Claustrophobia

I see the sun's soft, golden light,
It caresses everything in sight
I move around, feeling my blood course,
And then there's no end and no source
I'm too expansive, too alive,
I breathe deep, readying myself for the dive,
And then i release...such a perfect sensation,
I exalt in my own edification.

And to step away from this?
To push my own head under some dark abyss?
Where has that feeling of freedom gone?

I get pushed deeper like some pawn,
All I want to do is emerge
And explode out of the waters in a surge,
To see for myself, just once more,
That the sun hasn't left us forevermore

Slurp up the literary wealth like Angel Haired Spaghetti

"I used to dig in the garden, and there is nothing fantastic or
ultradimensional about crab grass... unless you are an sf (science
fiction) writer, in which case you are viewing crab grass with
suspicion. What are its real motives? And who sent it in the first
place?" Philip K Dick, We can remember it for you wholesale, Notes,
1987, Orion.

Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in
this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody's
around — nobody big, I mean — except me. And I'm standing on the edge
of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if
they start to go over the cliff — I mean if they're running and they
don't look where they're going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That's all I'd do all day. I'd
just be the catcher in the rye, and all. I know it's crazy, but that's the only thing I'd really like to be. I know it's crazy.

-Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger

He said I was unequipped to meet life because I had no sense of humor.
-For Esme, with love and Squalor, J.D. Salinger

"I don't know. Poets are always taking the weather so personally. They're always sticking their emotions in things that have no emotions".
-Teddy, J.D. Salinger

But every man is more than just himself; he also represents the unique,
the very special and always significant and remarkable point at which
the world's phenomena intersect, only once in this way and never again.
That is why every man, as long as he lives and fulfills the will of nature, is wondrous, and worthy of consideration.
-Demian, Hermann Hesse

I do not consider myself less ignorant than most people. I have been
and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me.
-Demian, Hermann Hesse

"I may not have been sure about what really did interest me, but I was absolutely sure about what didn't."
-The Stranger, Albert Camus

"And what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself?"
-Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera

My son, my son. When I had my son I would explain all that to him when
he was starry enough to like understand. But then I knew he would not
understand or would not want to understand at all and would do all the
veshches [things] I had done...and I would not be able to really stop
him. And nor would he be able to stop his own son, brothers. And so it would itty on to like the end of the world.

-Clockwork Orange, Anthony Burgess


This I believe: that the free, exploring mind of the individual human is the most valuable thing in the world.
-East of Eden, John Steinbeck

Tripping on Dead Leaves

I sometimes trip over the dead leaves,
the ones that are orange and bright red,
I always jump right back up, though,
confused, but mostly embarrassed.
I look down to spot the culprits,
but the breeze has already come,
giving them gentle refuge faraway,
too far out of my arms reach.

When an explanation is asked,
who do I blame, what do i say?
what do I say?-The truth?
oh the pain of being naked.

It was a tree root,
it's this poor trail,
these old boots,
I sigh relief.

The Illness

Kevin Glass was sitting on his dilapidated futon watching another episode of South Park. The poor thing had the stuffing sticking out of the various corners that have come undone, the middle cross-sectional bar was missing so everyone who sat down for the first time got the unpleasant surprise of sinking down much further than expected, and in a dismal effort to help beautify the futon, an old, fraying Navajo blanket was spread across the top of it, providing people with only an eyesore and plenty of itchiness. Sitting next to Kevin was his roommate, Jacob McArney, the self professed standout student of his local high school in Lexington, Noorth Caroliina, just like he pronounced it. That was actually the first thing Kevin learned about his roommate. Kevin can still remember walking into his new dorm room on freshman orientation day at Amherst College in Massachusetts, putting down his suit case, and with his hand extended, saying, “Hi there, I’m Kevin.”

To which Jacob had replied, “Hey, I’m Jacob, not Jake, but Jacob. And I graduated in the top five percent of my high school. Nice to meet ya.” Kevin of course was taken aback by the greeting, not sure whether to pull out a transcript and start listing his own academic merits. In the end, however, as with most situations with Jacob, the situation swiftly became comfortable and friendly, thanks mostly to Kevin’s dumb smile plastered on his face. For, as anyone who’s hung out with Jacob for even a minute would realize, that smile could dismantle an atomic bomb.

An hour and a half ago, Kevin had promised himself that he’d only be taking a fifteen minute break from studying and watch a little bit of TV, but because of the invisible gravitational pull of the TV set, he’d been arrested on the futon ever since. He kept delaying going back to study by continuing to promise himself subsequent fifteen minute increments of break time. Plus, he rationalized, it’s the last test of the last class, of the last semester in college, I can let this one slide. His current major was the result of a series of complicated evolutions, shifting from being a double major in math and mechanical engineering, to just mechanical engineering, to business, to history, to psychology, to, finally, parks and recreation. He could survive not doing well on his last test, which was, after all, just going to be an open ended exam on the history of four national parks: Yosemite, Joshua Tree, Everglades, and last but not least, Ala Kah…Kah…, damn, what was the fourth one?

All of a sudden, Jacob walloped Kevin on his chin. “Jeeesus, man, what was that for?”

“I’m sorry,” Jacob said. “I’ve been in weird mood lately. For some reason I’m letting some punches go. Is your jaw alright?”

“Yeah..yeah, I think so,” Kevin said. He was still massaging the spot on his jaw where he was pegged by Jacob’s right hook.

“I’m sorry, it’s been getting worse too,” Jacob said, smiling that dumb smile of his. “Last week I punched my girlfriend, uh, I mean, my ex-girlfriend in the eye. I don’t know what’s happening…”

“Chrissake, I think it’s swelling. Is it swelling, Jacob? Is it getting bigger?” Kevin asked. He’d stopped looking at the TV and, facing Jacob, was pointing to a large red sore spot on his jaw. “Is it swelling, dammit?”

“No…no. Not too much at least. I’ll go get some ice.”

“No, just…just forget about it,” Kevin said. He stood up from the couch, and briskly walked into the kitchen. He opened up his freezer and as he picked up some ice with his hand, he said to Jacob, “Damn it, Jacob. What’s going on with you?” He took out a ziplock bag and, packing the ice into it, placed it over his jaw and went back to studying at the kitchen table.

As he was getting into his notes about Joshua Tree national park, he saw Jacob at the kitchen entrance, leaning on the wall. He could see tears welling up in Jacob’s eyes despite his large goofy grin. Kevin asked him, “Jacob, what’s the matter. Listen, if it’s about the punch, it’s alright, I-“

“It’s not about the punch. It’s…I don’t know. That’s the thing, I really just don’t know. I didn’t want to punch you, just like I didn’t want to punch Jessica. I don’t want to do a lot of the things I find myself doing. It’s like I have no control…I’m losing it more and more.” The tears began to stream down his face, curling around the edges of his smile.

“Hey, hey, hey, Jacob. It’s alright man, it’s just close to graduation, everyone gets a little antsy when graduation comes around, that’s all. Just relax, man. Here, have a seat, we’ll talk this out.”

“I went to the doctor today,” Jacob said, staying just where he was. “I made an appointment just like you told me to do last week. I walked into his office and we just talked for a long time, and…he told me some things I’m not ready to…um…bye into just yet. I mean, how can he know for sure, right?”

“I see. Well, Jacob, he is a professional doctor, that’s his job. I’m pretty sure the guy would know,” Kevin softly said. “What do you think? Do you think you’ve got anything of what he said?”

Jacob crossed his arms and looked down to his shoes. “I don’t know,” he said. Looking up to Kevin he continued, “But that’s that thing, how can I be sure, you know? I mean, aren’t things from my perspective normal? How can I tell?”

“Jacob…,” Kevin steadily began but immediately got silent, uncertain how to progress. He began to tap his pencil on his national park textbook, a dinky book of barely seventy pages. He had it open to a section about climate conditions at Joshua Tree National Park. After a short while, he finally looked up, and said, “What do you think about how you treated Jessica? Was that normal? Even to you? Jacob, she’s been calling me all this week to ask about you, she’s really worried about you. We all are. Jacob…there’s no easy way to say this, but I kinda agree with whatever the doctor probably said.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” said Jacob, preserving his soft grin. “Thanks, Kevin.”

“I’m sorry Jacob. But we all just want to help you. You know? That’s what friends are for, right?”

Job Interview

The old man slowly took off the small spectacles hanging precariously on the end of his nose. He put the papers he was holding down on his cluttered desk, and with immense sense of weariness and patience, he said, "Well... it's definitely a very impressive and uh... unique resume. I saw that you battled a dragon and a couple of monsters. You included in your skill set sword wielding and bashing. It's all good stuff indeed. But to be perfectly honest, I just don't think you're what Cisco Systems is looking for right now."

At which point, Beowulf started to weep softly.

Old man

Jack was slouched over the bar with his ass hanging for dear life on the old stool. There was barely any life at all in the place, just a few of the regulars tucked away at the corners, shying away to their usual crevices. In a place like this, Jack thought, you could just disappear in a matter of seconds. All it’d take would be four or five drinks tops, and then you’d be seeking refuge from your own despair in some dilapidated corner booth. Christ this place could just suck the blood out of ya. Hanging along the walls were old rock band posters, most of which were peeling off of the wall. They were posters of bands that no one who ever came into that bar would have ever listened to. Bands like Anthill March, Chicken Noodle Soup Tyrade, and The Shins, of which they had a signed poster tucked away in back, barely visible underneath the Johnny Cash poster, which is more popular among the locals. It was a slow night, but then again, it’s always a slow night in the small town. Jack was trying to decide whether he wanted another beer or if he wanted to go take a piss first. He opted for the beer.

Just then, an elderly man, dressed in old, worn denim, came in dragging his muddy boots like they were the world’s burden. He eased into the stool next to Jack’s, despite having nearly every other seat to choose from in the bar. Jack didn’t even show any indication of noticing the old man’s existence; he just kept his gaze down on his beer.

The old man took off his weather beaten cap, so used you couldn’t even be sure whether it was once a cap for a football team or Chevron. He set it down between him and Jack, and ordered his drink in a hoarse whisper. In all of the bar, there wasn’t a word said, those who were there didn’t need to utter many words to each other, they’d known each other too long to waste their time on casual conversation. The old man shifted a little bit on his stool, trying to find a comfortable position to settle into his drink. He looked over at Jack, then around the bar at the various posters. Even the rock stars in the posters had a somber attitude. He could just picture the scene when they took the picture.

“Alright, there, now for this shot, just look at those mountains behind the camera and pretend you’re bored out of your fucking mind.”

“You sure that’s what people like?”

“I swear, the more bored you look in your poster, the more fucking famous you’ll be. Now stop talking and give me jaded…”

The old man chuckled a bit at the scene playing out in his head. He shook his head and continued his visual tour of the bar. He looked at the old broken juke box along the back wall, and wondered how old it was. It was a small game he’d played recently for himself. He’d look at something, and try to guess whether or not he was older than it. He looked back down to his drink and finished it off in a quick gulp. I’m probably fucking older, he thought.

“Hey, buddy,” he called over to the bartender.

“Yeah,” the bartender responded. He kept his gaze on the glass he was patiently wiping. He’d wipe, inspect, then wipe again, going through this cycle a few times for every glass.

“Just how old is that there juke box, buddy?”

“Not sure,” the bartender said. “That pile of scrap’s been here before I started working here. And that’s about at least ten years.”

“I see,” the old man said. He continued, “Well, if you had to put a number to it, ‘bout what would it be? Thirty, fifty, sixty?”

“Huh…” the bartender said, this time putting down the glass and looking at the old man. “Sir, I really don’t know. I couldn’t say…”

“Just put a number to it, just guess for chrissake.”

“What the hell do you care?” Jack asked. He looked up from his beer and sternly looked over at the old man. “Just what the hell do you care, seriously? It’s late buddy, not everyone wants to play your game.”

“I see, I see,” the old man said. He slowly picked up his cap and started walking back towards the juke box. Ignoring what Jack said, he continued, “You see, they just don’t make things the way they used to. You see, times sometimes change so fast you’ve gotta sometimes hang on to whatever you can. And sometimes, when you’re flailing for a hold, the only thing you catch is goddamn pile of junk just because it was made around the same time you were. I’m in a different country, kid, in a different era. I’m a foreigner in the fullest sense of the word, and, well, I’m just flailing for something that I recognize.” As he said this, we began to walk towards the door.

Jack, heavily turnin on his stool to face the old man, said, “Just hang on there, bud. If you’ve gotta know I remember my dad talking about that juke box working when he was teenager. That’d put it around sixty years old, at least. Why don’t you just come back in here, have another drink. I didn’ mean to ‘fend ya or anythin’.”

The old man stood by the door way, propping the door open with his foot. He looked outside, into the desolate city streets. From where he was he could see the yellow caution light blinking on and off, on and off. “Damn it I was right. Don’ stress over it, buddy, you’ve been much friendlier than some folks I’ve come across in my day. I better get moving, thanks anyways.”

Before Jack could say a word, he was left looking at the shut door the old man briskly walked out of. “Jeremy,” he said, turning back around and facing the bartender, “I’ve decided. I’m gonna take a piss.”

Lunch Conversation

Lightly dabbing his waffle fry in the ketchup he spread over his burger’s wrapper, John Seager looked over at his girlfriend sitting across from him. They were both eating their lunch outside of their college’s cafeteria. Sitting on one of the many, uncomfortable metal benches, their attitudes gave onlookers the semblance of being complete strangers. Each was lost and engrossed in their own thoughts, Kate in the crossword puzzles she was working on, and John, well an onlooker would swear that he was trying to divine the secrets of life from his waffle fry.

“So how many more years do you think we’ve got?” John asked, breaking the silence. Putting down his waffle fry, he focused his attention on Kate.

Kate looked up from the local newspaper she was reading, and with mild confusion spread across her face, she asked, “What? What are you talking about? You mean for school? I guess one more year…”

“No, no, I mean on this earth. I mean, how many more years do we have of being around, period. I put it at around fifty years, sixty tops.”

“What are you talking about? You already worried about what’s gonna happen in sixty years?” Kate snickers as she looks back down to her crossword puzzle.

“Think about it, I don’t think it’s nearly enough time. I don’t think I’d be happy with just sixty years.”

“Uh..huh…,” Kate responded, finishing a word she was writing in. She then, with a look that clearly showed she’d rather not continue the conversation, asked, “Well, how many years would you be happy with? Eighty? Ninety?”

“No, still not enough,” John said. He looked away from Kate and started playing with his styrofoam cup, gently squeezing and releasing it in both his hands, over and over. “Here’s the thing, we, all of us, we’ve got this damn brain that can think up this one egging question: What if? It’s this question that, no matter how old we’d get, or how bad things get, it just makes us hope for one more beautiful day, one more memorable experience.” He kept on squeezing and releasing.

“I see. You know, I think Methuselah had about enough of life when his time came,” she said. Realizing John was going to continue in this line for a while; she gave a sigh and pointed her pencil at John after every sentence she said. “Besides, what’s happiness have to do with any of that? Can’t the happiness of just being here, eating lunch with me, be enough? Can’t the fact that you’ve got less than a year to graduate college be enough? Why can’t there be enough happiness in the here and now?”

“That’s just it,” John said. Oblivious to Kate’s annoyance with the conversation, he continued, “I don’t think our minds work that way. In a small sense, we’re long sighted creatures, we can’t help but think of tomorrow’s meal even as we eat breakfast today, see what I’m saying?”

“Uh…not entirely. But, by all means continue…,” Kate said. Her slender fingers gracefully picked up a piece of cantaloupe from the small Tupperware container in front of her, and, eyeing the fruit carefully, she added, “Just…gah…just don’t be so serious all the time.” Then she went back to her crossword puzzle and cantaloupe.

Ignoring her comment, he began to tell her, “Like, today, I was sitting outside of the new math building, the one with the really nice lush lawn and the new landscaping. Well, it was just…just so perfect, know what I mean?”

“Yeah, it feels great today. Wanna go joggin this afternoon?”

“Yeah, sure…,” he agreed. He put down the Styrofoam cup and shifted around a bit in his seat and. With newfound excitement, he continued, “But as I was saying, everything was perfect, but I still felt, I don’t know, sad inside, you know? It was like…like, even though in the here and now I was experiencing this great weather and pretty landscape, it was all tinged with sadness because I knew that it wouldn’t last for me. I mean, there’ll be nice days again, like today, and there’ll be nice landscapes, but how many more will I get to enjoy in my own lifetime? Just not enough.” Taking a quick sip from his soda, he said, “I could almost see myself, sitting in the same place, seeing all the same things, but as a really old person. I imagined how it would feel if that were the last time I would ever have of enjoying the day. And you know, you just can’t enjoy something fully knowing that it’s going to be taken from you all too soon. Instead of just actually enjoying it for its own sake, you begin to force yourself to ‘overenjoy’ it, or you feel bitterness or sadness for having it eventually taken from you. You just don’t enjoy it, fully I mean. Do you know what I’m saying?”

“Wha, honey? Hey, what’s a four letter word for ‘Brazilian soccer legend’?” Kate asked, again engrossed completely by her crossword puzzle.

“I don’t know,” he said, standing up and collecting his things. He sighed and offered, “Maybe Ennui. I’ve gotta go to my next class.”

“Okay, honey. Have fun,” Kate said.

“Sure, um…I don’t think I can jog today, sorry.”

“Okay. You know, I don’t think it’s Ennui. The ‘E’ just doesn’t work.”

“Must be something else then, good luck,” John said, giving Kate a soft kiss on the top of her head. As he walked away, keeping his gaze intently down, he left Kate alone to her crossword puzzle, content in her diversion.

What's the word over in that Fjord?

"Every night, when I go to sleep, I die. Every morning, when I wake up, I am reborn." (Mohandas Gandhi)

It is an important and popular fact that things are not always what they seem. For instance, on the planet Earth, man had always assumed that he was more intelligent than dolphins because he had achieved so much — the wheel, New York, wars, and so on — whilst all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in the water having a good time. But conversely, the dolphins had always believed that they were far more intelligent than man — for precisely the same reasons.

Douglas Adams

At the wayside

we find things like our old promises
some were hits, and some were misses.
I see our commitment to the morning swim
the whole regimen started and ended on a whim.
that friendship we both thought could persist
but did the connection ever really exist?
i come across that key to your chest
promising never to open it like it was some test.
Then I see you, with a question across your wrinkled brow
and despite the truth, i ask, "What do we do now?"
Our sighs fill the air like two cheap perfumes
and your engulfing silence tells me volumes.
I continue my own trip, but you stay,
for the time is getting late and my thoughts stray.
the melting sun says all's lost, but can be found
Because at the wayside, it's all just on the ground.

Free Coupons

Things never quite as simple as you expect it to. It’s like some law of nature I think, maybe Newton’s third law or something. But as certain as the sun rises and sets, my plans never fully go as I plan. Like that poet once said, “plans of men and mice always go awry.” For some reason it always just spirals out of my control; I swear, I’m like the freaking ball inside a pinball machine.

Like the other day, I just had a simple plan to go to the grocery store and picking up some fruit and oatmeal. I mean, what could be simpler, right? Just picking up some Granny Smiths and some Maple Sugar Instant Oatmeal (because who has the time anymore to make real oatmeal, which takes like ten minutes? Not me, that’s who!). So I drive up to the nearest Market Basket and park next to the cart rack.

Which, in hindsight, was a pretty bad idea. I mean, how many times do we finish loading our cars with groceries, tell everyone we with that we’re taking the cart to the rack, so then all think we’re courteous and crap, only to see if we can roll it into the narrow rack from twenty feet away like some game of cart bowling. And…like all sports, the rock occasionally doesn’t go into the hole.

But back to the Market Basket; as soon as I put the car in park and kill the ignition, two thoughts fly through my mind. One is, crap, why did I park next to the cart rack. And the second is: I could really marry that girl I see in the car in front of me. Why, you might ask, would I want to marry a girl who’s a complete stranger to me? Well, truth is, I’m a little crazy like that. I couldn’t even see her face, not even her whole body. All I could see was a sliver of her shoulder as she was putting her groceries into the passenger seat. I don’t know what it was, maybe it could’ve been that it was one of the best shoulders I’ve seen all week, or maybe it was the way the temperature was a perfect seventy degrees and full of sun, or maybe it was just because she was driving a well cared for old Volvo. But I had to sit for a few seconds, there in my car, just overwhelmed by this stranger. And then, I see her boyfriend strolling up with a case of Heineken. A tall, dark skinned guy with muscles bulging out of his cut off Hollister T-shirt. He pretty much looked like every single other guy that wears Hollister and goes to a gym, I seriously think they clone these guys. Well, immediately, Volvo or not, if that beautiful, gorgeous shoulder hung out with beer toting, Hollister wearing guys like that, I decided, perhaps we would’ve just never worked out after all. And so with a quick, apologetic mental “sorry” I got out and strode into the Market Basket to pick up my fruit and…crap, I had forgotten what else I was going to get. It always happened to me when I went shopping, too. I know what you’re thinking, too, “Well, if it always happens to you, why don’t you write a list, Einstein?” Well you can wipe that smirk off your face, because the truth of the matter is, I did write a list. Just so happens that I left it at my apartment, I thought I didn’t need it.

I decided the best thing to do would be to walk up and down some aisles until what I needed to buy came back to me. Again, bad idea. That’s the way supermarkets rope you in, they get you to walk up and down their long ass aisles, looking and marveling at all of their products until you forget what you originally came into to pick up, so you end up just picking up random crap you never even thought you’d need. I still have a family pack of tuna sitting in the back of my cupboards. When do I plan to sit down and make myself a meal of a family’s worth of tuna? Not really ever, but for half price with a membership card, it was hard to pass up.

So after two or three aisles, after deciding when I entered that I wouldn’t need a cart for this “speedy” trip, I had my arms barely wrapped around the 12 unit Charmin toilet paper, 6 roll Voila paper towels, and tightly clutching a small box of Tylenol with my spare pinky.

When, looking into the cereal aisle, it struck me. I came to pick up some oatmeal! I started to walk in but was saw that an Indian family was walking out. An extremely tall father (I’m a pretty short fella, so anyone above 5 foot eleven is pretty tall for me), followed by four or five kids, each clutching a different cereal and, what seemed it seemed like to me, talking about one hundred miles an hour to their own personal imaginary friends. So I stepped back, careful not to intrude or run over any of the tall man’s children. As I was about to step back into the aisle, I was blocked again, this time by an elderly couple wearing, I supposed, sweatshirts from their alma mater. You probably would’ve said they looked cute, matching and all with their college attire, if they weren’t so stinking old. I backed away immediately, I’m not one to mess with age, and let them go by.

But they, and this I blame on their age, didn’t budge. It wasn’t like they were holding their ground in front of the aisle or anything; they just looked like they hadn’t made up their minds about whether or not it would be a good idea to begin to move again. So I patiently stood in front of them, beginning to feel real bad for them. I mean, I would hate to be at a point in life where decisions as simple as whether or not to move out of aisle have to come after such intense deliberation. When, all of a sudden, from my left, I see this enormous wall of mass coming over on top of me, I look only in time to see the tall Indian man backing up into me. Walled in from the front and right with sweet old Adam and Eve themselves (God, why couldn’t they have moved away or something to begin with) I found myself with no place to go. Now, it all happened in slow motion for me, that’s how horrifying the whole ordeal was for me. Since I was still standing there, without a place to move and bear hugging my toilet paper, all I could do was observe as my hand and the tall guy’s butt came closer and closer to an eminent collision. I couldn’t even utter a word, it all happened so fast. Before I knew what happened, my hand was over his butt, the tall man was apologizing, his kids were still running around, each playing with their cereal box, and…this is the hardest part for me. The old couple was laughing at me. Five seconds ago they couldn’t make the simple decision of either to go backwards or go forwards, but they sure had no qualms about breaking into laughter about what happened to me. Gotta love old people, they really pick their moments.

Needless to say, I was completely abashed by this episode. I managed to pick up my oatmeal, only after tremendous laboring and careful balancing with my toilet paper and paper towels and what not. As I got ready to leave, surveying the different assortment of cranberry juices (They really have combined cranberries with just about everything. I wouldn’t be surprised to see one day an ad for “CRANCAR: a delicious combination of cranberries and NASCAR”) I noticed one of those ladies that give free samples. She was dressed in her little hair net/bonnet and cooking apron like she’d just come from popping blueberry pies into grandma’s oven. I make a quick beeline for her little stand. I was expecting some delectable treat sample, procured to me free of charge by my Market Basket. As I rounded her table, giving her a small, courteous smile, I then looked down at the goods. I was so crestfallen, my toiletpaper, papertowels,Tylenol,oatmeal combination almost came crashing to the ground. On her little table was no edible, savory, satisfying snack. Instead, on her table, neatly arranged, were coupons. And there was nothing special about these coupons. I think that’s actually what upset me so much. I looked back down the very aisle I came down from and looked at the little automatic coupon dispenser. They were exactly the same coupons. I mean, who puts up a table full of coupons that they already offer down every aisle? I was so irrationally angry about those dumb coupons, about not getting a tasty snack, about not having picked up a cart so I wouldn’t have to be lugging my dumb load around, by pretty much the whole Market freaking Basket. So, I picked a coupon: fifty cents off of Alpo dog food. (Even though I don’t own one, I felt obligated since I had smiled at the lady; I couldn’t just walk off after smiling at her).

Once I got home, I let myself fall onto my sofa and turned on the TV. I was exhausted from the “speedy” shopping trip and just wanted to veg out on anything, it could’ve been The View for all I cared. And then I remembered. I had forgotten to pick up the Granny Smith apples.

Change of heart

Alright, let's get some things straight here, buster,
First off, let's remember I call the shots.
I've got the winning hand,
ball's in my court,
and there are some things i have in mind,
oh boy do I have some things,
that I want to do.
Wanna touch the moon, for one,
Wanna marry myself a pretty southern belle,
one that drags out her, "Honeeeey"'s and "Darrrrrling's"
I wanna scale the highest peaks,
and have enough energy left over,
to swim in the deepest pools.
Are you hearing me? Are you getting all this?
I wanna be remembered forever,
Wanna sail all the seven seas,
and get to know all of their sunsets.
And that's just for starters.
* * *
Alright, alright, I'm sorry
can't we talk this over, again.
I realize I was brash, I was wrong, I was mean,
but I was young,
can't we come to a compromise?
No one has to know,
and, plus, I don't need so much now,
Just a few more years,
Is that too much?
After all, you never let me touch the moon,
or find myself that gorgeous southern belle,
or even sail one sea, much less all seven.
The sand's running out,
I haven't got the time to waste,
I'm beggin' you,
isn't there anything you'll give me?
Are you even listening?

Where my thoughts go

do I, do I,
say hi?
too late, he's already talking.
What's for lunch today?
Is it tuna? Or roast beef?
Which reminds me,
Did I get mom a gift?
I'll have to check about that.
What's he talking about?
Just nod and say, "Yeah."
"Yup.", "Uh-huh."
Ok, now I'm sounding too interested.
Time to tone it down a notch.
Fight the urge to yawn,
Damn it, fight.
Oh crap, just make it a quick yawn, then.
Give another round of "yeah-yeah"'s
Now how can that be?
I've looked at my watch five times
and it's only been ten seconds.
So tuna or roast beef?
Oh wait, it's Wednesday. It's taco salad!!
Ok, stop smiling now, focus...focus, damn it.
Oh this is just too hard.
I wonder if Liz is in her office.
Wonder what she's wearing.
Oh....he's stopped talking.
Did he just ask me a question?
Should I, Should I,
just say goodbye?

Train Howl

As I listen to the lonely howl of the night train,
its echoes hungry and beckoning for attention,
I can't help but think of my days past,
thoughts of how they never were just right,
or how they just never were enough,
It's another night I waste contemplating,
another day I've let slip through my hands,
Leaving me like the distant train's mournful song.

Wrap these quotes around your noggin

"All perception of truth is the detection of an analogy"
-Henry David Thoreau

"A day without goals is like a day without sun"
-Alfredo DiStefano (the greatest soccer player to never play in the World Cup)

"The experience is there, the reality is there, but how to get at it? Everything I type turns into a lie simply because it is not the truth."
-Joyce Carol Oates

"Once, when a GI was visiting Pablo Picasso during the liberation of France, he said that he could not understand the artist’s paintings: “Why do you paint a person looking from the side and from the front at the same time?” Picasso asked, “Do you have a girlfriend?” “Yes,” replied the soldier. “Do you have a picture of her?” The soldier pulled from his wallet a photograph of the girl. Picasso looked at it in mock astonishment and asked, “Is she so small?”"
-Richard Kehl

A Dream within a Dream

by Edgar Allen Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Men

by Ivan Saldarriaga

What makes up a man?

Is it his stern resolve?

That chiseled-feature attitude we ascribe to our super heroes?

“Gee Mister, doesn’t that hurt, the bullet went through your arm?”

“It’s merely a flesh wound, kid, I can’t even feel it.”

That cold, calculating business demeanor?

“Don’t you feel any remorse in sending ‘em boys out to die, General?”

“No, dammit. We’re in the middle of a god damn war.”

Or is it that sophisticated, debonair aura?

“Got a light?”

“For you, darling, I’ve got a lot more than just a light.”

Do our men ever get a break from their routine?

Can our super heroes ever say,

“Shit, the pain’s unbearable!”

Can our leaders ever say,

“I don’t want to send them. I can’t send another one. Just can’t. I mean, I just can’t”

Does our suave gentleman ever get to say:

“Uh…uh…you sure do...um…look nice tonight…uh, ma’am.”

And if they ever do, what do they lose? Do we still consider them men? Would we even want to be like them anymore?

Just what makes up a man anyway?

Children's Thoughts

by Ivan Saldarriaga

“Hey, are you awake?”

“No,” Johnny responded from his bed.

“I got a question.”

“I’m sleepin’,” he said, hoping this would discourage her from starting a conversation.

“Do you ever think about dying?”

After a long, quiet pause, Johnny roused himself to his elbows, and blindly blinked across the dark room to his sister and asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you ever think about death? Like when will mommy and daddy die, or what will happen when we die?”

Johnny tried to see at least her outline on her bed, but his eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the darkness. He groggily asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Never mind, you’re too young to understand. I’m sorry, go back to sleep.”

“Now wait a minute. You woke me up, remember? Now, what are you talking about? Tell me…And I’m not…‘too young’. I’m almost eleven years old, y’know.”

“Well…It’s just that, lately, I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Like…uh…what do you think happens when-we die?”

“Oh geez, Jan, I don’t know, I guess we go to heaven.”

“But how do you know? I mean, what if…what if nothing happens? Like…what if we just die and don’t go anywhere?”

Turning over onto his back, Johnny looked up at the ceiling. He could now see a bit more clearly around the room and was casually observing the outside traffic’s lights play on the walls. “Like, we don’t go to heaven or anything?”

“Yeah. Doesn’t that scare you? Not knowing? After we die, there’s nothing more of us, nothing continues. Or what if mommy or daddy dies? Then…then the people we’ve loved all our lives would disappear forever. You really don’t think about this stuff?” Johnny could start to hear her sniffing, trying to hold back tears. As of late, he’s caught her crying because of things that he just could not understand. All he knew was that he wished he could comfort her, tell her things to make her stop crying, but it was beyond him to know where to begin.

He lay silently in bed, overwhelmed by the expression of emotion from his older sister and realizing how he had never really thought about death before. He tried to console her best he could by saying, “Yeah, Jan, I do. It’s just that I know we go to heaven. It’s just like they say in church. When we die, we’ll all meet up in heaven…It’s going to be ok, Jan, it really is.” He knew, even as he said it, that it sounded hollow, almost insincere. He just didn’t know what else to say.

“I’m sorry, Johnny, I shouldn’t have woke you up. Go back to sleep now, okay buddy?” Johnny could hear her rolling over to her side away from him, letting him know that the conversation was over.

He too rolled over on his side, and then said, “Alright, Jan, have a g’night…I love you.” After a bit, he could hear her trying to stifle her tears with her pillow. Johnny began to realize, for the first time in his life, just how powerful the notion of death can be, and how fragile we can become when we face it. He began to think of what other things in the world-this immense, mysterious world-could cause us so much fear and sadness. It wasn’t so much a conscious thought as much as a quick and momentary sense of uneasiness. Before long, however, he was peacefully adrift in his own dreams, smiling with his own thoughts.

A freakin Penny for your Thoughts

As of late, things have been losing their original luster. Things that once came naturally have started to slip through my hands like fine sand. Skills and knowledge that I uniquely possessed and mastered have begun to dwindle, slowly blurring into obscurity. Take the other day for example, (I have two examples, so don't get so antsy, just settle down and enjoy them) in my math class, the professor was talking about a theorem, specifically the divergence theorem in multivariate calculus. He then asked us what this was like in first semester calculus. It was only after much prodding and guidance that i realized what it resembled, and I weakly offered, "Oh, it's like the fundamental theorem of calculus."

"No, not LIKE. Try is. People, this is the fundamental theorem of calculus."

And what's important here in this example isn't the fact that it was fundamental or trivial or what the hell ever theorem. the thing that struck me was, without his patient spoon feeding, I would have never remembered that it was the fundamental theorem of calculus. What does that mean? What do i care?

Well the truth is, i consider myself a math major in college, I might even go further to say that i at times consider myself a true mathematician. But the truth is, there's so much of the fundamentals that I've forgotten that I'm having trouble coping with the fact that I can still consider myself a true mathematician. What am I after all these semesters of math? Am i gaining the knowledge which ideally a math major should know? If the answer is no, then what the hell have i been doing these past four years? If the answer is yes, then what kind of shabby mathematician am I becoming? definitely not one that I'd trust with basic arithmetic, that's for sure.

Now I know what a common response would be, oh it's not the actual classes or material that matter in college, it's the learning process that truly matters. Or the methods we pick up. Or the habits we form as mathematicians through our classes. Or it's the way we learn to approach problems. And what do i say to this? Fine, if you're trying to sheepishly defend the validity of your major. But, is it truly fine? If we take courses, and forget the material as soon as we step out of finals, then...my God, what's the point?

My other example deals with the fact that I consider myself a racquetball aficionado. Now, several issues have been burdening my mind as of late. One deals with the fact that I've been playing-put bluntly-pretty crappily compared to my former standards. For me at least, I need a lot of consistency in playing in order to remain at a decent competitive level. And this seriously irks me like you cannot imagine. You're probably thinking, but it's a sport Ivan, it's going to require a lot of practice in order to be pretty good. And I whole heartedly agree with you, I just have one question, WHY? It's not with sports either, it's just like my former example with math, consistency is seriously the benchmark for remaining decent in something. But why, dammit. Why can't we have at least one thing, just one, where we're good at, regardless of age, or how often we do it? Is time seriously that much of a freaking thief that it takes from us not only our good experiences but also our very limited and very few skills?

It just seems too much of an investment, and not for enough incentive. Even if i were to dedicate five days a week exclusively to math or racquetball, just how good am I going to get? Best among my friends, best in the state, best in the world? Just how good is good enough? The truth is, there never is a good enough. It doesn't matter how much time we put into it. Where's the satisfaction? That's my other issue, just where does satisfaction lie? I can't seem to find it sometimes, it's as ambiguous to me as the divergence theorem was to me a few days ago.

So where does this leave me? A life of unsatisfied passions and interests? To be honest i don't know. Just what am I wanting out of the games I play or the classes i go to or the books I read? Contentment? Perhaps, it's something simple that I'm overlooking, something as subtle and discreet as the last phrase i heard as I left the racquetball courts tonight:

"Hey, good game, Ivan. Take care."

Worst Last thoughts before kickin the Bucket

1. "What's the name of that song, it's on the tip of my tongue..."

2. "Dammit, he's right."

3. "Hmmm...I don't think that's poisonous."

4. "I should tell her I love her before it's too late."

5. "Not again!"

6. "C'mon, what's the worst that could happen?"

Here's to being Perpetually Astonished

"It strikes me as gruesome and comical that in our culture we have an expectation that man can always solve his problems. This is so untrue that it makes me want to cry — or laugh."
-Kurt Vonnegut

"We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be."
-Kurt Vonnegut

Worship
by Kurt Vonnegut

I don't know about you,
but I practice a disorganized religion.
I belong to an unholy disorder.
We call ourselves,
"Our Lady of Perpetual Astonishment."
You may have seen us praying
for love
on sidewalks outside the better
eating establishments
in all kinds of weather.
Blow us a kiss
upon arriving or departing,
and we will climax
simultaneously.
It can be quite a scene,
especially if it is raining
cats and dogs

Simple Thoughts

#1
I know that the time may be ripe, but just how the heck do I harvest it?

#2
Is it bad that all of my questions are consulted by using Wikipedia? What are the implications of having so much information at our fingertips? A hundred years ago, with no internet, definitely no Wikipedia, the process of gaining knowledge was harder, more strenuous, and demanded utmost sincerity and determination. There would have been something passionate in the quest for knowledge, something truly inspired. But nowadays, with all of the conveniences of rapid information transfer, where has the passion gone? A question that would have lit a fire under a scientist generations ago, urging him into pursuit through many long, lonely nights in the confines of some dusty library, is answered for us by some quick and efficient search engine, instant gratification stripping knowledge of its weight. Is this progress? Have we truly managed to take away all of the magic from information and research?

#3
And have we gotten to the point where we rely on constant contact with others in order not to feel alone? We're so connected, and not only with other people either. We have plugged ourselves into our aim convos, ipods, cell phones, emails, etc. A second almost doesn't go by without us being around some vehicle of communication. We've created this overwhelming necessity of staying in touch, or else we risk falling hopelessly out of touch, or worse, out of fashion. And has this increase in communication helped us, has it eradicated the globe of pestilent loneliness? I don't think it has. It seems like we've let it cheapen our relationships at times. Even with so much always being said, we've somehow managed to say less things that actually matter.

#4
What becomes of our wasted time? Today, like most lazy, weekend days, I sat around and watched old reruns on TV. How much time did i waste doing this? Let's just say, it was enough time to have studied and understood completely the material in my math test coming up in a week. But the time's instead become squandered on cable television (damn you South Park for being so addictive). Just what happens to that time though? And, recognizing that this wasn't the first time I've been fixated on the "tube", nor the last, just how much of my life is going to be spent like this? Shouldn't we consider our lives, our short sequence of moments on earth, as precious and supremely valuable? So what is the cost for wasting such large portions of it? Should there be some penalty or fine for not getting better use out of something so treasured? Oh wait, it's our own life we're wasting, it's punishment enough when we look back and ask ourselves that simple stinging, powerful question: What if I'd done things differently?

Slippery When Dating Signs along the Road of Life

by Ivan Saldarriaga

“So what are you doing tonight?”

“Um, nothing really.”

“Awesome, wanna go watch a movie or something?”

“Actually, I have to do some family stuff.”

“Doesn’t your family live in Mississippi?”

“Uh…yeah. I have to call them about something. It’s going to take a long time.”

* * *

“So what are you going to get to eat?”

“Oh I’m not hungry.”

“What? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I had a big lunch.”

“Um…you did know I was taking you out to eat right?”

“Yeah…don’t worry, you go ahead and get something to eat. I’ll get some water or something.”

“Um…alright. Are you sure?”

“Oh yeah, definitely, go ahead and order something. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you just wanna go?”

“Sure…I mean if you want to.”

“Man, I am kinda hungry. I’ll just get some fries or something.”

“Whatever.” Yawn!

* * *

“I had a great time tonight, Emily.”

“Uh…it’s Elizabeth.”

“Oh, right, Elizabeth.”

A classroom surprise

by Ivan Saldarriaga

“Jack, how do you think you did on the exam?”

“Dude, I’d rather not even think about that crap right now,” Jack replied. His thoughts were far from the onerous exam he’d taken last week, far from the class he was in now. He could only think of the blonde haired girl two seats in front of him. For weeks now he’d been admiring her from afar, trying to get her attention in small, subtle ways.

“Psst.” His friend Wilmer, sitting behind him, whispered to him, “Hey, did you give her the note? The party’s tonight and-“

“Two days ago, now just shut up, teacher’s about to pass back the exam.” The truth was, he didn’t want to get it back. He felt horribly about it. During the exam, as he jotted down his answers, looked over his work, he only prayed she was going to be lenient with the partial credit. God, he thought, I’m gonna need as much partial credit I can get.

“Hey,” Wilmer tapped his shoulder, “so what time do you think you’ll come over tonight? I was thinking about-“

“Can’t we talk about this later? We’re about to be called out.”

“Sure, sure. So are you going to help me set up? There’s a pretty long list of things I need to get, I could really use your help.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

“Are you going to bring that blonde girl?”

Turning around in order to look at Wilmer squarely, Jack said quietly but hard, “I don’t know, man.”

“Jack!”

Turning around in surprise, he responded, “Yes, ma’am?”

“Would you like your exam, Jack?”

“Uh…yes, ma’am.”

Pausing for a moment, as the teacher and the class noted that he wasn’t going to move, she said, “Well, come and pick it up, Jack.”

“Oh…uh…okay.” He slowly picked his way up his row, stepping over book bags and purses. He could feel the eyes of the class on him, and he started to blush.

On his way back to his seat, he stole a quick glance to the blonde haired girl, and saw that her eyes were searching for his and was discreetly shaking a note in her hand for him. He nonchalantly took it and continued to his seat.

Anxious as to what he was about to find out, he set his exam face down and began to open the girl’s meticulously folded note. His heart, which was beating so excitedly just a few seconds ago, sunk to the floor. He read what the girl had written with pretty frilly letters in purple ink:

I’ve got a boyfriend.

He threw the note back over his shoulder to Wilmer and expecting the worst, turned over his exam. For a moment, he could only gawk with his mouth open at his score. After looking it over again, this too, he threw over to Wilmer.

“A perfect score? What the –“

“Yup,” Jack whispered back with a smile. “It sure is. I’ll be there at six to help out.”

Oh Chekhov, you Poetic Doctor

"I was six when I saw that everything was God, and my hair stood up, and all that... It was Sunday, I remember. My sister was only a very tiny child then, and she was driking her milk, and all of sudden I saw that she was god and the milk was god. I mean, all she was doing was pouring God into God, if you know what I mean."
-Teddy, Nine Stories

"I long to embrace, to include in my own short life, all that is accessible to man. I long to speak, to read, to wield a hammer in a great factory, to keep watch at sea, to plow. i want to be walking along the Nevsky Prospect, or in the open fields, or on the ocean-wherever my imagination ranges."
-Anton Chekhov

Selected Quotes

Man stands in his own shadow and wonders why it’s dark.

-Zen Proverb

What really knocks me out is a book that, when you're all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn't happen much, though.

-Holden Caulfield, Catcher in the Rye

Smokin' Gun

by Ivan Saldarriaga

"okay, Paul, is everything ready? It's almost time."

"Yeah."

"Is that the only word you know? It's always, 'yeah this,' or 'yeah that.' I swear, Paul, if you fuck up this interview, I'll make sure you're not allowed near a camera for as long as you live. The station's had to pull a few strings to get these pricks to talk. And on top of that, they think this is all in promotion to their new "keeps kids of guns" campaign. those firearm wigs are so full of shit."

"Yeah," Paul replies, barely listening to Sharon, the veteran, yet still strapping, reporter for the local news station as he methodically prepares the cameras for the upcoming interview. He'd been working with Sharon for three years now, and never in that time had he ruined one of her sketches or high profile interviews, as sparse as those were. Yet, she always reiterated her threats and curses. he shrugged it off as nerves on her part, and rarely paid her much attention. As Paul tinkered with the hardware and wires strewn in the vacant hotel room, Sharon, seated in the chair she would be conducting her interview in a few moments, rehearsed her quetions and comments.

A knock at the door took their attention away from what they were doing and focused on the door.

"Everything, ready, Paul?"

"Yeah."

"Damn it, Paul," said Sharon as she went towards the door.

"Mr. Berringer, glad you've agreed to this interview," she greeted the firearm business executive as he stepped in. Dressed in his sharp, pressed suit and with his confident swagger, he exuded the look of someone with a clean conscience.

"No problem, no problem, how long is going to be?" he asked, looking at his intricate silver wristwatch. "HOpefully not more than half an hour. I've got some other appointments I have to attend to, you know."

"Of course, we wouldn't want to keep you from your work," sharon said, giving Beringer an obsequious grin. "Just have a seat there, and we'll begin immediately. Your intern was able to come along, also, I hope."

"Who?" Berringer asked, momentarily giving her a confused, quizzical look. "Oh, oh, yes, the intern from our company. Why yes, he was told to wait in the hall. Thought it was odd you only wanted to interview us one at a time, but... I suppose you have your reasons."

"Great, let's begin, shall we?"

"Ready when you are."

"Alright, well, Your firearm company has made great initiatives towards keeping children away from guns, could you elaborate for our viewers what are some of the ideas that are being developed?"

"We feel, as our moral and social responsiblity, that we should play a direct part in keeping children away from guns. Our five step platform includes, but isn't limited to, addressing this issue through television commercials, billboards, and other mediums; classroom discussions and lectures; in store gun control propaganda; and parents conferences and lectures, to help them understand the power they have in influencing their children. All in all, our mission is to provide responsible adult consumers firearm products, but we feel that we want to play a key role in our community as well, and that includes making sure kids stay away from them."

"Great, It's not common to see such a global and commercial corporation take such initiative for the benefit of their community. beyond helping children what are some other ways you expect to make an impact in society?"

behind the cameras, paul began to drift away from the fielded questions and answers, replies and comments that felt rehearsed to point that it seemed like both were readin off of a teleprompter cards He almost felt like he was watching a chess match, a game he's never quite understood or enjoyed. Standing back, he could almost feel a tangible ebb and flow of responses, some on the offensive, others defensive; but each clearly striving for the advantage. And just like a chess match, his focus didn't stay with it for long, he mechanically operated the cameras, letting his hands do what they knew how to do, as he let his thoughts float away, far off from the banter between the polished reporter and the sharp board member.

* * *


"Well thanks for the interview." Sharon said with a strained smile.

"Of course," Berringer replied, coolly smiling back, understanding full well that the interview hadn't gone as the reporter had hoped for. He stood up and said, "I'll be sure to tell the intern to come right in," and he shut the door behind him.

"Damn it, Paul, that went horribly, every question that implicated that worthless piece of shit with the harmful nature of guns, he just threw it right back at me. this is awful....are you even listening to me, Paul?"

"Yeah."

Sharon sighed heavily and put her head in her hands, "Damn."

A soft knock at the door made Sharon lift her self up and look into the mirror near the door. She straighted her hair and her dress, making adjustments so fine they were almost imperceptible.

"Hi there, you must be John Beckers, the intern."

"Uh.. yeah," John replied, limply sticking out his hand.

"Great, let's get this interview started," she said, shaking his hand, ignoring his moist palms. As they sat down, she began to breathe easier, privvy to how easily she would be able to manipulate her interview wih the intern. This just might turn out the be alright after all, she thought.

"As my first, question," sharon said, giving a miniscule pause as she considered her first question. "How does it feel, as an intern, to work for such a controversial company, whose reputiatoin is repeatedly being called into attention because of the repurcussions that its products have."

"Um.." John breathed in deeply. He was warned that such a quesiton was going to come up, not only warned but also schooled how to route out of such a thorny question. However, he wasn't ready for it so soon, expecting more of a warm up question like "What kinds of responsiblities do they have interns involved in" or some ice breaker crap like that. He tried to steady himself, going through the response they drilled into him for this particular quesiton. But what if he answered differently. Answered with what is true within him. He began to sense Sharon getting unsettled by his silence, even Paul began to get roused into attention by the brooding tension. What answer should I give?

* * *

John's hand emphatically slapped the snooze button on his ringing alarm clock. It's always caused him wonder how much he could just hate an inanimate object, especially one that was just doing his own beckoning. He gave out a frustrated sigh as he threw back the covers and put his feet on the carpetted floor. he clumsily stumbled around his small room, preparing himself for his morning run. John was attended the local university in the city, performing well in most of his classes. There was always a sense that he, if anyone, would be able to succeed in his endeavors. Between him and his peers, he had always expressed an aura of being in control, an understanding of his circumstances and how to make the best of them. That's why the news of him working for a gun company over the summer was greeted with so much surprise by those who knew him. Of course, if you were to ask him, why he chose thecompany for a summer internship, he'd be hard pressed to find a truthful response. He'd actually developed a joke of why he chose to work there. It'd go something like:

"Oh well, I initially confused the company with a technology company. So after I'd been given one of their token free pens and tote bag, and had made a good enough impression, I was given a chance at an interview. Now, tt wasn't until the interview, when they asked me how would I feel working for a company that made guns that I realized that this was no ordinary technology company we were talking about here."

The response usually resulted in a casual laughter or a shake of the head, realizing another one of John's many classic comical blunders. But never, after giving this response, had he had to elaborate how it felt to work for just such a company. Which was perfectly fine for him, that was actually the way he wanted it.

As he lethargically laced up his running shoes, fighting the strong temptation to crawl back into his warm, beckoning bed, his thoughts went back to the interview he had yesterday. He had decided not to see the interview broadcasted on the local news last evening, he didn't even go back to work afterwards. His mind fell prey to Sharon's first question. It wasn't, as the news station had assured them, a quick, nonchalant interview discussing several of the company's new surging issues. instead, the ordeal had become a slaughterfest, where there was only on particular victim: John. he winces at the memory of her first question while he steps outside to begin his run.

Just what kind of question was that anyways? He felt defenseless, deshrouded to the point of vulnerability. His generic response, amicably reserved for anyone asking him why he chose that internship, was useless. It was a question, once posed by the austere formality of theinterviewer, which riled within him a deep analysis of his intentions. He could dodge the truth when he turned his decisions into an ironical situation for his friends' sake. But once the the person asking was himself, how could he hide from the truth?

Deep in his thoughts, his run took a measured and comfortable pace. Weaving through the quiet, morning, occassionaly waving a quick hello to a fellow morning runner, a small gesture of comradery for sharing the burden of shirking off sleep for their common physical task. As he turned onto his favorite portion of the run, a long, straight street featuring monuments of famous war generals, his thoughts delved deeper into his true intentions for choosing his summer job.

Could it be as simple as the fact that it was close to home? But even this prospect held no water. Wasn't he trying to apply for that internship on the west coast, five thousand miles away? the idea of living so far had acutally been enticing and exciting. He resented the fact that he didn't get it. So please, he argued with himself, take that story to someone else, someone not me.

Was it for the experience, something the gun company prided themselves in gving their interns? But where did the experience go? Where was the promised application of what I've learned in those hard courses of college? Surely my entire collegiate career as of yet, a total of five damn long semesters, didn't sum up to my annoyingly petty jobs, like my paper filing or spreadsheets I had to put together. And yet, this was all I've gotten out of the summer so far, does that mean that's what this experience has summed up to? An entire summer; three months; thirteen weeks; and what do I have to show for it as far as experience? But i should be fair, he thought to himself, was there ever that much more to expect out of a summer job in college? Would it had been any different anywhere else? Chances are: not much.

Was it as simple as a money issue? the shere idea of this being true cause him to hiccup in his stride for a second. The hiccup brought the reality of the run painfully clear to his legs. He gritted his teeth as he worked on the final stretch, fighting through the tightness and soreness spreading across his body. He'd evaded the pain of the run through most of the morning by being in such deep thought, but every run, every single run he's ever been on, has made sure he's paid his due in the only currency it accepted: pain. his pace slackened as his thoughts returned to his internship. he couldn't, didn't want to, come to grips with the reality that the only clear reason remaining for why he chose his summer job was the money. I could've worked at other places, couldn't I have?

But, he realized, it wasn't the money, in the end, that made the decision for him. It was simply a combination of factors, some his fault, others out of his power, that propelled him to working there. Having applied only at two places, in hindsight, had been a mistake. But his aspirations were set on that job out west, his hopes and desires hadn't even considered, not even for one serious moment, that he would be working in a firearm company. Through the spring semester, confident of his application for the west coast job, he caught himself day dreaming of the pacific ocean sunsets, the thrilling downtown scene, a possibly celebrity sighting in Los Angeles. It was only afterwards, only after he recieved his rejection letter, a letter that completely caught him by surprise-he was, afterall, told repeatedly that he was just the perfect candidate-that he desperately had to look at his only other option. At whcih point, it was too late, for him at least. He lacked the ambition to apply to more places; the hunger he so often sees in his peers to succeed just didn't gnaw inside of him. So he submitted to the idea of working for the gun company without much of a fight, with barely a quibble.

So you see, he told himself, it wasn't my fault that I am working here. I shouldn't feel guilt or remourse. I shouldn't, he thought. If our lives are forcefully grasped by fate, taken and spun around until we don't know where we are standing anymore, then it can't be our fault of where we land, can it? Then again, he thought, maybe there was something i could've done. Actually, maybe there was EVERYTHING to be done in order not to work there. I can't wash my hands of it, I can't runaway from my own decisions, the life I lead is, in the end, only the life I pursue.

Once he eased to a stop in front of his apartment complex, completing his morning loop around the slumbering city, he leaned forward and perched himself on his knees. Already, he could sense the city rousing itself up like a slow blossoming flower greeting the morning sun; there were people getting into their cars, getting ready for the early morning shift at work; there was the bus that passed by his place, already beginning to get crowded with folks heading downtown, and his neighbor's dog now stood behind the fence, wagging his tail, fresh and eager to play.

"Sorry buddy, but I don't have time to play today," John said, speaking to the dog like an old friend. "Got no time, gotta go to work today," standing up straight and heading towards his apartment, "and let them know that I'm not coming back."


* * *

"So how does it feel to work for a corporation that is responsible for the deaths of thousands of people?"

"Um..." John uttered, giving a long pause. Sharon thought he was breaking up, just folding under the question. Maybe she had overstepped herself a bit, maybe the question had been too direct to start with. She was about to offer the kid another question, try to rope him back into the interview, when he began to speak again.

"The truth is, I'm am not the qualified representative of the company that you should be asking that question to. I am sure if you contact the company's representatives, they will provide prompt and honest feedback to those types of questions."

sharon, fully expecting the intern to melt in front of the camera, quickly turned and gave Paul a glance. After seeing that Paul wasn't returning her surprise, in fact, it seemed to her that the interview was barely registering with him at all. Just how he managed to do his job without ever paying attention remained a mystery to her. They must have warned the little prick before hand, and spoon fed him that response. She realized the failure of the interview, something she had so carefully rehearsed and preened, but without giving in to her urges to scream obsenities through the roof, she decided to wrap up her interview. "Great response, John, now let's move on to some lighter topics. Just what were some of your responsiblities as an intern and how do you think this experience compares?"

The World on the Arm of a Skinny Person as interpreted by:

by Ivan Saldarriaga

This idea was detailed to me by a friend. this is meant to be a rough sketch of a rough draft. So by all means, don't think this is the final draft (oh no, we promise, we can draw better than 5 year olds, most of the time).

Brave new World

Life's Ambivalences

by Ivan Saldarriaga


Alright, alright, just line up against that wall there,
I haven't got all day.

the older gentlemen march in,
each resembling me to the point of eeriness,
they line up against the wall and jut out their chins bravely,
you can see all seven,
(how did it come down to you seven?)
the confident astronaut,
the major industry engineer,
the bitter copper,
author in shambles,
the timid photographer, still grasping his camera (Were you ever good with it? Not really, truth is, I'd just as soon quit)
the uptight librarian,
and the common thief, (how did you ever get caught up in this mix? Don't ask me, man, I'm just here to get my fix)
all resembling me to the point of eeriness.

Couldn't we talk about this for a second or two?
Do we really have to rush this so?
Just what did we do to even deserve this?

Quiet up now, what you did isn't on trial here! (But we didn't even get a fair trial!)
Now, stand tall, i'm about to choose my life! (Your life can be many things, though!)
The sooner this is over, the better! (There's no rush, this is your life we're talking about!)

raising my rifle to my shoulder, i set the sights on each along the wall,
stalling on one face and shuddering before i move to the next,
each looks so much like me,
i begin to lose stomach for this,

You don't have to do this you know!

Now, just be quiet!
Look around, every one else is almost done,
that guy next to me went at his options with a freakin machine gun,
no second thoughts,
no remorse!
just took out the ones he didn't want,
like pickin out skittles he didn't wanna eat.
I've already stalled much too long.

I lift the rifle back up to my shoulder,
muttering to myself,
Just choose a good life, just choose a good one damn it!
Their faces are too much like mine,
and none seem more content than the other.

Oh what the hell

I close my eyes,
i hear the loud gun roar six shots
I slowly open my eyes and try to brace myself for what I've chosen,

Are you done?

Did nobody get hit?

Na, you're pretty bad at this, you know. it's your fifth time lining us up and you've yet to take one of us out.

oh to hell with it, i can't make this choice, let's just go get something to drink

that's what we've been trying to tell your dumb ass

Just how the heck are you in this mix, again?

Dude, I'm still waiting for my fix.

Two Line Epic

by Ivan Saldarriaga

Every day we have our own epic battles to fight,
Like waking up and surrendering to the light.

Ablaze

by Ivan Saldarriaga

I feel your hand ontop of mine,
your smooth skin coolin' my warm body,
I let your soft hair fall on my cheek,
your weight on my chest,
yet I'm all alone


In my thoughts,
I yearn for more,
more life,
love,
acceptance,
but I only sigh,
realizing the little I will ever be allotted

My appetite for life never abates,
Hunger for it pursues me,
and ambushes even my most treasured moments
Never relenting,
Only expanding,
until...
all I have left...
is a blazing internal bonfire.

Left over Spices and Herbs

by Ivan Saldarriaga

I can picture myself hugging a Jasmine,
Jogging around town with a Holly,
Dancing the night away with a Strawberry,
But I just can't see much love for a Lovage.

I would play board games with a Ginger,
Cross the Mexican border to be with a Cinchona,
Read Damien in bed with a Damiana,
But only dull times loom for me and Dill.

I could see myself checkin out a "Rosehips",
getting in a barfight with a butch truckdriver named Mace, (thinking she was a man)
Meeting the beautiful Asian Mei Yen,
But I only predict pain with a Paprika.

Directions

Harry and Lisa on their way to Welles Isle

Harry (driving): I'm so excited about swimming today!
Lisa (looking out the window and yawning): Yeah.
Harry: It's such a great day for it, too. Right temperature, right...everything.
Lisa: Yeah.
Harry: Well, it should be somewhere around here.
Lisa: Do you want me to ask for directions? (looking around the dirt road they all of a sudden found themselves on, near a trailer park.)
Harry:Sure. I'll stop at the first person I come across.
Lisa: Look theres a UPS man getting into his truck, we can ask him.
Harry: Alright. (Pulling up close to the tall man, in the brown uniform.)
Lisa: Excuse me....Excuse me..
Harry: Maybe he can't hear you.
Lisa: Excuse ME!
UPSMan: Yes? (Looking at Lisa and Harry like they were Bonnie and Clyde)
Lisa: Do you know how to get to Welles Isle?
(With large frightened eyes, the UPS man simply shook his head no)
Harry (after driving off): Well that's pretty weird, wonder why he was so scared.
Lisa: Yeah, the guy's a UPS man, he has to meet new people all the time, I hope he isn't that scared when he's handing out his packages.
Harry: seriously, and plus, who'd be scared of an old couple driving around in a Toyota Camry?
Lisa: well, I guess keep your eye out for another person to ask.
Harry: Alright. I think I see someone down the road. (pulling up to a large man in a tank top, sponge washing his dark blue Cadillac with large chrome rims) There you go, ask this man.
Lisa: Excuse me, do you know how to get to Welles Isle?
Sketch Man: Welles Isle? Damn, that's....damn. Alright, first off, what you gotta do is turn around and go up this hill. Go as far as you can down this road. Then take a right. A right! Then go down that road until the first light, then take a right! Then you're gonna go up a really steep hill. At the top take a left, or a right, not too sure. But once you turn you'll go down the really steep hill and make a left. And I think you can park there. And walk to the foot path that leads to it. The foot path is going to be behind some bushes, but it should be fairly easy to spot. Me and my bros go there to pick up bitches sometimes.
Harry: Alright then. Lisa: Thanks, bye now.
***
Harry (After driving off): That sounded kinda complicated.
Lisa: Yeah, I was told it was really easy to get their.
Harry: Think we should ask this guy here?
Lisa: Yeah, hopefully he can explain it a little bit better.
Harry (Pulling up to a man in his forties, wearing a tight yellow T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up and short jean shorts. After gazing at the pink fanny pack, Harry shows signs that this might have been a bad idea): Excuse me, could you tell us how to get to Welles Isle?
JeanShortGuy: Welles Isle? Now let's see? Gosh. Well shit! I've just gone and done forgotten how to get there! How silly, I've lived here all my life. Now let me think for a while. (While he put one hand on his outwardly thrust hip and his other hand propped his chin, Harry and Lisa give each other a quizzical look.) Now let's see. Some people I think just park right here and walk on down to that cable bridge somewhere's over there. Can you see it? (Harry and Lisa look for the mentioned cable bridge but only see the vacant river.)
Harry: Yeah. sure do.
JeanShortGuy: Super. You could also go on up this road on here and take a right. At the light you can take a left, then continue on down that road until you get to the Sorry Charlie Club, at that point, you take a right. Oh wait, that's to get to Nelson Isle. I always get those two confused. Sorry, to get to Welles Isle, you'll have to go up this road and take a right. Then you could cross behind the capital building, oh damn! You used to be able to do that, I don't think you can any more. Well, if you continue on that street that you turn onto, then follow the signs you should be able to find it.
Lisa: Well thank you.
Harry: Yeah, we appreciate it.
***
Harry (After going up steep hills, taking rights at the first lights, looking for signs and not seeing one indication of Welles Isle): You know, we don't have to go to the river today. We could rent a DVD and watch it at home or something. Today's a pretty good day for a DVD. Don't you think so?
Lisa: Yeah. (looking out the window and yawning)
Harry: Do you know where the Blockbuster is?
Lisa: Not really, want me to ask someone?

Thought #5

by Ivan Saldarriaga

where do all those past flames go?
with passion and desire,
they once lit up my days.
now they're just distant memories,
memories reaching to me now and then,
with tenderness,
shyness,
coyly prickling my curiosity,
making me think, what if?

Are they extinguished forever,
never to be brought back to life,
like a used and disposed tissue?
Or instead, perhaps,
will they warm someone else's thoughts?
So full of enticing, frills, and comfort,
will they rekindle some other time?
Gracing us with its hopefull, desirous presence
like an extinguished star's light shining on
through lonely space,

Or is it spent forever,
without a marker or grave?
Only to be remembered now and then,
whenever thoughts happen to meander into the past,
and drift back into that solitary moment
of wishful expectation...