Dry it out

Damn it,
Damn it,
Damn it,
Dang.

This mist behind

my eyes is starting
to get annoying.
It’s making things blurry.

When the world is blurry

it gets frustrating,
when it gets frustrating
I swear.

When I swear I feel angry

and angry eyes squint,
squinting makes me look
old.

When I feel old, I feel tired

and I want to sleep,
sleeping leads to dreams which
tugs at my imagination.

My imagination gets riled,

gets the better of me,
gets me misty, and
everything starts over again.

Silly,
sexy,
dangerous,
aggravating. 
Misty.

Damn it,

Damn it,
Damn it,
Dang.

Give it to me

             “Okay story, let me have it. Give me the words and phrases to make it all make sense. To put some structure and order to the world around me. Come on words…”, I said.
            “Naw. I don’t feel like it,” said Story.
            “Really? C’mon, it’s been such a long time for us to work together. Aren’t you ready to get something going again,” I asked.
            “Naw, there’s probably some really compelling televised dramas you could just watch. That should sate your story jonesing,” said Story.
            “I really don’t want to do that today. I’d much rather come up with some sort of colorful narrative, with complex characters struggling to eke out an existence against some harsh real world reality,” I said.
            “Naw, that sounds pretty boring if you ask me. Why don’t you relax and have another cigarette and just take it easy,” said Story.
            “That’s dumb. C’mon, why don’t you want to help me out,” I asked.

            Story slouched deeper in his easy chair. He pulled the lever on the chair's side and swung his legs up onto the extended footrest. He farted. He cleared his throat. He scratched at his inner thigh. He coughed.

            “Serious. You’re just going to lay there like a bum,” I asked.

            “Yeah. I am,” said Story.
            “You know, this hasn’t been easy for me either,” I said.
            “Whatever, why don’t you write about it in your diary,” sneered Story.
            “That’s not helpful. You know it’s not a diary,” I said.

            Story shifted his weight further down into the chair and groaned. I went to his side and shook his arm, but he ignored me. He closed his eyes and seemed to doze off immediately.

            “Hey,” I shouted, “don’t be a jerk!”

            Story smacked his lips and turned away from me. I stood next to his loafing and lowered my head.

            “Fine then, I’ll just do it myself,” I said.

            “Pssht, good luck with that,” said Story.

            I went back to my computer and sat down.

            “I’ll show you Story. I’ll show you good,” I said.

Paved

Flattened,
smoothed,
cleaned,
readied.

Laid out,

ordered,
made,
rolled.

Layered,

layered,
layered,
layered.

Under foot,

the details
of unnoticed
efforts.

Puzzled,

pieced,
algebraic,
mathed.

Made,

built,
constructed,
impermanent.

Scars

If you pick at your wound,
and keep drawing blood,
it will take a long time to heal.

Once it does close,

it scars.

Then you’re marked,

for all time with the
memory of your
injury.

The rest of your days,

you have this symbol
of the time you couldn’t
stop picking at it.

No matter the lotion,

the balm,
the butter,
the cure.

It’s on you,

this mark of memory.

The scar to sour even

the happiest of moments,
the richest, the wittiest, the bravest,
the saddest.

The symbol of your persistent

picking ever etched on everything
you do.

No one gets it,

each scar is unique to the
picker. It can’t be explained,
it can’t be easily understood.

It’s just there.
Always.

Marring what is supposed

to be lovely.

It has no humor.

It has no drive.
It has no ambition.
Yet, it is alive.

The scars.

The depression.
A struggle to survive.  

It’s difficult to see

the reflection of the person beyond
the scars at times.

Everything fades except

the hot white lines the skin
shades.

To look beyond is grand,

but it takes better eyes
at times.

Scars mark the moments

of our victories and our losses.

Depression puts the losses on

display like a sideshow freak.

“Come see the great Depresso!

The Saddest clown there is!
He’ll make you wonder if
it’s all worthwhile! See his
scars! See his mess! See the frown
behind the smile!”

Some see the clown,

Others only see the scars.
Some can laugh,
some can’t.

There’s no just sucking it up,

there’s no just do it,
there’s no just getting over it.

It’s our scar,

it’s there,
un-ignorable.
Present,
forever.

It’s a daily choice,

to see the scars or
see the smile.

Today it’s a smile.

An Interview

            “Grim Incorporated, please hold,” repeated Salindra. She placed the call in the hold queue and answered the next phone line with the same, tired, phrase. She continued in that fashion throughout her day. “Grim Incorporated, please hold, Grim Incorporated, please hold, Grim Incorporated, please hold.”

             Ted approached the reception desk and tried to get her attention. He was there for a three thirty interview. Salindra pointed at the waiting area seating and waved Ted off in that direction. Ted shrugged and sat patiently in the waiting room as Salindra continued to answer call after call. Ted adjusted his tie and tried to keep his hands from getting too sweaty. He really needed this job and he hoped he would get it. He had been building up his confidence the whole train ride in and was pretty hopeful his skills would be appreciated and considered an asset to the team.

             Salindra snapped her fingers over her head to get Ted’s attention. She was still answering phone calls as she pointed toward the side door. Ted rose from his seat and nodded a thank you in her direction, but she had already returned her attention to answering the constant flow of calls. He opened the side door and stepped into a bustling cubicle-ville. The employees were rushing all over the office, answering phones, opening filing cabinets, stamping papers, typing, it was all very frantic, but somehow orderly.

            “Mr. Charles,” asked a young man.    

            “Yes, that’s me,” said Ted.
            “Please follow me to our conference room. Mr. Grim will be with you in a moment,” said the young man.
            “Thank you,” said Ted.

             Ted followed the young, smartly dressed, clerk to a large conference room. Ted was shown to a large black leather swivel chair at the end of the long dark wood table. Ted sat down and the young clerk nodded and rushed out of the room. Ted looked about the well-appointed conference room. It was the nicest he’d ever been it. It was trimmed in dark wood and reddish wallpaper. Ted was impressed with the elaborate wall sconces and the fine looking crystal chandelier. It wasn’t what he had expected and started to wonder the he might not be quite qualified for the position.

             The rear double doors of the conference room burst open and Mr. Grim entered. He was tall, middle aged, slightly out of shape, but that sort of out of shape that was really actually in shape but not obsessively in shape. He had a manila folder in his hand and stepped toward the head of the table. He pulled out his large black leather chair and sat down. He opened the manila folder and looked down at its contents. Ted wasn't sure what to do so he just stayed quiet.

             Mr. Grim looked up from the manila folder and the papers therein and smiled at Ted. His smile was warm and Ted felt instantly comfortable.

             “Mr. Charles, may I call you Ted,” asked Mr. Grim.  

            “Yes sir, Mr. Grim, Ted is fine”.
            “Excellent. So let’s begin. As you may have noticed we’re very busy around here these days. Although, we’re almost always busy. And that’s why we’re looking for the right sort to perform this job. Based on what I have seen in your resume, I’m not sure you have the right chutzpah we’re looking for,” said Mr. Grim.
 
            Ted swallowed hard and cleared his throat. Mr. Grim held up his slender hand to pause Ted’s defense of himself.

             “However, we do need the help. With all these shootings, wars, bombings, genocides, diseases, and natural disasters; we are in real need to find the right employees to help those people,” said Mr. Grim.

            “Well, Sir, if I may, I’ve always been about trying to help people. As you can see from my resume, my background in the insurance industry has certainly provided me with the right sort of temperament and empathy for those in need of assistance,” said Ted.
            “I imagine it would. Insurance is quite a business of the people, as it were,” said Mr. Grim.
            “Yes, sir. Quite.”

            Mr. Grim leaned back in his chair and steepled his long fingers.  He rocked back forth gently and stared at Ted.

            “This is a lovely conference room by the way. I’ve never seen the like,” said Ted.

            “Thank you Ted. We spent years getting it just right,” said Mr. Grim.

            Ted shifted in his chair. He was trying to sit up straight. He’d read somewhere that sitting up straight in your chair during an interview conveyed a sense of confidence, and he wanted to seem confident. Mr. Grim continued to stare at him.

             “Do you have any children or family Ted,” asked Mr. Grim.

            “Well, you know, the normal family, like a Mom and Dad. But I don’t have a family of my own, no.”
            “I see. So let me pose a hypothetical question to you. What would you do, if say, your assignment was to handle the remains of a child, say, a newborn or even a regular baby,” asked Mr. Grim.
            “Sir?”
            “If you were assigned to, how can I put this delicately, remove the breath of life from an innocent, how would you handle that,” said Mr. Grim.

            Ted sat open mouthed for a moment. He’d had strange hypothetical questions during interviews before. One potential employer once asked him what cartoon character he wished he could be, but this was something different.

            “I thought this was an insurance examiner’s position,” said Ted.

            “It’s the ultimate insurance position Ted. It’s insurance for the entire human race,” said Mr. Grim.

            Ted fumbled with his tie clip and wiped his forehead. He tried to remember the add he’d applied for. He remembered thinking it was a bit vague but he’d applied for so many jobs he couldn’t be sure.

     
            “I’m afraid I don’t understand Mr. Grim… wait…,” said Ted.

            It then occurred to him. It was of course too obvious. He should have known it from the moment he walked into the lobby. He should have realized it from the damn name of the company.

            “…you’re the Grim Reaper aren’t you,” asked Ted.

            “Of course I am,” said Mr. Grim.
            “Great. That’s great,” said Ted.

            Ted covered his eyes with his hand and shook his head. He let an exasperated sigh escape before looking back up at Mr. Grim.

             “Your job posting is a little vague,” said Ted.

            “I really don’t handle that side of things. Not really my concern. I have other things to focus on, I’m sure you understand that,” said Mr. Grim.
            “Of course. I mean, the way I read it, I really thought this was just another insurance job. You know, handling claims, reviewing policies, on and on…,” said Ted.
            “I suppose that explains why I had some lingering doubts about your resume,” said Mr. Grim.
            “Yeah,” said Ted.
       
            Ted thought of excusing himself, cutting his losses, finding a bar on the way home and just forget about the whole looking for a job thing. He’d been to so many interviews without hearing anything. He’d applied for hundreds of jobs without even a call back and now he was interviewing with death himself. What luck. What dumb stinking luck. He really needed a job.

             “You didn’t answer my hypothetical though,” said Mr. Grim.

             Ted looked up at Mr. Grim’s charismatic smile and sort of chuckled to himself.

             “To answer your question…at this point…no. I don’t believe I’d have a problem with it,” said Ted.

            “Excellent. When can you start?”

             Ted felt a lump in his throat, but not a nervous one, it was an excited kind.

He felt himself smile.  

           

The Growns

I’m unsure of when it happened,
It came from out of nowhere,
This moment when everyone
I know, was grown.

We used to drink together

in dark secret places,
joking and giggling at
the absurdities of being grown.

“I don’t want kids, I don’t want

that life, a house, a wife. I want to tour Europe,
go to China, see things, do things,
drink in Amsterdam, screw in Israel,
I want that elusive marrow from the bones of
a life spent in amazing pursuits,” we’d
shout.

Then they met them, other growns,

and started these lives of purpose,
with marriage, children, homes,
family vacations, pictures of
babies cuddling with puppies.

They had picnics and parties,

that ended too early, they had
traditions of family to adhere.
They grew and grew and were
just suddenly, grown.

Now I drink alone, out of touch,

out of the loop, with misty eyes
looking backwards at once was.
Somehow feeling left out, of what
it’s like to be grown.

In Space, No One Can Hear You Reminisce

             On July 20^th Americans will celebrate the 45^th anniversary of the first men to land on the moon. I wasn’t around in 1969 and only have the TV fueled memories or firsthand accounts of my forbearers to describe this incredible moment in human history. We made it to another celestial body through sheer grit and determination. (Although my brother in law would beg to differ, he is a moon landing conspirator believer. He thinks it was staged which makes me sad).

            However, I fully and wholeheartedly believe that we landed on the moon on July 20, 1969 and managed, for a short time, to view the world from a very different perspective. Men stood on the moon and looked back at Earth. A single planet floating in a sea of darkness, so isolated from the rest of the universe, so small in comparison to the vastness of the void around us. There was a moment that reminded us, the inhabitants: we’re all in this together. There is no other Earth to toddle off to. It seemed that an age of reason and science might prevail over the darkness of human pettiness.

            45 years later and we’re still squabbling over what nation owns what land, and who’s border goes where. We’re still fighting among ourselves over the very things that make us who we are and what we endeavor to become. We can do better than the whole God, no God, many Gods, a Flintstone history, an evolutionary history or the fart of an all-powerful space lord debates consuming the minds of the passengers of our little blue planet. Does it really matter? Does any of this squabbling and in-fighting in any way work toward the progression of our species? I don’t think so.

            The United States once had a President that challenged a nation to be greater, to be more, and to stand up to the challenges of that age and overcome them. The people listened and learned, evolved, changed and made something amazing happen. We went to another space body. We landed on our moon, live, on TV, with the world watching and I think in that moment an incredible future seemed possible. It was in our grasp as long as we didn’t get sidetracked by the shortsighted goals of the few. The few, the closed minded, the fear mongers, the war hawks, the deniers, the liars, the scandalous, the ignorant and the childish, that almost always seem to wrangle their way in and start mucking up the joint.

            The bar was set very high and flying cars and rocket packs never came about, frankly I think those things are really impractical. Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of you drive after a few cocktails and I wouldn’t trust you with a damn jet car. The shortcomings of those never to be had inventions should not limit or diminish our creative spirit. As a people, as a species, we’re capable of the most amazing things and our only limits are the limits we put on ourselves.

            We limit ourselves with armed conflicts, crime, religious arguments, policy issues, poverty, selfies and we have only ourselves to blame. We went to the damn moon. We did it because we knew that as we got older as a species, as technology improved, as old world barriers broke down, we’d have to rely on each other more. This is our only home, we’re stuck with each other and we have to remember that all time, even the Earth’s time is fleeting.

            It’s not important in the long run that you have the best new cell phone or the most land near the Red Sea, or how much anti-abortion money you can raise. It’s important that we recognize the challenges ahead of us and not the saddle burrs of the past. We can do better; we can see what those first Astronauts saw, a unified planet floating peacefully through the cosmos.

            I’m getting a little dizzy on my soapbox, I’ll get down now. Whew, I better sit.