I once asked a mystic why they called it a “third eye.”
They said they had tried to use “center eye” and “middle eye” but people got them confused with Cyclops.
“What if a Cyclops is psychic?” I responded. “Do they have a second eye? And what about people born without eyes?”
We got horribly bogged down in semantics, and I think it was when I asked if a blind psychic had a fifth sense that he took a punch at me.
I ducked his punch, threw a right hook, and knocked him out cold.
“Didn’t see that one coming.”
Tag: myth
The Llama
Somewhere outside Peru, I have a vision of the llama.
“Gold is the sweat of the sun and Silver is the tears of the moon,” he says.
And vanishes.
I kneel down, digging through the dirt with my hands.
I pick out a small silver and gold llama, exquisitely crafted by the Inca many centuries ago.
It is beautiful. It is magnificent.
It is worth a fortune.
Laughing in the heat, this is no mirage, no delusion.
I wipe my sweating brow with my handkerchief, and look…
The cloth is covered with gold.
I rise from the ground, burning… burning…
Unlike Johnny
Unlike Johnny Appleseed, Louie Landmine was a real prick.
He went around the countryside, planting landmines.
Every so often, you’d hear an explosion. Another victim of Louie’s vile project.
Prick.
Whenever Louie got arrested, he managed to make bail.
Or, if the judge didn’t allow for bail, his attorney would win the case.
“Where’s your evidence?” he said. “Were there any witnesses? Anything to match his fingerprints to left?”
The jury would usually end up hung, or find him not guilty.
Until the court managed to find twelve of his victims to pack a jury.
They shot him at dawn.
Amy
I remember the day the stranger came.
Opened up his guitar case, pulled out a contract, and handed me a pen.
“Sign here,” he said. “I’ll make your name last forever.”
I said no, but so many said yes.
And now this girl, Amy.
The stranger’s men keep close tabs. When you’re worth more dead than alive, the party ends, and your friends find you with a needle sticking out of your arm.
Not me. I had my moment, but I outlived it.
Living legend?
No. A living ghost.
My hands, my head, my everything hurts.
But I’m still going.
The Cake Of Damocles
The Tyrant of Syracuse, Dionysius, welcomed the rebel Damocles into his home, offering his throne to the visitor.
“It’s all yours,” he said. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” said Damocles, and he sat down.
It was then that he looked up and saw a red and white cake, suspended over the throne.
“What’s with the cake?”
“It represents the threat those in power must live under every day.”
“Threat of cake? But I like cake.”
“Then I guess you like danger.”
That’s when the cake fell, and the sword inside it impaled Damocles.
“Oh, did I forget to mention it’s strawberry swordcake?”
Cherubacide
Downtown. Valentine’s Day.
We found the body of a baby with wings in the alley.
There were three pink-shafted arrows in its chest, valentine in its hand.
“Suicide note,” grunts my partner, barely looking up from his coffee “Nothing to see here.”
“Nothing to see, Joe?” I asked. “Suicide shot himself three times in the chest, did he? A freak baby with wings, nothing to see?”
Joe stared deep into my eyes. “When love dies, you don’t want to know. Too much pain.”
Poor Joe. Guy’s hit bottom.
I guess I’ll give him the flowers and chocolates some other time.
The Masturbation Fairy
You’ve heard of the Tooth Fairy, but what about the Masturbation Fairy?
She shows up at night and slips porn under your pillow. Or between the mattress and the box spring of your father’s side of the bed.
What she collects, well, maybe that’s better left unsaid.
What she does with all that stuff, well, I have no idea.
For certain, she’s busier than Santa Claus.
He just flies around the world once a year, and he only visits the good boys and girls.
The Masturbation Fairy visits everybody, all year round.
And the lump in their stockings isn’t coal.
Noodge
My people worship Noodge, God of Constant Guidance.
There’s no priests to spread His word or prophets of His revelation, as He is here with us.
That’s him at the bar, the guy in the robe drinking a beer. That’s Noodge.
He is always telling us what to do, how to do things, and constantly judging us.
What? You don’t see Him? You don’t hear Him telling the barkeeper how to best pour a beer?
You’re serious, right? Heresy’s a dangerous thing. Noodge might hear you and… well, He just nags us more.
(Teach us how to ignore Him too!)
Seeds
On the eve of her return to the land of the living, Hades thanked Persephone for her company.
He handed her a map with some wine and food, in case she got hungry along the way.
The next morning, Persephone began her journey.
It took longer than the journey to Hell, and she sat by a stream to rest.
She drank some wine, ate some food.
Then she realized: it was the rest of that apple.
“Six more seeds,” grinned Hades. “That makes twelve. The world is mine.”
Far above them, leaves turned brown again, and snow began to fall.
Hercules
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In Greek mythology, Hercules is often credited with performing twelve labors. However, the original poem laying out these labors was lost to history. All we have are poems and stories inspired by the original poem.
Until now.
Reading these ceremonial urns, painstakingly pieced together by my team, it turns out that Hercules was the name of a town, not a single person.
It wasn’t a single individual performing these labors, but a community coming together to get these seemingly impossible tasks done.
So when you look around you, so many impossible problems, look around.
Perhaps, Hercules is already with you.