Opal the Tree

          Patrick used to be the better half of Patricia, an earthworm that had an unfortunate accident resulting in two half-Patricias. Some of her family was sad when it happened, but getting split in half isn't quite as traumatic for earthworms as it is for other species. It's not really a matter of dying as much as it is an extremely rapid personality change. Some might even say that getting split in half is a good idea, because instead of only having one worm to love, you can have two! Of course, neither of the two new worms are the same as the first, and they might not even be as good of friends as the first. It really depends whether you care more about quantity or quality in these types of situations.
          Anyway, Patrick was one of the halves of the original Patricia. He also had a brother named Angel, who was insanely evil. Angel was also evilly insane. Despite the insanity and evil, however, Angel was unbelievably boring, so this may be the last time I mention him in this story. Patrick, on the other hand, was a very peculiar earthworm. It wasn't that he looked funny or anything--he was a plain looking fellow--he just had some unique interests. Like knitting, for instance. As a human you may not find this peculiar, but try to imagine knitting a scarf without any limbs. Or eyes, for that matter. I'd really like to see you try.
          In addition to knitting, Patrick the earthworm also baffled his kin with his choices of acquaintances. He was particularly fond of badgers, but his very best friend was a tree. This is how they met:

          "My gods, how did you get so tall?" asked Patrick. It is interesting to note, here, that earthworms have no eyes.
          "Just a bit at a time," said the tree, "and how do you know how tall I am? You haven't got any eyes."
          "Oh, a badger told me your height, approximately. I just feigned surprise."
          "Ah," said the tree.
          "What's your name, tree?"
          "Opal."
          "Nice to meet you, Opal. My name is Patrick," said Patrick, blindly. Then they shook hands.
          They didn't really shake hands, by the way. Both of them had a severe deficit of hands and were therefore unable to partake in any sort of hand shaking.

Then they talked about philosophy.

          "What do you think it's like to be a rock, Opal?"
          Opal scratched her chin and furrowed her eyebrows, figuratively.
          "Well, it could be lonely if there weren't any other rocks around."
          "That's true, but you could be friends with things besides rocks," said Patrick.
          "But what if there was a language barrier?"
          Patrick hadn't thought of that. He was stumped, which was ironic because he was talking to a tree.
          "They could use google translate, probably, to assist with communication," suggested Patrick, quite intelligently.
          "What the fuck is google translate?" asked Opal politely.
          "What's a fuck?"
          "I don't know. I think I heard it on T.V. once," said Opal, which was also confusing because neither of them knew what a T.V. was.

After philosophy, they sometimes talked about politics.

          "I'm part of the Green Party," said Opal.
          "So you'd like to see a reduction in greenhouse gases, then."
          "Well, yes, of course, wouldn't you?"
          Patrick was a socialist, and although he agreed with Opal about greenhouse gases, it wasn't his top priority.
          "But as a plant," he asked, "is it really beneficial to you specifically to reduce greenhouse gases? I thought you loved carbon dioxide."
          "Yes, I do love carbon dioxide, but in order to make the world a better place, I'd be willing to sacrifice some of it for the common good," said Opal with a tear in her eye.
          As a socialist, Patrick was delighted at this response.

          After politics, they spoke in French.

          "Monsieur!"
          "Madame! Comment ça va?"
          "Je suis une femme jolie!"
          "Oui, oui."

          They mostly didn't know what they were saying.

          By this time, it was usually dark and the stars were out. So they did some star gazing.

          "Wow, the stars sure are beautiful tonight, huh?" said Opal.
          "Yeah, I think I can see the Milky Way."
          "What's that blue one right there?"
          "Which one?"
          "That one, next to the really bright one." Opal pointed.
          "Oh, that's Venus, probably."
          "Cool," said Opal.

          It was all speculation, though, since neither of them could see.

          One day they saw some weird looking yellow things.

          "What's that, you think?" asked Patrick.
          "Well, they're really big. Maybe they're elephants."
          "That's what I thought at first, too, but see that one says 'bobcat' on it."
          "You can't trust everything you read, Patrick."
          "I know, but why does it say 'bobcat' on it? You think it's a disguise?"
          "It's not very convincing if it is. Maybe it's an elephant but its name is Bobcat."

          This seemed like reasonable enough of an explanation, so they carried on with their day.

          "What's the meaning of life?"
          "Do you think the president should be elected a second term?"
          "Oui, oui."
          "Bonne nuit."

          The next day Bobcat the elephant was still there.

          "I wish I could say hello," said Opal, "but I'm immobile."
          Since Patrick was mobile, he decided to introduce himself to Bobcat. It wasn't a far slither so he was back pretty quickly.
          "Well?" asked Opal.
          Patrick sighed.
          "I think there's a language barrier."
          "That's disappointing," said Opal. "I like making new friends."
          "Me too," said Patrick. "I wish we could meet Bobcat."
          Patrick looked sad so Opal tried to cheer him up. "At least we have each other," she said, and it was corny but it still made him feel better, and they had a great day and they hoped Bobcat wasn't lonely.
          "Hasta luego, amiga," said Patrick at the end of the day.

          Sometimes they switched to Spanish on accident.

          The next day when Patrick climbed out of the ground, there were five elephants, and all of their names were Bobcat. "It must be a popular name in Africa," thought Patrick. He wanted to ask Opal if she knew what the elephants were doing, but she wasn't there.
          "Maybe she'll be back later," he thought. Then he remembered what she said about being immobile, and he realized what had really happened. She'd been split.
          At first he panicked, because sometimes when your best friend gets split it puts you into a panic. But then he reminded himself that he had been split once, and that turned out okay. A lot of the worms that used to know Patricia said he was very much like her, so they didn't have to miss her too much. So Patrick stopped panicking and decided he could be friends with Opal's better half, and maybe that would be good enough. It wouldn't be the same, but in times like these you have to make compromises. The only challenge was that he wasn't sure where Opal's halves might be. He tried asking the elephants--he was sure they'd remember what had happened--but the language barrier was too wide to be bridged even by google translate.
          He decided he would come back to Opal's stump every day with the hope that maybe her halves would find their way back. He went every day for weeks, but each morning he got a little less hopeful, because if they hadn't found their way back yet, maybe they never would.
          Eventually a factory was built where Opal used to be, and Patrick tried to talk to it, but it had a heavy accent and no subtitles so he couldn't understand it very well. It was also rude, so that was unfortunate.
          The factory made a lot of air pollution, and that made Patrick sad because Opal wouldn't have liked that. It made him sad even though he was a socialist and pollution wasn't one of his greatest concerns, but it felt much greater than usual because he missed Opal.
          He tried talking to the badgers about it, but they didn't understand, even though there wasn't a language barrier. They said that trees don't split the same way that earthworms do, and he told them they shouldn't believe everything they read. He was starting to think maybe they were right, but he still hoped that someday maybe Opal's better half would come back, especially since he liked making new friends.

All I Want

All I want is
someone to tell me who to be,
someone to m
                           e
                              l
                                 t
into a mo(me)ld,
some un famil  iar form
my l
imb
s transformed
my     s          k          i
n      h       u n    g
l             o            o            s          e
like
men's
clothes

An object at rest remains at rest

Once upon a time, there was a princess who had a tremendous and mysterious power. This power was mysterious in the fact that it could either benefit her kingdom with a magnitude too great to be measured, or it could make all of her hair fall out, which of course would be horribly embarrassing because only old men had no hair. The uncertainty of the whole thing lied in which would happen when she used this power: infinite improvement of hundreds of lives, or horrifying embarrassment. The people of the kingdom knew nothing of her power, and lived on each day in poverty, farming the land past the point of exhaustion, sewing until it was too dark to see, hoping that someday they could have a moment of rest. The beggars wandered through the streets asking for anything--food, money, clothing, but there was nothing to give. The sick became pale skeletons; they coughed until their throats bled.

The princess knew about the poor state of the kingdom. She knew about it firsthand, because she had ridden in carriages through the town during royal parades. She had seen the beggars with their glazed eyes and tattered jackets, she had heard the cries of the diseased. She had seen the tops of the heads of seamstresses who didn't have the time (or the will?) to look up from their work. Her father had told her to ignore them; it wasn't her place to mingle with such detestable people, and didn't she know that he had done all he could to help them? She answered yes, she did know, but anyone could tell by looking at his robes that he was lying.

The princess longed to help her kingdom, and every morning when she woke up she thought, "Today I'll do it. I'll use my power to save them", but every time she put her fingers together to snap them a wave of fear rolled through her. What if it didn't work? What a fool she would make of herself, a magical princess with the power of baldness, the power of an old man. So with a sigh she would put her hand down and run it through her long, uncut hair.

She did this every morning, every year as the kingdom crumbled, until the day she died, because she was a cowardly selfish dumbfuck.

The end.

Driving Home From Work (written 1/30/10)

Driving home from work, a light shone
in a yard between two evergreens:
they glowed yellow,
And I saw a gryphon flapping its wings,
taking off in flight.
I saw a yellow sign,
going for a jog,
And I wondered why,
--it being so late,
and so cold,
and such a narrow road--
why it had chosen this moment
to shed a few pounds
(it was very, very skinny in the first place).
And last, I saw,
From a mile away,
bright like a single star
Headlights of some quiet soul
Shining
only I had no idea how
quiet
or loud
it was inside.

Some Untitled Thing I Wrote on 1/24/10

I want to--

Sing! Like there's no--

Tomorrow you'll have to do--

It is what--

It is! I--

Swear by the Bible to tell--

The truth will set you--

Freedom, liberty, and the pursuit of--

Happiness can't be bought with--

Money! Don't you care about anything--

Else? Who else could there possibly--

Be, or not to be? That is--

The question of life, the universe and--

Everything. There is a time for love--

Is stronger than--

Death is--

Everywhere, and not a drop to--

Drink, up--

Lads and lasses, to the most spectacular--

Show me what--

You've got two minutes to--

Evacuate for the--

Hurricane Katrina hit in--

2005, five years after the 'end of the--

World war--

Two, or--

Three--

It doesn't really--

Make sense--

much.

does it?

The Elite

Let's get this straight:
I'm human. you know, homo sapiens.
100% human-- the archetype, if you will.
And see, there are people like me
humans, undoubtedly,
and then there are people like you.
It's science, really.
It's not that you're not important or anything like that,
You're just a little bit,
well, not like me.
And as I said, it's science.
It's been proven and whatnot
so you can't argue it.
This is just how it is,
and it's very beautiful when you think about it,
how we fit together so nicely,
almost like it's destiny
(and it is).
What's so beautiful about it is that everyone has a place,
belongs.
I belong in the world of invention, innovation;
power.
It does sound grand, I know, but trust me:
your simple mind wouldn't be able to handle it.
Your work will never be known as mine is,
famously,
and such
but you're important, yes. very valued.
Honestly, what would I do without you?
Without your hard work I would have no time for my
prestigious endeavors.
Just think!
Without you, who would perform all the menial tasks?
People like me wouldn't be able to handle the monotony.
Don't you see the grand design in it all?
I know, it must be difficult for you to see
with such a simple mind
being so much less of a human than I...
Maybe I'll call you
three quarters
of a human.
Maybe I won't count you at all-- who
keeps track of your kind, anyway?
Oh, and by the way,
As much as it pains me to do so,
There will be certain occasions in which you make mistakes,
and as you can expect I will have to punish you for that.
There is no way out of it
as it's been knowledgeably decided that
discipline
is the only effective way of making your kind learn.
I expect that you'll make countless mistakes,
due to your nature,
but don't worry about me running out of ideas for punishments--
I'm quite creative.
Now please don't feel down about yourself or
purposeless,
I tell you time and time again how much you mean to me
And after all,
for being a creature so destined for nothing
you should be grateful that
I
took you under my wing,
That I gave you a
reason
to live.