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.