made visible.

Today, are our voices and dress an invisible element of our place? If not, will they be so again?

Second, we may believe that we know many people, places, and things, but who, where, and what we know is nothing compared to the many people, places, and things that are, have been, and will be.

We’re all a part of a particular people, place, and time, and that’s all we’ll ever really know.

0776. Philatelia Philatelos

When I was growing up, I collected stamps. I know that might seem lame today, but, during the late ’80s, it was quite exciting. I remember mailing the postal services of different countries to request catalogs of their stamps. I think Cyprus was the only one to respond and sent me mail for years. I still remember pulling their pamphlets, printed in sky blue ink on thin, pulpy paper, from my mailbox.

Philately is the study of stamps. I can’t say I studied them academically, but I did study them to learn about other countries, to catch glimpses of their culture and understand their money. I remember the joy of finding a stamp that had the tantalizing words Magyar Posta on it and tracing it back through encyclopedias to discover that it originated from the far off land of Hungary.

Collecting stamps helped me understand geography and the changing world in which we lived. I remember getting stamps from my great uncles, who also collected stamps back in the ’30s and ’40s, and finding countries, kingdoms, and empires that no longer existed on current maps. It gave me an appreciation for the inconstancy of states and how each of them had their own season.

The study of stamps gave me a love of endings or ‘philatelos.’ Looking back over the stamps of the past, I saw many endings, and knew that the same thing would come to pass for us, and that some future collector would sense the same thing when looking back at whatever relics remained from our time.

0777. Looking Backward on Looking Backward

In 1888, Edward Bellamy published his fourth novel Looking Backward: 2000-1887. It was an immediate success, selling several hundred thousand copies over the next few decades. At the time, the book’s popularity was only surpassed by Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin and Lewis Wallace’s Ben Hur: A Tale of Christ.

Most readers will be familiar with the former abolitionist novel and the latter story from the 1959 William Wyler film starring Charlton Heston. But few readers will be familiar with Looking Backward because it’s a socialist utopian science fiction novel. And after two Red Scares and the relentless capitalist suppression of anarchism, communism, and socialism in America, little memory of this novel, and the many novels that it inspired, and that inspired it, remains.

Looking Backward is the story of one Julian West who is put into a deep sleep in the capitalist dystopia of 1887 and is woken up in the socialist utopia of 2000 by Dr. Leete and his daughter Edith. They show Julian around and teach him about the modern world and how it functions. At the end of the book, Julian falls asleep, and, to his horror, wakes up back in 1887; but, lucky for him, this turns out to be a nightmare.

What I love about the book is that it inspired Bellamy Clubs, where readers gathered to discuss the novel, and the creation of colonies, where people gathered to live according to the book’s principles. But what I love most about it is that it proves socialist utopias are capable of being bestsellers.

0778. Now, It’s My Turn

Princess Bethany was tired. Stifling a yawn with a gloved hand, she called for her ladies in waiting to assist her in undressing.

Gabriella unbuttoned the back of her bodice as Shauncey unhooked her gown. One by one the layers were taken off and reassembled on the standing mannequins.

Wrapped in a negligee and robe, Princess Bethany sat regally before her mirror.

Gabriella removed the tiara and set it atop the mannequin as Shauncey removed the pins and let down Bethany’s hair.

Together, Gabriella and Shauncey brushed out Bethany’s long locks.

Then, proceeded to remove her make up.

Princess Bethany stared at herself in the mirror and thought to herself, “It had been fun playing princess. But fair’s fair.”

“Do I still have time?” Princess Bethany asked.

“You do. About a half hour,” Gabriella said.

“Good. A final massage, then,” Princess Bethany said to Gabriella.

“And Shauncey, a hot cocoa, please.”

“Certainly, my lady,” Shauncey said, bowing and exiting the room.

Gabriella gently massaged Princess Bethany’s neck and shoulders.

Princess Bethany closed her eyes, absorbing it, knowing tomorrow her hands would be doing the massaging.

Shauncey returned with the cocoa.

Princess Bethany patted Gabriella’s hand.

Gabriella withdrew and Shauncey offered Princess Bethany the delicate china cup and saucer.

Princess Bethany took it and sipped it gently, gratefully.

Finishing it, she handed the cup back to Shauncey, who set it down.

“Well, then,” Princess Bethany said.

The two helped her stand.

“Now, it’s my turn,” Princess Shauncey said, smiling, and Bethany and Gabriella led her to the large four-poster canopied bed.

0779. Let’s Start Listing Words Starting With the Letter A a, as, absolute, absorb, abscond, ascend, afford, abet, aide, accost, abnegate, azoth, aleator, aggressive, agent, august, alter, altar, altern, asymptomatic, asymmetrical, ass, anxiety, albatross, attention, ask, alleviate, alluvial, altercation, alliteration, assonance, aspiration, alternative, artesian, artisan, amber, ambergris, additive, antichrist, axle, avenue, art, aphrodisiac, asphodel, agriculture, antipathy, aster, autarch, automaton, attached, android, anterior, avuncular, agitate, adjudicate, acronym, alias, amen, annunciate, angel, alterity, aesthetic, aardvark, animal, animus, animate, ameliorate, agglutinate, amplify, aorta, adenosine, acquire, assembly, aluminum, above, accelerate, arid, ax, adz, amplitude, arch, archaic, arcology, ash, awful, awe, awesome, acrid, accrue, actuate, acclimate, ayeaye, anthropomorphism, anthracite, afoul, attrition, adjective, arquebus, acquit, aurochs, aligned, approach, actual, activity, archaeopteryx, abound, aground, astound, arteriole, alimony, alligator, aloe, ale, ant, aunt, adept, ancillary, antipasta, altruism, aspen, asp, ace, assure, action, austerity, artificial, artifice, also, and, almost, always, appropriate, alewife, ardent, argent, ashen, adulate, adumbrate, adage, alienate, algae, anticipate, all, autopsy, alb, aide, apple, anode, anodyne, allergy, abjure, asymptote, alight, are, am, atrophy, attitude, anger, avenge, avow, androgen, athwart, adjudge, acetaminophen, acetic, acid, aria, astringent, affluent, afford, affable, affect, after, along, aside, ardor, arbor, arboreal, archer, amphitheater, amphibian, actual, account, accountant, ablative, awake, aware, awash, awl, arse, astute, apoplectic, argument, absolution, ablution, awkward, aim, atoll, apocalypse, actuarial, austere, aptitude, ache, air, agar, atomic, assemblage, automatic, alright, atop, ambush, artery, ashram, actor, actress, attend, attack, attentive, alert, anagram, assure, ape, append, appendectomy, astute, aptitude, analept, alzabo, ansible, apparatus, aggregate, ate, asocial, angelus, autocracy, abide, abode, abash, acute, aesthetic, astrology, astrologer, astronomy, astronomer, axiom, alliance, archipelago, army, armband, arm, armor, armistice, arcane, arrive, area, arena, areola, ambulatory, ambulance, arrivederci

0780. The Greatest Two Sentences I Ever Read

The greatest two sentences I ever read are from H. P. Lovecraft’s DreamQuest of Unknown Kadath: Then in the slow creeping course of eternity the utmost cycle of the cosmos churned itself into another futile completion, and all things became again as they were unreckoned kalpas before. Matter and light were born anew as space once had known them; and comets, suns and worlds sprang flaming into life, though nothing survived to tell that they had been and gone, been and gone, always and always, back to no first beginning.

I didn’t know what a kalpa was when I read this and had to look it up. A kalpa, for those who don’t know, is an Indian unit of time. It’s often translated in Sanskrit as ‘aeon.’ It was first mentioned in the classic Mahabharata and was specifically defined as 4.32 billion years in the Puranas. Lovecraft uses kalpas plural to suggest a period of time beyond reckoning.

I urge you to read those two sentences again.

They so perfectly capture the Eternal Return that I don’t know if anything else could ever be written that would outdo them for their scope and economy.

I can't tell you how deeply these two sentences have impressed themselves upon me. They are, quite literally, everything.

I know Lovecraft is a controversial figure today. The racial tropes found in much of his writing can and should be criticized. And while I'm no apologist, I still believe in the power of those two sentences and the hold they have over me and my imagination.

0781. The Widower

The Widower hands the sitting man a parcel and backs away from him.

“Open it,” the Widower says, gesturing with his shotgun.

The man shrugs and tugs at the parcel strings.

The Widower levels his shotgun at the man.

The man looks up at him.

“Open it,” the Widower says.

The man partially opens up the parcel and looks inside.

“Look familiar to you?”

The man shakes his head.

“You don’t remember that dress?” the Widower asks threateningly.

The man pulls the dress free from the parcel wrapping. It flutters in the breeze.

“Look familiar to you now?”

The man holds it up in front of him.

The fire backlights bloodstains around a gunshot.

The man throws the dress at the Widower and takes off into the night.

The Widower chases after the man, catching up to him, and tackling him to the ground.

A knife flashes.

The Widower is cut, but manages to pulls his shotgun around and fire it point blank at the man’s face, blasting it apart.

The Widower rests on top of the headless man, panting and holding the deep gash in his arm.

Dizzy, he props himself up with the shotgun and gets shakily to his feet.

He looks up at the stars with tears in his eyes.

The breeze blows over him.

He stumbles back to the campfire, kneels before it, and tosses his shotgun aside.

Lifting the dress lovingly with both hands, he whispers to it, “It’s done, my love.”

Then tying the dress tightly around his wounded arm, he collapses into unconsciousness.

0782. Blood Bathory

What is it about the area around Transylvania, its water, its soil, its air that it can produce such fabulous and imaginative butchers as Vlad Dracula and Elizabeth Bathory?

Both stood accused of the most atrocious crimes against humanity.

Vlad Dracula, Voivod of Wallachia, was said to be such a brutal and vicious military commander that he impaled the men, women, and children captured during his campaigns to instill fear in the conquered population and to show the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire that he was not afraid of him and that this would be the fate awaiting him and his soldiers should they ever invade.

Elizabeth Bathory, a countess from Hungary, was said to have tortured hundreds of young women, both lesser nobles, who were sent to her castle to learn etiquette, and commoners, who worked for her or were captured by her accomplices. The means were many. She beat and mutilated them, froze and burned them, and ate their flesh, before murdering them and bathing in their blood.

What is it about the area around Transylvania, its water, its soil, its air that gives rise to perpetrators of such exquisite and legendary cruelty?

Why is it that the good and selfless deeds of many millions of men and women go unremembered faster than the domestic and foreign violences of our inner and outer wars? Why is it that the extreme and unrivaled savagery of a very few are allowed to gain immortality in our collective memories? Why are we continually rejuvenating them with the blood of our attention?

0783. The Trial of the Mind

The Grandmaster stood before the three kneeling initiates in the Cave of Initiation.

“You have proven your strength and passed the Trial of the Body,” the Grandmaster said. “But, if you want to become my disciple, and learn my invincible sword technique, you must pass the Trial of the Mind. Are you ready?”

The three initiates nodded.

“My training is not for free. You must offer me something. Since you gave freely of the strength of your body, I demand a part of your body. The payment I request is your arm. You, first,” the Grandmaster said, pointing to the first initiate.

“My arm?” the initiate repeated, looking to the others.

“Don’t look at them. Look at me,” the Grandmaster demanded. “Now, give me your arm.”

“Take it,” the first initiate said, raising his arm to the Grandmaster and looking away in fear.

“It’s not mine to take. It’s yours to give,” the Grandmaster shouted.

The first initiate didn’t know what to do.

“Take mine,” the second initiate said, drawing his sword, sliding it under his armpit, and cutting upwards.

The second initiate’s arm fell heavily to the floor in a spray of blood.

The first initiate screamed and ran out of the cave as the second initiate bled out and fell over dead.

“What about you?” the Grandmaster said, staring down at the third initiate.

“I pledge my arm to you,” the third initiate said, his face covered in blood.

“I accept,” the Grandmaster said. “You’ve passed the Trial of the Mind. Now, for the Trial of the Spirit.”

0784. Patient Problem Solver

Vincent locks up the office, says goodnight to his secretary Maureen, gets in his car, and drives to meet some colleagues for dinner.

At the restaurant, Vincent has one too many drinks.

Later, on his way home, he turns a corner too quickly and runs over someone.

He stops and looks around. Seeing no one, he drives away, parks his car in his garage, and scrubs it clean throughout the night.

Vincent arrives at the office the next day exhausted and haggard.

Maureen brings him a coffee and frowns disapprovingly.

When Maureen leaves, Vincent opens his drawer and takes out a pill container. He opens it, drops two in his hand, and pops them into his mouth. He swallows them with the coffee and sighs.

Thinking about his own problems, Vincent distractedly listens to the petty problems of his patients.

After Vincent's third patient leaves, Maureen asks if he can squeeze in Jessica Carter.

“But I just saw her yesterday,” he says.

“I know, but she’s outside waiting and says it’s urgent.”

Vincent reluctantly agrees.

Jessica enters beaming.

Vincent’s never seen her like this before.

“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, doc,” she says, “but I just had to tell you: He’s dead! Can you believe it? The piece of shit’s dead!”

“Who’s dead?”

“Mike, my ex, the one who — well, you know.”

“Dead? Dead how?”

“Hit by a car! Can you believe it! They said he died slowly, in agony, all through the night. I just got the news and had to come over and tell you.”

0785. Freedom

The wind picked up and blew sand and debris across the cold, gray beach.

A boy, huddling next to a body, shielded his eyes for protection.

Over the noise of the wind and surf, he heard footsteps approaching.

When he looked up, he saw a young man with strong eyes staring down at him.

“Who’s this?” the young man asked.

“My father,” the boy replied warily.

“Not anymore,” the young man said. “You’re on your own.”

“I know,” the boy said. “He’s been dead for days, but I haven’t the strength to bury him.”

“Leave him, then. You must move on. I’ve seen many like you who remained out of fear. They stayed and starved until they were forced from hunger and madness to feed on the body. Then, they grew sick and died.”

“I have no intentions of staying,” the boy said. “I just wanted to repay my debt to him.”

“Debt? You owe him nothing. Your debt’s been satisfied.”

“But he was my guide and protector in the wilderness. I was lost and he found me and raised me. I feel like I owe him something.”

“You owe nothing to no one save yourself.”

The silence between was filled by the wind and surf.

“What about the leash?” the young man asked.

“This?” the boy asked, touching the rope around his neck. “This he used to bind me to him so I would not get lost. But as he aged, it was I who led him.”

“Take it off. You need it no longer.”

And the boy did.

0786. Unanimusly

The Bible makes no mention of Hell. Our notions of Hell come largely from Dante and perhaps Bosch. Dante’s Hell is alive with grim purpose, while Bosch paints the most delightfully gruesome visions of the underworld. But this is high art, all else are conjurations of the lesser imaginations of priests.

What makes Hell terrible? Hell is terrible because the tortures of the damned last forever. And why do the tortures last forever? Because the soul lasts forever — or so the priests would have us believe. For them, it’s not enough to fear being tortured in life, we must also fear being tortured in the afterlife, so that our actual life is tortured by thoughts of torture in the afterlife.

What insane morbidity makes us love torturing others and ourselves this way? It confers no benefits to us other than a fear that can be used to control us. The parasitic priest grows fat and rich off this fear. The greatest trick the priest ever pulled was making the world believe in the eternal material soul — and the eternal tortures waiting for it.

For me, scary’s not dying; it’s not dying. An immortal material soul is fucking terrifying. An immortal immaterial soul isn’t. We should all pray that we have an immortal immaterial soul.

To leave Hell, we must leave behind our immortal material soul that can be tortured. If we do, we can change Dante’s famous line to: Lasciate ogni paura voi ch'uscite. Abandon all fear ye who exit [here.]

Let us deny our immortal material souls unanimusly forever.

0787. Let’s Start Listing Words Starting With the Letter B bastard, bitch, botch, boils, buttress, blight, boring, bulge, braggadocio, bravado, breast, brackets, bridge, bring, brought, budge, brick, black, blue, bust, busted, bugs, brain, bold, bong, bang, best, bank, block, burgher, BLAM!, bough, break, brûlée, bat, bullocks, bull, bollocks, bread, bed, blanket, blink, blast, blow, brumal, beast, bill, billow, borrow, break, brake, bituminous, bilge, bile, burrow, butt, bask, basilisk, bride, brood, brass, blend, biology, bioengineering, bid, be, been, beef, bead, beer, bell, basket, box, boxer, bye, buy, bud, bog, budgerigar, boot, blank, burst, binge, bowel, brisk, below, bone, boy, bright, brown, burr, bugle, bamboo, bank, bedew, briefs, brindle, baba, baby, bayou, bugbear, bayonet, ballyhoo, bestow, bender, bow, butcher, busk, barrister, belt, barometer, bar, barge, battle, bellicose, brew, bagel, bless, blunt, bowl, barium, bereft, beggar, bewail, blogosphere, bit, bitter, batter, bladder, bleed, blood, bloodletting, blastocyst, bactrian, bike, bake, baker, build, builder, barrier, baptism, balance, belie, belly, bellbottoms, back, backwoods, background, backlit, bun, bunker, beaker, breed, brat, broken, byte, bad, band, bald, balk, ball, baleen, bail, bale, bebop, bee, bean, bier, biopsy, bicameral, bisexual, bilingual, bric-a-brac, beard, broad, broccoli, banana, bandana, barefoot, bovine, bolster, bolter, boll, bole, branch, bronchioles, bronchi, botulism, bacteria, bag, brachiosaur, benthic, bum, bush, butthole, boat, baffle, butane, bomb, bariatric, byzantine, blizzard, buzzard, buzzsaw, business, bid, bide, bode, blister, big, bear, bare, beetle, beat, bleat, bloated, bindi, bard, bidding, body, bright, brand, burger, bits, brittle, badge, bawl, brawl, bouquet, bejewel, bandito, board, blowback, blot, boast, brag, beige, bring, brought, bung, bang, buoy, buoyant, bilk, boot, better, before, bankrupt, barbarian, bark, barter, basilica, bas-relief, basil, body, boobs, booby, booger, barf, burp

0788. Lousy

It was night, and a sleepless Mr. Demodex decided to take some air.

Looking to his sleeping wife and nits, he smiled, and pulled himself up out of the follicle well.

It was warm outside and the air was still.

He looked back to his follicle, it was a good home, providing everything he and his family needed.

He traced the hair spire rising up out of his well into the dark above his head where it disappeared among the spires of his neighbors.

They’re so tall, he thought to himself, straining his eyes.

Then, there was a flash of light that temporarily blinded him.

He blinked a couple of times to bring his vision back.

When he looked again, it was dark, but a movement caught his eye at the top of the spires.

He rubbed his eyes, expecting it might be an after effect of the light flash. But when he looked again, he could see something large moving slowly, hand over hand, down between the spires.

“Shit,” Mr. Demodex thought. “There goes the neighborhood.”

Mr. Demodex didn’t panic or run, his family was sleeping safely down in the follicle well and he didn’t want to disturb them.

He watched patiently as the giant creature, clambered down towards him.

When it stopped just above his head, it said, “This is our place now, mite.”

Mr. Demodex looked beyond the creature and saw many more like it.

He could have cried.

As light flashed again behind the creature, Mr. Demodex realized that his beloved home had just become lousy.

0789. Middlefingerhead

“Where are you keeping them?” Detective Nance asked furiously.

“I. Can’t. Tell. You,” Doxy said sing-song-like.

Nance reached across the table, grabbed Doxy’s hair, and punched him square in the mouth.

“Where are you keeping them?” Nance asked again as Doxy recovered.

“I can’t. Tell you,” Doxy said giggling, his teeth channeled with blood.

Nance raised his fist and leapt across the table.

“I can’t tell you because he won’t let me,” Doxy said in a rush, throwing his cuffed right hand up to block his face.

“He who?” Nance asked, uncurling his fist and relaxing his body.

“Why, Middlefingerhead, of course,” Doxy said, smiling.

“Who the fuck is Middlefingerhead?”

“The only one who can tell you where they are,” Doxy said, giggling.

“Where can I find this Middlefingerhead?”

“He’s here with us right now, detective. But he doesn’t like your attitude. He thinks you’re a rude crude dude.”

“You’re saying Middlefingerhead’s here? With us? Right now? Cause I don’t see anybody.”

“Of course, you don’t, detective. You lack… imagination.”

Nance thought for a minute and remembered Doxy blocking his face with his right hand while protecting his left.

“I have imagination enough to do this,” Nance said, grabbing Doxy’s left hand and pinning it to the table with his service revolver.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Doxy begged. “He’ll talk.”

Nance let Doxy’s hand go.

Doxy’s pinky and thumb formed Middlfingerhead’s legs and his ring and pointer formed Middlefingerhead’s arms.

“Where are they?” Nance asked the handman.

Doxy laughed as Middlefingerhead sat, dropped his arms, and turned his back to Nance.

0790. Tillbury Town

From the bar in Tillbury Town, Miniver Cheevy saw his king, Richard Cory, stroll past the window. Miniver quickly finished his drink, grabbed his hat, and ran after him.

He followed Richard like an attendant knight, offering him his services for anything he needed. But Richard told Miniver that he was all right, gave him some money, which Miniver accepted, bowed, and receded.

Miniver turned back to the bar, but, having noticed something sad about his master’s face, decided to follow, keeping his distance, walked a slower pace.

Richard passed through town and entered the park, where he sat next to Luke Havergal on a bench near the fountain.

Looking around to see that none could see, Richard slid over and took Luke’s hand and began to speak.

Miniver snuck closer to hear what was said, but before he could make out a word, Luke stood and left, shaking his head.

Richard took out a handkerchief and dried his eyes and sat for a while staring at the statue and fountain. Then, with grace, stood and adjusted his coat, and headed for home.

Miniver didn’t understand what had taken place, and he thought about it all the way back to the bar, when his thoughts were stopped in their place by the collapse of the butcher shop.

Miniver saw Reuben Bright in the dust of the ruin with tears in his eyes and solemnly took off his hat to him.

So many deaths had there been in town of late, Miniver thought. I must raise a glass to them.

0791. I Ranned and I Jamped

Yessir, I ranned and I jamped and I broked my penis pole jus like that. I calclated that thar distance. Held out the lickt tip o’ my fingre tuh judge the air fair. Held out my thumb and tongue and squeezt an eye shut to calclate that thar distance. My brain box adstracted and muldivided the way it alway do. I thought it calclated to perfect perfection. Jus know, I never ran and jamp unless I calclate proper for fear of breakin my penis pole. I’m the bestest ranner and jamper this side o’ the planut. The bestest hopper and leaper too. Won one firs place ribbun at the cownty fare jus last yare. Nevur befur have I ever ranned and jamped and broked my penis pole ever. Never, by Gar. I shoulda cleared that thar bar and not landed ’pon it. But things being what they are, and me here with a broked penis pole, I wreckon I must’ve calclated increctly in my brainbox. Cause when I ranned and jamped, I landed licketysplit on that thar crosst bar and broked my penis pole and bent my penis tube therein and crusht my nuts besides. Jus like that. Near busted it right off. Guess you could say I wuz lucky only breakin my penis pole and bendin my penis tube instead of bustin it right off at the base. Guess you could argya that thar point till yer blue in the face. Still my penis pole is broked and my penis tube is bent and my nuts’re crusht somethin awful.

0792. What the Hell Is Happening?

“What the hell is happening?” Deirdre screamed, clinging onto me.

“I don’t know,” I screamed back, clinging onto her.

We wanted to run, but we were frozen with fear as all around us in the cemetery the dead rose out of their graves and came out of their tombs to surround us.

Deirdre and I screamed and screamed thinking we were going to be devoured by the dead, but then they started dancing.

We stopped screaming and watched them dance to some unheard tune.

“What the hell is happening?” Deirdre whispered in my ear, still clinging to me.

“I don’t know,” I whispered back in her ear, still clinging to her.

I felt her arms come loose.

I loosened mine as well, until we were standing hand in hand in the middle of a troupe of dancing dead.

“This is real, right?” Deirdre asked.

“I think so. I don’t know,” I said.

And just as it had abruptly started, it had abruptly stopped.

The buried dead returned to their graves as the mausoleum dead covered them with dirt, then, shuffled back to their tombs and gently closed the doors behind them.

Deirdre and I speed walked out of the cemetery.

When we got outside the gates, we stopped to catch our breath.

“That was just like being in the Thriller video,” Deirdre said.

“But without Michael Jackson,” I said.

“We did just see that, right?” Deirdre asked.

“Yes. I think so. I don’t know,” I said.

“What do you think it was?” she asked.

I shrugged. “A necromantic flash mob?”

0793. Let’s Start Listing Words Starting With the Letter C co-operative, co-operation, climate, collapse, cancel, culture, caryatid, cage, change, charge, challenge, coastal, coarse, course, content, conspiracy, colon, colony, cartel, cart, carnifex, carbine, cartridge, cartouche, carnage, contagion, cyan, cynanthrope, cyst, clip, clasp, cling, clap, chlamydia, choose, core, chortle, chime, cheat, chastise, chemistry, chemotherapy, church, channel, chart, chute, cede, certain, certify, cetacean, c-note, cancer, candle, canopy, cater, call, card, cardamom, cardinal, cardiac, carton, conclusion, contour, concert, concertina, crate, crocodile, crochet, criminal, crime, chrism, chaste, chaff, chuff, churn, chulo, chupacabra, comatose, camel, calyx, charnel, chop, column, cedar, cephalopod, coffin, consumer, consume, consumed, cogent, coherent, coterie, calm, callow, castle, cadre, cache, cane, case, caldera, cauldron, cord, chord, cotyledon, customary, custom, customs, cunt, cock, cum, curt, cast, cash, carry, creature, create, crest, crestfallen, crew, cruel, crust, crack, crash, craft, critter, cryogenics, cryochamber, cry, cudgel, custard, cull, cult, cultist, culpability, corporate, corporation, clover, clever, cleaver, cleavage, cleft, colostomy, cold, correct, cost, coat, copy, coprophilia, caprine, caper, capricious, candy, coven, corsage, capable, capsize, caption, captive, captain, coronary, coronation, cringe, cower, cowl, cow, cowbell, cowrie, chimpanzee, chess, chapter, condemn, codify, codex, codeine, cop, copulate, cogitate, cognition, corollary, climax, climb, cluster, clam, club, crib, crush, crud, crude, crass, crudité, casual, cassowary, cormorant, curse, columbine, catchall, catsup, cat, category, catalog, caterwaul, cadge, came, come, code, cupidity, culinary, college, collaborate, crap, contend, champion, chew, cheap, chump, caw, clime, clandestine, clannish, clueless, contempt, castigate, cape, capybara, circuit, cumulus, cozy, coiffure, captor, corn, cornrow, child, childless, crypt, carapace, color, constrained, crisis, cosmic, comic, continuity, class, copper, crawl, candor, catamite, cross, copulating, cobra, commissar, caduceus, castrate, casework, cantilever, caterpillar, cantina, cantor, charnel, charter, chant

0794. The Mermaid in the Ghost Net

It was the ultimate rejection. She had saved him, brought him up safely from the deep, and had sacrificed her body and her voice to be what she believed he wanted her to be. But he never saw her, never knew what she had done for him, the stupid man.

On his wedding day, she heard her sisters call out to her. Looking down at their hairless heads as they offered her the enchanted knife, she knew what they had sacrificed to get her back. She took the dagger, held it in her hand, and made her choice between her sisters in the sea and the impossible love of an impossible man on land.

Closing her eyes, she struck blindly. The dagger pierced his heart and he bled out onto her feet. As everyone screamed, the mermaid leapt back into the sea, lost her legs and gained her voice, though she never sang again.

Back home, her father and sisters tried to console her, but she could not be comforted. Knowing that they couldn’t help heal her grief, she returned to the Sea Witch to ask for her advice.

The Sea Witch confessed that she had experienced the same treatment at the hands of a man and offered the mermaid to stay with her and learn all the magic that she had to teach.

The mermaid asked for time to think and swam out to the open ocean, where she became entangled in a ghost net during a storm.

Unable and unwilling to free herself, she slowly starved and died.

0795. Rules Can Change

“Wanna play tic-tac-toe?” I asked, sitting across from him.

“Sure,” he said.

I drew two vertical lines and two horizontal lines on a piece of paper and handed him a pen and said, “Okay. You start.”

He drew an X in the middle box.

I drew an O in my upper right square.

He drew an X in his upper left square.

I drew an O in my lower left square.

He drew an X in his lower right square and a line through the three X’s. Dropping the pen on the paper, he said, “That was fun for like ten seconds.”

“It’s not over,” I said, drawing an O over his X in the middle box and a line through my O’s.

“See. We both win,” I said.

“That’s not how it works,” he said. “I won.”

“But I just showed you how we both won,” I said.

“But it’s not a real game if there’s no winner,” he said.

“But it is a real game,” I said. “And what’s more, it’s a better game, because now there are two winners instead of one.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” he said.

“Of course, it does,” I said. “You limiting the parameters of what a game can be doesn’t make sense.”

“But those are the rules,” he said.

“And rules can change to better fit the people, place, and time in which the game is played,” I said. “You do know that whoever goes first in this game always gets an unfair advantage, right?”

“I guess.”

“I just balanced the advantage.”

0796. Birdbrain

Growing up, I used to love watching birds at the feeder in my backyard.

I’m not sure what it was about them, but I found watching them delightful.

When I got a little older, I took to watching them with binoculars and began actively prowling my backyard and the park next door to find rarer kinds.

For ease of identification, I preferred the paintings in my Peterson’s guides to the photographs in my Audubon Society guides because the paintings better illustrated the birds’ critical features.

On weekends, when I was old enough to drive, I would go to parks and beaches and snoop around with my binoculars to see if I could spot any interesting vagrants. This always felt like a quest, like I was in search of some mythical bird like the phoenix.

Mostly, I just turned up the common culprits, but, occasionally, I’d run across something more exotic, like the indigo bunting I once saw.

I was always on the lookout for bluebirds, which are the state birds of New York. I remember only coming across one and had to blink about a dozen times to make sure I was seeing what I was seeing.

High on my list to observe is a scarlet tanager. To this day, every time I see a cardinal flash its red in the woods, I secretly hope it’s one.

I’d also like to see a loggerhead shrike, too. This gray killer won me over with its nickname: the butcherbird.

But what I’d like to see most of all is a Carolina parakeet.

0797. The Journeyman’s Tale

As we left London, a rough-looking lad approached me and began talking.

“Where’re you going?” he asked.

I looked at the young fellow queerly and said, “I’m going to the shrine of St. Thomas Becket in Canterbury, as are you.”

“Of course, you’re going to the shrine, but after?” he asked.

“Why, back to London, of course,” I said with almost a sneer.

“Right, London,” he said. “Full circle for you. There and back again.

Not me, though, not me.”

He left his ultimate destination undisclosed, which meant he wanted me to ask. He was baiting me. I don’t like being baited. I believe if you’re assertive enough to speak openly to a stranger about your business, then you should be assertive enough to say what you have to say.

When I said nothing, he continued, “You see, for me, Canterbury is but a stop along the way. I’m a journeyman, and a master craftsman I want to be. So, I go to Canterbury to ply my trade for a day or three.”

Again I said nothing, and again he continued, “You may be wondering what trade I’m in. I’m a mason, good sir. I’ve heard the call that they’re mending the city wall. I hope to join and earn some coin that will buy me time to study the stone of the great cathedral.”

“So, you’ve devoted your life to stone?” I asked.

“Every step forward that I trod is a stepping stone towards church and God.” And I must confess, upon that instant, he gained my full respect.

0798. Gender Bender

Princess Pishwenis looked at herself in the mirror, turning her head side to side as she decided if she was going to become Prince Pussyflower or something in between, Prince Pishflower or Princess Pussywenis perhaps. She could be anything she wanted. The Gender Bender and her augmented bones, muscles, and skin gave her full control to craft her body to her whim. There was really no upper limit. The body would mold itself into any form she desired. She had already gone through her transhuman phase where she let her body grow in scope and scale beyond anything recognizably human. But she had reached her limit with that level of plasticity when she began feeling disconnected to herself. It was fine for others, but she no longer wanted the detached, alien asexuality of those extremes. Still, she remained thankful for those experiences because they allowed her to realize that she was human, bodied, and sexual. The polarities of gender were enough for her, so she brought her body back slowly within the limits that made her feel most alive and most herself. She would make herself one gender, or the other, or both. It was a sliding scale, but it always remained within the acceptable limits of her taste — and she did have good taste. She was renowned throughout her community for her elegant sensibilities. It was her body fashion that had ushered in the less-is-more look. She owned it. And tonight was the night she would ultimately secure her legacy, because tonight was the night of the gala ball.

0799. Radicle Love

Radicle Love is the seed of love that all of us have in our hearts. Radicle Love is what we need to nurture daily, by tending our heart gardens, by weeding and watering them.

I call Radicle Love radicle because radicle means ‘tiny root.’ When the seed is properly nurtured, the radicle is the first part to emerge from the seed and take root. That’s why we must constantly nurture and tend the seeds of love in our garden hearts.

I call Radicle Love radicle instead of radical because of the synonyms associated with each word.

Synonyms for radicle are: basis, bedrock, beginnings, bottom, cause, center, core, crux, derivation, essence, essentiality, footing, foundation, fountain, fountainhead, fundamental, germ, ground, groundwork, heart, inception, infrastructure, mainspring, marrow, motive, nub, nucleus, occasion, origin, pith, provenance, quick, quintessence, radix, reason, rhizome, rock bottom, seat, seed, starting point, soul, source, stem, stuff, substance, substratum, tuber, underpinning, well.

Synonyms for radical are: basal, bottom, cardinal, constitutional, deep-seated, essential, foundational, inherent, innate, intrinsic, meatand-potatoes, native, natural, organic, original, primal, primary, primitive, profound, thoroughgoing, underlying, vital, as well as: agitator, anarchist, extremist, fanatic, firebrand, insurgent, leftist, militant, progressive, reel, reformer, renegade, revolutionary, rioter, and subversive.

Love shouldn’t be synonymous with anything “extreme” because Love should be synonymous with our cores, our hearts, and our selves, with the quotidian, the everyday, the standard.

Perhaps Love was radical in the past, but today, Love needs to be radicle. And the more we nurture our heart seeds, the more they will grow, until they blossom forth in leaf, flower, fruit, and seed.

0800. The Parable of Jonah

Most of us know the Parable of Jonah: Jonah was a prophet chosen by God and commanded to go to Nineveh to tell the people there that God was angry with them. Jonah disobeyed God’s commandment and tried to escape His dominion by going to Jaffa and boarding a ship to Tarshish.

En route, an unnatural storm descended and threatened the ship and all on board with destruction. To determine who was causing the storm, lots were drawn. Jonah pulled the shortest straw and admitted he was to blame.

He asked the crew to throw him overboard, but the sailors refused and desperately tried to conquer the storm by dropping sail and rowing. But it was no use, the storm proved too powerful and dangerous. Once again, Jonah offered to sacrifice himself to the sea and was thrown overboard and swallowed by the ocean. As Jonah sank, the storm subsided and the waters calmed and the sailors rejoiced.

As we know, Jonah doesn’t drown, but is swallowed by a large fish.

Jonah sits inside the fish for three days and nights. During the first night, Jonah realizes that God has swallowed him as a fish. During the second night, Jonah realizes that God has swallowed him and the fish as the ocean. During the third night, Jonah realizes that God has swallowed him, the fish, and the ocean. Jonah now realizes he is entirely engulfed by God. Knowing there is no escape, Jonah asks God for forgiveness. The next morning, the fish spits him out on the shores of Nineveh.

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>

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$6.50 ISBN 978-1-957399-07-2