I can’t believe my medical electric scooter broke yesterday. Of course, my five year old son had to play around with it in the driveway, pretending it was a space shuttle. I was sitting at my kitchen table eating my organic bran flakes when a playful yelling came from the front of the house. I sluggishly got up and opened the front door. My son Ben was sitting on the pleather seat, his legs dangling above the four wheels. His short arms grasped the foam handles, causing his body to lean forward awkwardly. He made several spaceship noises with his mouth and rocked it back and forth until he knocked it over and the darn thing smashed against the pavement.

Thankfully, he got off with only a few bruises, but as my mom always used to say “if you break it, you buy it, and if you can’t buy it, get a substitute”. That substitute was my son’s mini Hummer that he drove around our small lawn.

I wasn’t sure if it would hold my weight at first. Ben’s small and skinny frame was nothing like my three hundred-pound-mass. This morning I stood in the garage hovering over the small vehicle nervously. Ben’s Hummer was small, but also much wider than my scooter. The small vehicle could’ve been mistaken for the actual car if it weren’t for its size.

The poor kid would probably kill me if I broke it, but I needed to get the groceries downtown while my wife was on a business trip. As I stood there scheming in the garage, her enthusiastic voice intruded my thoughts.

“You should really try shopping more often.”

“All that healthy stuff at those whole food stores still tastes amazing. You’d be surprised."

While I was hesitant about the idea at first, making weekly rounds to a whole foods turned out not too bad. Places with local groceries always smelled of fresh fruit, even the larger ones. Most of their health foods were quite good, though calling them health foods was debatable at times. I’m not the type to shop, but getting groceries could be a surprisingly calming slice of my day, especially when I could’ve spent it in front of my blaring TV. As my mind wandered back to my task, I hoped the Hummer’s seats wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.

When I sat down in the car, it heaved beneath my weight. By some miracle, it did not give out. Ben’s car is a hardy little machine. Despite it only being meant for twenty-minute long cruises across twenty-foot driveways, the thing had a solid metal frame under all that cheap beige plastic. Even the tires had a thick coat of rubber on them. I might even go as far as to say that they are of better quality than my scooter.

The car went much slower than it would go during Ben’s mini racing escapades, but it went fast enough so I could beat out a speed walker. It also felt good to think about cruising by those annoying people that always butted in front of me when entering the line to the deli. Even worse, they tower over me intimidatingly with their expensive yoga pants and spandex shirts.

As much as I’ve enjoyed eating organic fruit for the last few months, thanks to encouragement from my wife, whole food stores can be downright terrifying. I can’t help but feel horrendously out-of-place wearing triple extra large Packers t-shirts within a sea of stick-like aliens trying to sell me ginger kombucha. To add insult to injury, I’m always on a scooter, bringing out at least a dozen nasty looks whenever I visit. To add more insult to injury, I was going in my son’s toy Hummer. Lord knew if it would fit through the doors, and lord knew if they’d even allow me in if I made past them.

It took a bit of work to get the thing into the car. Thankfully, our 2006 Chrysler van still had a working ramp in its left side door and the back seats pushed down that allowed for an easier entry. That crappy old thing had about a dozen rusty dents in its back bumper from the Halloween incident six years prior. At the time, my older son, Sam, was in the back of the car, huddling from the cold in his Harry Potter costume. The plastic broom he had sitting on the ground went flying when I crashed into the Stevenson’s mailbox. I had been distracting myself by opening a nut roll out of Sam’s plastic pumpkin because he didn’t want them.

By some karmic force, the broom had hit me hard in the back of the head when the car bashed into the Purple Vikings mailbox, beheading it and sending it flying five feet back into the lawn. I found it all quite hilarious. I assure it wasn’t on purpose. By some miracle, the Stevenson’s weren’t home. Sam and I had ended up placing the mailbox next to its split pole. I’d almost thought of duct taping it back on, but ended up just leaving a roll from my car at the doorstep. They never found out it was me, which was probably for the best considering Vern Stevenson is the kind of guy who’s serious about burning foam cheeseheads in his backyard fire pit.

While driving down the freeway, I passed by a circus show stadium I took my boys to every July. I kept thinking about those crazy people who made tigers jump through flaming hoops. Every so often, they’d make it smaller till not even they know their large furry companion will pull it off. I wondered if those poor things ever felt embarrassed when their pelts were set aflame during the final act. Was all the attention worth it for their tasty meal of fresh steaks afterwards? Perhaps they didn’t do it for the meal in the first place. Maybe it was all for the high of an adrenaline thrill. I have no idea why tigers do the things they do. Maybe I would find out for myself. Going through a grocery store is no flaming hoop, but it sure seemed that way to me.

Getting the little car out into the grocery parking lot was a breeze. I don’t know why all those scooter engineers didn’t design their models after rideable toy cars. They wouldn’t go so slow and would look ten times more badass. Instead of looking like some unusually old and fat college student on an abnormally slow moped, I could look like an unusually old and fat man driving an abnormally small Hummer.

When I slowly cruised down the sidewalk, a couple of teenagers held their phones toward me. They were playing a game of soccer in the parking lot before I caught their eye. My best guess would be that they’d post the videos on Reddit. Not that I really cared. Getting a thousand upvotes and becoming internet famous for a week didn’t sound too bad to me. At least it wasn’t as bad as how the people inside would treat me when they saw me block the aisles with my big tires. Despite the whining and complaining that would ensue, they could suffer the twenty minutes. At least eighty percent of them practice meditation anyway.

A few chuckles and suppressed grins assaulted me when I went through the doors. Thankfully, the toy Hummer fit, but just barely. No staff stopped me at the door. Instead, they laughed with the others and took a few pictures with their phones.

“Nice ride man!” said a nearby cashier.

I lifted my hand and made a peace sign as I drove past. My action was followed by a few enthusiastic whoops and light applause. I didn’t engage in conversation. My goal was the deli. I fumbled in my pocket and took out a list. Unfortunately for today, I could only get a few things from it as my small ride didn’t afford much room. I got the last chuckle when I passed a few people before they could go in front of me in line. I bought a large fillet of smoked salmon and continued with my shopping. By this point, the shoppers divided into two factions: the ones who found my actions quite childish and the ones who found my presence downright hilarious. As expected, the glares I received were exponentially worse than my usual cruises. To that, I say, if you attach two large barbells to your shoulders and can still walk twenty feet without having to rest, then we can talk. As much as the typical customer sees my actions as the equivalent of a vegetarian who smokes a pack of cigarettes per day, I take more steps around the store week by week. That would be the final act of today’s show. Today, I would walk through three isles to the produce section. I’d done two last time.

The only difference in today’s routine was that I had nowhere to put a large bag of apples. The hummer had a trunk, but that was only for show. In reality, it was nothing but part of the plastic covering that went all the way around the tiny vehicle. When I got near the produce section, I stopped the car and slowly got out. This was probably for the best considering it was smelling like an electrical fire. I was still holding my bag of smoked fish from the deli. I might have to tough it out and carry everything in my lap when I left the store.

It seemed to take a millennium for my stumpy legs to waddle to my destination. I put as many apples in a bag as there were people standing around me when I got out. Four people had looked in my direction, humored and confused when my large figure unstuck itself from the tiny car. Two of them were an older couple in golfer attire. They asked me where I’d gotten it from. The other two were joggers in expensive yoga pants and spandex tank tops. They asked how the car managed to run for so long. I answered all their questions by simply saying that I didn’t know and laughed heartily. I grasped the bag of apples as I came back to the car. Every one of those granny smith’s would be especially tasty as I ate them throughout the week.

I waddled back to the Hummer and sat down. My feet were already hurting from being sandwiched between the floor and the rest of my weight. Despite my pain, I was somewhat proud of putting in that mileage. While my mind was preoccupied with thoughts about nails pushing into my calves, I was proud that I even got this far. The accomplishment gave me a generous boost of confidence.

Unfortunately, the concerning electrical smell hadn’t gone away. It would be only a matter of time before the others would notice, and they would kick me out. When I went up to the cash register, I realized my absurd side show wasn’t over. The cashier looked down at my Hummer, very concerned as it sputtered and spewed out some smoke. Ben’s car was electric, and I had probably driven it too hard. Before anyone asked questions, I moved to the doors.

“Hey, you forgot your receipt!” joked the cashier behind me. Smoke billowed out from behind. If anyone were snapping pictures at this moment, it would have looked like I was farting grey fumes. The smoke became a large, musty cloud around the vicinity, causing nearby shoppers to fan the air or cough. I drove out the doors as the grey cloud thickened. A car abruptly stopped in front of me as I tottered past it. It was a police van with two confused officers looking out from their front windshield. To my horror, I realized I still hadn’t entirely escaped from my daring stunt. A small red flame flickered out from behind me. As my car moved painfully slow across the road, I could see one of the officers mouthing “what the fuck” from their car. Once I had past them, the cop car drove forward. They turned into the next parking lane. While I didn’t want to believe it, they were likely trying to park near me.

I was only a couple of feet away from my car. If only I had something to douse the fire. I didn’t have time to take out my ramp either. If I couldn’t figure something out in the next two minutes, the Hummer was going to burn. The groceries I had placed on the ground next to it might go up as well. The assholes behind me would probably charge me with reckless endangerment or some other stupid bullshit. I could only hope the packed parking lot would buy me some time.

A couple of young voices caught my attention. The same two kids who snapped pictures of me when I first entered the store appeared from behind my car.

“Hey, you need some help?” one of them said. The one who spoke was a teenage girl holding a handheld fire extinguisher, and the other was a teenage boy standing next to her. He was still holding his phone and snapping a few more pictures.

“Yes, that would be great. Thanks a million, you guys.” I said. I got out of the Hummer. I didn’t want them to go near the flames, but the girl walked over and doused them out anyway. Within seconds, the hummer looked like it had gone through a severe blizzard. The only difference was that this snow bubbled to the ground.

“You should have seen yourself come out!” giggled the girl. “Thank God, my mom has an emergency kit in her car.” I thanked them again and hastily opened the side door. To my surprise, the teens pushed the burned and doused hummer up the ramp into my car.

“You better get out of here,” whispered the teenage boy. With the Hummer stashed, I closed the doors.

I had placed the apples and fish on the pavement, picked them up again, and put them in the passenger seat.

“That was so awesome!” chimed the girl. “Come back again.”

I let out a chuckle and opened the driver’s door.

“Well, we’ll see about that,” I replied. “I might need a different strategy next time.”

I waved goodbye and drove off. Thankfully, the cops did not follow me when I left, though I saw their annoyed expressions in my rearview mirror as they got out of their car and saw me drive away. As I moved out onto the freeway, a big smile took over my face. If I weren’t driving down a fifty-five mile an hour road, I would have put my arms over the steering wheel and died laughing. Instead, I fumbled around in the passenger seat. My hand wrapped around a plump granny smith. I took it and munched on it as I continued to drive.

Me but the man on the moon alone. Lying in a field of dreams. Watching shooting stars come home.

Wide awake. Can’t fake it? Counting sheep.

Hear a whistle while I work? My guess the steam from kettle leaps.

Onto stove top stains. Some sauce spilt in vain. That my steel wool will raise and leave no to trace of.

But lamb phased.

It’s coat stolen, cold, just skin and bones noted. Could pass for something else. Sans horns. It’s called a goat kid.

That last rhyme lacks for something. Sorry for ramming it down your throat....

Shooting stars take aim and steel triggers

The stoplight blinks.

Rain runs in rivulets across the pavement,

downhill. Slanting towards the drenched

earth, the eventual eternal grave.

And yellow puddles in shining smears,

reflections in the water, runny

memories of the streetlamps up above.

A concrete slab overlooks the river,

with two hands set firmly on the

steel railing, holding on.

Unwilling to depart.

The gurgle of an engine, sputtering.

Turning over and over and over

like their stomach. They watch the

car choke, watch the steam rising

from the exhaust pipe.

Rain has soaked them to the bone,

the car roars and the stoplight

floods the puddles with streaks of

red light. It pulls away, splashing

water, ignoring the light, taking

the sound with it.

Silent, as the reflections of the

night sky blur into the ground,

into the river, into their very

soul. Night becomes the air

becomes their clothes, hands,

neck. They try to keep their

head above the surface as the

unending night slips into a

watery reflection of blackness

and stars.

r a g e

by any other name

would still sound the same

i knew you existed

long before i grew fists

a womb that fed

an anger in genetics

before i could breathe air

or stutter in reply

you are the reason i still can’t cry

There are not enough hours

to explain to everyone that deserves to be told.

I've got a hand clasped over my mouth

--ghostly, familiar, my own--

And a fishtank for a brain, just

Holding it all in, swimming

Round and round and round

Let go, for a moment, breathe

--but there's no time, no time, no--

You should know . . . but I cannot

Possibly say it, spill it, leak . . .

--round and round and round--

To the one I might have had

Wrapped around my finger,

And my mother who doesn't

Know the difference, and

The boy I fell in love with

A million times over and

The girl I could have held

Onto forever and a day,

--i'm terrible, i'm cruel, i'm lying--

To myself I was lying

To them, I didn't have the time

Forgive me, I didn't have

--take one last breath, say it--

Time, running round and

--round and round and--

You won't know

Because to you I'm

Just

Normal enough

I would guess that the origin of morality is entwined with religion or faith in an omnipotent being. Those who have faith in a higher power are inclined to claim that morality is objective and I hate to discredit other's beliefs, as for some their faith is how they navigate the world, but perhaps that was the intent from the beginning.

To explain the connection I will attempt to go back to basics.

Humans discovered at an early stage that existing within a community was beneficial to each member, far more beneficial than a "lone wolf" approach. Anything from farming, to infrastructure, to technology, to language, and innovation; theyre products of our shared knowledge.

But what is to keep one individual from destroying everything that the community has built? An eye for an eye? That may only work to a certain extent before the tit for tat attitude brings an end to the social order.

Assigning a government or an authority would be the next step, to assert rules and guidelines, but how would they keep these in place?

It's unwise to rely on others to follow rules if there is no consequence (take the shopping trolly theory for instance https://www.google.com/amp/amp.hit.com.au/story/this-shopping-cart-theory-reveals-if-you-re-a-good-person-or-a-public-menace-154763) But we also cannot afford to lose members of our tribes by banishing or punishin them for wrongdoing. As there may be collective riots and protests.

From there we begin to devide society into classes in order to control the working population by limiting their education and imposing social constructs (e.g. that your station is set at birth and that is simply the way that the world works) the lower classes are less likely to question due to this lack of education.

But how do you stabilise those ideas? Well why not invent a narrative that dictates one will find eternal happiness and joy by obedience in this realm, but eternal damnation for 'sins'.

Hence morals are essentially created.

Apologies if this doesn't make sense I didn't want to miss an opportunity to join the conversation. But a migraine is preventing me from being able to collect my own thoughts very cohesively.

I also would like to say I don't mean to offend anyone by this take on religion, but personally the existence of God is more troubling to me than the lack of one would be and this is how I justify my perspective

We never took care of our wilting parts

and so as time drifted away

we lost everything

we were.

Wilting parts -{renata ferretti}

I do not miss you like the desert misses the rain, because the desert never misses the rain. It takes it’s pride in having the endless stretch of burning sands and hopelessness. I miss you like a sailor lost in the desert misses the sea. Half-mad, lunatic and rave, calling out his ship’s name like it were a prayer. Calling out the caravan he was separated from like a child desperately looking for his mother. Look at him hallucinate! Look at him unable to distinguish between the dunes of the sand the waves of the sea. Screaming at the awareness of his insanity. Look at him beg for the sea, and not for freshwater to parch his dry throat! Look at him gargle and choke on his own blood! Look at him have series of mirage about his ship sailing proudly in the sea. Look at him cry in despair knowing that he’ll never make his way back home. Look at him smile as his drops on the soft yet harsh sand, knowing that his love for the sea is stretches as far and wide as the seemingly endless desert. Look at him become one with the sand yet the last throb of the heart sounds like the waves crashing at the harbour. This pain is stitched to my heart, and I have to rip open the threads when I pour out how much I miss you.

when it rains it pours more and more

until i see rainbows in the pools on my thighs

kaleidoscope of ways to cope

but i only know sitting in awkward white light.

i write poetry that no one sees

draw stars on wrists i’d rather bite

i ask the etymology of my name if there exists a better way

to let the sunshine from my window wash me out.

wretched thoughts, my 333 waxen smiles

my scratched-up knees lost some skin to a tennis court

i think i saw them statue still as i

lost my footing met the ground and tumbled down down down.

a little bit later i met myself

at the corner of a & b.

i asked about the future if i made it if he made sense and

i blushed at the foolishness of it all.