Hello Goodbye

So I have been writing her for 3 years now, and published 201 posts.
I'm ready for something more sleek, more professional, more versatile, and more beautiful.
So goodbye old blog, hello new: http://thethunderandtherain.com/

I will still be writing and posting exactly the same sort of stuff, just on my fancy new domain.

Remember you are loved,
Gabriel

November Wednseday

Dehydrated eyes
Cold toes
Itchy, flaking shoulders
Slightly sore throat
Stuffy nose
Early midnight
Five PM
Hot honey tea
Drafty breeze
Old books
Sleep

End.

Natural Religion

Everything we see is sin

We left our safe and animal spirit behind

Our fall from grace was the breath of god filling our lungs

When we beings of dirt became aware of our nakedness

When we first killed out of jealousy

When we built towers out of brick and farmed the land

When just being was behind us

The son showed us the way to go back

He taught us heaven was here

He taught us that our flaw wasn't who we chose to have sex with

But our ability to imbue it with guilt and punish those we deemed unworthy

I'm supposed to go back to work and type things and make spreadsheets

Instead I'm writing poetry

A small step back toward god

Being present and motivated only by my desires

End.

20th Century Romances

Making Tracks

The cigarette man
Gets soot on his hands
As they tremble toward his lips
He tried to explain
Then he got on a train
And he left on a one-way trip
The girl by the tracks
Watched him turn his back
Pining for one last kiss

Saturday Night Speakeasy

Bar, busy and warmly lit
Bustle backed by smooth jazz
Eyes flashing through smoke
Glasses filled time and again
Smiles, honest laughter
A soft touch, a nod

Hotel bed soft and deep
Pinstripes and hats on the floor
Gasping smooth lips
Flushed faces, pounding hearts

Night a spinning blur
Asleep in gentle arms
Then dark

Morning cold
Pale skin and blemishes
Unceremonious dressing
A smile, thanks, and a nod
Door closed, keys returned

An empty room
Satisfied men strolling separately home

Domestic

He punched her in the face with a closed fist
As she smashed swiftly to the floor
His brand dripping down her lip
She remembered soft touches and sunlight
Sunday afternoons and sweet nothings
They both knew she deserved it
Only men can take another lover
It said so in the bible

Back Door Man

He was a back door man
A smooth talker
A heavy box lifter
A jar opener
A kitchen invader
A fried chicken eater
A countertop lover

Until her husband came home unexpectedly

Then he was a fist catcher
A bruise holder
A floor stainer
A dirt grave filler
And a missing person

A homemaker's mixed memory
Of pleasure, guilt, and fear

Heroes

Heavy labor, sparks, sweat, and blood
She gave everything and more - still raising their kids
He gave everything he had in that far away land
Screaming, choking, blood, raining earth
And came home damaged forevermore
They did the best they could
Love, fear, and poverty - still raising their kids
Many years mixed with happiness and struggle
After everything they held each other tight
And went on to meet their reward

Under the Apple Tree

They smiled, hearts racing
They tenderly touched
They slowly explored
They trembled and giggled and frowned

They touched and caressed
They searched and they fumbled
They awkwardly rubbed
They found their way around

They quickly undressed
And they spread out their clothing
And made love on the warm, sunny ground

End.

Halloween Poetry for 2014

So I didn't upload any Halloween poetry this year during the appropriate time. Here it is in spooky mid-November instead:

The Thrasher-Slasher

It's a sowing machine of knives
An in-and-out pattern of taking life
Each of the 36 stabs a stitch
But stitches won't fix these slices
Rhythm / pull
Rhythm / pull
In and pull
In and pull
A red tapestry eternally unsown
Fleshy fabric punctured
Skickity-skack
In and then back
A sweatshop of tears, blood, and water
A workshop of rhythmic slaughter

Before the Aftercare

Chains and whips will fix
Ropes pulled tight and quick
Slavery / satisfaction / security / safety
Pleasure and pain mixed with empathy
On display / skin exposed / spanked red
Then kissed ever so sweetly

Bleached & Refined

A little ghost flits
on Halloween night
between the porch lights

Candy held tightly in her fists

The trick is that the treats
though sweet
will someday make her flight less quick

When insulin‎ is low
and the memory of thinness distant

The haunting and taunting
of the sugarcane spirit
beckons sweetly in the night

End.

Unmorning Person

When I wake the dreams still cling tightly
Their lovely tentacles pulling, caressing my brain
Sleepy thoughts swirling cloudy, gentle
As I climb out of bed and reassemble slowly
The pieces of those dream-worlds remain
Visions of impossible beauty sentimental
Coming down from the transcendental
Sunlight crashes in and burns the feelings that remain
Morning moves through my bones unkindly

End.

WIP: The Manifestation

As the being broke into our world, there was a loud thunderclap. Its many wings unfurled to fill the entire sanctuary of the old stone church and its body was wrapped with golden light. On its shoulders was a head with four faces, each equally majestic and terrifying: an ageless, genderless human face with sharp features and brazen eyes; the face of an ox with rippling muscles and curling horns; the face of an eagle with a peircing stare and a razor sharp beak; and the face of a lion with a wild, golden mane and long, ivory teeth.

The parishioners were filled to their bones wth fear, and fell on the ground covering their eyes.

It's head among the rafters, the angelic beast spoke with a voice that sounded like a chorus of mighty trumpets. "Be still!" Its voice rang out, and upon hearing these words, the people gathered there began to raise their eyes to meet his many faces.

Slowly, it knelt down on one knee and leaned toward the priest; who began shaking again and took several steps back. His thin, gray hair rustled in the wind that now swept through the church, and his face dripped with sweat.

Again, the angel spoke.

"You have received the favor of the Most Holy One who sits on the thrown of Heaven. I have been sent with a message for you and the faithful among your flock. So says the Lord your God:

'I have sent my angel to rule over your church, but he has come a long way and you must give yourselves as an offering to build his strength in this form. Choose 50 men from among yourselves to feed to my angel. Bake for him bread with your flesh and make him wine from your blood. Give over to him as servants all of the women and young girls of your church; giving them careful instructions to satisfy his new earthly flesh. Melt all of your gold and precious metals and bring them before him along with all of your rare stones and monetary wealth. Follow these commands and I will appoint for you a special place before my throne in heaven.'

Thus says the Lord."

A scream escaped from one of the faithful. A man fainted and fell to the flagstone floor. Most again looked away and cowed low to the ground. The priest wore a look of horror but continued to meet the being's gaze.

Slowly, he gathered a small shred of confidence and cleared his throat. "Oh mighty angel of the Lord, I am unworthy to speak with you."

The faces answered, "Speak freely, my child."

The priest took another step back and mindlessly attempted to smooth down his garments. "Why has the Lord commanded this? It does not seem like him. I cannot understand why he would ask something so abominable of us."

The angel frowned and his wings sank. "Do you not remember the story of Abraham? Did not the Lord command him to sacrifice his own son on a flaming altar?"

The priest looked somewhat relieved, "He means to test our faith."

The faces nodded solemnly.

For a few seconds, the priest looked around the chapel, gazing over the people he knew so well. "So be it. We will answer the call of the Lord."

When he finished saying this, several people tried to flee down the aisle away from the angel. The heavy wooden doors at the end closed themselves with a loud BANG, and, try as they might they could not open them to escape.

The angel stood again, the wind at his feet rushing ferociously. His golden light cast black shadows between the pews and behind the pillars along the walls. He turned and climbed the stairs, sitting on and crushing the alter into a splintered wooden throne.

WIP

My Very Real Fears

I've been reading the web comic "Deep Dark Fears" and I realized that contrary to what I tell myself and others, I really am afraid of some things. So in the name of complete transparency, here are the ones I can think of, though I'm sure there's more.

I'm afraid: 

• That all of my grown up teeth will fall out at the same time and I won't be able to replace them with anything because my gums will be rotten. 
• That I will die and realize that everything I believed was a lie and I'm just awake in total blackness... Then I slowly realize this is hell. Nothing. Forever. Alone and awake.
• That I will wake up and remember I don't have a family, that my wife and daughter was a lie I told myself to keep from being alone. 
• That I'm secretly mentally disabled, but all of my friends and family play along to make me feel better. 
• That I'm suddenly so fat I can't walk or fit through doors and I just have to lay in my bed and slowly die. 
• That my daughter will lie and tell people I touched her and everyone will believe her and take her away from me and my wife will leave too. 
• That I will die without ever having written something really good. 
• That I will be swallowed up by the ground like the dream I had when I was a little kid. 

The end, for now. 

The First Day

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

All matter was formless and void.

A tiny pinprick bursting with potentiality.

Even time was born in the space of an instant.

From nothing the cosmos was thrust out suddenly.

It was catastrophe, cacophony, a symphony of chaotic noise collisions.

Smashing atoms blasted through the empty void in an explosion that created light.

It began with a word, everything spinning out in spiraling expanses of energy and space.

After eons, order took over and beat back the invisible enemies into nonexistance.

Everything started falling into place as magnetism spanned the chasms.

Orbits forming smashed molten matter into spheres.

After cooling, life grew slowly on their surfaces.

And starlight ran a hundred million miles.

Embracing earth for the first time.

So there was evening and there was morning the first day.

End. 

The Inevitable Knife

I only kill when I feel I need to, never out of rage or for a measureable gain, and only on the rarest occasion. I get this craving like I just really need a good cry. It wells up in my gut like a strong emotion, and gnaws at the base of my skull like the fuzzy warnings of an oncoming migraine.

Until I kill, the sickness grows. These days, I try not to resist. When I'm sure it's the sickness coming over me, I simply ride out the rest of my work day then drive home.

When I get home I slide through my evening responsibilities in a blur of dinner and kissing my wife and watching television and cleaning the dishes and brushing my teeth and listening to my wife as she talks about her day and we lie down in bed together and turn out the lights. Then, I lie on my bed in silence, eyes wide open, listening to the house settle in the darkness.

I wait for her breathing to become slow and predictable.

I wait for the traffic outside to become slow and sparse.

When my house is asleep and my neighborhood quiet, I rise from our bed and get dressed. Usually, I get my favorite filet knife from our kitchen drawer and, making sure the sheath is closed safely, I tuck it in an inside coat pocket.

I really love my sedan.

The grey, dimly lit interior is quiet and clean; a contrast to our noisy suburban lives. In the darkness still hours away from sunrise, traffic is light. Early on I learned not to plan where I was going. I learned to let my mind wander while I drive through hill after hill of identical houses. After driving many miles through the night I find a place to park out of sight and take foot.

At this point in the hunt the sickness feels like a wave of depression. I can only just manage to think clearly enough to find a victim.

It's usually an early bird and a jogger. He or she wears a hoodie and has earbuds deep in their canals. They never hear the knife. My attack is swift and deep, a bright flash from ear to ear. They gurgle and the hot blood spills over my hands as I lower them to the sidewalk. The sickness subsides in a rush that feels exactly like the runner's high I used to get in high school. I disappear into the suburbs just as the horizon begins to gray.

Moments before dawn I lie down next to my wife. The relief and the crash from the adrenaline flood in as I turn to cuddle under our silky sheets.

For the following weeks everything is pretty normal. With the sickness gone, I go about my days with a sense of euphoria. I see the bodies on the news, followed by a smiley family photo, then weepy interviews. I don't feel bad. I only kill when I feel I need to, never out of rage or for a measureable gain, and only on the rarest occasion.

End.

Project 157, "Wolf & Gun" for Dan

We learned to live in quiet many years ago. The Bright Things are now a distant but chilling memory that hangs heavy every time we migrate past the hulking, empty cities.

My grandfather says that nobody knows what really happened. Everything was normal, and then it wasn't. The Bright Things came from the sky, and everyone looked on as our greatest toys and weapons were turned to dust.

Timidly, over time, we learned what we were allowed to do. We could grow crops, but only on small plots and with crude hand tools. We were allowed bicycles and horses, but not cars or planes.

The Bright Things never spoke. They never had too. They were silent gods inflicting their will through a quiet, terrifying wrath.

My grandfather says things are better now, that we're happier because disease, sickness, and hunger have all but vanished. I couldn’t tell you either way. I wasn’t born until after the singularity.


End.

Inspired by portions of "Artificial Intelligence as a Positive and Negative Factor in Global Risk,” Written by Eliezer Yudkowsky, and edited by Nick Bostrom and Milan M. Cirkovic as well as "Common Sense 283 – Summoning the Demon" by Dan Carlin

Things Only a Really Fat Guy Would Understand, Part 27

When you have to Google the word "exercise" to make sure you're spelling it right. You're not.

Things Only a Really Fat Guy Would Understand, Part 26

Your 3-year-old tells you that "if you exercise, your tummy wouldn't be too big."

Things Only a Really Fat Guy Would Understand, Part 25

When you thought you'd been maintaining your weight for the last 3 years (despite the fact that your waist size has been steadily going up) only to go to the doctor's office and hear what you weighed from 3 years ago.

Things Only a Really Fat Guy Would Understand, Part 24

Unbuttoning your pants at your work desk and hoping no one will notice.

End.

Things Only a Really Fat Guy Would Understand, Part 23

When you are sitting at your desk and your pants are cutting off the circulation to your legs.

End.

67

So here it is. My 67th post of the year. I told myself I would beat my personal record from 2012.

Here's the thing.

I think the reason that my number is so high this year is that I was writing shorter things. Poetry, flash fiction, one-liners, rambling personal anecdotes like this...

There are 63 days left for 2014, and I haven't actually been writing as much as I would like. I feel like I'm losing any edge I ever had.

So in the next 63 days I'm going to write 3 short stories that make me happy. After all, if I don't enjoy reading my writing, who will?

This will help me feel like I actually accomplished something with my craft this year, rather than just filling my blog with fliegerabwehrkanone.

Stay tuned...

I'm Sure It's Just Because They Don't Make Jeans Like They Used To But This Is Getting Old

The denim stretches, then gives

A new tear expands down my ass

Forced to give up under the stress of my fat

The threads of my jeans are broken

My daughter looks on

A fog of shame clouds my vision

That's the third pair this year

End.

Bending Bones

My body is a pussy

I never listen when it complains

I just buy bigger pants

Pop a dozen pills

And try to get out more

My daughter says I'm fat

The scales all agree

I want there to be a reason

Not to blame myself

So I can keep eating out

I want to be in shape

I just love butter so much more

I just muscle up the zipper

Take my omeprazole

And tell myself I'm sexy

My bones are bending

I can feel the weight grow

If I lost the fat

My shriveled skin would hang

An empty bag of flab

I tell myself it's fine

It's not the way I eat

That keeps my waist expanding

And when I get sad

I stuff my face with calories

End.

Peoples Choice for President

Hey Internet, who do we want for president next? There are a lot of us… we should be able to pick together, right? #PeoplesChoiceforPresident

Now on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PeoplesChoiceforPresident

Iambic Pentameter

Iambic pentameter
Bliambic blamtameter
Viambic vamtameter
Marambic mumblemameter
Fliflamflic flamflameter
Gluggurgle gurgurgelter
Piambic iamtameter
Iambic pentameter

End.

4 Little Letters

Twice this week, I've been approached about my use of expletives on Facebook and Twitter. Why have I occasionally dropped an F-bomb here or there?

I cuss for a lot of reasons. The short answer is this:

I've spent a lot of time thinking, reading, and praying about my bad behaviors. I've reached the conclusion that at this point in my life, I'm going to focus on the truly important things, like loving people.

Maybe when I've mastered that I can work on the tiny ones like cussing and eating too many cookies.

Baby steps.

Life is too short to waste energy worrying about the stupid things when our whole world is crying out to be loved.

If you really want the long story, let me know. I can take some time in the coming weeks and pull together a tell-all blog post about it.

Always remember I love you,
Gabriel

End.

Holocene Weekend

I'm supposed to do laundry

And check my email

Instead, I want to fall asleep 

And wake up in five years

Checking in on the differences time makes

Change happens slowly

A machine run by gravity alone

Despite our blur of activity

Only earth's rotation makes us different

A race of Rip Van Winkles

They're supposed to be stories

Our independent lives

Made up of conflicts and desires

A narrative of growth and learning

We spend two thirds of it asleep

And the other third in transit

End.

Drag

A complete lack of motivation

Drags

On my whole person

Like heavy rocks tying me down

End.

Indoor Creatures

We evolved to be indoor creatures

Allergies, mosquitoes, and sunlight kept us inside

Where we could struggle under the weight of nine to five for many years

Until we earned the right to stand under the sky in our soft and wrinkled old age

End.

This

Goodnight Blog

Goodnight moon.

Goodnight chair.

Goodnight laptop glowing bright.

Goodnight red-eyed Netflix binging.

Goodnight Facebook status posting.

Goodnight Twitter witty tweeting.

Goodnight tumblr feed reblogging.

Goodnight vodka almost gone.

Goodnight robots who read my blog.

Goodnight click bait.

Goodnight air.

Goodnight users everywhere.

End.

Boobs in Space

Someone gave me their HBO GO Code. 

Needless to say, after burning through Game of Thrones and binging True Detectives, I decided to check out the After Dark section. 

I quickly settled on "Intergalactic Swingers" in which a couple of lesbian "aliens" (two perfectly normal-looking human women wearing shiny dresses and metallic gogo boots) have to team up with a couple of [Hooters?] waitresses to stop an asteroid from colliding with the earth.

"I repeat, no signs of intelligent life."

My first disappointment was that they didn't go with the title "Deeper Impact" which is far more evocative of the plot; especially since there isn't actually any intergalactic travel, which was my second disappointment. 

Thirdly, the sex scenes are hilarious, almost as silly as the acting. Apparently HBO likes to keep things PG13 in case a 13-year-old is tuning in after his parents go to sleep. Since they don't show any genetalia, it's kind of like watching someone smash two Barbie dolls together ala Robot Chicken. 

One of the alien women has a rainbow-colored dragon tattoo. I found myself wondering if it was the actress' real ink because it reminded me of a Lisa Frank sticker book. Or maybe it's supposed to be a part of the alien's backstory? Maybe they have rainbow-colored dragons on whatever planet they swing from?

Perhaps weirdest of all is the soundtrack. Part jazz, part xylophone ambience, part techno dance; it seems to me that the sound designer sat down at his keyboard and just decided to push all the buttons. Are those whale songs over a jammin' Yanni solo? Yes, I'm pretty sure that's exactly what it is.

Summing up, if you are looking for metallic clothing, big boobs, PG13 steam, and intergalactic travel... stick with Barbarella. 

Zero Stars

End.

Ownage

"I fought a bear single handed

Won a staring competition with a gargoyle

Scaled Mount Olympus without a spacesuit

And lapped Usain Bolt in a 100 meter race

I am more selfless than Mother Theresa

More inspiring than MLK

More deadly than a poison dart frog

And more powerful than the oceans' tides

I have given birth a hundred times

I am sexier than Helen of Troy

I'm holier than Jesus, Muhammad, and Buddha

Stronger than Hercules

A better detective than Sherlock Holmes

Richer and wiser than Solomon

And more mysterious than a giant squid

In short, I am the fucking greatest"

- Every Rapper Ever

End. 

The Porn

When I knew my wife was asleep, I logged into the cam site and checked the top rooms list. I could feel the rush of forbidden pleasure wash over my brain and tingle down my spine. 

I scrolled through the chat rooms one at a time. I looked for a girl who wasn't wearing too many clothes, but who wasn't completely naked either. After all, what fun is there in watching a woman who is so completely calloused to the potential sensuality of the situation that she puts on a routine dog and pony show for a bunch of equally desensitized masturbators? 

No, I was after the tease - the wait - the thrill of inevitable pleasure held off until the right moment. I wanted it to feel naughty, to feel like I had worked for it. To pretend that I was slowly turning her on. Never mind that it was the ring of the tokens rolling in that truly motivated her state of undress. 

You don't think about the 163 other men in the chat room with you, slowly stroking their stalks and tossing in their gold coins. That would be gross. In fact, if you have about $50 you can get a pretty good private show wherein the girl of your choice will play along with the farce; loudly climaxing on camera for your headphones only. She'll even call out your name. 

Sure, pre-recorded porn is free and more easily accessible. However, there's no personal connection to the scream queens in those pirated or armature videos. 

With cam girls, the action is all happening in real time. The thrill comes from knowing that you are both touching yourselves on the same planet at the same time, both staring deeply into the same digital sea. 

We ride the crests of zeros and ones together to climax. I say thank you and log off for the night, clearing my browser history and throwing away the paper towels. Then, I crawl in bed next to my wife's sleeping form so I can snuggle out the sudden rush of oxytocin as I fall asleep. 

.

.

.

They say there are too many hypocrites in the world. 

Most people who are two-faced think the solution to being less of a liar is to become a better person, to sin less, to try harder; but this inevitably leads to failure and disappointment. You're still a liar, even if you are truly striving for piety while you wear your mask of righteousness. 

No, the real solution for dealing with hypocrisy is to be completely and brutally honest.

Porn is a thing. 

In America, nearly 65% of all men watch pornography at least once a month, and almost 35% of American males think that watching pronography is morally acceptable. 

So why hide your secret sins behind locked doors and laptop screens? Why not be honest about who you are, and admit that you are doing the best you can? 

They say admitting you have a problem is the first step toward recovery. 

Well, for better or worse, here goes nothing....

I really enjoy watching porn. 

It relieves my stress without having to abuse a toxic substance. It helps me fall asleep when my brain is running a hundred miles an hour and sounding like a giant state fair. Masturbating helps me last longer with my wife, and means that I can go longer between lovemaking sessions, which is good because we both lead very busy lives. 

They say you can't learn how to have better sex from watching porn, but my cunilingus skills prove otherwise. 

And yes, my wife knows about my solo sexual escapades. We don't keep secrets from eachother, not even dirty ones. Furthermore, because of my honesty, she knows she can trust me on the deepest level. She knows my flaws and helps make me a better person. 

I'm not going to bring up sex trafficking, or the negative effects of a really harmful porn addiction, or the objectification of women. That's not what this post is about. 

This is about me being honest with you, dear reader, by pulling back the mask of my propriety and being super real about who I am. This is about battling hypocrisy with the truth. 

I am brave enough to admit my defeats and shortcomings. 

Are you?

End. 

Post Script: If you would like to discuss anything further, please chat me up. I would love to hear your thoughts. 

Yours,

Gabriel

The Thresher

I made a machine and stepped inside. 

It looked just like an ordinary box, but from the inside I could see two worlds clearly layed out. These two realities switched in and out, cutting together with my rapid eye movements like wheat through a thresher. 

In one, I existed as I did before entering the box, my life plodding on in the more or less linear form to which we are all accustomed. Familiar faces, places, and experiences swirling in the mix. 

In the other I ceased to be - this reality too was linear, but void of my self completely. Loved ones loved others, children born of a different father, a wife with a different husband... and everything seemed fine. 

I couldn't choose. The question inside that metal closterphobia chamber was the same one on Hamlets lips: "To be or not to be." 

In the end, I chose neither and stayed, dead and alive, inside that box forever. 

End. 

Growing Pains

That was a heavy night. 

I started it by staring into the blank, robin's-egg-blue void of the sky; feeling that familiar sensation of drowning. I knew that if I let myself go I would fall into that blank, blue-grey abyss... flying, flying into nothingness. 

I watched a rabbit eat blades of grass then flee into the woods. 

I drove through the dark to my grandmother's house and told her that her brother-in-law is dying. I gave her a hug and drove back home through the same dark. 

I poured a half-glass of booze and read up on suicide. I made it very clear on my social media soapboxes where I stood. I proceeded to publicly chastise those who disagreed. 

I talked to my mom for an hour about sex and shame, guilt and redemption. Her phone died while we were still saying our goodbyes. 

I talked to my wife about pregnancy, about our daughter's loneliness, about wanting to run away to Chicago and start a new life. 

I took a painful shit and felt my eyes grow weary and dry. Then I finished my drink, pounded this diatribe out on my tablet and went to bed. 

Tomorrow is another day. Maybe stuff won't be so real in the morning. I do tend to go through heavy phases. 

Even when I was a kid I would grow out before growing taller. I hope that's what this is, the weight gain before the growth spurt. 

I hope I get really emotionally tall in the coming weeks.

Remember I love you,

Gabriel

End. 

A First Sex Talk for Loving Parents

Remember that sex is a natural, fun, beautiful, and intimate activity.

It is not shameful, dirty, or wrong. 

If you ever have any questions, or are confused or worried about anything, know that we will never condemn you. We love you and want you to be safe, healthy, and whole. If for any reason you aren't comfortable coming to us, please talk with another adult that you trust, either a doctor, a teacher, or another relative that you know very well. 

Sex is an adult activity, meaning that you shouldn't take it lightly. While sex with the right person at the right time can be a wonderful thing; if you are not ready or the person you are with is not being considerate, you can get hurt both emotionally and physically. 

Sex should be with someone you can trust and who cares about you more than themselves. 

Do not have sex with someone who has a disease unless you are fully prepared to live with all of the consequences. If you are not sure if someone is clean, don't be afraid to ask. Both of you are fully responsible for staying physically healthy. If you're not sure that they are telling you the truth, then you have every right to walk away. Don't compromise your safety because you feel pressured, embarrassed or ashamed. 

Sex between a man and woman can make a baby. Unless you are ready to be a parent, never have sex without proper contraceptives. Don't assume you know how it works, consult a health professional and always read all of the instructions before use. 

Remember, most contraceptives do not protect against infections, and none are 100% effective at preventing pregnancy. 

Both people should always communicate their needs, concerns, and desires. Sex can be tricky and uncomfortable, especially when you are learning. Take your time, and never let anyone pressure you into doing something that makes you uncomfortable. 

It is NEVER too late to say no. 

You are the one in charge of safeguarding your whole self: body, mind, and heart. 

Being with the right person makes sex a safe place for both of you to learn and explore. Sex is always better when your partner cares about your well being. This is the best way for both of you to be healthy and happy.

Remember that we love you very much and will always try to do what's best for you. Please remember that we want you to be happy, healthy, and whole. If you ever have any questions or concerns we hope you will feel comfortable talking to us. 

We promise to never shame you, no matter what happens, because you are so special to us. 

So, do you have any questions now? 

If not, that's okay. We'll can talk more about specifics as you continue to grow. 

End.

A First Sex Talk for Loving Christian Parents

Remember that sex is a natural, fun, beautiful, and intimate activity.

It is not shameful, dirty, or wrong. 

If you ever have any questions, or are confused or worried about anything, know that we will never condemn you. We love you and want you to be safe, healthy, and whole. If for any reason you aren't comfortable coming to us, please talk with another adult that you trust, either a doctor, a teacher, or another relative that you know very well. 

Sex is an adult activity, meaning that you shouldn't take it lightly. While sex with the right person at the right time can be a wonderful thing; if you are not ready or the person you are with is not being considerate, you can get hurt both emotionally and physically. 

Sex should be with someone you can trust and who cares about you more than themselves. 

Do not have sex with someone who has a disease unless you are fully prepared to live with all of the consequences. If you are not sure if someone is clean, don't be afraid to ask. Both of you are fully responsible for staying physically healthy. If you're not sure that they are telling you the truth, then you have every right to walk away. Don't compromise your safety because you feel pressured, embarrassed or ashamed. 

Sex between a man and woman can make a baby. Unless you are ready to be a parent, never have sex without proper contraceptives. Don't assume you know how it works, consult a health professional and always read all of the instructions before use. 

Remember, most contraceptives do not protect against infections, and none are 100% effective at preventing pregnancy. 

Both people should always communicate their needs, concerns, and desires. Sex can be tricky and uncomfortable, especially when you are learning. Take your time, and never let anyone pressure you into doing something that makes you uncomfortable. 

It is NEVER too late to say no. 

You are the one in charge of safeguarding your whole self: body, mind, and heart. 

Because of our faith, we believe that sex should always be between a loving married couple. The Bible teaches us that this is the best way for both of you to be healthy and happy. Being married to the right person makes sex a safe place for both of you to learn and explore. Sex is always better when your partner cares about your well being. 

Remember that we love you very much and will always try to do what's best for you. Please remember that we want you to be happy, healthy, and whole. If you ever have any questions or concerns we hope you will feel comfortable talking to us. 

We promise to never shame you, no matter what happens, because you are so special to us. 

So, do you have any questions now? 

If not, that's okay. We'll can talk more about specifics as you continue to grow. 

End.

Things Only a Really Fat Guy Would Understand, Part 22

When you've maintained for three years, but your pant size still keeps getting bigger. 

End. 

Things Only a Really Fat Guy Would Understand, Part 21

When you're the big spoon but you feel so far away. 

End. 

Monday, No.

I haven't written anything this weekend.

I didn't edit the video of my family's interviews.

I didn't go swimming or even for a walk.

I did cook a meatloaf and a pork roast. 

I did watch many episodes of the Clone Wars. 

I have many long naps after sleeping in. 

I am dreading going back to work tomorrow. 

I am worried that there still a week until pay day.

I am looking for an excuse to schedule a holiday. 

Sometimes I just need a weekend after my weekend. 

How am I more tired now than I was on Friday?

It seems being unproductive has produced very little.

I should have made something. 

I should have written something. 

I should have gone for a swim. 

End. 

Summer X, At the Lake

Under hydrated

Sweaty

Heavy jeans stick to my legs

Mayflies black 

Whip thin tails

A dozen hang in a spider's web

Under shade tree 

Reading

Moving to stay out of the sun

Cicadas sing

Buzzing

I think I may go for a swim

The lake is still

Refreshing

The sun beats down in waves

Floating peaceful

Resting

On a Saturday afternoon

End.

Summer IX, Playing With Matches

The house went up like kindling

Years of growing, learning, loving

Gone

I knew every floorboard's creak

The hidden places in the basement

Dark

Now fire truck bright flashing lights 

A flood of city water rains down

Heavy

The fire, along with our belongings

The pictures, clothes, and books

Crushed

Years of memories now reduced

To wet, bruised, ash-covered

Kindling

End.

Summer VIII, Polar Vortex / Pizza Feast

This polar vortex thing again

We order two large pizzas

It's summer in Kansas

But the wind is cool and strong

My daughter eats three slices

One for each of her years

The hops in my beer taste like pine

I lean back in my chair and smile

We all over eat

A pizza feast for three

Then carry the rest home in boxes

To eat cold on Saturday morning

End.

Playing House, Part 1

This needs qualifying. 

I only want to say three things, and I promise they are not excuses. They have, however, been an important part of me being able to forgive myself, heal, and live a normal life. 

One. I was only a child when these things happened.

Two. I had no understanding of what I was doing. 

Three. We never had sex. 

Due to years of repression, and the shock of the moment, I cannot remember things exactly as they happened. I remember it like a film nior scene. Words will not serve to fully describe the night my father found us. 

He stood filling my doorway, silhouetted against the light outside my bedroom. Only one time since have I ever felt a fear so crippling. 

I remember he told her to go get dressed. 

I only remember one thing he said to me that night. 

"I want to kill you."

I spent the rest of the day thinking he would. After all, isn't that what I deserved? I knew what I was doing was wrong; but I also knew it was the only way to make me feel normal after my penis got hard. 

The weeks that followed were filled with shame, sleeplessness, and agony. Mostly, at my own hand. 

This shit was way to heavy. I remember one other thing my dad said to me later that day. 

"Do you know why you are in so much trouble? Because what you did was an adult thing, so you are in an adult amount of trouble." These words were spoken with a heartbroken tone, and I remember feeling how hurt he really was. I don't think he was able to fully comprehend the situation much better than I was. 

I'm a dad now, and I can say with certainty that I have no idea how I would respond. 

I plan on sharing this story in parts as I can. I need to talk to the people involved before I share more details. 

The reason I am writing at all is this. If we are ever going to stop hypocrisy, we need to be willing to step up first. Before I can tell others to share their stories, I must first be honest about mine. 

They say the truth will set you free. I have just begun a quest to find out if that is true. 

End.

Enemy

Nothing fills me with fear

Like blank paper staring back

At my blank fearful mind

End.

Another

I know it is wrong to fall in love with a boy. 

I know it is wrong, but my heart aches nonetheless. 

When I think about his curly hair or his bright green eyes, I feel a familiar lump form in my chest. 

When we're together, I try to play it cool. I push it down, I change the subject and try to think about anything else. The growing murmur becomes a rushing train in my ears. Despite every effort to the contrary, I always act like a schoolboy when we hang out; trying to constantly impress but acting like a fool. Later, I chastise myself for being so awkward.

When we are apart, which is most of the time, I replay our exploits in my mind: 

Late night galavanting

Dinner parties

Shouting and nonsense and music

Blurry bars and subway rides

Most fondly, I remember the car ride through the suburbs when I rested my head on his shoulder. I still remember the smell of his body, and the sound of his voice resonating through his chest. 

I can't control my bitter jealousy either. I am intensely resentful of his closer friends. I flush at the thought of all of the people who get to spend more time with him than me. 

Sometimes, I think about the time we kissed at a party. It was only a dare, but I can still feel his stubble on my cheek. 

More than anything, I long for a single sign. A few words or a touch that shows he loves me just as much... even if it's not in the same way. 

End. 

Affirmations

You are more powerful than the sum of you fears. 

Embrace your flaws, my love,

And become the man you always knew you were meant to be. 

~~~

Don't be afraid of the awkward child still living in your heart, fearful of not fitting in. 

Always be yourself. 

All of yourself. 

Those who love you will surely stay. 

~~~

You are not your mistakes. 

~~~

Feed the wolf you want to live. 

Crown him, like Max, the king; and let the wild rumpus start. 

~~~

Of all the people who might see you as fat, you are by far the most critical and the most hurtful. 

You wouldn't let anyone else put you down like that. 

So why would you do it to yourself?

~~~

You have the most beautiful blue eyes. 

~~~

You are unique. 

Don't try to be anyone else, and no one else will ever be like you. 

~~~

Stop worrying about fucking up. 

You have done some shit in the past and yet you are still here, healthy, loved, and whole. 

~~~

The only person telling you what you can and cannot do is yourself. 

End.

Summer VII, Power Outage

Rain, rain, thunder

Illumination

Power's out

Sirens in the distance

Child and wife tucked in

Sleeping, dreaming

I'm awake

The storm reminds me of ocean sounds

Takes me back to when I was a child

The swell and crash, the rumble

Nature's patterns rise and fall

A distant memory is like time travel

And the Kansas waves crest and tumble

Carrying me back to the coast

End. 

Old Material: Bison Moon

We sat on the peeling, white-washed porch. Creaking rocking chairs and singing cicadas. The cool, damp breeze smelled of ozone and the coming storm. We were due for it, and the corn shuddered in anticipation. 

I sipped my sweating iced tea and watched the evening air turn yellow-green. It was soon that eerie color which bespeaks cyclones, or at the very least hail. The cats ran under the porch, and the sheep began bleating in the barn. Whipping and tearing about, the wind slammed against the house - it seemed to have dropped ten degrees in as many minutes. 

Growing up in the flint hills, I could call a bad thunderstorm three days in advance. It was in the way the colors brightened and the air smelled like freshly tilled dirt. Now, lightning danced in the distance, towing billowing black clouds the size of mountains. The thunderbirds tore about in the cosmos, and heavy hammers landed deafeningly on the anvils in the sky. 

I turned and smiled at my wife of forty-some-odd years. This was going to be a good one. 

She brushed silver bangs from her face. We held hands and waited. The tin roof over us offered some protection from the arms of stinging rain and bludgeoning hail. When the storm finally rolled in over us, we would duck inside, soaked and cold, but laughing and grinning. We loved the storms. The thrill was like a time machine, bringing us back through the years of turmoil and famine. Back through the days of children becoming adults and having children of their own. Down past the times they grew up and moved on. 

That particular storm landed like the very wrath of God on our little farm. I remember the demolished shed and the trees torn limb from limb. 

Briefly, late in the night, the moon broke through the shadows and revealed the damage. I stood at my window, a wrinkled skeletal frame in striped boxers. It seemed impossibly large that night, the moon, it seemed to fill up the whole sky. I saw the split rail fence uprooted and the river of mud running through our front yard. 

I couldn’t sleep. The adrenalin which had come with the storm was still running strong, and my hands shook. My wife lay in our feather bed, tucked deeply in a tangle of hand-woven quilts. I lit a hurricane lamp and smelled the sulfur and the burning oil. A small black puff of smoke. 

Carefully, I crept to the top of our creaking stairs and climbed down. She could sleep through a thunderstorm but a flushing toilet would wake her like an air raid siren. I went to the linen closet and wrapped my shoulders in a shawl. The rain was starting up again. A whip of lightning cracked on the horizon. 

What I needed was a glass of warm milk. The gas stove lit and the sauce pan on, I got down the vanilla and the sugar, like I had so many times before. It was a remedy my mother had taught me when I was a little boy. When prayers for sleep had failed, and tossing and turning grew weary, that sweet, warm, frothy cup of vanilla milk would knock me right out. It never failed. As I was whipping up a cup, my mostly golden retriever mix padded in from her bed in the living room. Before it got too hot, I poured some milk in her bowl and ran my fingers through her thick, curly fur. 

The storm was really picking back up now. Crashings and thunderings ebbed and flowed with the rushing rain. In my corduroy chair, in the darkest hours of the night, I sipped warm milk and watched the shadows dance on my walls. My mutt curled up at my feet, and I welcomed the company. 

A few hours before sunrise, I crept back upstairs and snuck into our bed. My wife had kept the mattress warm; and my pillow was deep. Sleep soon overcame me, and with it with dreams of buffalos and ancient spirits dancing under the heavy sky. A giant silver orb of disproportionate grandeur hung in the heavens. 

There hasn’t been a storm quite like that sense. No less than seven tornadoes had torn about the grasslands that night. It was a wonder both our barn and house had made it through unscathed. 

The very next day, we got five phone calls from our children making sure we were still alive. I even got to talk to my first great grandchild. I say talk, but she mostly just cooed. It hardly matters because your heart breaks just the same. 

End.

Post Script: This is an old, mostly unedited story I wrote last minute for a contest of some sort. I'm glad it didn't win, because it's objectively not very good and the stories that came out on top were marvelous. Posted today because I was surprised it hadn't been yet. 

Hip Hip Hooray: Why I Don't Mind Being Called a Hipster

I just want to get something off my chest. 

If you could stick with me for five minutes or less, I want to talk about hipsterness. Mine in particular. 

To start with, I have developed a love for farm grown produce, smoked meats, freshly baked donuts, and artisanal rootbeer through a life of enjoying good home cooked meals and because I have a taste for delicious, uncomplicated food. 

I listen to weird rock, fringy pop, classical, folk, and 50's blues music because I love passionate art and have a hunger to discover new things at an insatiable pace. I love my music because music doesn't discriminate based on race or because of what clothes you wear or your social status.

Which brings me to my next point. I dress like this because I grew up shopping in thrift stores and wearing hand me downs. I also just happen to love scarves, coincidentally. I'll probably get some tattoos at some point, but until then I'll just have to be jealous. I can't grow a full beard but I would if I could. It makes you look like a viking and I think that's pretty bad ass. 

I love fountain pens and old fashioned typewriters because I read a lot of classic literature and I have a deep appreciation for well made objects. Craftsmanship used to make the world go round and it's really rewarding when you can take pride in your work. 

I use twitter and tumblr and have a website because I enjoy being connected to a larger planet, I feel like it gives me perspective. But I also strive to be present. If you come over for some authentically prepared international cuisine I won't be on my tablet unless I'm sharing music or poetry with you. 

Yes, I write poetry and short stories. Story telling is our most powerful form of communication and allows up us to transcend the bullshit and connect on a deeper, more personal level. It also helps me work through difficult stuff on my own, and provides me with free entertainment. 

And since I've brought up entertainment, since when is spending time outside something to be mocked? We live on an incredible planet which very often surpasses even the setting in the best fantasy movies. Bonfires, hikes, and parks are the sorts of things mankind was meant to spend their life enjoying. So get off your hypothetical high horse and get on a real one for once. 

I don't always want to work 8-5 and make barely enough money to give back to the federal government. Some day, I want to work on my terms, and do something I love. Life isn't about money. 

It's about truly experiencing this whole thing and sharing it with the people you love. 

Speaking of which, I love humans. Women's rights, gay rights, starving children, clean water, bring it on. Don't be afraid to talk about free the nipple or homelessness or religion because you're repressed or confused. Respect people for who they are, try to give something of yourself and don't expect anything back. Listen intently to people's stories. You might just learn something. Seek discomfort. Don't be afraid to talk to someone just because they are wearing a turban or have lots of peircings. 

I guess my whole point is, be yourself. I have tried to do this my whole life, and it just so happens that right now, many of my lifestyle choices have come in to style. Which is great for me because everything I've always had an affinity for is freely available in a bunch of stores which suits me perfectly, thank you. 

If you only take one thing away from this little rant let it be this. 

Don't let other people's opinions dictate anything about you. Listen to the music you like, dress how you want, eat food that tastes good and stop worrying about what it all means or how someone might label you. 

If you have any questions or feedback, let me know. 

Peace,

Gabriel

P.S.

Bacon is delicious, so shut up.

End.

Toms, for Joel

His name was Toms, and he was a model i8-90 artificial human analog. We stood on the balcony of the 317th floor looking out over the shit colored city. I lit a cigarette and thought about the victim's girlfriend in the apartment behind us, red faced and weeping as the forensic team packed up the body. 

I looked at Toms, "Are you familiar with the human emotion called empathy?" I asked. 

"Yes, of course." He answered coldly. 

I growled to him beneath my breath. "Then reboot your memory banks before we go back in there and stop being such a galactic cunt."

I dropped the death stick and stepped on it. We went back inside. 

I never considered that the sniper had been watching, or had designs to continue killing. The bullet appeared like magic and exploded Tom's chest in a spray of brilliant cherry. I never considered that maybe Toms hadn't been a robot at all. 

End.

Things Only a Really Fat Guy Would Understand, Part 20

Eating your coworker's stale snack food.

Things Only a Really Fat Guy Would Understand, Part 19

When your coworkers start offering you their stale junk food because they figure you'll eat it anyway. 

Things Only a Really Fat Guy Would Understand, Part 18

When Target doesn't carry your waist size. 

Things Only a Really Fat Guy Would Understand, Part 17

When she has to move your beer gut to get to your dick. 

Now

I just reread almost everything I've posted on here for the last two plus years.

I can say with confidence that I still like half of it. 

And I'm glad to report that the other half is not as bad as it could be. 

Well, some of it is...

Good night,

Gabriel

Summer VI, The Storm

Relief comes in long, grey, wet days

The fever of summer broken by a thunderstorm in late July

We check our basement stairs

And keep a wary eye on the yellow green sky

75 More Years

I fell in love with the color of your skin under moonlight
I fell in love with your summer freckles countless and bright
I fell in love with your blond, brown, blue, blond, red, black hair
I fell in love with the curves of your shape
I fell in love with the stars in your eyes
I fell in love with the sound of your voice
I fell in love with the taste of your lips
I fell in love with your unreserved smiles
With the way you say words
With your gentle caress
With your beautiful soul
With your quick-witted mind
With your true caring kindness
I fell in love with your sexy behind
I fell in love with the way you love me
I fell in love with your lacking knowledge of tea
I fell in love with your eating cupcakes wrappers
And listening to country music
And smooth dirty dancing
And occasional flashing
I fell in love with your scowly studying face
I fell in love with the way you embrace me around my waist
With the way you stand on your tiptoes to kiss me
Or to get cereal from the shelf
I fell in love with you wearing scratchy blue jeans to bed
I fell in love with kissing the top of your head
I fell in love with your merciless nerf skills
I fell in love during hundreds of movies
I fell in love playing Magic the Gathering
I fell in love with my truest soul mate and confidant
And I fell in love with my forever best friend

I love you Ravyn, and I always will.

End.

Seasons / Reasons

I hate summer hot and dry

I hate fall with piling leaves

I hate winter cold and mean

I hate spring both wet and dark

These seasons just don't suit me

End.

Summer V, Grief

It wasn't a fun summer

The summer your grandma died

We listened to the thunder

I held you as you cried

I didn't know how else to help

There's nothing, you replied

I'll never leave, I whispered

I gently dried your eyes

The summer rain fell in sheets

We fell asleep, and spooned all night

End. 

Summer IV, Manhattan

Grasses and weeds as high as trees

Dirt on the flint hills winds

We run through the Konza prairie

And wish for summer to never end

End.

Summer III, The Rhythm of the Sea

Nothing

Like beaches long and sand

Crashing waves

Sailing clouds

Small shells

Brightly colored coral

Seagulls cry

I, floating on back 

Crests and valleys

Thinking

Nothing

End.

Summer II, La fiesta fue el acabóse

Endless, high sun dogs shine

Blaring, booming, base beats

Tacos, tequila, tangos spinning

Endless summer laughter rises

Dogs barking, smoke black

Sweat and salt and spices drip

Brimming fruit drinks glisten

Brass music running on and on

End.

Summer I, The Fire

The sun burnt our skin to a crisp

It cracked the soles of our bare feet

It set our imagination on fire

And lit with flame our friendship

The moon shone bright on endless nights

With crackling meats and cold beers

The bonfires brought us together

And flashed high on salty coastal winds

Every summer has a story

A test, a heartache, a desire

And I'll love ours forever

End.

I Am a Writer

I don't work in a cubical
But I am stuck in a box
I worry that my dreams will run away from me
And that I could never catch up
But even scarier is a thought that just occurred to me
What if my dreams are just a lie I tell myself to keep going
What if these dreams are just an imaginary glass ceiling
What if when I finally catch up to them and
It's just feathers, dust bunnies, and sunlight fairies
That writing is a lie I tell myself to get by
And if someone sat a desk in front of me and put a pen in my hand
I would just sit there, staring out the window
A stack of blank pages three reams thick to keep me company
A blank mind to match the empty book I'm not writing
Because you see
The truth is
I have time to get started on it now
But at the end of a long work day
Nothing comes to me
So I just eat dinner, watch TV, masturbate, and go to sleep
And dream about when I can finally quit my day job
And spend all of my time writing

End.

"Ascension, Descension", for Dennis

Almost every night, they come for me. 

When I can sleep, I wake to see the pulsing blue light. 

Everything is a nightmarish blur. 

The weightlessness. 

The disorienting pain. 

My days are filled with crawling dread.

Waiting, waiting, waiting, for their return. 

I can do nothing else. 

I cannot escape. 

Time runs away and I cannot find it again. 

Hours, days, and weeks disappear. 

I wake up screaming on the cold steel apparatus; their black watery eyes staring down without pity. 

They put things under my skin.

The itching, the burning, the buzzing in my ears... they never fade. 

During the day, there are ice baths and electric shocks.

I had hoped that after moving to the hospital they would leave me alone. 

It seems they're only more obsessed. 

Pills, knives, guns, and rope have never stopped them. 

I die, then wake up screaming after every attempt; the smell of antiseptic and ozone hanging on my body. 

End.

Notes: This story is my first attempt to write a horror story that is scary when read both from top down, and from the bottom line back to the first. It takes on a different meaning when read backwards, and I'll let you decide which is more terrifying, if either.

"The Sphinx and I", for Tosha

She had black hair, thick glasses, and always spoke in riddles. I was spellbound from the first. 

It become obvious something was different about her on that hot Indian summer afternoon in our collegiate library. I don't know if it was the rushing wind or the stress from midterms but we couldn't focus on our books between the fawning caresses and stolen glances. 

We waited until the library was half empty and snuck deep into the stacks to be together. 

As I entered her for the first time, she transformed into a lioness. Not literally you understand, that didn't come until later. But before I went to bed that evening, I used half a cup of peroxide tending to the bites and scratches on my neck, back, and shoulders. 

Laying awake with the cool breeze sweeping in through my open window, I tried to reconcile her bookish persona to that wild animal I worshipped in the library.

End. 

For William, "The Following is a Notice From the State Parks and Game Department"

Hello spring breakers! As you are traveling south for your weekend in the Big Easy, be sure to heed the following safety tips:

• Keep several spare tires in your vehicle along with tools and extra gasoline. 
• Pack a satellite phone, CB radio, and extra power for all of your backup forms of communication. 
• Please do not hassle rest stop attendants, everyone is having a rough time in this economy, particularly small business owners. 
• Detours and shortcuts of every kind are ill-advised.
• Do not approach seemingly abandoned shacks, shanties, or cabins.
• Do not get high and have sex in the swamp. Period.
• Be aware of your surroundings at all times.
• Beware of giant snakes, bats, opossums, and other such natural predators. 
• If you stumble upon a moonlit ceremony, do not antagonize the voodoo cult devotees.
• Finally, please do not feed the alligator people.

Thank you for reading this statement and as always, enjoy your vacation and stay safe!

End.

The Ballad of the Mustache Man

Once there was a man who just wasn't sure if his mustache was long enough. So he grew it out even more. He brushed it, and waxed it, and ate just the right foods, all in order to keep his facial hair in peak condition. His mustache was soon legendary on the facial hair contest circuit, known throughout as the longest and brightest handlebar anyone had ever seen. It was longer than three tall men, and he had to keep it wrapped safely around his shoulders like a scarf when he wasn't showing it off. 

One sunny spring afternoon, while sitting in the highest room of his shared Victorian home in upstate New York, the man was enjoying a book and letting his mustache flap lavishly in the breeze. Suddenly, he felt a mighty tug on his golden, braided mustache. It really hurt, and brought a tear to his eye. 

Leaning his head out of the window, he was shocked to see a LARPer in full period regalia, trying desperately to climb his mustache like a rope. "I will save you fair maiden!" Shouted the socially inept knight. 

"Dude! That's my freaking mustache!" Yelled the man, but his voice cracked because of the fierce pain in his face. 

In a desperate search to end his agony, the man grabbed his vintage typewriter and dropped it out of the tower. It smashed into the knight's decorative helm, crushing his skull and ending his virginal existence. Fortunately, as the LARPer fell over from the blunt force, his home-smithied battle-ready sword flew from his hand and chopped the mustache man's gorgeous lip-braids to a reasonable length, barely missing his nose.

At that very moment, everyone in their general area of upstate New York suddenly felt much happier for seemingly no reason. 

The end. 

For Kendall, "Almost", Project 157

As he awoke for the first time, the creature found a note in his giant paw. It read: 

“Hi. Your name is Furry, and you are a golem. You are my first living creation and I honestly have no idea what you’ll be like. I hope you are nice, but in case you aren’t, I’ll be far away by the time you are reading this. Regardless, I'm sure things will work out, and I hope you like existing. 

Love - Tawkin H., Alchemist Renowned."

Now, after years of searching, Furry was afraid.

Mere yards into the cavern, he turned and walked out; and pretty darn quickly for a creature of his size. Maybe he could look for his father on the southern islands again. He loved the salty smell of the sea and the way the water felt in his coat.

He never realized how close he'd come to a certain terrified alchemist hiding in the darkness.

End.

So I Guess I'm Doing This Again

What a jumbled up wreck of pros and cons this whole adult thing has turned out to be
Wrestling competing priorities, identities, every new financial crises
Trying to balance my family, faith, friends, things, and personalities
And I love Jesus, but more like a lover would
Meaning passionately and in bursts, and then I want my space
I thought I was over this whole finding myself thing
But I'm learning there's much more to this existential crisis
For example I still don't know what I want to do when I grow up
So far, I don't think I really like being so responsible
There are definitely times where I would rather be out
Also, I refuse to believe that I'm supposed to spend my entire life evangelizing
Seems like I could run around the whole time and not see the forest for the trees
And miss out on the whole birds and the bees thing
And miss out on the whole old-earth bigger picture of our relationship to the universe
And dismiss whole communities of people that I would otherwise never meet
I know my mom would probably flip out if she were to read this
But honestly, I'm scared shitless this short life is all I get
That heaven is all around us, and I better just get into it
Before the big take-backsies of all my matter and my energy
Shouldn't I bet with the house and make the most out of what evidence insists exists?
Then just be really happy and blown away if when we die there's more?
Seems like that's the way to go, yah know?
Live fast, die old, and be passionate and loving
Be present, be open, and be excited about each new thing
Deal best as I can with everything life throws at me
And be super fucking grateful that I get to share this whole adult thing with you

End.

Twenty Somethings

I've cut myself adrift
Part of me has had to disconnect
To make it through the day-to-day
Push down urges, watch TV
Keep things numb and easy
Grind the grind, payday comes slow
Keeping my nose to the grindstone
Dreams pushed back, pushed back
More realistic realities set in
Briefcases and keyboards
Replace ideas and imaginings
Mondays and eight to fives
Replace late night wild storms
Adult life comes on slowly
It sinks in like sleeping
As I begin the metamorphosis
Into a young professional
A career-committed normal
Kill time like jackrabbit drives
My creativity slows to a crawl
My poetry becomes dull
I act like it's a heavy burden to lift
But I find it easy to disconnect

End.

Wow, that was kind of bleak.

For Jacob, Project 157, "World Peace"

She rode high on her Gen-10 Battle T-Rex, longshot sniper rifle strapped across her back. Her intel indicated that just over the next crest she could refuel and stock up on ammo at a lumbering mobile town. 

The desert was hot as hell, and Predatordactyls with their skull-mounted laser cannons soared high on the heat waves. It had been a long and bloody war, but resurrecting the dinosaurs had brought it to a quick end. 

Now, the war-dino units were mostly assigned to peacekeeping and humanitarian missions. 

Anyway, that's what your son told us when we asked him what he had drawn for his assignment on world peace, and I think you can discern why we asked you to come in. I mean, the battle-mistress in this drawing is completely nude. He's five years old for Christ sake, this is not normal behavior. Needless to say, we want to start him in the gifted program right away. 

End.