Tag: commentary

The opposite of a muse

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What is the opposite of a muse?
What do you call someone who sucks all the inspiration and creativity out of your soul?
Or drains the soul right out of your body?
I need a word for what’s on my couch right now.
It’s been there for days, and I can’t rest. I can’t think. I can’t create.
I can’t write.
I keep trying, but the page is just as blank as when I pulled it out of my drawer.
I pour alphabet noodles across it. Scrabble tiles.
They slide off.
Without words, I have nothing to scream.
Only silence.

Too Many Cookies

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The only number of cookies I eat are too many cookies.
I get really sick from eating too many cookies.
I wish I could eat just the right number of cookies, but I don’t think that number exists.
I tried to keep track with graph paper and a clipboard, but it’s covered with cookie crumbs and pink pepto bismol stains.
Maybe there’s something on the label?
The package has a bunch of nutritional data with a suggested serving size: one cookie.
Ever have just one cookie? Only one cookie?
Hardly the right number of cookies. Hardly a number at all.

The Moral Compass

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I hold the compass flat in the palm of my hand, watching the needle spin madly.
The symbols glow a deep red.
“It’s broken,” I tell the salesman.
“No, it isn’t,” he says. “You are. Your moral compass is out of whack.”
The salesman snickers at me, his crooked smile wants me to punch it.
So I do. Many times.
As the salesman lays on the floor, I look at the compass.
The black end of the needle points at my heart.
“It’s working again.” I say, snap the lid shut, and step over the salesman out of the store.

Nine

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Calendars are artificial constructs, I keep telling myself.
The number of days in a week or month, the number of months in a year. These are all based on arbitrary standards that society has chosen.
The length of the year and where it starts varies, adjusted constantly to compensate for these inconsistencies.
September was once the seventh month. Now, it’s the ninth. The ninth of September, on a year set from an arbitrary start, has no cosmic meaning.
I repeat this over and over as the skies turn red, and taloned beasts crawl out of the shadows, sniffing for prey.

Teleprompter

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The President read the words on the teleprompter, the camera watched him, and the people loved it all.
One day, The President decided to sleep late, so they pointed the camera directly at the teleprompter.
The people loved it much more than they loved The President.
When he woke up and heard that they loved the teleprompter more than they loved him, he appeared on camera without the teleprompter.
The people booed and hooted. They told him to go away.
So, he did. And when the teleprompter was broken, the Vice President’s teleprompter took over.
That’s when people freaked out.

Fern

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The kids all point their fingers at Fern and laugh.
She doesn’t cry. Instead, she reaches into her backpack and pulls out a compass.
There’s no greater sight than the look on a bully’s face when he’s been stabbed in the chest. That change from the purest malice to emasculated shock happens quickly, but time slows down enough to let the moment be savored.
The bully goes down, hands clutched to his chest, blood leaking through his fingers.
Others scream, but Fern just rifles through the bully’s backpack.
She takes the compass, stows it away in her backpack, and leaves.

The Belt of St. Judas

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A simple, ancient belt of rope cinched around a tattered burlap robe, a bag of old coins in a purse.
The Abbot of Saint Judas bears these relics.
Without Papal sanction, the mission continues in secret. Every night, the faithful gather, and he returns to the hovel in the shadow of The Basilica to preach:
“Jesus asked to be betrayed. He was forgiven. Judas’ only sin was to martyr himself.”
The old monk closes the book as the soldiers rush into the abbey.
Arrests are made, the veneration of a false saint.
The abbot shakes the purse. A lucrative trap.

The Field Manual

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To be caught behind enemy lines is a dangerous thing, but as long as you have a flute, you’ll be fine.
The Army Field Manual has all sorts of unusual regulations like this one:
Leaving guns out for the Bullet Fairy to reload.
Smearing mud over your eyes to make you invisible to your enemies.
Licking a jeep’s steering wheel to make it start.
I’m on my third highlighter already.
Maybe it’s some kind of sick joke? Someone’s pulling a prank on me?
Then I look at the publishing credits: Published In China.
I wonder when the invasion will be.

Poland

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It’s rare to find a travel agency these days. Websites have all but eliminated the industry.
Maybe it’s just an old habit, but I still go to the travel agent downtown.
I think it’s the desks, the window displays, and posters that draw me.
One in particular. It’s a beautiful valley scene, and below is written: “The Nazis were cruel fuckers and Poland is beautiful.”
Every other travel poster has a beautiful scene and the country or city name, but my eyes keep getting drawn back to the Polish one.
Maybe, when all the Nazis are dead, I’ll go there.

Headache vs. Toothache

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So, you have a headache and I have a toothache.
Which one is worse?
I’m sure your headache is pretty bad, but headaches are better than toothaches, I think.
Toothaches often require weird people called dentists with some expertise in dentistry to resolve. They use large metal things with lots of sharp edges to stop the toothaches. Or they just poke and prod and jab for a while and then take a mold or two, saying you need to come back in tomorrow for more.
Then the bill arrives, your insurance company turns down the claim, and you get headaches.