If so,
If so,
September 13, 2024
They delivered my diplomatic credentials today via courier.
The same courier delivered me to the airport in Topeka.
Then to the airport in Miami.
Then to the airport in Barcelona.
Then to the train to Andorra.
My step father had been waiting for my arrival.
He had already signed his necessary paperwork for consent.
I had only to sign my license and then wait.
She arrived late.
Very late.
Nearly three hours late.
But, arrive she did.
She was beautiful.
She was 19 years old.
I was 14 years old.
She signed the marriage license.
Because, I posed no threat to her.
Because, by marrying me, she could not marry another.
Because I was an American and that gave her options.
Suffering from jet lag and I could keep it together for the brief ceremony.
I said, “I do.”
She said, “Je fais.”
We both smiled.
But not kissed.
Hands shook.
And agreements were finalized.
Séraphine Valérie Geneviève Boucher now took the married name of Johnson.
Then she took her leave.
By doing this, I helped avert a coup d'état in Vanuatu.
I had to locate Vanuatu before I agreed never to discuss Vanuatu.
Or discuss my wife.
To any of my 8th grade classmates.
It took nearly a day to get home.
I did not finish my algebra homework or my English essay.
For this, I received two days detention.
But I did read about my wife surviving an assassination attempt.
And calls for her to flee her country.
If so,
She has people who know where to find me.
I get out of school at three.
Women want to be her. Men want to be with her.
Women want to be her. Men want to be with her.
September 12, 2024
I am one of those women.
I work with her and see this adage unfold on a daily basis. She works where I work, but does not need to work where I work. She wears the latest fashion. She displays creations of gold and platinum to adorn her skin. We think her accent is French, but it could really be Russian, possibly even from the Caucasus.
Her perfume is a signature Chanel #5, discreetly displayed, concentrated only for detection from those permitted within closest proximity. When she passes by either sex, her hand drapes across a shoulder or a wrist so as to emphasize the attention she passively demands when offering her time to even speak with you.
I am sure there is a daily matching set of lingerie, color coordinated, beneath her Italian wools and Persian silks.
In essence, I want to be her.
But the competition for her is as high as the reverse dowry value for her time.
I see both the contenders and pretenders vie for her attention. All fail, although some do get close. She will not entertain offers that dispel the illusion of an impregnable fortress breached without paying hefty dues for the attempt.
She is not qualified for work in this office. However, she is essential to our financial well-being. She is the office rainmaker. She brings in millions in business, making the partners very happy to continue her employment.
Now, I want to learn her secrets. I want her playbook. I have to have access to her client list.
On September 08, of this year, my wish came true. She did not appear for work that morning. I received her call to locate a file and personally meet with her. She wanted the contents decrypted. I was in charge of the latter, but never the former. Such separations kept unfortunate “conflicts of interests” minimized.
She said please in that strange accent of hers.
I was putty in her hands.
We met during my lunch at the only four star hotel the city had to offer. The front desk said she was staying in room 112. While she might have reserved that room for rendezvous, it was beneath her station to actually occupy a room that was close to the ground.
So, I knocked.
No answer.
I used the back on my knuckle to push the door open.
I was unlocked and the latch was not set. She must have wanted me to enter.
I wish I hadn’t.
She was on the couch, sporting a black eye and a few other bruises. He was naked on the bed. She asked me not to touch anything, say anything, or remember anything.
This was an opportunity if I ever saw it.
By sundown, she lay on the same bed as he. The police said it must have been a suicide by poison once the lovers realized they could not be apart.
I don’t believe that story either.
However, I had her file and the location of everything else.
I tendered my resignation at the office one week later. My story was that my mother took ill and I had to tend to her needs. By the end of the month, I was gone.
By the onset of the next month, I got my wish.
I was the new her. I was the woman women wanted to be. I was the woman men wanted to be with.
The only disadvantage was that my accent was American Southern. Still alluring to those who find such belles alluring.
The best advantage was that I was the same size as her.
And yes, I do wear the garter belts under my Italian wools and Persian silks.
RACECAR
RACECAR
September 10, 2024
Too Hot to Hoot
Too Hot to Hoot
Too Hot to Hoot
Tenet
Terret
Tut-Tut
Testset
Desserts I stressed
Refer
Rotor
Radar
Redder
Red Rum, Sir is murder
Noel saw I was Leon
Norma is a selfless as I am, Ron
No lemons, no melon
No word, no bond – Row on
Gag
Gig
Gug
Gog
Go hang a salami, I’m a lasagna hog
Sagas
Sexes
Solos
Stats
Star Comedy by Democrats
Tuna nut
Stacked cats
Tsetse’s Test
The best bet is the Betz (shameless plug)
See, few owe fees
Nurses run
We panic in a pew
Now I won
Too Hot to Hoot
Too Hot to Hoot
Too Hot to Hoot
Who or What am I?
Who or What am I?
September 09, 2024
People wish for me
They want me to arrive
When I do
I am not there
People seek me
Always wanting my wisdom
When I do
I am not there
More of me is really less of me
Me times infinity is still just me
I am timely to the core
And yet, I disappoint all who seek my counsel
I am eternal
Transcending kingdoms, Empires, and Life itself
Some fear that I may never arrive
Disappointing even them when I do and when I don’t
Who or what am I?
If you know how
If you know how
September 09, 2024
Someone once said that the two most important days of a man’s life are the day he is born and the day he discovers why.
Today, I died.
And I discovered why.
What no one will tell anyone is that death has never been permanent. Death is an obstacle, a rather formidable obstacle. It prevents you from interacting with the living. It prevents you from moving objects that should be moved by the living. It prevents you from preventing the living from dying.
It does not prevent you from preventing other dead people in everything they do.
And it does not prevent you from disclosing what you know to the living, if you know how.
Today, I died so I could learn how.
At 8:34 am EST, a rather large bus decided to take the path of least resistance (me) instead of a gaggle of children crossing the street.
Unfortunately (for me), had I been the driver, I would have done the same.
It sucks to be me.
So here I stand, watching some workers from the morgue come and scrape my remains off of the grill and the street. The smear extended nearly 20 feet and they only recovered 8 fingers, instead of 10. I watched a young couple collect my thumbs as a souvenir. When I am finished, I will give them both a visit to vent my displeasure with their action.
Until then, I continued watching.
I was not alone watching.
Four other people, three not dressed for this time period, took note of my body and my interest in my body. Two of the four motioned for me to walk over to them. The other two walked away.
Very quickly.
I introduced myself. They said they already knew. One told me he was expecting me, just an hour later. The other told me he was recently passed over (colloquial term for recently dead) and was still learning the ropes. I didn’t give either of them a dramatic display of what I had to live for. That would insult the first’s intelligence. He told me time was short and I had work to do. I was to go after the other two, and once I found them, I was to “melt them.”
I looked puzzled, but kept listening. The first further explained that the world can only hold so many deceased people moving about. The addition of me tipped the scales. “Melting” a passed over permanently sent them toward decomposition of both soul and memory of existence. Those two were the next on the list. If I could not melt them by sundown, I would be melted instead by another.
It was in my best interest to get a move on.
I had questions. He told me the learning curve was Sisyphusian and the penalties were immediate. With that, the first simply walked away. The second followed in almost an obsequious manner. I was left alone to discover the details of my current state.
In retrospect, I should have moved sooner instead of pondering the possibilities.
The attack came from my left. One of the spectators simply touched my side, leaving me paralyzed. So, the dead can feel pain. If this is so, I took a combat stance for the next attack. I did not see it, rather I felt it. I moved left, spun, and clapped my hands on the head of my assailant. He felt pain. He felt all of the pain he had ever caused the living, while he was living. His wail permeated the barrier between worlds causing the living to freeze with fear at the sound of ultimate suffering.
That’s when I learned, the dead can make themselves known to the living.
It was a dear price he paid before shrinking into oblivion. I should have felt some remorse, but did not. I pushed him past his threshold, making him suffer as few had before. Was I now a monster for my actions? Would I be held accountable?
I asked in silence, expecting no other to hear. But, one did.
It was the fourth, the last one who saw me die.
She, and she was a she, wanted to parlay. She told me the one I had recently dispatched was her husband in the land of the living.
The two had never been apart.
Having no manner in which to fight me, she knelt, closed her eyes, and bowed her head.
“Make it quick, so I can find him.”
I sit on the library steps, a common place for me in my life. I see other passed overs milling about. They avoid eye contact. Word gets around quickly. It will take years before I find myself in a position required to melt someone again. It might only take a few minutes before someone wants to melt me.
Until then, I want my thumbs.
By luck, the grave robbers appeared at the library. I had a feeling they would. I cannot physically harm either of them or melt them, but I can animate my thumbs and make each move to wig the pair out of their minds.
A rat or two collected my remains making for a decent dinner for two.
The grave robbers are still running in fear.
Now, all I have to do is wait for something worth happening.
And I have all of the time in the world.
Finally Know Why
Finally Know Why
September 07, 2024
She wasn’t a choice
She was a destiny
She was worth fighting for
She was worth fighting with
Ten years by my side
Ten years of off and on
Ten years I screamed at her
Ten years I listened to her scream at me
When she stopped
I became worried
The ties that bind
Loosen without constant friction
We would go days
Fighting to tear each other apart
We would go days
Fighting to heals yesterday’s wounds
No other could
Break me and break me again
With my consent
From an unwritten, tacit contract
So I sit here in the dark
My knuckles are bruised
My heart is broken
Ready for Round 2
When she returns from the ER
The pain meds will still be working
So will her knife skills
The ambulance will wait for me
When I awake from receiving stitches
She will be waiting for me
In handcuffs
Awaiting for me not to press charges
Tomorrow, we will go too far
Tomorrow, one will dig the grave
The other one will get off light
And the other will finally know why
Pajarito sin cola
Pajarito sin cola
September 07, 2024
He received the notice on Friday, after he got home from work. The good news was he had the entire weekend to think about what he could do. The bad news was he now had to spend his entire weekend planning what he would do.
Already, they were winning.
His savings were limited, his bills were mounting. At 46 years old, he was too old for this not to be taken seriously.
Time was running out.
He began making calls. People owed him money. They owed him favors. Normally, he would let each slide, but today was not filed under “normally”. However, he began to sound desperate calling so many, so quickly, asking for so much. They would start talking and realize he was desperate. As such, they might low-ball him, or gas-light him, or just ignore him. He would lose whatever advantage he had in a feeble attempt to redeem collective value.
So he slept on it. Perhaps his mind would be clearer in the morning. Perhaps someone would call him and explain the details of what awaited him on Monday. No sense losing sleep over it.
However, by 4 am, he had lost sleep. His dreams were awash with a myriad of possibilities too great to fathom, let alone count. He made some coffee. It tasted as poor as he felt. He went for a walk, something he had not done since college. He took his old camera (the one with film still in it) and watched the sunrise during his stroll. He felt revitalized. Normally, he would be sleeping off last night’s beer binge. He might have the luck of seeing an attractive woman sharing his bed. The details of her appearance, let alone her name, would make for a brief, but interesting conversation. But that was then. This was now. He had to remain focused.
He picked up his pace. It reminded him of his high school football days while in training. He no longer had the stamina to keep this pace for ten miles, but he could for two.
That, alone, made him feel good about this morning.
He thought about the people he had not seen in years. The people he should have remained close to. The one that got away. Truth be told, he drove her away and did not fight for her when he had the chance. He was a shit then and deserved what he got.
That was over twenty years ago.
Time to stop being a shit today.
He turned to take the “road not taken.” He remembered reading Robert Frost in college. He also remembered, “I am the captain of my fate, the master of my soul”, or something like that. He could not remember the poet or if he even remembered the poem correctly. But, he did remember.
And that was a start.
He pushed until it hurt. Then he had to break stride and walk it off. He noticed he had one more exposure on the roll of film. He asked an old woman to take it of him. She would know how to work the camera. The glint in her eye proved so. She waited for him to pose. He asked that she use her best guess and take the last picture when she thought it would be best.
He did not have to wait for long.
After thanking her, he continued his walk.
Then, on Sunday, he repeated his foray, bracing himself for Monday’s inevitable.
He watched people, not just exist, but live. He wondered why he did not have a house. He rented. He had always rented. It was a good place to live, but it was not his. He saw pictures of Paris and the Pyramids and thought about visiting them. He even spent one hour watching a mime trying to escape an imaginary box.
He passed on a beer. He passed on pizza. He opted for something different. He sat down and ordered sushi. When asked what type, he said he didn’t care. The waiter brought him a six piece platter. The saki was delicious. The sushi tasted like bait. But, it was something new, something different. Style points for the appearance. No points for the taste,
So ended his weekend.
On Monday, he went to work to face the reality of the notice. He gave his boss his pass key and access code for his computer. He said he understood as he reached for his letter of resignation.
“You understand what?”, his boss demanded.
He showed the boss the notice. His boss laughed. He said that was sent in error and he was not fired. He asked why he was not informed of this sooner.
“Only a fool believes everything he reads. Now, get back to work.”
The pause between hearing this order and accepting it as fact should have been no longer than two seconds.
Should have been.
Yet, two seconds was just enough time to lay his resignation letter on the desk of the man who just played him for a fool, waking him up in the process.
He had to locate someone to develop a roll of film. He had to learn what non-sushi food items taste like. He had to see what he was missing.
The envelope hit the desk as loudly as his career ended. For those who didn’t care, it was a whisper. But for those who understood, it was as loud as a bullet discharged from a rifle traveling with a rarely encountered velocity and force required to get to locales worth getting to.
It was Monday. The start of a new week. The start of his new life.
Auf Wiedersehen
Auf Wiedersehen
September 05, 2024
I watched her leave.
Slowly at first, as if she might just change her mind, turn around, and come running back.
But she didn’t, and I did not expect her to do so.
The fight last night was the last fight we would have.
I wanted children; she wanted a career.
I wanted to pool our money to purchase not just a house, but a home.
She wanted to travel the globe.
I wanted her by my side, and she wanted me no closer.
We had been “friends with benefits”.
Then committed to each other.
Then committed by each other.
I sued for breach of contract when she divested from the business.
She sued for breach of contract when I refused to fund her hobby of singing.
She could sing well, but not well enough to make someone want to pay to hear her sing.
“Good, but not good enough” was the phrase I used to hurt her.
“Thomas is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there” was her brutal retort.
And now I watch her move out of my vision.
Out of my life.
Out of my mind.