Author: j6pf4

“Coffee Will Bring the World Together”

“You’re Gonna Love Our Wings”

I did it all by myself. I climbed up the wall. I shot the security camera and the other security camera. I set up the computer virus. I lifted myself up the wall so I could climb back out again. I am able to do this because I do Parkour on the regular. Of course, I practice in secret so no one can observe and imitate my moves. I know how to do all these things because, ever since I was a kid, I rented all the action movies from the video store. I didn’t need anyone to get me a membership. Well, what I should say is I have a very active imagination, I just watched those movies to see if anyone could explain action and destruction the way I already understood it. What did my parents say about these tendencies? I don’t have parents. Or if I did, I don’t know about them and they don’t know about me. I’m “Inconceivable”. And while we’re at it, you’re right to be confused because I’m unique AND I don’t have an opposite. How could I, when you think about it? Don’t answer. It wasn’t a question.

When I am getting ready for an adventure, I sing out loud. I sing in harmony, with myself, of course. It’s something between Gregorian chant and the classic vocal arrangements of Journey. Now, those guys will be around in 400 years because it doesn’t matter who’s in the band as long as they’re following the formula.

How do I feel? Would it kill me to smile? Who do I need to smile for, you? If I smiled, it would probably break my jaw. It’s not used to doing those things, you see.

Lastly, I can reproduce all by myself. Admittedly, if I did this it would give me someone interesting to talk to. But I know I never will. I’m way too picky of an eater, and am too smart to add that much more work to my day.

“Sight Unseen”

Antnee knew it was a good idea. The more stars he saw through his telescope, the more popcorn he would need to make for his diorama. He had been popping off all day. Life was like butter. Stars shaped by force. After winter break, he would bring his diorama in to the Science Fair and people would see all the constellations in the sky. At the same time. Which, Antnee knew, you can’t do from one point on Earth. I mean, not to be a nerd, he thought, but when you’re in the Northern Hemisphere you see the stars in the Northern Hemisphere. How’re you gonna see the Southern Hemisphere unless you go to Auckland, which sounds like awkward, which is what I am, he thought. You’ll never see all the stars all at once. You’re probably not going to be able to bend over, suck your own dick, and shove your head up your ass, either. But, if you walk by my Science Fair project, you will see it all. More than everything! Most people are born, or are birthed if you want to make it sound more active, and then they hold all of their laughter inside. The laughter, he thought, turns into rage, which turns into smiles. Smiles are definitely not the same thing as mirth. And if you don’t know that, well, what else are you missing out on that you don’t know, either? Neptune was there and no one knew it. They argued about it because they saw a wobble in one of the moons of one of the other planets. So they looked in their telescopes again and there it was, in 1846. This might set a precedent. Are you having a bad day, he wanted to ask the girls in his class? Maybe there’s a moon following you around. Actually, Antnee thought he would make a sign next to his diorama. This is as good as it has ever been, it would say. If you want things to get better, kiss me under the popcorn night sky. Antnee enjoyed these thoughts. But, you know, I am looking through this telescope using human eyes. Why don’t I add in all the stars I don’t even see? And it was a good idea. And he would need much more popcorn.

It was a very inclusive orgy.  I didn’t expect to go to jail for it, though.  That’s why I’m in seclusion right now.

The world is a many splendored, inclusive thing.  Like the clitoris.  The more nerve endings included, the better.  No one was excluded.  At least that was not our intention.

So, back to the orgy.  Part of the reason it became controversial was because we broke into the Pentagon.  But it wasn’t for anything bad.

I mean, picture the world as a perfect sphere.  Can’t you do that?  Thank you.  I know I’m demanding, but it’s just my repressed programming saying that.

The world is a sphere.  The clitoris is an upside down wishbone.  These are good shapes.  They represent union.  The Pentagon is none of these things.  Its purpose is exclusion.  We can’t have that.  The only thing you can do with a pentagon, other than ignore it, is take a bunch of them and make a soccer ball covered in groups of this shape.  That would mean interpenetration and mutual respect.  This is not the lesson we get from our Pentagon.  Did you know it is located in Virginia and has twice as many bathrooms because of racial segregation?

I spent so many years living in delusion.  What kind of delusion?  The delusion of separation.  Like right brain and left brain stuff.  There were spaces between me and the things that I said.  I was not open to new ideas because everything was closed.  So, one day at yoga, that’s when the prajna hit the road.  Once the thought crashed into this dimension, it had to be shared.

So many naked people, so few security clearances.  We were let in from the inside, by a sexually liberated civil servant.  The system rebelled against itself.  But still, it was kind of top secret.  Because I had always wanted to be a top.  Is that so wrong?

Now, I ask you, should a world power like the U.S.A., which uses other countries like toys, get upset about me using sex toys inside the Department of Defense?  It sounds very defensive of them, doesn’t it?  When they led me away, I was handcuffed but not clothed.  They might as well have put barbed wire around my pudenda.  Isn’t what they do when they find something they can’t control, like the Rio Grande, put up walls and barbed wire?

So, I am awaiting trial but folks are kind of busy at the moment putting the real criminals on trial.  So I will stay secluded from the world but not from myself.  I will be ready for the next orgy when I get out.

The bureau of military intelligence was busy interrogating people.

The officers kept track of the forced confessions using a large number of hidden recording devices.

Unfortunately, a lot of bad things had happened which the Supreme Leader didn’t want to take responsibility for, so there had been a need to arrest a larger than average number of folks who could confess.

With so much to record, the batteries ran out midway through the torture, brutality and data gathering.

This was not discovered until the next day.  Who would tell the Supreme Leader?

Would it be an option to all get together and see if the officers could remember what the prisoners had said?  Maybe they could write even better versions.  They stayed up all night, and managed to pull it off.  Well, it was like looking at plastic surgery, you could tell something had been done.
Conclusion: the more you learn, the less you know

“Turn Over a New Year”

Part 1 – Dude’s Diary

I wish we were allowed to leave this space station.

Don’t get me wrong.  I like breathing air.

But maybe a nice planet we could go to.

Or a moon.  A moon would be dope.

I know I’ve got it good up here, less gravity, so much easier to get around.

But I ask myself, how would it be to stand in a place with real gravity?

It would be fuckin’ hard.  Don’t bullshit me.

I might walk a few steps.  Then maybe I would collapse on the ground, gasping, grateful to be alive.  Getting used to gravity again would make me wish for somewhere to swim.  Somewhere I could take it easy while working it all out.

Space is not the place.  Don’t tell anyone I said that.  It’s not allowed.

The Central Bureau insists we must live in space, for several reasons.

Space is the great equalizer.  No one has any mobility issues in space.
OK, like, I can get down with that.

Also, there is room for everyone in space.

I mean yeah, duh, there fucking better be.

Also, everyone alive has equal access to living quarters in space.  Space has alleviated the housing shortage.

Because they all fucking blow, every single place to live up here.  I wish you could tell the Party that.  It’s no party, talking to the Party.

Also, there is enough food for everyone.  Because we eat plants.  And plants make oxygen.  And plants do great here, as long as they have all the window space facing the sun.  Sometimes I want to pretend to be a plant, so I can get some sun.  Too bad, it’s not allowed.

One thing I like to do is read.  I’m not sure what everyone else is doing.  Working hard on being equal to each other.  I’d say “you do you” but no one is allowed to talk like that.

I write songs sometimes.  And other times, I sing songs.  They’re all old, because no one writes anymore.  I sing like no one is listening, because I am such a loner (not allowed, by the way)

 

 

Part 2 –Report from Alien High Command on Observation of Human Behavior

On November 12^th, the one human who is not, mute was singing again.  We can hear everything that happens on that space station, because, of course, we have relatively enormous ears.  Our ears are, like, as big as our genitals.  Hell, our ears ARE our genitals, because what could be more important that singing?

That’s why no one was interested in the humans for a long time.  That is, until I proved that one of their species was in a state of evolution.  He was developing into a singer.

The name of the space station, as far as we can tell, is The Allegory, because any meaning in its existence is buried so far up its ass that most of its inhabitants are just not aware.  Of anything.

Speaking of meaning, does anyone else at command have thoughts on the words this human is singing?

He sings in the shower.  The acoustics are not good.  So, what we think he’s singing is:
God Bless Some Erica

By singing this, followed by even more allegorical nonsense, we can see his deep sensitivity to random shit.

Does God love everyone equally?  His Party’s ideology seems to suggest this.

By this logic, God must love every Erica.  And yet, this person wants to love, and through his example, wants us to love, not just the Erica we’re with, but Some Erica.

Erica must truly be a blessed name.  What did she do to be so blessed?  By being unlovable in whatever way she might be so, does he not transcend judgment by accepting her, sight unseen?

Erica, by his description, is a Land he loves, with Oceans, Prairies and Mountains white with foam.  So, maybe he is intimately familiar with her body.  Maybe he wants to live on her, someday.

I hope Some Erica is real.  Wouldn’t that be some shit?

Ever since I got married, I’ve been eating a lot of jam sandwiches.  This is because my spouse is allergic to nut butter.  We had a lengthy debate about “sun butter”, which is a substitute not made from nuts, since it contains only ground-up sunflower seeds.  The final decision was, it tastes too much like nut butter, how can it not contain nuts, no, no, absolutely not.

I suspect that if I were incarcerated, I would have the option of eating sun butter and jelly sandwiches.  I brought this up at home, and was advised not to make jokes about the American penal system, because we are lesbians.  I agree, we are free not to make jokes that imply the patriarchy exists.

There are a lot of things out there that are offensive to a lot of people.  Still, I like things that bring me joy.  I love the painting “Starry Night” by Vincent Van Gogh.  I bought a poster of it and hung it on our bedroom ceiling.  It was not easy to stick it up there.  After I had the stars on the ceiling, I loved to lie looking up at it.  This was joy-inducing because we live in New York and we don’t get stars like that.  I only saw stars anything like that the time I went to Nova Scotia.  That sure was a peaceful place.  Also, I have agoraphobia so I don’t like going outside to places where I can see stars.  Only inside, thank you very much.  Shortly after I decorated our bedroom, my spouse demanded an explanation.  I told them that Van Gogh’s art brings me joy.  They calmly reminded me that said art never brought Van Gogh joy, otherwise why would he have taken his own ear off?  Do I want to feel sublime feelings while dead artists suffer?

I don’t mean to imply that I treat anything my spouse says as a joke.  Once, really the first and last time I was invited to meet their family, I found myself in their converted farmhouse on Cape Breton Island, getting to know the parents and their three cats.  One of these furballs, nicknamed Cooter, suddenly arched his back and jumped from the ground to the top of the linen cabinet.  “Get down from there, monkey,” said my spouse’s Mom.  My spouse arched their back and calmly reminded Mom, “we can’t call a cat monkey.  It’s racist.”  Naturally, I didn’t try to contradict my spouse.  It was only a few years later, when I was working as a librarian—and lemme tell you, what a great career for an agoraphobic lesbian, a total “inside job”—a patron returned a book called The National Geographic Book of Why.

This book had explanations for all the things in the world around us, which of course I never walk around in because I’m afraid and I’m married and very content, as I have elaborated above.  One page asked why playground structures are called jungle gyms and monkey bars.  Apparently, a Chicago lawyer named Sebastian Hinton patented the Junglegym in the 1920s.  He came from a family of mathematicians who wanted to help children explore the third and fourth dimension and beyond, and figured the only way to teach kids about space was to give them a way to climb and explore their innate “monkey instinct”.  The Hinton family’s research led to sci-fi stories like “A Wrinkle In Time” and many more.  But the original patent for the Junglegym uses the word “monkey” like 50 times.  I know.  I’m a librarian.  I read it.

Is it possible that someone out there is offended that a mathematician wants humans to embrace their inner monkey?  Was he a Communist, too?  Or is that a species-specific thing?

My spouse once told me they don’t mind if I read banned books, as long as I do it inside the library.  Bringing conflict into our house is just bad karma.  For similar reasons, at our wedding we exchanged conflict-free cubic zirconia.  I do wear jewelry and have a large collection of precious stone rings, but I wear them on my toes, where my spouse is not likely to see them.

You see, why can’t what’s below have as vibrant a color spectrum as what’s above, meaning the sky or the removed poster of Van Gogh?  Why can’t my inner life outshine anything that I dare not show on the outside?

Every time I go to the Renaissance Faire (which my spouse gently reminds me should be referred to as a Medieval Faire, since that’s the kind of stuff you find there), every time I sit in the Joust pavilion, dressed in my nun’s outfit with the thick veil—OK, sometimes I leave the house but it has to be for a very good reason—every time I am watching the knights joust, I secretly wish a horse will lose control and run into the stands and skewer me like a kebab.  I will get lifted into the air on the end of a big lance, and as my body is waved around, rainbows and sonatas will pour out me into the world that wasn’t colorful enough right before.