Hope

The world exploded
and I grabbed her hand
at the last second.

Heated

I'm not too busy to
recognize how crazy
stupid busy I am.

It's nonsense work that
takes away from the real
work that should be
done.

I'm a monkey in
the wrench.
The bee in the
bonnet.

I'm never happy.
I'm never unhappy.
I'm just there,
working on something
that doesn't matter
to me and will
never be remembered
through the annals of
history.

No child will stare at
my portrait in silent awe
as they read about how I
settled that old lady's
claim when she fell that
time.

I am discontent and no
amount of friends
and family telling me
I can change my life
is going to change my
life.

I'm a malcontent. I will
probably always be one.

At least it's not too hot
today.

In a Blink

The noise inside the bar was unbearable and Carl needed a break. So he stepped outside to the patio to get resituated. The pressure was getting to him and he thought he might crack if he were forced to hear another story about how the President was an idiot or how the nail salon did a great job, but were too slow.

Carl looked up at the night sky and tried to make out the few twinkling stars that weren’t blighted out by the over powerful Chicago street lamps and light pollution.  He sighed as he considered how unlucky he was when it came to wishing on stars, or rather, the lack of stars.  It was always the same thing, scanning the heavens, searching for that first star to sing that familiar rhyme to. Finally, Carl could make out a clear twinkling above the perma-dusk the street lights created.

“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight”, said Carl.

He closed his eyes and wished. It was the same wish, varied a little bit as he got older, but always the same. He wished for a loving wife, a happy home and to be successful. So far, that wish hadn’t come completely true. Only certain parts seemed to come true and not always at the same time. Carl opened his eyes and found his wishing star again.

He usually added a little caveat to his wish, asking that he achieve these wishes without anyone else suffering. He didn’t want his wish to turn into a Twilight Zone, Genie’s curse, Monkey’s Paw type wish and by his wish being granted, others would befall some terrible fate. Like those people that would wish for power and wealth only to wake up as Hitler in 1940. Carl didn’t want that. He really just wanted help in making his wishes come true.

Carl wasn’t a fool and knew his wishes just wouldn’t materialize out of the haze. He understood that starlight, while powerful stuff, was not actually capable of making his dreams come true. He still liked to dream though and maybe, way down inside in the inner child in his heart, thought that the universe would somehow take pity on him and grant his wish. Even though that was completely irrational.

Carl thought about the universe and how quixotic and mysterious it was. He remembered some quantum physicist he once heard had said the universe was only 20 billion years away from ceasing to exist. The end would happen so fast we wouldn’t even be aware of it. It would happen faster than you could blink. A great nothingness would swallow the entire universe and all matter would be re-adjusted into a new form, something completely different from this world and what we’re made of.

Carl looked back up at the night sky and wondered how many times the universe had ceased to be, re-started and then ceased to be again; all leading up to the moment that he could stand on the sidewalk and make wishes on the very fabric of universal history. Carl felt very small. He took a long sip from his beer and rejoined the conversations swirling around him outside the bar. 

You call that life?

It never occurred to me as a child that this would be my life. I never had dreams of cubicles and getting yelled at for things I had no control over. I have become a victim of my life and there's no one to blame but myself. 


I have to keep this short today dear readers because my life is demanding that I take care of some stupid useless bullshit that I'll probably get in trouble for not doing exactly as I was told because their way is a stupid way. 


I hope to return to a happier time when I could write about puppy dog aliens cuddling on cloud mountain with lollipops and unicorns. 

Take this job…

I’m not a quitter. We’ll that’s not exactly true. I have quit jobs in the past. In fact, I’m that guy who was in the meeting with the bosses who stood up and said, “F*ck it. I quit”. And walked out, to my desk, got my stuff and left. I was super happy to leave that awful job.  I had tried my hardest to do the best I could in a field I hated. But, when push comes to shove, you have to do the things that make you happy.

Working at my current employer has reached that very same level of unhappiness and frustration, however I’m older and have more financial responsibilities than those old walk out of work days. So I just can’t up and leave like I really want to. I am very close to doing it though. I have been berated, insulted, criticized, belittled, humiliated and robbed of any pride a person should have with their work. So this is a plea to my readers and my friends…

Anybody need a creative type of guy in their organization? I’m capable of working independently and I’m always willing to explore new and interesting ways of doing things. As long as they are reasonable, of course. I’m not saying I want to sell magazine subscriptions in Tanzania or something like that, but just a regular job, 9-5 thing where the pay is decent and the people are nice and no one is threatening to fire you because their perception of you is not the best.   

I am a hard worker, believe it or not. When I know what I’m doing and can see the full outcome, I give the job my everything. I usually work so hard and fast on it that I’m done before everyone else. I like to work. I know that seems hard to believe but I really do. I like that sense of purpose a job can give.

With 100% seriousness, I need a new job. So if anybody out there knows of something, please let me know. Thank you.

Gurgle

That rumbling you hear is not a plane overhead or a train speeding along the train tracks. It’s my stomach. It is stress induced stomach noises. I’m sorry it’s so loud. The majority of greedy, rotten, stinking people bother me very much; to the point that I’m starting to have a physical response to it in the form of an upset stomach.

I hate people. I really do. You’re all a bunch of self-centered, greedy, self-involved, bunch of disinterested jerks and something should be done about you. How I miss the dinosaurs. I’m sure people would behave a lot differently if we still had bus sized carnivores bearing down at us at every turn.

Okay, maybe I don’t hate everyone. Not you specifically dearest, kindest and most beautiful reader. I wish I could figure out the day in which I became complicit in my own misery. I’d mark that day down to make sure I know it exactly so when that time machine is finished I can go back and tell myself to keep acting or write harder or go to somewhere exotic, but most of all, to stay the hell out of the insurance claims business.      

I will tell you one thing that makes my stomach curl in revulsion, when morons call my integrity into question. That makes me furious. I’d like to say that I’m above such prideful things, but I am not. My pride is hurt when that happens and something snaps in me and I feel compelled to stop helping and become an obstinate jerk.

At least it’s the end of the week and I can get back to soothing my poor stomach with alcohol as soon as this work day is over.  

Violence

A jackhammer pounded away,

crushing and splitting

the concrete

under my windows.

I was lucky though

to have been drinking,

heavily, the night before

and the pounding didn’t

bother me. Initially.

The sun. The violence of the

sun pushing its way

into my room so early,

Holding me up and taking

my sleep wallet.

The train. The crowds.

The incredibly beautiful women

walking to work downtown

and their sexy heels clacking on

the sidewalk.

The noise of the street.

Pulsating in my head.

The line for breakfast.

The coffee maker.

The keyboards clacking.

It’s violent.

The woman near me on the

phone,

“Sir, Sir, Sir, if I could just,… Sir!”

The noise is abusive and cruel.

I’d rather be sleeping and

dreaming in the quiet

fields of my imagination.