Mosaic_S_2004.xml
Media
Part of The Mosaic: Spring 2004
content
;JATEMENT
OF
purpose
'
1,t.o-f-o
J
h~f
e_c
.
°'.f"'e_) )
l~
&,_7)1
)
!)\
-
LV
/ /
C'J'.l
/
--
~
~
r/
-
Context
V
1·
Table of Contents
I
I
I·
I
I
I
I
i
I
~
I
'
I
'
:
MEANING
4zl
~**;t.Q;'!
••
~
~~~
f
-
1
,I
~
YELLOW HEADS
AND
SENSELESS BEDS TOSS DREAMERS INTO WAKING
CHALK TALK PEOPLE THINK
ALL
ARE EQUAL
AND THE UPPERCLASS SEQUAL.
..
WILL
BE
AN ENDLESS WAR
tHE
SCORE
IS INFINITE
TO zero
FINITE HEROES
DEFINE THEIR WINNING BY NOT DYING
AMiLYING???TOCALLUSENDLESSDEAD
...
THEFACEOFTVMOREFAMILIARTOME
THAN ANY FAMILY MEMBER
IT
'
S FAR PAST TIME TO SEVER
EVERY BIND THAT MAKES ME me
freedom free free free
(THIS
IS NO ORDINARY CALL FOR
HELP
START
OFF SCREAMING
AND
END WITH
A
WHELP)
She would walk to
the beach
And
mold
s
hap
es
from
s
and
a
nd
people put money
in
her hat
and so she
ate,
and she s
l
ept
woke
up
and
did
just
she would
t
a
ke
a
train to work
and push
papers
for her wages
and the BOSS wrote 'money'
with taxes taken out for bombs
on a check to keep her alive
and so
she ate
and she
slept...
and dreamed of paper clips
...
and the ALARM said wake
what she wanted
and she would wake
"Yes
son, there are
many problems
with
the
world
but you can't solve
them
...
(GIVE
IN GIVE
UP)
you
'
ll
see"
~
\
j
,.,,...
.....
Green Soldiers
This little kid is still playing in the sandbox.
You'd
think
he would get tired of just getting himself
dirty
and filling up his diaper with scratchy little
particles. But he's still playing
.
I wonder if he
even sees me from over here. He hasn't looked up from
the mounds of sand in a while. Poor kid doesn't even
have any toys to play with. What kind of parent would
just throw their kid in a pile of sand with nothing to
dig with or even one of those dump trucks? That must
be the kid's mother over there by those swings. She
isn't even watching her kid! What do they call that
thing? Peripheral vision? That must be her technique
of parenting. I could easily just get up from this
bench and snatch that kid and that dumb mother would
be thinking, "Oh
,
why me? What have I done?". I can
see this happening right now.
If
I grab that kid,
she
'
d be so upset with guilt and she would come
sobbing to herbest friend. This mother would cover
her best friend's shoulder with snot and tears. And
the best friend, in an attempt to add comfort, may
say, "There was nothing you could have done, dear
.
"
As if this one event had been determined to happen to
her alone, on this particular day. The mother would
rack her brain with "what-ifs" concerning her
half-assed parenting, her choice of playgrounds, and
"if only I had left two minutes earlier". But in the
back of her head, advice whispers that "there was
nothing you could have done." She would then see her
life as a clockwork that had been set in motion by the
Big Man upstairs well before she plopped her kid in a
box of sand. Is she wrong in thinking this? I know
I'm wrong. This kid does have a toy with him
.
It's one of those little military plastic soldiers
.
He's about the size of the kid's palm. I remember
when I used to play with those guys when I was a kid!
I'd set them up all over the yard like I was a
d
e
corated marine officer giving out my order
s.
They
had their weapons and I'd position them focu
s
in
g
th
e
ir
effort
s
on some target of execution
.
Tho
s
e little
plastic guys were manufactured, each with an
i
ndividual purpose
.
Some were designed to la
y
down
horizontally with belly-side down. Some with l
eg
s
connected by a smooth plastic pad that resembl
e
d a
golf putting green. No matter what you did
,
the
o
nes
that stood would never lay down and the on
e
s that lay
down could never stand. They were made in one way and
there ain't nothing that will change that. I pity the
green soldier that was only equipped with a set of
binoculars. No weapon
.
I wonder which one this kid
has. I'll just walk over and take a closer look.
Let's see if this kid's mom's peripheral vision starts
to kick in.
meanwhile
in another
part
of
town
...
Ridin' the6
downtown 6 train
local
black clogs
tight jeans
headphones
there's a guy over there
reading the wall street journal
on asunday!
and
an
older woman,
her husband,
their grandson,
a loved teddy
and two big bags from bloornie's
they get off at 33rd st.
maybehome
maybe more shopping?
the sign over there
says the 59th st. station is open now
i
can't
remember why it was closed
but
that sign's
been up since october
there is a seat next to
a
guy
in khaki pants
and
argyle socks
but
i' d rather stand
actually, i lean
against
the
pole
as if i 'm good at this
i am an expert at pretending
that i' m good at this
and when the train jerks and i
lose my balance
i nonchalantly step
back
and chill
hand not gripping
the pole
but my
arm loosely
around
it
28th
23rd
next stop union square
14th st.
there are now empty seats but
i still stand
i ride
ijerk
i teeter and totter and almost fall over
i can do this
this is me
downtown six local
to brooklyn bridge
next stop
astorplace
cross one black clog in front of the other
doo doo
stand clear of the closing doors
i click clack up the stairs
into the world above
You've said I look just like her
but only when I smile.
And my mind
chases
that
sweet, silent sketch.
Brown eyes, a wild
cherry smile,
she steals us all
away
when
she yells
"I
want out of this frame!"
I
wonder
what it is I have
that
isn't only mine
Won't
you
tell mankind
it's
Herstory too?
I want to know
all
the lies,
all the
sugarcoated
stunts
you pulled out your
sleeve
and over my eyes.
Tell me what she did to
save
me
won't you?
Brown eyes, a wild cherry
smile
she steals us all away
.
..
And sometimes why
i
f
)
Back in my salad days,
\
When we all intended on morality
/
\
\
I signed a contract on the heart of one
Mr.
James Altruist.
Amidst cell phones and beach homes
I
Do any of them pause deliberately
1
For pausing's sake?
And not because so and so O
.
D.ed dr because of
A post-summer tragedy?
No, they only care for their 13 miles of filth
.
Or maybe on my high horse-ken
I should realize
}
I
I
f
I
(
\)
1
/
\
I
I
\
v
I
/
,,.,/
I
!
I
/
I
I
(
I
(
(
\
I
Pi
e
r
ce
d b
y
Natur
e
Humid
I
urban forest.
A car wash for the soul.
I brace myself for on-coming
sky knives
.
I
/
_
/
\
)
I
I
J
but I decided to make i t more
universal.
Like
a child who has lost a mother
,
I believe
that
women
universally suffer
identity
confusion
because
of their misrepresentati
o
n in hist
o
1y.
¥fl,-.:
q.:t.
ti'
~
4\1
lo"" --
- pur ·
~
,
·.
.
~
!
~
{-t
jl
I\
u\V\t
l
~
V'-'~
)
\
0~::f
;_
)Jif)
r
~
(J"-.
~
7 ,
1~
lit
cd'
u ,·
✓
TIE,{t
>ee.
;vi>
+o
be..
s
if""'
c
A
1
r;
Ti
(A_--,
----
---
h;>
Lt,v,)
.-
+iaY\.
i - - -
lJ;/1
~
l.
b-e_
~fofN
/
.---
--+-
'.Lv
e,
o...
s
.S
Vl
I<.
r
OVl
I
f\
0
0
fl
e,
~
.S
v"'l
ore_
r - -
+ -
.:Fr
V\:,+,
~
J
e
J
bl
fr-j,..
i')
...-
-~
i
hvr
'
~
W
e..
he,re.;.
A+-
-
J_~
e-
IV)
o
5
tn
i
C..
I
l,Je.
l\oL.1
\
\
\
May
we Spondee?
I
I
I
I
As I sit here at my ti~ed interval of poem medicirn
~
-
I wish I could live poetry,
Have it spoken to me by a trochaic man
I.E. this one diagonal from me
With his custom-designed underwater eyes
With 'him and the dominos'
I learned his name right then
But would have known it intuitively
In my heart that beats in iambic pentameter
I would like to be affected by him
Hurt by him
Anything
So long as he knew that I knew that he knew\
So long as he was one of the authors of my fate
If
only my form could be trapped inside his eyelids
Scan me, you'll find stresses at your mentions
,
How seventeenth century of me!
I
And this is the most beautiful thing in the world.
Everyone can remember where they were the day Jimmy Keoltz began to glow.
Quentin Tulom was bowling a 264. Pat McCulloch was in the tree house his dad
made him for his tenth birthday, peering out the doorway with binoculars trying to
catch a glimpse of Marcie Fem undressing. Kenna Holf was in her basement listening
along to an instructional tape as she tuned her bass guitar for the first time
.
Injola
Trinidad was in the outskirts of the Amazon rainforest buying drugs that she planned to
sell for far more than they were worth back in Europe. Her friends thought she was
researching a cure for cancer. Todd Pinckle was convincing strangers that he was
God. God was keeping an extra close watch on Jeffrey "Molasses" Jones. Molas-
ses was doing his laundry.
Everyone that was there can remember exactly what it was they were doing
.
Shauna Patters was on coat duty that day. Coat duty was an honor earned by a
random student each week who was then in charge of making sure each coat was on
a hanger in the closet and that the girls coats were not on the same side of the closet
as the boys coats and that each coat was facing in the same direction. Coat duty was
not entirely difficult, but it was a privileged position nonetheless.
The coat she held in her hand at the moment it happened wasn
'
t a coat at all
but a sweater. A homemade tan or khaki sweater made by someone's grandma;
made by Jimmy Keoltz's grandma.
"Whose sweater is this?" she asked.
There was a slight pause.
"It's Jimmy's, Jimmy Keoltz's
..
. and it's a girls sweater!" answered Madeline
Casunder,just as Jimmy began to glow.
Most likely one had nothing to do with the other. The thing Madeline said and
the thing that Jimmy did.
'
But that was when it first started to happen, when Jimmy
began to glow. Madeline Casunder was answering Shauna Patters' question when it
happened. All the kids called her Linny.
Mr.
Keoltz was a construction worker and he was not there when it hap-
pened; he was building a building. Not a house, not a personalized structure like a
house or a Mom and Pop store but a building, a huge impersonal building that would
one day be filled with impersonal people all wearing the same kinds of clothes and
dealing in business so similar that only theirCEO's would know the differences
between them. But every single one of them would know exact! y where they were
the
day Jimmy Keoltz
began to glow.
The sky was milky white, something of fantasy, something sky could never
be and it reflected itself down onto the flowers and the grass and the picnic basket
and it smelt wonderful, more than any exotic scent of the East or even the fondest of
memories and Mrs. Jenkins was in the middle of it all. The sky was milky white
were Mrs. Jenkins was having a picnic by herself. She too can remember where she
was when, as she put it, "Whatever it was that happened to that poor little boy
happened" but she would rather forget. Mrs. Jenkins would much rather be where
she spent the rest of her existence: Enveloped in the most fantastic of dreams,
wrapped in the blanket of the sky, enjoying the fact that she no longer needed to lay
down to see it, that it was all around her and all she had to do was open her eyes at
any moment and she would see deeper beyond the white of it, her roof, her every-
thing, and see more white, white past the breakers past the edge of existence. All
she had to do was open her eyes to realize there was no Heaven.
"Only color," she would say. "Only color"
Mr. Takagami was dead when it happened, but he can still remember. It
could be seen from everywhere. He felt it too, not everyone felt it the way he did.
As cliched as it is the glow made Mr. Takagami warm to the touch. On the inside he
was cold and alone and scared and he didn't want to be were he was because he
knew that was the only place he possibly could be. But at the same time if you were
to dig up Mr. Takagami at the moment Jimmy Keoltz began to glow than you would
have felt his warmth against your skin.
Most people were surprised by the whole thing. Perhaps Mrs. Tabbot most
of all; she died. Some people wanted to sue the Keoltz family because they felt
Jimmy scared Mrs. Tabbot to death. These people were in the minority. Most
people did not want to sue the Keoltz family for anything.
I was in the shower. I was in the shower and I was crying uncontrollably
but I do remember it clearer than anything. I haven't been able to retain a single
memory of anything that happened since.
Jimmy Keoltz wasn't surprised. He wasn't surprised and as a matter of fact
he may not be able to remember where he was either. Jimmy Keoltz just may be the
only one.
The people on the news, they knew everyone can remember it but they
made sure to remind everyone constantly anyways. Most likely because they were
scared of it.
Jimmy Keoltz was expecting it a year to the day exactly. He knew
because his mother told him it would happen. And a year to the day exactly
before that she had died. She was dead for a year before she told Jimmy he
would glow. When Jimmy's mother told him she was glowing too and it was
beautiful, so when it started happening to Jimmy he let it happen. Most people
did not know that
,
they didn't know that Jimmy could have stopped it at first, that
as violent as it was it was never entirely in control. What Jimmy didn't know was
that it was an entirely different kind of glow than that he saw in his dead mother
.
Mrs. Jenkins wished that she didn
'
t remember, but part of her knew that
it was part of the reason why she ended up where she did. The place with the
milky white sky that covered everything in it's own gentle way.
Things were different because of it for everyone, and that was
a
lways a
mixed blessing at best. Just this morning Jasmine Gonzalez was raped and it hurt
mo
r
e than anything had ever hurt her before. She closed her eyes and cried, not
letting the tears escape, leaving them no choice but to beat against her eyelids, to
bum the most delicate of her sensory organs
.
The most treasured. She imagined
her eyelids blowing up like balloons, filling with her tears and then bursting,
s
plashing red-hot salty liquid in all directions across the world because she would
never allow herself to open her eyes again. She thought of something awful
burrowing inside her, something monstrous slowly growing, something destructive
and ugly and thin.gs worse than she could describe
,
things lost by the limits of
language and she wanted to throw up because of it but she could not because her
mouth was gagged and she could barely breathe as it was.
Hours later Dr. Cranton, who was rather experienced at this sort of thing,
made a joke and Jasmine laughed, she laughed in a way that
,
hours earlier, she
thought she would never laugh again.
It
wasn't entirely natural, but it was neces-
sary so she laughed and laughed and Dr. Cran ton laughed too because she was
quite experienced at this sort of thing and the room lightened for a moment.
It
sighed away a million pounds of breath and both its inhabitants felt it. And then
Jasmine remembered where she was when Jimmy Keoltz began to glow and she
stopped laughing and began to tremble. She trembled because Jasmine Gonzalez
remembered that when Jirnrny Keoltz began to glow she was not being raped.
One day, after Jasmine Gonzalez was raped Dr
.
Cran ton thought about
where she was when Jimmy Keoltz began to glow and she laughed and laughed
even harder than the day that Jasmine got raped. Then her husband came in
.
"What's so funny?" he asked.
She wouldn't tell him so he said it again, only this time he demanded.
"What's so funny?" he demanded.
She still refused to tell him so Dr. Cran ton blushed and her husband left the
room dissatisfied.
Shrew Davies was blowing leaves in his backyard. Margaret Jansen was
scolding her son Tom Priada who kept his fathers last name after the divorce for
feigning the flu in order to stay home from school. Tom was crying. So was I, but in
the shower. Greta van Huesen was making plans to climb the world's tallest moun-
tain. Jimmy's grandmother was making him another sweater. Jimmy's mother was
dead and she was smiling. Paulie Franko was fucking his best friends wife
.
A lot of
people were dying; a lot of people were living. Absolutely no one was being born.
The man that raped Jasmine Gonzalez wasn't raping anyone, but he can remember
exactly where he was; the funny thing is, nobody remembered what happened to
Jimmy Keoltz.
Some people thought he never stopped, they thought that he glowed forever and
ever.
The people giving the news on TV said that, they liked to keep people opti-
mistic about things. A lot of people just assumed he flat out died
.
Some scientists
tried to make a living out of calling it spontaneous combustion or proof of this or
proof of that but that was no way to make a living. A lot of priests and bishops and
cardinals, well they just liked to ignore it, they couldn't forget it, but they sure could
ignore it. A little girl once told Carl Minnelough that she thought Jimmy Keoltz turned
into an angel. Mrs. Jenkins didn't like to think about what happened to him. The
man that raped Jasmine Gonzalez wished he could see him,just once. Mr. Takagarni
was dead.
28th
23rd
nex
t
s
t
op unio
n
square
1
4t
h
s
t.
t
here
are
now
empty seals
but
A
t
Clean*
11
i
jer
k
P.i.
page turns each night
.
..i,
t
t-
e
re
r
an(i
t
o
t
ter
.
an
tr
afmosl
lall over
10mor.row
.slides
m,
~~filNif
JdJt
tly with pale snow
lJS
IS
t1
1e
&
st
,
tne orange glpw of street light
s,
)
~~rl
.l()\\11.S
i:\
v
cd!
l.
.
h
r atUU!:
P&st§tent
y wit
J
D
)ro
>Kl\!
nm1,e
T
~e
ram
on t e rooftop,
,11
cxl
sl
i .
.
h
+
ur sne
ng
m
wit grey 10g,
d}
1
gH
1
1~~
UP
on cut.gr
r,ss.
.
t
~
~
1
s
g
~
fJWfa1
iill<lh~
~
f
:
)
~
~~
t1
ig
a
W
,
11
er
~gg
0
~
i
tse
~
f to r feet.
~
~
ear
(
t
f
1
e..c
~
o·s···m~ door
s.
a ac~
tee
.
10mo.rrow maKes-
.JJ:,
c·cac·
r1r
.1)lhesta1rs
'lid
.
h.?
ttow oes 1
w what we
o wit 1t .
.J.
1
L<.l
t
1e wor
n1
m
,
e
.
:st111, every mglit, 1t rudes m the
shadows,
So
as
to surprise us at sunrise
With the gift of another chance.
*
'
'Tomorrow is the most important thing in life
...
comes into us
at
midnight very clean. It's perfect when it arrives and it puts itself in our
hands. It hopes we've learned something from yesterday." -John
Wayne
ARBITRAGE
Chance
took me to Brooklyn,
opportunity, to the third floor flat
of thatByelorussian
girl
who trades
erotic
futures. She
opened
with T-shirt and
fuzzy
slippers,
pad
in
hand,
trailing actuals,
fungibles and
derivatives,
to her bedroom
office, knuckling the
dimpled
screen
of her laptop.
Time
·
to take short position, she
muttered, nibbling her pony tail,
Or maybe ..
.
Her bottom squirmed,
she leaned in, poked there, there, and there,
No one considers now
the knock
-
out option,
Maybe bold stroke.
We could ride the straddle
...
ls an irrational market
,
volatile. The Kama Sutra
is
up and
down on the Sensex
and
the Nifty.
Feet crossed
and
uncrossed, bunnies
shrugged
off. Round
face
pale,
reflected light of the active-matrix
screen
...
The instruments mispriced ... we take
both positions, and ha! we are een
like Fleen. I asked her,
How much do you need?
THE DRAMA OF REAL LIVES, THE POWER OF TRUE STORIES
When
I
was George
w
Bush's mistress he
would press his head against
my
stomach
and
curl
up
to
the
soft
droop
of
my
titties
against
his
cheek
he'd
suck
his
thumb
and I'd croon
songs of resistance
my Communist mother
taught me we'd heard
Paul Robeson
sing them at Peekskill
when George was a baby
he never knew
what they meant
just nestled into
my
husky New
York rasp
reminding him
of
warm nights
and tarry rooftops
tight harmonies and what
every boy wants
Possibly
Sorry seems to be repetitive banter in between the "I love yous" and
"fuck yous" and fucking
and makinnnggg nothing
I'm new to this love of rose colored glass beads that sting our
hardening skins but decorate our
oiled shiny coverings
I used to beg for the press of your lips and none other than that
chocolate manifest of
monogamy you represented
You were my tries
You were my attempt at meaningful intimacy
And I laugh now to see you think of others and yearn for her,
whoever she is
I sit sometimes and educate myself on your shortcomings and it can
soothe the soul
But then you don't call and then you do with a sullen message
It's been ten days and I'm counting
Counting to see when the inner frustrations pressurize and make a
beautiful diamond for another to cherish
I'd say love escaped us as we finagled with my bra strap but that's
known right?
The black one with the push-up pads that added lust to the non-
existent
friendship
I can think of emotional promiscuity as a rape I've perfected in evil
ways
I'm just wondering this time did I rape you or did I rape myself?
Tara
Young Girl with a Scrunchie
,
Observed
You can do anything,
anything at all
with that scrunchie
:
your hands nimbly thread
piles of hair, silky and falling,
through into a ponytail,
then, a carelessly elegant heap.
Your assuredness, so innocent
and brazen, no mirror
needed: you look good any way,
any way at all.
Your head is bent over the school work,
beguiling, comparing, conversing with
the boy next to you;
he doesn't stand a chance,
not any chance.
Suddenly the fingers,
knitting and silver,
let the hair loose in a burst
like horses stampeding a corral,
spilling over your face with your laughter,
shook back to show
your freedom,
your unquestionable freedom
from dominion,
loose, ready to flow
into the unknown, all life
before you.
The veil of your hair
covering, enticing,
hiding, revealing
all of a sudden,
the bare back of your neck,
so unbearably vulnerable
.
Rest
Thy Soul
The weary soul doth sleep tonight
But tomorrow will wake a new
.
Rising before the morning light
To rid the flowers of their dew
.
Friends
Say it was this way always
...
tell me I never stood that smile
...
Have you ever wondered?
Out of the comer of those brown eyes,
was I watching you?
It's too late ... To find a better way.
Call it all old hat.
We walked back in 2000,
all the way back ourselves,
your hippie sandals,
and my shirt on your back.
What was the word again?
Trite.
That's all that's left.
I'll keep going this way ...
Yeah ...
Let's let it
be
like this.
Easier this way, right?
Right
I'm all smiles, you know that.
My jokes aren't all that funny,
But that's cool.
It's cool.
This is cool.
Like this.
Friends, right?
Right
Friends.
I can play that.
I can keep playing that like a record.
Loss of Innocence
What does it mean to be in touch with
reality? Does one lose his innocence
after years of enhancing his reputation
and status? The eminent figure who no
longer understands the roles of self-
discipline and love. He focuses on
personal gain and the stock market.
Prioritizing what is relevant- his loved
ones, no longer on his agenda. Time
and personal possession is his only
vision and passion
.
We are no longer
existent in his
life.
One can hold pride
for all his accomplishments and status,
yet, lose all innocence if he places
materialism and personal gains above
loved ones. No matter where one
stands, he is not infallible
.
He can still
drown if he neglects others and loses
his understanding and compassion for
his followers.
OldMan
!J
\
hl~
\<
my body
sinks
I~weruntil there's nowhere else to go
\
dovm
i
fall into slee le
tripping my mind with my own
insanities
.
the day's peculiarities run
through
my veins
"
,.
.,,_
excuses
frOin
he
night
/
.
and so
it
become
s
a part of me
until
i
lo
se
myself and become everything at once and once agai11
there's nothing left but darkness and
reality
which
seeps
through the walls and
falls
crudely
onto
my
empty thoughts
permeating stifled spaces and breaking:
the
silence
barriers
shattered
by
unintended circumstances
11
defeats me and
I
am defeated
and
I
feel
nothing
.........
~
~
-
,-----
........
""
"'\
---
------
,_
-------------
·
-
Dead Sea
Deep in the gray mortar
That rests between continents,
There is a pool,
A red oasis that steams and rages, Angry kettle, hot blood cell,
It
bursts with sworn secrecy.
Love, what has happened to me?
How it bums, this seasick carpentry. The world, she aches
·
Alone out there,
Her veins seething with
A molten chardonnay.
It
is in me now, I fear,
Snaking ever closer, cradling
Those sailors lost at sea.
Earthen plates are
Swept out from under me,
Make a saddle of my skin
Which bears no pavement.
I carry the dead in my stride,
But somewhere in the center of
All this heaviness,
There is a spark,
A bright and awful light.
Here it comes again,
Flooding my eyes with its
Dark spectrum, and
I fear it is in me still,
My lips a cherry red,
A kicking in my belly,
Another mouth to feed.
The Looking Glass
In the mirror,
I saw myself
Lilied and laced.
White statue, china doll,
Not a hair out of place,
Not a stain on the carpet.
The gauze hangs heavy and flat
From the crown,
A veil of sorts, a hat
Full of petals and thorns.
In the glint of your iris, I twirled
Like a mad top,
A spinning wheel.
There was no veil,
No porcelain pout,
But cheap plastic
Smothered in spray-paint.
I was choking on cellophane,
Clawing at my eyes,
The veins in my throat
Like fat slugs,
Pulsing with blood.
And like Oedipus,
I felt for the pointed glass
And plucked out my eyes
So that I could see the truth
For myself.
There was blood
Down the white of my sleeve
And my side,
It dripped hot and
Hardened like beeswax.
But no matter,
We will get a new mirror,
Pg#
500
Pg #600
New sleeves, an eye patch,
The works.
The tailor is a genius, a dabbler;
Through his needle-eye,
He draws down the stars
From the sky,
To beguile us.
No one must know I was broken.
He will cut around the spear
And the rusty screws.
He will cut around the crown,
Where the skin starts to pucker
And brown blood drools from the spot.
He stitches up nicely;
The scars are as blatant as air.
I have done this before,
A silly goat, to think that
I could see such clean visions.
Me, in a wedding veil,
Me, the white dove
With the olive branch
Caught in my beak.
Me, a mad top, a spinning wheel.
Such absurdities!
One would think
I'd have drowned in my reflection,
And a flower bear my name.
A
laugh, to think the pauper
Is a prince!
A laugh, to think a mirror
Holds more virtue
Than a husband!
One Night
Popcorn is popping in the microwave
On the counter.
Wind from the window asks her hair to dance
And she smiles.
Her head back,
She laughs at the world.
She sits on the couch,
Legs
folded beside her.
The kernels explode,
Leaving that distinct smell hanging in the air.
Comatose
Resting his head on
A pillow of soft azaleas,
He draws about his shoulders
The earth, a dark blanket, and
Tucks it under his chin like treasure,
A secret well-kept.
Tree leaves chitter and sway,
The wind like a sigh through
Their branches.
It lulls him
,
the leaves and
The cricket song,
And the way the moon-glint
Rises from the water, in shafts, Swanlike
.
He is ready for sleep,
His eyes under soil and grass
,
His crown against the headboard,
A tombstone, the date freshly
Chiseled upon it.
He lies
,
in repose, with
The rocks cutting into his back, Handsomely embalmed
.
He is primed fordepm1ure,
For slumber
.
The sand
ft
I
ls his eyes
Like a cup
.
Emoish
Outside the last gates,
my race is ended .
..
still running,
but only meters to go
,
and we all know who
'
s where .
.
.
The zenith laughs as the crimson shades my smiles.
Right eye blind style,
kids asking questions,
and your wallflower sensibility smoked away.
Sans the 86ed talk,
Let's leave this city tonight.
I' 11 ask you to dance,
and you can say no.
We'll laugh on all this soon.
Who cares what Peninsula holds my name
.
.
.
It's all the same ...
!
.
l
Register Two
None of the checkers really liked register two. Even if the checker on two
had one or two customers waiting and registers one and three were empty, sure
enough people went to register two
'
s line
.
It happened all the time, every worker
knew about i t - most guessed that because the lane for two was widest most of
the customers
felt more comfortable going there. No one knows for certain.
"
Debbie, you' re on register two" said Tammy, pointing over to a line of
dirty
,
out of date registers that all had at least one if not many broken parts.
Register two's conveyer belt was broken.
It was around 6 o
'
clock when Debbie noticed them, two girls
,
19 or 20 by
her guess. They looked exactly like the girls on the teen fashion magazines- she
could barely tell the difference between the two
.
They wandered around aisle 4,
the chips and cookies aisle, talking about nothing in particular as they looked
around the shelves for sometime, before picking up a box of generic low fat
oatmeal cookies. Without hesitation, they walked to register two.
"
I've got to tell you
,
I'm done. I'm serious, no more work
,
I had a good
first semester but no more work. It's just too much, you know?" said one of the
girls, looking at the back of the box in the middle of the lane
.
"Totally, it's ridiculous. Before break I had two papers due. I mean, come
on" said the other girl.
"Good Evening, Did you find everything you needed today?" asked
Debbie robotically- they must not of heard her, they didn't respond.
Debbie never went to college but often imagined what it was like. She could have
gone
actually, had she had the money or freedom to
.
Her scores were generally above
average, but she was the oldest in her family and had to help contribute to the
family income after graduation. Her father was on disability from the docks and her
mother made scraps working in a grocery store very similar to one she stood in
_J
now. She clidn 't really mind missing college if it was to
help
out her family, after all
there would be time for college later on -
she had thought so, at least.
"I'm so glad we have this break, the last two months have been terrible. I
think I'm going to quit SGA, I mean, I need the priority points and all but this is
insane. We have two meetings a week, don't they realize we have lives?"
"Seriously, you should" said the first girl, placing the box on the broken
conveyor belt. Debbie then remembered she had to pick up her younger
daughter from her parents after her shift in four hours. The older girl was with
some friends
.
It had been tough since her husband's passing five years ago
,
but
they were getting through it. The funeral was the worst part of the entire event,
not because anyone was terribly emotional, the girls were too young to
understand what had happened-it's just that so few people came. Six or Seven
people in all - i t was embarrassing. She heard customers talking about funerals
of 100 or so people, that's the kind she would like.
"Ifl
fail Stats this semester I'm seriously done. My parents are already
upset with me.
lfl
fail Stats they'll cut me off, and I'm not getting a job on
campus, I'll tell you that much"
"I know, they pay 7 dollars an hour, it's like a sweatshop
.
We should call
the secret service to arrest them," said the second girl. The first one laughed.
Debbie scanned to box and placed it in a white plastic bag in one fluid
motion
.
Her husband
'
s passing had
-been a financial hit to the family-not that he
was all that well-off, but a steady full-time check from the liquor store seemed
like heaven to her now. It was tough working for $6.50 an hour-especially
after they cut hours from 50 down to 40 a week-
not
that she had a choice.
Either that or meager unemployment checks. They
had
promised
her
a raise to $7
after her first year working,
but never
got it -
- something about
profits being down.
"Good
thing
is that in a couple weeks we
have
winter
break,
all
we have
to worry about is finals"
"But winter
break
is
only
a month this year, come
on. My
cousin gets 6
weeks of
break,
our school is so cheap"
said the first girl.
The motel her
and
her daughters
lived
in wasn't in the best condition but it
was something, they had built up a tolerance for the noises of the train and the bar
next to building. Her daughters didn't even know half of the words the drunks
yelled out anyway, so it wasn't too bad. Not that she had a choice, wasn't
anywhere better to live -it was either the squalid, dilapidated Shore Palace Motel
or one of the boarding houses next to the train station, and she wasn't about to
introduce her daughters to that sort of atmosphere.
"Your total is 3.49" mumbled Debbie, careful not to interrupt their
conversation.
"Oh, OK said the first girl, looking at Debbie for the first time. She
handed her a $20 bill.
"Your change is 16.51. Thank you for shopping with us. Have a good
day" Debbie said for the 82°d time that day, handing the first girl the change. The
girl flashed a fake courtesy smile, somewhat robotic, no shred of humanity or
genuineness in it, and grabbed the bag.
"Alright,
where to next?"
"Let's hit an ATM, I need cash for the mall trip on Tuesday"
"Good idea" said the first girl, both walking out of the store. Debbie
turned to the next customer, an older local couple. "Good evening, did you find
everything you needed today?"
Contrast
The warm Spring breeze blows away my fears
given by the life outside this natural world
Stroking the velvet petals that embrace and bring color
to the grey stone, so strong and clustered
.
. .like a family
helping one another;
Oaks providing shade to the green beneath,
who bring sustenance necessary for life
Each with a purpose ... the balance oflife
I feel so removed .
..
until I am here,
textured bark upon my fingertips,
softened earth beneath my feet, speckled with colors of change
and rebirth
Irreplaceable art .
.
.. alive
before my eyes ..
THIS IS NOT
~oop
--··,-··- ~\
THIS IS A
NE~~A~
)·-
THIS IS NOT A
iJolJp
\
THIS
IS A NEW PAGE
\.
p ,\
.
\
J
.··
,_,.
THIS IS NOT LOOP
ANEW PAGE
OTA LOOP
NEWPAGE
,,.,,,...
./
\
I
V
THIS IS NOT
~
A
1
LOOP
THIS IS A NEW PAGE
THIS IS NOT A LO
~
OP
THIS IS A NEW PAGE
•111s
IS
NOT I
THISIS
ANE1
THIS
IS
\
NO'!;
A
TH1s
is
\·
A
\\,
JV.I
'
~
\ _.,
f"-
I
\
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer co
m
pute
e:
m
computer
com
p
uter
computer
co111put e
1
r-cot11P1Ji.t..e
comput
comput
computeF--CJJJ!IE!.!!U
~
computer compute
computer compute
c
o ~
c
omp
uter
cordi:rote computer
compute
compute
~•lH::Ml=--1,;.lWIIJI.I.LJre
c
o
e
;.:::::::.::.:;.i::~_::.:::.:;:l
~T"
-.J!
D
r
~
.-
r
e
e
e
p
u
t
e
compute comp
compute compute compu
compute compute compute
mpute compute compu
ute
te
L...:
~~J1..SU,..1;
:.....,.,
J,1.11A1J1-Ua-.
m
.
pu e
compu e
co
e
C
e
e
e
pute
rERIAL
MY PA
GES
c
m
pute computer compute
1
r-:::=rt::-:~=~:-:::-:;i;::t:;::r.;:l:-~
=
~B"-f:i'l'R'i~'ff"'i~.....,
~pbtt!'
1
cm,,pnt'er-c,:r1111nrt
e--
c
omput
c
omput
co
mput
co
mpute
te
pute
mpute
computer
computer
computer
computer
compute
compute
compute
compute
c mpute computer compute
c mput
e
computer compute
mpute com
p
uter compute
computer
computer
r
computer
computer
computer
-
✓
J
some
things are
forgotten
some
remembered
Everyone who was ever born
Everyon
zfi
was ever born
Eve o e ho was ever born
\
Everyone who was ever born
\
\
Everyone who was ever born
Everyone who
\
w
-ih;'>
f°5e_
)) b}
°'t1
1
ER Diagnosis
9:23
PM.
Incoherent, disarrayed woman rushes into the emergency
room screaming" ... won 'ttake bath, won't go to sleep ... " Woman
was wearingjeans with holes in the knees, t-shirt with sweat marks
under the arms, socks and one sneaker without the shoelace. Front
oft-shirt seemed to be water soaked and splattered with spaghetti,
both sauce and noodles. There was a sign taped on her back that
read "Looney Tunes."
Symptoms: Recurring nightmares, unbearable migraines, spouting gibberish, bald
spots. Uncontrollable shaking
History
:
·
Relatively young woman with three children complaining of the above
symptoms. Woman was reportedly in excellent health until first child
reached the age of two. Doctor dismissed first symptoms as "that's
life." Sent patient home with a shake of his head and an audible
"Phsaw
!
"
Symptoms increased with sporadic spasms of nervous
tics as the number of children increased to three. Doctor still
unsympathetic, recommended an occasional night out without the
kids. Seventh babysitter quit. Patient began to pull hair out.
Doctor recommended a live-in-nanny
.
After one week, nanny fled
the country. Patient was tom between love and hate, compassion
and despair. Nothing seemed to work. Children running amuck.
Patient began banging head against the wall. Doctor unable to save
patient from self-inflicting wounds
.
Recommended a shrink. Patient
worried children may be deaf. Pediatrician found no signs of hearing
loss in the children. Suggested children were manipulating mom -
only heard what they wanted to hear. Patient finally sought the aid
of a shrink. Shrink declared it's too late - was already talking
gibberish to herself - insisting that no one listened. Patient's mind
was shattered - Ii ved in a hell dominated by little human drooling
creatures, treading dirty, sticky bare feet all over her. Bald spots
began to appear as teenage years took their hold and mom pulled
hair in exasperation. Shrink admitted defeat when woman put a bib
on him, and, holding an armor shield to protect her person, fed him
strained spinach while dodging invisible items,
singing, "I love you,
you
love me, we're a happy family
... "
Diagnosis:
Emergency room doctor
very young. Could
not treat
patient.
Sought the
advice
of the
on-call
Psychologist. Psychologist
recognized symptoms
immediately; has dealt with the
problem
many
times. Pronounced patient's
recovery
hopeless until
children
reach
adulthood.
Too many children, born too close together.
Children
viciously
inflicted years of abuse. Patient
sought
medical attention
too late for doctors to help
.
Patient ignored advice of
sane,
childless
friend who enjoys
traveling, adult,
meaningful
conversations, money,
and
thick beautiful hair.
Treatment:
Endure pain and suffering until children reach
age
of responsibility.
In the meantime, treat with sleep
aids
to knowck out the demons of
the evening, lot of Excedrin, a
gibberish
translator, and a pretty wig.
Eventually patient will make a remarkable recovery when children
have children of their own - a mother's ultimate revenge. Until then,
the bald shrink, with four preschool children of her won, will keep
the patient supplied with plenty of Valium so patient can emanate a
persona of sanity. The patient is granted one appointment a week
to visit the shrink's shrink who allows therapeutic thumb sucking
and rattle shaking.
Mosaic_S_2004001
Mosaic_S_2004002
Mosaic_S_2004003
Mosaic_S_2004004
Mosaic_S_2004005
Mosaic_S_2004006
Mosaic_S_2004007
Mosaic_S_2004008
Mosaic_S_2004009
Mosaic_S_2004010
Mosaic_S_2004011
Mosaic_S_2004012
Mosaic_S_2004013
Mosaic_S_2004014
Mosaic_S_2004015
Mosaic_S_2004016
Mosaic_S_2004017
Mosaic_S_2004018
Mosaic_S_2004019
Mosaic_S_2004020
Mosaic_S_2004021
Mosaic_S_2004022
Mosaic_S_2004023
Mosaic_S_2004024
Mosaic_S_2004025
Mosaic_S_2004026
Mosaic_S_2004027
Mosaic_S_2004028
Mosaic_S_2004029
Mosaic_S_2004030
Mosaic_S_2004031
Mosaic_S_2004032
Mosaic_S_2004033
Mosaic_S_2004034
Mosaic_S_2004035
Mosaic_S_2004036
Mosaic_S_2004037
Mosaic_S_2004038
Mosaic_S_2004039
Mosaic_S_2004040
Mosaic_S_2004041
Mosaic_S_2004042
Mosaic_S_2004043
Mosaic_S_2004044
Mosaic_S_2004045
Mosaic_S_2004046
Mosaic_S_2004047
Mosaic_S_2004048
Mosaic_S_2004049
Mosaic_S_2004050
Mosaic_S_2004051
Mosaic_S_2004052
Mosaic_S_2004053
Mosaic_S_2004054
Mosaic_S_2004055
Mosaic_S_2004056
Mosaic_S_2004057
Mosaic_S_2004058
Mosaic_S_2004059
Mosaic_S_2004060
Mosaic_S_2004061
Mosaic_S_2004062
Mosaic_S_2004063
Mosaic_S_2004064
Mosaic_S_2004065
Mosaic_S_2004066
OF
purpose
'
1,t.o-f-o
J
h~f
e_c
.
°'.f"'e_) )
l~
&,_7)1
)
!)\
-
LV
/ /
C'J'.l
/
--
~
~
r/
-
Context
V
1·
Table of Contents
I
I
I·
I
I
I
I
i
I
~
I
'
I
'
:
MEANING
4zl
~**;t.Q;'!
••
~
~~~
f
-
1
,I
~
YELLOW HEADS
AND
SENSELESS BEDS TOSS DREAMERS INTO WAKING
CHALK TALK PEOPLE THINK
ALL
ARE EQUAL
AND THE UPPERCLASS SEQUAL.
..
WILL
BE
AN ENDLESS WAR
tHE
SCORE
IS INFINITE
TO zero
FINITE HEROES
DEFINE THEIR WINNING BY NOT DYING
AMiLYING???TOCALLUSENDLESSDEAD
...
THEFACEOFTVMOREFAMILIARTOME
THAN ANY FAMILY MEMBER
IT
'
S FAR PAST TIME TO SEVER
EVERY BIND THAT MAKES ME me
freedom free free free
(THIS
IS NO ORDINARY CALL FOR
HELP
START
OFF SCREAMING
AND
END WITH
A
WHELP)
She would walk to
the beach
And
mold
s
hap
es
from
s
and
a
nd
people put money
in
her hat
and so she
ate,
and she s
l
ept
woke
up
and
did
just
she would
t
a
ke
a
train to work
and push
papers
for her wages
and the BOSS wrote 'money'
with taxes taken out for bombs
on a check to keep her alive
and so
she ate
and she
slept...
and dreamed of paper clips
...
and the ALARM said wake
what she wanted
and she would wake
"Yes
son, there are
many problems
with
the
world
but you can't solve
them
...
(GIVE
IN GIVE
UP)
you
'
ll
see"
~
\
j
,.,,...
.....
Green Soldiers
This little kid is still playing in the sandbox.
You'd
think
he would get tired of just getting himself
dirty
and filling up his diaper with scratchy little
particles. But he's still playing
.
I wonder if he
even sees me from over here. He hasn't looked up from
the mounds of sand in a while. Poor kid doesn't even
have any toys to play with. What kind of parent would
just throw their kid in a pile of sand with nothing to
dig with or even one of those dump trucks? That must
be the kid's mother over there by those swings. She
isn't even watching her kid! What do they call that
thing? Peripheral vision? That must be her technique
of parenting. I could easily just get up from this
bench and snatch that kid and that dumb mother would
be thinking, "Oh
,
why me? What have I done?". I can
see this happening right now.
If
I grab that kid,
she
'
d be so upset with guilt and she would come
sobbing to herbest friend. This mother would cover
her best friend's shoulder with snot and tears. And
the best friend, in an attempt to add comfort, may
say, "There was nothing you could have done, dear
.
"
As if this one event had been determined to happen to
her alone, on this particular day. The mother would
rack her brain with "what-ifs" concerning her
half-assed parenting, her choice of playgrounds, and
"if only I had left two minutes earlier". But in the
back of her head, advice whispers that "there was
nothing you could have done." She would then see her
life as a clockwork that had been set in motion by the
Big Man upstairs well before she plopped her kid in a
box of sand. Is she wrong in thinking this? I know
I'm wrong. This kid does have a toy with him
.
It's one of those little military plastic soldiers
.
He's about the size of the kid's palm. I remember
when I used to play with those guys when I was a kid!
I'd set them up all over the yard like I was a
d
e
corated marine officer giving out my order
s.
They
had their weapons and I'd position them focu
s
in
g
th
e
ir
effort
s
on some target of execution
.
Tho
s
e little
plastic guys were manufactured, each with an
i
ndividual purpose
.
Some were designed to la
y
down
horizontally with belly-side down. Some with l
eg
s
connected by a smooth plastic pad that resembl
e
d a
golf putting green. No matter what you did
,
the
o
nes
that stood would never lay down and the on
e
s that lay
down could never stand. They were made in one way and
there ain't nothing that will change that. I pity the
green soldier that was only equipped with a set of
binoculars. No weapon
.
I wonder which one this kid
has. I'll just walk over and take a closer look.
Let's see if this kid's mom's peripheral vision starts
to kick in.
meanwhile
in another
part
of
town
...
Ridin' the6
downtown 6 train
local
black clogs
tight jeans
headphones
there's a guy over there
reading the wall street journal
on asunday!
and
an
older woman,
her husband,
their grandson,
a loved teddy
and two big bags from bloornie's
they get off at 33rd st.
maybehome
maybe more shopping?
the sign over there
says the 59th st. station is open now
i
can't
remember why it was closed
but
that sign's
been up since october
there is a seat next to
a
guy
in khaki pants
and
argyle socks
but
i' d rather stand
actually, i lean
against
the
pole
as if i 'm good at this
i am an expert at pretending
that i' m good at this
and when the train jerks and i
lose my balance
i nonchalantly step
back
and chill
hand not gripping
the pole
but my
arm loosely
around
it
28th
23rd
next stop union square
14th st.
there are now empty seats but
i still stand
i ride
ijerk
i teeter and totter and almost fall over
i can do this
this is me
downtown six local
to brooklyn bridge
next stop
astorplace
cross one black clog in front of the other
doo doo
stand clear of the closing doors
i click clack up the stairs
into the world above
You've said I look just like her
but only when I smile.
And my mind
chases
that
sweet, silent sketch.
Brown eyes, a wild
cherry smile,
she steals us all
away
when
she yells
"I
want out of this frame!"
I
wonder
what it is I have
that
isn't only mine
Won't
you
tell mankind
it's
Herstory too?
I want to know
all
the lies,
all the
sugarcoated
stunts
you pulled out your
sleeve
and over my eyes.
Tell me what she did to
save
me
won't you?
Brown eyes, a wild cherry
smile
she steals us all away
.
..
And sometimes why
i
f
)
Back in my salad days,
\
When we all intended on morality
/
\
\
I signed a contract on the heart of one
Mr.
James Altruist.
Amidst cell phones and beach homes
I
Do any of them pause deliberately
1
For pausing's sake?
And not because so and so O
.
D.ed dr because of
A post-summer tragedy?
No, they only care for their 13 miles of filth
.
Or maybe on my high horse-ken
I should realize
}
I
I
f
I
(
\)
1
/
\
I
I
\
v
I
/
,,.,/
I
!
I
/
I
I
(
I
(
(
\
I
Pi
e
r
ce
d b
y
Natur
e
Humid
I
urban forest.
A car wash for the soul.
I brace myself for on-coming
sky knives
.
I
/
_
/
\
)
I
I
J
but I decided to make i t more
universal.
Like
a child who has lost a mother
,
I believe
that
women
universally suffer
identity
confusion
because
of their misrepresentati
o
n in hist
o
1y.
¥fl,-.:
q.:t.
ti'
~
4\1
lo"" --
- pur ·
~
,
·.
.
~
!
~
{-t
jl
I\
u\V\t
l
~
V'-'~
)
\
0~::f
;_
)Jif)
r
~
(J"-.
~
7 ,
1~
lit
cd'
u ,·
✓
TIE,{t
>ee.
;vi>
+o
be..
s
if""'
c
A
1
r;
Ti
(A_--,
----
---
h;>
Lt,v,)
.-
+iaY\.
i - - -
lJ;/1
~
l.
b-e_
~fofN
/
.---
--+-
'.Lv
e,
o...
s
.S
Vl
I<.
r
OVl
I
f\
0
0
fl
e,
~
.S
v"'l
ore_
r - -
+ -
.:Fr
V\:,+,
~
J
e
J
bl
fr-j,..
i')
...-
-~
i
hvr
'
~
W
e..
he,re.;.
A+-
-
J_~
e-
IV)
o
5
tn
i
C..
I
l,Je.
l\oL.1
\
\
\
May
we Spondee?
I
I
I
I
As I sit here at my ti~ed interval of poem medicirn
~
-
I wish I could live poetry,
Have it spoken to me by a trochaic man
I.E. this one diagonal from me
With his custom-designed underwater eyes
With 'him and the dominos'
I learned his name right then
But would have known it intuitively
In my heart that beats in iambic pentameter
I would like to be affected by him
Hurt by him
Anything
So long as he knew that I knew that he knew\
So long as he was one of the authors of my fate
If
only my form could be trapped inside his eyelids
Scan me, you'll find stresses at your mentions
,
How seventeenth century of me!
I
And this is the most beautiful thing in the world.
Everyone can remember where they were the day Jimmy Keoltz began to glow.
Quentin Tulom was bowling a 264. Pat McCulloch was in the tree house his dad
made him for his tenth birthday, peering out the doorway with binoculars trying to
catch a glimpse of Marcie Fem undressing. Kenna Holf was in her basement listening
along to an instructional tape as she tuned her bass guitar for the first time
.
Injola
Trinidad was in the outskirts of the Amazon rainforest buying drugs that she planned to
sell for far more than they were worth back in Europe. Her friends thought she was
researching a cure for cancer. Todd Pinckle was convincing strangers that he was
God. God was keeping an extra close watch on Jeffrey "Molasses" Jones. Molas-
ses was doing his laundry.
Everyone that was there can remember exactly what it was they were doing
.
Shauna Patters was on coat duty that day. Coat duty was an honor earned by a
random student each week who was then in charge of making sure each coat was on
a hanger in the closet and that the girls coats were not on the same side of the closet
as the boys coats and that each coat was facing in the same direction. Coat duty was
not entirely difficult, but it was a privileged position nonetheless.
The coat she held in her hand at the moment it happened wasn
'
t a coat at all
but a sweater. A homemade tan or khaki sweater made by someone's grandma;
made by Jimmy Keoltz's grandma.
"Whose sweater is this?" she asked.
There was a slight pause.
"It's Jimmy's, Jimmy Keoltz's
..
. and it's a girls sweater!" answered Madeline
Casunder,just as Jimmy began to glow.
Most likely one had nothing to do with the other. The thing Madeline said and
the thing that Jimmy did.
'
But that was when it first started to happen, when Jimmy
began to glow. Madeline Casunder was answering Shauna Patters' question when it
happened. All the kids called her Linny.
Mr.
Keoltz was a construction worker and he was not there when it hap-
pened; he was building a building. Not a house, not a personalized structure like a
house or a Mom and Pop store but a building, a huge impersonal building that would
one day be filled with impersonal people all wearing the same kinds of clothes and
dealing in business so similar that only theirCEO's would know the differences
between them. But every single one of them would know exact! y where they were
the
day Jimmy Keoltz
began to glow.
The sky was milky white, something of fantasy, something sky could never
be and it reflected itself down onto the flowers and the grass and the picnic basket
and it smelt wonderful, more than any exotic scent of the East or even the fondest of
memories and Mrs. Jenkins was in the middle of it all. The sky was milky white
were Mrs. Jenkins was having a picnic by herself. She too can remember where she
was when, as she put it, "Whatever it was that happened to that poor little boy
happened" but she would rather forget. Mrs. Jenkins would much rather be where
she spent the rest of her existence: Enveloped in the most fantastic of dreams,
wrapped in the blanket of the sky, enjoying the fact that she no longer needed to lay
down to see it, that it was all around her and all she had to do was open her eyes at
any moment and she would see deeper beyond the white of it, her roof, her every-
thing, and see more white, white past the breakers past the edge of existence. All
she had to do was open her eyes to realize there was no Heaven.
"Only color," she would say. "Only color"
Mr. Takagami was dead when it happened, but he can still remember. It
could be seen from everywhere. He felt it too, not everyone felt it the way he did.
As cliched as it is the glow made Mr. Takagami warm to the touch. On the inside he
was cold and alone and scared and he didn't want to be were he was because he
knew that was the only place he possibly could be. But at the same time if you were
to dig up Mr. Takagami at the moment Jimmy Keoltz began to glow than you would
have felt his warmth against your skin.
Most people were surprised by the whole thing. Perhaps Mrs. Tabbot most
of all; she died. Some people wanted to sue the Keoltz family because they felt
Jimmy scared Mrs. Tabbot to death. These people were in the minority. Most
people did not want to sue the Keoltz family for anything.
I was in the shower. I was in the shower and I was crying uncontrollably
but I do remember it clearer than anything. I haven't been able to retain a single
memory of anything that happened since.
Jimmy Keoltz wasn't surprised. He wasn't surprised and as a matter of fact
he may not be able to remember where he was either. Jimmy Keoltz just may be the
only one.
The people on the news, they knew everyone can remember it but they
made sure to remind everyone constantly anyways. Most likely because they were
scared of it.
Jimmy Keoltz was expecting it a year to the day exactly. He knew
because his mother told him it would happen. And a year to the day exactly
before that she had died. She was dead for a year before she told Jimmy he
would glow. When Jimmy's mother told him she was glowing too and it was
beautiful, so when it started happening to Jimmy he let it happen. Most people
did not know that
,
they didn't know that Jimmy could have stopped it at first, that
as violent as it was it was never entirely in control. What Jimmy didn't know was
that it was an entirely different kind of glow than that he saw in his dead mother
.
Mrs. Jenkins wished that she didn
'
t remember, but part of her knew that
it was part of the reason why she ended up where she did. The place with the
milky white sky that covered everything in it's own gentle way.
Things were different because of it for everyone, and that was
a
lways a
mixed blessing at best. Just this morning Jasmine Gonzalez was raped and it hurt
mo
r
e than anything had ever hurt her before. She closed her eyes and cried, not
letting the tears escape, leaving them no choice but to beat against her eyelids, to
bum the most delicate of her sensory organs
.
The most treasured. She imagined
her eyelids blowing up like balloons, filling with her tears and then bursting,
s
plashing red-hot salty liquid in all directions across the world because she would
never allow herself to open her eyes again. She thought of something awful
burrowing inside her, something monstrous slowly growing, something destructive
and ugly and thin.gs worse than she could describe
,
things lost by the limits of
language and she wanted to throw up because of it but she could not because her
mouth was gagged and she could barely breathe as it was.
Hours later Dr. Cranton, who was rather experienced at this sort of thing,
made a joke and Jasmine laughed, she laughed in a way that
,
hours earlier, she
thought she would never laugh again.
It
wasn't entirely natural, but it was neces-
sary so she laughed and laughed and Dr. Cran ton laughed too because she was
quite experienced at this sort of thing and the room lightened for a moment.
It
sighed away a million pounds of breath and both its inhabitants felt it. And then
Jasmine remembered where she was when Jimmy Keoltz began to glow and she
stopped laughing and began to tremble. She trembled because Jasmine Gonzalez
remembered that when Jirnrny Keoltz began to glow she was not being raped.
One day, after Jasmine Gonzalez was raped Dr
.
Cran ton thought about
where she was when Jimmy Keoltz began to glow and she laughed and laughed
even harder than the day that Jasmine got raped. Then her husband came in
.
"What's so funny?" he asked.
She wouldn't tell him so he said it again, only this time he demanded.
"What's so funny?" he demanded.
She still refused to tell him so Dr. Cran ton blushed and her husband left the
room dissatisfied.
Shrew Davies was blowing leaves in his backyard. Margaret Jansen was
scolding her son Tom Priada who kept his fathers last name after the divorce for
feigning the flu in order to stay home from school. Tom was crying. So was I, but in
the shower. Greta van Huesen was making plans to climb the world's tallest moun-
tain. Jimmy's grandmother was making him another sweater. Jimmy's mother was
dead and she was smiling. Paulie Franko was fucking his best friends wife
.
A lot of
people were dying; a lot of people were living. Absolutely no one was being born.
The man that raped Jasmine Gonzalez wasn't raping anyone, but he can remember
exactly where he was; the funny thing is, nobody remembered what happened to
Jimmy Keoltz.
Some people thought he never stopped, they thought that he glowed forever and
ever.
The people giving the news on TV said that, they liked to keep people opti-
mistic about things. A lot of people just assumed he flat out died
.
Some scientists
tried to make a living out of calling it spontaneous combustion or proof of this or
proof of that but that was no way to make a living. A lot of priests and bishops and
cardinals, well they just liked to ignore it, they couldn't forget it, but they sure could
ignore it. A little girl once told Carl Minnelough that she thought Jimmy Keoltz turned
into an angel. Mrs. Jenkins didn't like to think about what happened to him. The
man that raped Jasmine Gonzalez wished he could see him,just once. Mr. Takagarni
was dead.
28th
23rd
nex
t
s
t
op unio
n
square
1
4t
h
s
t.
t
here
are
now
empty seals
but
A
t
Clean*
11
i
jer
k
P.i.
page turns each night
.
..i,
t
t-
e
re
r
an(i
t
o
t
ter
.
an
tr
afmosl
lall over
10mor.row
.slides
m,
~~filNif
JdJt
tly with pale snow
lJS
IS
t1
1e
&
st
,
tne orange glpw of street light
s,
)
~~rl
.l()\\11.S
i:\
v
cd!
l.
.
h
r atUU!:
P&st§tent
y wit
J
D
)ro
>Kl\!
nm1,e
T
~e
ram
on t e rooftop,
,11
cxl
sl
i .
.
h
+
ur sne
ng
m
wit grey 10g,
d}
1
gH
1
1~~
UP
on cut.gr
r,ss.
.
t
~
~
1
s
g
~
fJWfa1
iill<lh~
~
f
:
)
~
~~
t1
ig
a
W
,
11
er
~gg
0
~
i
tse
~
f to r feet.
~
~
ear
(
t
f
1
e..c
~
o·s···m~ door
s.
a ac~
tee
.
10mo.rrow maKes-
.JJ:,
c·cac·
r1r
.1)lhesta1rs
'lid
.
h.?
ttow oes 1
w what we
o wit 1t .
.J.
1
L<.l
t
1e wor
n1
m
,
e
.
:st111, every mglit, 1t rudes m the
shadows,
So
as
to surprise us at sunrise
With the gift of another chance.
*
'
'Tomorrow is the most important thing in life
...
comes into us
at
midnight very clean. It's perfect when it arrives and it puts itself in our
hands. It hopes we've learned something from yesterday." -John
Wayne
ARBITRAGE
Chance
took me to Brooklyn,
opportunity, to the third floor flat
of thatByelorussian
girl
who trades
erotic
futures. She
opened
with T-shirt and
fuzzy
slippers,
pad
in
hand,
trailing actuals,
fungibles and
derivatives,
to her bedroom
office, knuckling the
dimpled
screen
of her laptop.
Time
·
to take short position, she
muttered, nibbling her pony tail,
Or maybe ..
.
Her bottom squirmed,
she leaned in, poked there, there, and there,
No one considers now
the knock
-
out option,
Maybe bold stroke.
We could ride the straddle
...
ls an irrational market
,
volatile. The Kama Sutra
is
up and
down on the Sensex
and
the Nifty.
Feet crossed
and
uncrossed, bunnies
shrugged
off. Round
face
pale,
reflected light of the active-matrix
screen
...
The instruments mispriced ... we take
both positions, and ha! we are een
like Fleen. I asked her,
How much do you need?
THE DRAMA OF REAL LIVES, THE POWER OF TRUE STORIES
When
I
was George
w
Bush's mistress he
would press his head against
my
stomach
and
curl
up
to
the
soft
droop
of
my
titties
against
his
cheek
he'd
suck
his
thumb
and I'd croon
songs of resistance
my Communist mother
taught me we'd heard
Paul Robeson
sing them at Peekskill
when George was a baby
he never knew
what they meant
just nestled into
my
husky New
York rasp
reminding him
of
warm nights
and tarry rooftops
tight harmonies and what
every boy wants
Possibly
Sorry seems to be repetitive banter in between the "I love yous" and
"fuck yous" and fucking
and makinnnggg nothing
I'm new to this love of rose colored glass beads that sting our
hardening skins but decorate our
oiled shiny coverings
I used to beg for the press of your lips and none other than that
chocolate manifest of
monogamy you represented
You were my tries
You were my attempt at meaningful intimacy
And I laugh now to see you think of others and yearn for her,
whoever she is
I sit sometimes and educate myself on your shortcomings and it can
soothe the soul
But then you don't call and then you do with a sullen message
It's been ten days and I'm counting
Counting to see when the inner frustrations pressurize and make a
beautiful diamond for another to cherish
I'd say love escaped us as we finagled with my bra strap but that's
known right?
The black one with the push-up pads that added lust to the non-
existent
friendship
I can think of emotional promiscuity as a rape I've perfected in evil
ways
I'm just wondering this time did I rape you or did I rape myself?
Tara
Young Girl with a Scrunchie
,
Observed
You can do anything,
anything at all
with that scrunchie
:
your hands nimbly thread
piles of hair, silky and falling,
through into a ponytail,
then, a carelessly elegant heap.
Your assuredness, so innocent
and brazen, no mirror
needed: you look good any way,
any way at all.
Your head is bent over the school work,
beguiling, comparing, conversing with
the boy next to you;
he doesn't stand a chance,
not any chance.
Suddenly the fingers,
knitting and silver,
let the hair loose in a burst
like horses stampeding a corral,
spilling over your face with your laughter,
shook back to show
your freedom,
your unquestionable freedom
from dominion,
loose, ready to flow
into the unknown, all life
before you.
The veil of your hair
covering, enticing,
hiding, revealing
all of a sudden,
the bare back of your neck,
so unbearably vulnerable
.
Rest
Thy Soul
The weary soul doth sleep tonight
But tomorrow will wake a new
.
Rising before the morning light
To rid the flowers of their dew
.
Friends
Say it was this way always
...
tell me I never stood that smile
...
Have you ever wondered?
Out of the comer of those brown eyes,
was I watching you?
It's too late ... To find a better way.
Call it all old hat.
We walked back in 2000,
all the way back ourselves,
your hippie sandals,
and my shirt on your back.
What was the word again?
Trite.
That's all that's left.
I'll keep going this way ...
Yeah ...
Let's let it
be
like this.
Easier this way, right?
Right
I'm all smiles, you know that.
My jokes aren't all that funny,
But that's cool.
It's cool.
This is cool.
Like this.
Friends, right?
Right
Friends.
I can play that.
I can keep playing that like a record.
Loss of Innocence
What does it mean to be in touch with
reality? Does one lose his innocence
after years of enhancing his reputation
and status? The eminent figure who no
longer understands the roles of self-
discipline and love. He focuses on
personal gain and the stock market.
Prioritizing what is relevant- his loved
ones, no longer on his agenda. Time
and personal possession is his only
vision and passion
.
We are no longer
existent in his
life.
One can hold pride
for all his accomplishments and status,
yet, lose all innocence if he places
materialism and personal gains above
loved ones. No matter where one
stands, he is not infallible
.
He can still
drown if he neglects others and loses
his understanding and compassion for
his followers.
OldMan
!J
\
hl~
\<
my body
sinks
I~weruntil there's nowhere else to go
\
dovm
i
fall into slee le
tripping my mind with my own
insanities
.
the day's peculiarities run
through
my veins
"
,.
.,,_
excuses
frOin
he
night
/
.
and so
it
become
s
a part of me
until
i
lo
se
myself and become everything at once and once agai11
there's nothing left but darkness and
reality
which
seeps
through the walls and
falls
crudely
onto
my
empty thoughts
permeating stifled spaces and breaking:
the
silence
barriers
shattered
by
unintended circumstances
11
defeats me and
I
am defeated
and
I
feel
nothing
.........
~
~
-
,-----
........
""
"'\
---
------
,_
-------------
·
-
Dead Sea
Deep in the gray mortar
That rests between continents,
There is a pool,
A red oasis that steams and rages, Angry kettle, hot blood cell,
It
bursts with sworn secrecy.
Love, what has happened to me?
How it bums, this seasick carpentry. The world, she aches
·
Alone out there,
Her veins seething with
A molten chardonnay.
It
is in me now, I fear,
Snaking ever closer, cradling
Those sailors lost at sea.
Earthen plates are
Swept out from under me,
Make a saddle of my skin
Which bears no pavement.
I carry the dead in my stride,
But somewhere in the center of
All this heaviness,
There is a spark,
A bright and awful light.
Here it comes again,
Flooding my eyes with its
Dark spectrum, and
I fear it is in me still,
My lips a cherry red,
A kicking in my belly,
Another mouth to feed.
The Looking Glass
In the mirror,
I saw myself
Lilied and laced.
White statue, china doll,
Not a hair out of place,
Not a stain on the carpet.
The gauze hangs heavy and flat
From the crown,
A veil of sorts, a hat
Full of petals and thorns.
In the glint of your iris, I twirled
Like a mad top,
A spinning wheel.
There was no veil,
No porcelain pout,
But cheap plastic
Smothered in spray-paint.
I was choking on cellophane,
Clawing at my eyes,
The veins in my throat
Like fat slugs,
Pulsing with blood.
And like Oedipus,
I felt for the pointed glass
And plucked out my eyes
So that I could see the truth
For myself.
There was blood
Down the white of my sleeve
And my side,
It dripped hot and
Hardened like beeswax.
But no matter,
We will get a new mirror,
Pg#
500
Pg #600
New sleeves, an eye patch,
The works.
The tailor is a genius, a dabbler;
Through his needle-eye,
He draws down the stars
From the sky,
To beguile us.
No one must know I was broken.
He will cut around the spear
And the rusty screws.
He will cut around the crown,
Where the skin starts to pucker
And brown blood drools from the spot.
He stitches up nicely;
The scars are as blatant as air.
I have done this before,
A silly goat, to think that
I could see such clean visions.
Me, in a wedding veil,
Me, the white dove
With the olive branch
Caught in my beak.
Me, a mad top, a spinning wheel.
Such absurdities!
One would think
I'd have drowned in my reflection,
And a flower bear my name.
A
laugh, to think the pauper
Is a prince!
A laugh, to think a mirror
Holds more virtue
Than a husband!
One Night
Popcorn is popping in the microwave
On the counter.
Wind from the window asks her hair to dance
And she smiles.
Her head back,
She laughs at the world.
She sits on the couch,
Legs
folded beside her.
The kernels explode,
Leaving that distinct smell hanging in the air.
Comatose
Resting his head on
A pillow of soft azaleas,
He draws about his shoulders
The earth, a dark blanket, and
Tucks it under his chin like treasure,
A secret well-kept.
Tree leaves chitter and sway,
The wind like a sigh through
Their branches.
It lulls him
,
the leaves and
The cricket song,
And the way the moon-glint
Rises from the water, in shafts, Swanlike
.
He is ready for sleep,
His eyes under soil and grass
,
His crown against the headboard,
A tombstone, the date freshly
Chiseled upon it.
He lies
,
in repose, with
The rocks cutting into his back, Handsomely embalmed
.
He is primed fordepm1ure,
For slumber
.
The sand
ft
I
ls his eyes
Like a cup
.
Emoish
Outside the last gates,
my race is ended .
..
still running,
but only meters to go
,
and we all know who
'
s where .
.
.
The zenith laughs as the crimson shades my smiles.
Right eye blind style,
kids asking questions,
and your wallflower sensibility smoked away.
Sans the 86ed talk,
Let's leave this city tonight.
I' 11 ask you to dance,
and you can say no.
We'll laugh on all this soon.
Who cares what Peninsula holds my name
.
.
.
It's all the same ...
!
.
l
Register Two
None of the checkers really liked register two. Even if the checker on two
had one or two customers waiting and registers one and three were empty, sure
enough people went to register two
'
s line
.
It happened all the time, every worker
knew about i t - most guessed that because the lane for two was widest most of
the customers
felt more comfortable going there. No one knows for certain.
"
Debbie, you' re on register two" said Tammy, pointing over to a line of
dirty
,
out of date registers that all had at least one if not many broken parts.
Register two's conveyer belt was broken.
It was around 6 o
'
clock when Debbie noticed them, two girls
,
19 or 20 by
her guess. They looked exactly like the girls on the teen fashion magazines- she
could barely tell the difference between the two
.
They wandered around aisle 4,
the chips and cookies aisle, talking about nothing in particular as they looked
around the shelves for sometime, before picking up a box of generic low fat
oatmeal cookies. Without hesitation, they walked to register two.
"
I've got to tell you
,
I'm done. I'm serious, no more work
,
I had a good
first semester but no more work. It's just too much, you know?" said one of the
girls, looking at the back of the box in the middle of the lane
.
"Totally, it's ridiculous. Before break I had two papers due. I mean, come
on" said the other girl.
"Good Evening, Did you find everything you needed today?" asked
Debbie robotically- they must not of heard her, they didn't respond.
Debbie never went to college but often imagined what it was like. She could have
gone
actually, had she had the money or freedom to
.
Her scores were generally above
average, but she was the oldest in her family and had to help contribute to the
family income after graduation. Her father was on disability from the docks and her
mother made scraps working in a grocery store very similar to one she stood in
_J
now. She clidn 't really mind missing college if it was to
help
out her family, after all
there would be time for college later on -
she had thought so, at least.
"I'm so glad we have this break, the last two months have been terrible. I
think I'm going to quit SGA, I mean, I need the priority points and all but this is
insane. We have two meetings a week, don't they realize we have lives?"
"Seriously, you should" said the first girl, placing the box on the broken
conveyor belt. Debbie then remembered she had to pick up her younger
daughter from her parents after her shift in four hours. The older girl was with
some friends
.
It had been tough since her husband's passing five years ago
,
but
they were getting through it. The funeral was the worst part of the entire event,
not because anyone was terribly emotional, the girls were too young to
understand what had happened-it's just that so few people came. Six or Seven
people in all - i t was embarrassing. She heard customers talking about funerals
of 100 or so people, that's the kind she would like.
"Ifl
fail Stats this semester I'm seriously done. My parents are already
upset with me.
lfl
fail Stats they'll cut me off, and I'm not getting a job on
campus, I'll tell you that much"
"I know, they pay 7 dollars an hour, it's like a sweatshop
.
We should call
the secret service to arrest them," said the second girl. The first one laughed.
Debbie scanned to box and placed it in a white plastic bag in one fluid
motion
.
Her husband
'
s passing had
-been a financial hit to the family-not that he
was all that well-off, but a steady full-time check from the liquor store seemed
like heaven to her now. It was tough working for $6.50 an hour-especially
after they cut hours from 50 down to 40 a week-
not
that she had a choice.
Either that or meager unemployment checks. They
had
promised
her
a raise to $7
after her first year working,
but never
got it -
- something about
profits being down.
"Good
thing
is that in a couple weeks we
have
winter
break,
all
we have
to worry about is finals"
"But winter
break
is
only
a month this year, come
on. My
cousin gets 6
weeks of
break,
our school is so cheap"
said the first girl.
The motel her
and
her daughters
lived
in wasn't in the best condition but it
was something, they had built up a tolerance for the noises of the train and the bar
next to building. Her daughters didn't even know half of the words the drunks
yelled out anyway, so it wasn't too bad. Not that she had a choice, wasn't
anywhere better to live -it was either the squalid, dilapidated Shore Palace Motel
or one of the boarding houses next to the train station, and she wasn't about to
introduce her daughters to that sort of atmosphere.
"Your total is 3.49" mumbled Debbie, careful not to interrupt their
conversation.
"Oh, OK said the first girl, looking at Debbie for the first time. She
handed her a $20 bill.
"Your change is 16.51. Thank you for shopping with us. Have a good
day" Debbie said for the 82°d time that day, handing the first girl the change. The
girl flashed a fake courtesy smile, somewhat robotic, no shred of humanity or
genuineness in it, and grabbed the bag.
"Alright,
where to next?"
"Let's hit an ATM, I need cash for the mall trip on Tuesday"
"Good idea" said the first girl, both walking out of the store. Debbie
turned to the next customer, an older local couple. "Good evening, did you find
everything you needed today?"
Contrast
The warm Spring breeze blows away my fears
given by the life outside this natural world
Stroking the velvet petals that embrace and bring color
to the grey stone, so strong and clustered
.
. .like a family
helping one another;
Oaks providing shade to the green beneath,
who bring sustenance necessary for life
Each with a purpose ... the balance oflife
I feel so removed .
..
until I am here,
textured bark upon my fingertips,
softened earth beneath my feet, speckled with colors of change
and rebirth
Irreplaceable art .
.
.. alive
before my eyes ..
THIS IS NOT
~oop
--··,-··- ~\
THIS IS A
NE~~A~
)·-
THIS IS NOT A
iJolJp
\
THIS
IS A NEW PAGE
\.
p ,\
.
\
J
.··
,_,.
THIS IS NOT LOOP
ANEW PAGE
OTA LOOP
NEWPAGE
,,.,,,...
./
\
I
V
THIS IS NOT
~
A
1
LOOP
THIS IS A NEW PAGE
THIS IS NOT A LO
~
OP
THIS IS A NEW PAGE
•111s
IS
NOT I
THISIS
ANE1
THIS
IS
\
NO'!;
A
TH1s
is
\·
A
\\,
JV.I
'
~
\ _.,
f"-
I
\
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer compute
computer co
m
pute
e:
m
computer
com
p
uter
computer
co111put e
1
r-cot11P1Ji.t..e
comput
comput
computeF--CJJJ!IE!.!!U
~
computer compute
computer compute
c
o ~
c
omp
uter
cordi:rote computer
compute
compute
~•lH::Ml=--1,;.lWIIJI.I.LJre
c
o
e
;.:::::::.::.:;.i::~_::.:::.:;:l
~T"
-.J!
D
r
~
.-
r
e
e
e
p
u
t
e
compute comp
compute compute compu
compute compute compute
mpute compute compu
ute
te
L...:
~~J1..SU,..1;
:.....,.,
J,1.11A1J1-Ua-.
m
.
pu e
compu e
co
e
C
e
e
e
pute
rERIAL
MY PA
GES
c
m
pute computer compute
1
r-:::=rt::-:~=~:-:::-:;i;::t:;::r.;:l:-~
=
~B"-f:i'l'R'i~'ff"'i~.....,
~pbtt!'
1
cm,,pnt'er-c,:r1111nrt
e--
c
omput
c
omput
co
mput
co
mpute
te
pute
mpute
computer
computer
computer
computer
compute
compute
compute
compute
c mpute computer compute
c mput
e
computer compute
mpute com
p
uter compute
computer
computer
r
computer
computer
computer
-
✓
J
some
things are
forgotten
some
remembered
Everyone who was ever born
Everyon
zfi
was ever born
Eve o e ho was ever born
\
Everyone who was ever born
\
\
Everyone who was ever born
Everyone who
\
w
-ih;'>
f°5e_
)) b}
°'t1
1
ER Diagnosis
9:23
PM.
Incoherent, disarrayed woman rushes into the emergency
room screaming" ... won 'ttake bath, won't go to sleep ... " Woman
was wearingjeans with holes in the knees, t-shirt with sweat marks
under the arms, socks and one sneaker without the shoelace. Front
oft-shirt seemed to be water soaked and splattered with spaghetti,
both sauce and noodles. There was a sign taped on her back that
read "Looney Tunes."
Symptoms: Recurring nightmares, unbearable migraines, spouting gibberish, bald
spots. Uncontrollable shaking
History
:
·
Relatively young woman with three children complaining of the above
symptoms. Woman was reportedly in excellent health until first child
reached the age of two. Doctor dismissed first symptoms as "that's
life." Sent patient home with a shake of his head and an audible
"Phsaw
!
"
Symptoms increased with sporadic spasms of nervous
tics as the number of children increased to three. Doctor still
unsympathetic, recommended an occasional night out without the
kids. Seventh babysitter quit. Patient began to pull hair out.
Doctor recommended a live-in-nanny
.
After one week, nanny fled
the country. Patient was tom between love and hate, compassion
and despair. Nothing seemed to work. Children running amuck.
Patient began banging head against the wall. Doctor unable to save
patient from self-inflicting wounds
.
Recommended a shrink. Patient
worried children may be deaf. Pediatrician found no signs of hearing
loss in the children. Suggested children were manipulating mom -
only heard what they wanted to hear. Patient finally sought the aid
of a shrink. Shrink declared it's too late - was already talking
gibberish to herself - insisting that no one listened. Patient's mind
was shattered - Ii ved in a hell dominated by little human drooling
creatures, treading dirty, sticky bare feet all over her. Bald spots
began to appear as teenage years took their hold and mom pulled
hair in exasperation. Shrink admitted defeat when woman put a bib
on him, and, holding an armor shield to protect her person, fed him
strained spinach while dodging invisible items,
singing, "I love you,
you
love me, we're a happy family
... "
Diagnosis:
Emergency room doctor
very young. Could
not treat
patient.
Sought the
advice
of the
on-call
Psychologist. Psychologist
recognized symptoms
immediately; has dealt with the
problem
many
times. Pronounced patient's
recovery
hopeless until
children
reach
adulthood.
Too many children, born too close together.
Children
viciously
inflicted years of abuse. Patient
sought
medical attention
too late for doctors to help
.
Patient ignored advice of
sane,
childless
friend who enjoys
traveling, adult,
meaningful
conversations, money,
and
thick beautiful hair.
Treatment:
Endure pain and suffering until children reach
age
of responsibility.
In the meantime, treat with sleep
aids
to knowck out the demons of
the evening, lot of Excedrin, a
gibberish
translator, and a pretty wig.
Eventually patient will make a remarkable recovery when children
have children of their own - a mother's ultimate revenge. Until then,
the bald shrink, with four preschool children of her won, will keep
the patient supplied with plenty of Valium so patient can emanate a
persona of sanity. The patient is granted one appointment a week
to visit the shrink's shrink who allows therapeutic thumb sucking
and rattle shaking.
Mosaic_S_2004001
Mosaic_S_2004002
Mosaic_S_2004003
Mosaic_S_2004004
Mosaic_S_2004005
Mosaic_S_2004006
Mosaic_S_2004007
Mosaic_S_2004008
Mosaic_S_2004009
Mosaic_S_2004010
Mosaic_S_2004011
Mosaic_S_2004012
Mosaic_S_2004013
Mosaic_S_2004014
Mosaic_S_2004015
Mosaic_S_2004016
Mosaic_S_2004017
Mosaic_S_2004018
Mosaic_S_2004019
Mosaic_S_2004020
Mosaic_S_2004021
Mosaic_S_2004022
Mosaic_S_2004023
Mosaic_S_2004024
Mosaic_S_2004025
Mosaic_S_2004026
Mosaic_S_2004027
Mosaic_S_2004028
Mosaic_S_2004029
Mosaic_S_2004030
Mosaic_S_2004031
Mosaic_S_2004032
Mosaic_S_2004033
Mosaic_S_2004034
Mosaic_S_2004035
Mosaic_S_2004036
Mosaic_S_2004037
Mosaic_S_2004038
Mosaic_S_2004039
Mosaic_S_2004040
Mosaic_S_2004041
Mosaic_S_2004042
Mosaic_S_2004043
Mosaic_S_2004044
Mosaic_S_2004045
Mosaic_S_2004046
Mosaic_S_2004047
Mosaic_S_2004048
Mosaic_S_2004049
Mosaic_S_2004050
Mosaic_S_2004051
Mosaic_S_2004052
Mosaic_S_2004053
Mosaic_S_2004054
Mosaic_S_2004055
Mosaic_S_2004056
Mosaic_S_2004057
Mosaic_S_2004058
Mosaic_S_2004059
Mosaic_S_2004060
Mosaic_S_2004061
Mosaic_S_2004062
Mosaic_S_2004063
Mosaic_S_2004064
Mosaic_S_2004065
Mosaic_S_2004066
