10 word story

I ate all of the cake. 

No regret. 

Yes regret. 

Stripped Away

I'm not a sentimental person
by nature. I've never
cried over a Kodak
commercial. I've never
watched an entire
Hallmark film. I rooted
for the boat when I saw
Titanic. Nothing means

Anything. Except for
the meaning we give it;
entropy pushes the universe
toward chaos.We believe
meaning gives order.
We're hideously, horribly

Wrong. I lack those
verklempt stirrings
in the chest and womb
every time I hold
a child. I am more likely
to romanticize dog ownership
than child-rearing. Or actual

Romance. It is what it
is. That is what I always say.
The thing is the thing; no
more, no less. No artificial
sweeteners, no preservatives.
No shelf-life extenders, no
red dye number five. Or

Eleven. The not-poisonous
one. Even if, when you are not
looking, life becomes
a cake from a box. A half-made
deal. There's no crime in
cheating. Making cake from scratch
is a time-sucker. Leaching
the moments in boring necessities.
Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Breakfast.
Something else, unremembered.
Unmemorable. And a half-made

Cake. I cheat at cake. I harbor
pastries, resentments and
time. I hold them in a secret
room; a vault in my head
full of nice things and bad.
The taste of fresh mint. The scraping
of a knee. Yellow boxed
cake with chocolate ice cream
over-beaten by ten year olds. I'm

Not impressed when children
help cook. It's a teaching
moment. A life skill. Not
a perfect Kodak moment.  But still...
I will take pictures. Of every
imperfect cake. Every childish and
professionally arranged delivery
of flowers. Something to hold onto
forever. Tangible proof that
someone once liked me. Tangible proof
that I exist, even when
I have trouble believing it myself.

Tangible proof of whatever you like.
But moistly, a list of all the those times
when I interacted with the Real World.
For when I inevitably forget.

Ten word story

I climbed that tree once; 

the bark chafed my legs. 

Ten Word Story

A scar
from a plastic spoon
on my middle finger.

Ten word story.

It hurts when I think. 

It hurts when I'm awake.

Ten word story

Cacophony of lights and sound; my childhood memories to me.

Ten word story

A shattered stone mossy bridge

crossing over a dried riverbed. 

Ten word story

Every single day
I watch
myself
fade further away.

10 Word Story

The dragons returned. Low misty clouds lit brighter than day.

10 word story

It was just then she fell upon her bloodied sword.

10 Word Story.

I am but a humble compilation of spare, broken parts.

10 Word Story

Red and thick, it pours. Sweet elixir of fried potatoes.

10 Word Story

They think I don't know. I do know. I think.

In Which I Wax Poetic About Lost and Found

Ok. So I have this fascination with the Lost and Found box. Every place I have ever worked, I have been fascinated with it. Sometimes, I will go through it for entertainment. I am amazed by what people leave behind. A million pairs of sunglasses, CDs, flash drives, car keys. 

The car keys thing always gets me. I have never worked in a place where there wasn’t at least one set of car keys in the lost and found. HOW DID YOU GET HOME!?? I have the same bewildered amusement toward things left in the scanner—birth certificates, military orders, hundred-year-old family photos. You name it, it’s probably been left at a library at some point. 

I also have a fondness for the winter coats that get left behind. Ok, maybe it was warmer when you left than when you started out. But at some point along the way didn’t you wonder… hey. When’s the last time I had my $200 Steelers Starter jacket? 

Sometimes there are greeting cards. One was a Transformers card with Optimus Prime on the cover with a lovely “missing you" note on the inside to a service member spouse. Or children’s toys. I get a little sad for the child who has lost their favorite stuffy. But I am really sad when a parent comes in and asks if we have a stuffed animal, and it isn’t in lost and found. You know there’s a child who will shortly be inconsolable with grief for a lost friend. 

Then there are the bits and bobs. Pens that end up getting recycled. Barrettes and hair clips that never leave the bottom of the box. Weird connectors for devices you have never seen. And a pocket U.S. Constitution. There always seems to be one of those. 

And the thing about those sunglasses and car keys and even coffee mugs and water bottles filled with liquid is that they always seem to stay there. They never go away. They accumulate. They eventually get tossed after six months or a year. Some end up at Goodwill. But no one comes back for them. They’re forgotten. They’re lost, we find them, but they’re never claimed. They never get to go home. Well, some find new homes. Any USB stick over 8 gig is fair game after a whole year of being in the Drawer of Flash Drives That Time Forgot. I once got a really cool pen that way. But… most items left at the library never go home. 

Maybe I search through the Lost and Found not so much out of curiosity (though there is still that), but to visit the items relegated to that Island of Misfit Toys. To spread a little bit of attention onto those once beloved things that are now lost and forgotten. Or worse: lost and replaced. 

I may be anthropomorphising. No, I know I am. But how depressing must it be, to be those car keys? You were once shiny and new. Someone never left the house without you. They showed off your automatic starter button with prideful glee. And then they left you at a public computer. And after two days of searching for you in the bottom of a bag, they spent $200 to have a new key and dongle made, and then they went on with their lives, no longer mindful of where you ended up. 

Some people cared too little for the things that ended up in Lost and Found. I seem to care too much. 

A list.

1. I look at a lot of crime scene and autopsy photos.

2. It started with an old job. We had go through a box of them.

3. I don't know why I look at them now. They are not upsetting.

4. We are but meat suits. Walking, thinking meat suits. Emphasis on meat.

5. The pictures don't bother me. Even the ones of children.

6. I gave myself a panic attack and swerved into oncoming traffic to avoid hitting a turtle.

7. I don't deal well with the fake deaths of fake animals in films.

8. Where do we go when we vacate our meat suits?

9. I would like to haunt an amusement park. If we have choices.

10. I miss my nana.

Things I Learned Today

1. Smiling makes you happier. Unless smiling sans reason makes you unhappier.

2. Standing with your hands on your hips in a strong heroic pose makes you more confident. Wonder Woman wears tiny clothes.

3. Memorization can be improved by filing facts within your house absurdly. This includes Britney Spears.

4. Printing errors can perforate pages but not completely shear them. My book looks like a coupon.

5. No matter how big or small the cat, they all seek to capture their own tail. It is an illusive stranger, stalking them all of their lives.

6. Happiness precedes success. Apparently we were lied to when we were told success would bring happiness. Mostly it has only brought student loan debt.

7. Life is a game. Gameplay adds minutes to life. Live forever. Make everything a game.

8. Everything I have ever known about tying shoelaces is wrong. I shall endeavor to correct this immediately. Just as soon as flip-flop season is over.

9. Who's more crazy? The fool, or the fool who follows him? Apparently the second man in is the trend-setter. Or the one most likely to be thrown in the penalty box.

10. Life may or may not be judged in actual experience points. It depends on who you assume is keeping track.

I really do mean to use this more. Truly.

I got to the end (or as much as I could humanly tolerate, given my mental state at the time) of my 100 word project. And while it was a little more disjointed toward the end than I was intending, I still produced quite a lot of work. I visited a lot of worlds in the course of one year. One tiny scrap of paper at a time.

Yes, I did actually write them every day, on quarter-page scraps of already-used eight and a half by eleven for the sake of recycling. I didn't always get them typed up on time. But it was what it was, I suppose.

I'm not sure what other projects I will cook up here. Maybe a little more free-flow, maybe some variety. For the handful of you still tuned into this station :) Um... thanks for sticking around and such.

If you're still out there, give a wave :)

They even have a golf course

They iive in a dome, 

you know. 

Those people. 

The ones that live in the dome. 

The weather is always pleasant. Entirely

climate controlled. The grass is always green

The lake stocked with fish. 

There is a turtle who suns himself on a rock on the shore

year round. 

The people in the dome

don't have freeze-thaw cycles. 

Potholes are extremely rare. 

No one waters their plants

in the dome. 

It rains on scheduled days, always at the same time. 

Regularity is the hallmark of the dome. 

School starts September 6th. 

Christmas always falls on a Wednesday

no one remembers a not-white Christmas.

Except for the one year, 

when the snow generator was on the fritz

but they made due with popcicles 

and iced candy canes.

It's always DST. GMT -6. 

Days are long, nights are short. Roosters

only crow on schedule

And cats never wake anyone up early

for a meal that isn't due till dawn.

There are no alarm clocks in the dome. 

People are happier that way. 

Work with the sun, sleep with the dark. 

listen to someone play piano in the moon light

and if they're lucky, the Vanderhorn boy's voice

has not yet changed. He's always had

such a lovely soprano. 

Things do not change in the dome

they are not meant to.

They are as they've always been. 

Green glass, gloss and glamour. 

And you are most certainly not invited. 

Shitty poems for fun but never profit.

I am a ram. 

A biblical ram

One they build altars for

on Saturday morning television

reruns. The altars are made

from smooth round stone

without an ocean in sight

in the desert

among the sharp rocks

and burning bushes

The ram is sacrificed

that is what needs to be done

to maintain order in the world

Sacrifice me

maintain order

make it right

shelved by Dewey number

the only thing

that makes the world clean

a number 

on a label 

on a shelf

set on fire

as the ram screams

I scream

I scream to make the collections

make sense

with file and order

but it's not a shelf

it is the universe

 I am a ram

sacrificed 

to keep the universe

expanding

as it ought

on schedule

so they say

when they talk 

of such things

fire and stones and television

pillars

and no angels

stopping the hand of the faithful

at that last moment

the ram is necessary. 

Because of the ram the world turns. 

Sacrifice me so it may go on. 

Confession time:

I am rubbish at poetry. I have been trying to do it more and more.

I think very literally.

But perhaps I will give it a try, and post it on this blog.

I will call it, perhaps, "Poetry for Literalists and People Who Do Not Understand Poetry" by Someone Who Does Not Understand Poetry.

Y/Y?

The tiny gods of ennui

Sisyphus drives a mid-range car

and lives in a flatshare 

with two other roommates. 

There's always the flatmate 

whose parents have spoiled him. 

Prometheus drives a Mini Cooper

The only thing more douchy

would be a white Smart Car 

Which Persephone got 

from Hades

for their fourth anniversary. 

Which he gave in place

of the traditional fruits and flowers

for the obvious reasons. 

They all had nice lives, his flatmates

or at least Sisyphus had no complaints. 

Persephone was around half year. 

Prometheus had daddy issue. 

But at the end of the day, didn't they all? 

The dishes were done regularly. The fridge

was always stocked. Their Siamese 

house cat Buttons seems content enough. 

Hell, they even had five hundred television channels

with the pornography unlocked

(Dyonisis visited once,

and he knew how to do those sorts of things)

They had dinner parties once a month 

and did those normal people things

Jobs and book clubs (the job for Sysiphus,

the book club for Prometheus), 

For Christmas they'd even subscribed

to the Cheeese of the Month Club. 

And someone else maintained their lawn. 

It was... to all degrees and purposes... 

perfect. 

And horrible. 

Pushing a boulder up a hill time 

and again was less glamorous 

than one might think. 

Nor did Sysiphis understand

why a man who spent his days

as a loan officer

and night having his eyes torn from 

their flesh 

needed a hatchback douche-mobile

version of a fine European car. 

At least Persephone had the decency 

to pay her rent in advance,. 

We call this Tuesday.

Cats crept in the night. Then pounced, crashed and destroyed.

The Secrets of the Day

It's a never-ending gravel road, life.

Well, it ends. In an overturned field, 

made impassable by frozen mud

in the dead of winter. Hidden

somewhere up ahead. Some unknown 

distance. It will end sudden and dirty

crackling straw beneath car wheels

Breaking things already 

on the verge of being broken. 

And that's it; life is over. 

Gone. 

All roads end. 

Somewhere. 

Over the next rise, 

or a thousand miles away. 

And you're tired. And you're cold. 

And you shut off the engine

in the dark. Tilt the car seat back

And Die. 

Post-post modern.

History is written by the victors. Eventually the victors die.

Sensibility

War came. Sensible fairies hid.

It did them little good.

Plot Twist

The giants and the little people are actually great friends.

Plans

When I die, I wanna haunt my favorite amusement park.

Misunderstandings

Obviously her Muse thought the condo was a nudist colony.

The Great Divide

River merfolk and ocean merfolk never saw eye to eye.

Ten word story: Mourning

They cried enough to fill the oceans. Then they stopped.