Figment

Figment

Imagine everything. Do anything. 

11.17.2014 - via Kindle 

"This book is like if Dr. Seuss was writing for our generation - hilarious, insane and really heartfelt." - Milo Stevens

Sleeping Vicariously Through You

Sleeping Vicariously Through You

Voices echo unusually loud in the auditorium at 9 am. They bellow in psychological array of a mass delivery of [semi] important information. There are limits, pay attention. Someone keeps parking in the wrong lot. The inbox is not for suggestions. Corporate wants numbers. The coffee is bitter but does its job. It was free. My brain is elsewhere; with a heart at home still in bed, pillows wrapped around her head. Sales are better in the fall. Last quarter we were up, and now we’re down. Substantial memory loss is unavoidable at this hour of day. It all comes down to the numbers. Words blend together like never ending palindromes that bounce off the walls. My eyelids are heavy, my blood pumps through my veins like syrup. Timesheets need to be submitted by 2 pm. My heart operates remotely - from between bedsheets with envy. I am in control of my breathing. Data doesn't rest, even if our bodies need to. One, two, three, fourth quarter's a charm. In, out, repeat. 

Dimensional Evolution

Here is something I wrote after being inspired by a conversation with my current 6th graders. It's called "Dimensional Evolution."

The sun rises sideways and clogs thought pores. Some feathery clouds expel acrossed its face like a bedsheet stained by blueberries. I am foggy and dripping with positive vibrations that rattle my teeth with a smile. Electricity runs through to my fingertips. Sounds pasted with sand fade out over the shorebreak into the ocean and die somewhere over the Atlantic. All of time and existence have led to this moment. It is a product of the everything and the nothing. It is one of many final answers. And here is me. I am an dimensional solution to an evolutionary problem. Any productivity I might have is micromanaged by subconsciousness. Focus is driven by a greater plane existence. There’s probably a 3-D model of it somewhere. Not that I need it at the moment. I am horizontal, though I’ve always desired to be vertical. There are teenagers in my classes that can hold intellectual conversation better than some adults I know. They will certainly stand vertically one day.

cut, copy, paste, fold, staple (The Zine)

The Zine is dead. You know that. Blogs are dead (or dying). You might also know that. I know this because everything dies. I'm also in a strange mood because I've been reading Al Burian the past few days. 

But, alas, the zine is dead and that saddens me. I wonder if that's attributed to our ever - shortening attention span. (Thank you Internet.) Why take the time to cut, copy, paste, fold, staple when I can post to to Tumblr? And in color! 

I can relate to the notion that a piece digitized writing reduces the carbon foot print made on Earth; but, as most readers might agree, there is something different about reading from ink and paper as opposed to pixels. Some might even say that it changes their perception of what they are reading! Personally, upon rereading 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, my perceptions of Verne changed. Whether the cause was rereading it electronically or rereading it with six more years of life experience, I still managed to take something out of it. 

Regardless, I wish there was something I could do. Maybe it's time I cut, copy, paste, fold, staple something together. I have some card stock lying around. My long reach stapler hasn't seen the light of day in over three years. 

When I was in college, I used to travel to different Barnes and Noble and/or Borders book stores and stick copies of drive and Bonfire Establishment in between softcover copies of Slaughterhouse Five or Hairstyles of the Damned, among other literary greats. That was before people stopped going to the bookstore to buy books (thank you Amazon). I always wondered how long it took employees to find and discard my zines.

Now, I barely have time to write things - let alone publish them. Being a teacher and a coach takes a lot of time. Your thoughts are spewed unto the universe and then erased forever. You spend hours grading papers and writing lesson plans and planning practices and driving to various large buildings. You don't have time to cut, copy, paste, fold, and staple; irregardless of however badly you want to. Your words are electronic. The air is thick. And the zine is dead.

Screw that, I'm going to put out a zine in the spring - 2015. And it'll be called "cut, copy, paste, fold, staple."

Morning Commute

The engine putters like my heartbeat after the alarm clock. Muscles and pistons pump blood and oil and the autumn sun paints my car in gold. Yesterday’s problems fog the new day, humid and heavy. They distort traffic lines and blur blinkers. Shifting lanes turns into a chore, I am forced to glance over my shoulder because the defroster hasn’t yet cleared the mirrors. But then something happens between the merges. Something changes. The wheel flows parallel to the yellow lines; it turns and steers on its own. A smile shapes my lips like wet clay. Around the bend, the sun floats into the rear-view, dilates my pupils and illuminates my soul like a silhouette from the 50’s. I am on fire. Alive. Awake. Solarized. I am here and this is the now. Yesterday is gone and there’s nothing I can do about that - a memory that I may or may not learn from. And that’s okay. The vinyl sticks to my palm like electricity, reminding me that I am organic. I am human. I am one organism of many stuck on a giant rock floating in space. I am defined by how I adapt and evolve with the timeline of the universe. My problems and my solutions are what create my present, my past, my future. This is my journey. My fate. It is a fixed destiny, reachable easiest by motor vehicle. I will come and I will go, as will everyone else, whether or not they choose to realize it. Only one thing can fuel me to my own outcome: that is the acceptance of happiness. To be happy is a framework in which I can create, control and destroy. With that power, I can turn the volume to full blast and roll down the windows in I please. It brings me to my now - to my morning commute. I park, smile at the secretary and start a new adventure. It is the only thing anyone can do. Someday you will see that too.