Life is . . .

Maidu_hut_recreation_-_Maidu_Interpretive_Center

 

I am standing naked on a

smooth, round Earth.

There is nothing here but me.

No objects and no people.

I am tired, so I look and see a chair

is behind me.

I sit.

 

I am young and time passes

slowly and there is

nothing to do.

I am bored.

I get old and then

I die.

What was the point of all that?

 

I am young and time passes

slowly and there is

a ball in front of me

RED

against all this whiteness

and I think that’s neat.

I play with the ball and

it bounces and bounces and it is

sometimes hard to catch.

Years pass and

I am bored.

I get old and then

I die.

What was the point of all that?

 

I am young and time passes

slowly and there is

nothing to do.

There is nothing here but me.

No objects and no people.

I am tired, so I look and see a chair

is behind me.

I sit.

There is a noise to my left

and I look to see a PERSON

We are a little nervous,

two people in two chairs and

no other people anywhere and

what in this glassy white world is

there to say?

But we speak

We get to know each other

and have long talks and

smile sometimes and

when we get older we find

a bouncy red ball and

laugh together at the fact that just

bouncing it back and forth to each other is

so much fun.

Years pass and

we get old and then

we die.

A sad ending, but… worth it.

 

I am young and time passes

slowly and there is

nothing to do.

I look down and there is GREEN grass

beneath my toes.

I wiggle my toes and smile and

look behind me and there is a small hut.

Water starts to hit the top of my head and

it is cold so I step into the hut and look back out

and marvel at the water as it

leaks slowly from the grass onto the

Earth’s white surface.

There is a door, a window, and a bed in my hut.

I am happy to lie down and rest in my VERY OWN hut.

Years pass and I walk out of my hut and there is a large

HOUSE sitting just a red ball’s throw away.

It is the size of twenty of my huts.

It has grass also but it looks a little…

greener.

And there is a large, majestic gate

surrounding it and there are tons of RED balls

on the grass.

Some red balls are very LARGE.

I walk over to the gate and press a GOLD BUTTON

and I am excited to hear another person’s voice.

“Yes?”

They are nervous like me but that’s ok.

“Hi, would you like to play ball?”

I am smiling.

“NO,” they say. “I don’t know you. Please go away.”

Now water is falling from my head as I

go back to my LITTLE hut.

I grow old and bored and I can only

look at all the other balls in the green, green yard

with the mean gatekeeper.

I am lonely and angry and mad and so I

throw my red ball at a window in the big house

and it breaks and I am scared but happy as I

run back to my hut.

No one ever comes out.

Years pass and

I am bored.

I get old and then

I die.

What was the point of all that time

I had to spend not getting the things I wanted?

 

I am young and time passes

slowly and there is

nothing to do.

I look down and there is GREEN grass

beneath my toes.

I wiggle my toes and smile and

look behind me and there is a LARGE HOUSE.

I walk across the most wonderfully colored grass

to my VERY OWN house and smile and fall asleep

on the softest bed ever.

When I awake, I look out my window and there is

a small little hut across the way.

I am worried at what kind of creature could

live in a hut that small.

It could come out and take one of my balls from

the grass and so now there is a large gate

wrapping around my house.

And a good thing too because sure enough

someone has come from that small little hut

and is trying to get at my grass and red balls and

maybe they even want to come and take my

house away.

They walk over to MY gate and press MY GOLD BUTTON

and I can hear a crazed excitement in their voice.

“Yes?”

I am nervous because I do not know if they

can get in.

“Hi, would you like to play ball?”

I am frowning

and I knew they wanted to take my red balls

from MY grassy yard.

“NO,” I say. “I don’t know you. Please go away.”

Now I cannot leave my house

or they will come in and take my things

and so I am trapped here forever.

Years pass and

I am bored.

I get old and then

I die.

What was the point of all that time

I had to spend trapped in my house?

 

I am standing naked on a

smooth, round Earth.

There is nothing here but me.

No objects and no people.

I am tired, so I look and see a chair

is behind me.

I sit.

Anything can happen now

I guess.

 

 

Check out my project on Kickstarter.

Sorry, Charlie on Kickstarter

 

 

 

Read This And Win $1,000

Sorry, Charlie cover

There’s a particular type of sinking feeling you get when your Kickstarter project is 2/3 complete and underfunded. You don’t want to give up. Can’t, really. But you can see the water spilling over the bow as the women and children fill the lifeboats. It’s looking like I’m going to be on the not so wonderful side of that fully-funded statistic. Here is a snapshot of my sadness.

Kickstarter progress

See that plateau? That’s a horrible plateau. If it was a pool of water, you would not want to drink from its stagnant waters. If it was a ship headed to the New World, there would be a mutiny, the captain looking over the edge of his last diving board. If it was a rabbit, it would be a shaved rabbit, with the mange and a Scotty-Don’t haircut, no front teeth, spray-painted yellow and orange by vandals, curled up under a sopping wet newspaper inside a garbage can, slowly gnawing off one of its own front legs. You get the picture.

In one of my last posts, I laid out a few things I had done wrong concerning the project. But it’s too late to fix most of them. So I am going to go post crazy and stoop to the lowest form of selfish, spamtastic, advertising. A slutty form of SEO and guerilla-anti-reverse-subliminal-prodding. I’m not sure what else to do really. I’ve thought of publicity stunts. Like a bomb scare on The Bachelor. No good. I’ve thought of using phrases like California Earthquake gives rise to giant spiders. Don’t panic, I would never stoop that low. I want to shoot this to you straight, like Brandon Knight, and not irritate you like a sprained ankle. Nor would I capitalize on Prom fashion or Mother’s day this year. That would be petty. I just want to do something that cool like Justin Timberlake SNL Saturday Night Live. I want to be like Oz The Great and Powerful and do something beautiful like Danielle Fishel. Nor will I even mention North Korean nuclear threats imminent for fear of giving people a hangover 3 about the whole thing.

And I surely won’t filibuster you like Rand Paul or Google Trend you to death with statistics.

I’ll just say that you should go to Kickstarter immediately and pledge at least $20 to the Sorry, Charlie project. And that’s all I’ll say. Here is the link.

Sorry, Charlie on Kickstarter

 

 

The Pope. The Pope. The Pope. The Pope. The Pope. The Pope. The Pope.

The Colors of Autumn

Maple-oliv2

A cool wind brushes my face today and I realize, with a surreal clarity, that today is the first day of Autumn. Maybe that’s not what the calender says, but I know this breeze is the first of its kind this year. A refreshing harbinger of seasonal change and nature’s yearly metamorphosis, the wave of air nudges me slightly, inviting me to be a part of a cycle that has run its course for millions of years.

I close my eyes for a moment and a nostalgia-undefined bathes me in a memory that, though it swallows me whole and I float momentarily in its comfortable bliss, does not lend itself wholly to me but rather reaches out to slight me with its dreamlike tendrils and then fades completely, leaving behind only a whisper of pleasant recollections lost to time.

The swath of wind continues its path around me like a gelatinous parcel of time, plucked from Mother Nature herself just for me, and reforms itself behind me as it mingles with its airy brethren to continue on a never-ending journey.

Though my eyes are closed, I can see. I can see the crimson, water-colored maples sliced in half by the power lines next to our house. The acrylic yellow oaks placed carefully at intervals by a hand more knowing than our own, intermittently scattered to balance a picturesque landscape weighted heavily with evergreens who appear oblivious to Autumn’s protocol. The dry crunch underfoot as small feet wade through ankle high leaves on their way to all the neighbor’s houses with sweet expectations. The blur of color through the backseat car window, the bright canopies mixing together like a spinning color wheel. The orange peel horizon bleeding to a dark red, and then purple, matching the freshly painted forest, tree tops outlining a jagged graph of nature herself as the colored leaves and woods meld into one giant, charcoal landscape, as if the Universe itself had punctured the atmosphere and leaked its heavenly ink down on our world, all the while filtering the stars and keeping them above, something to focus on when the world turns dark. The glassy, upside down reflection of ocher and scarlet leaves on a clam, early morning lake, still sleeping under a blanket of mist, yet to stir.

I have stood in place, feet planted firmly like a statue, and traveled through the mountains of my hometown, the forests of my past, the streets of my childhood on Halloween, the wayside tapestries of youthful road trips, and the colorful horizons of lakes and rivers.

 

 

Don’t forget to check out my project on

Sorry, Charlie on Kickstarter

 

 

The Perfect Couple

perfect couple

 

Me and my wife have seen

the perfect couple.

 

We’ve seen them dating with their

hands in each other’s back pockets

and smiled when they’ve shown us

their expensive chains and lockets.

 

We’ve seen them in the gym

forty minutes on the treadmill

keeping in shape and staying trim

each with quite the zeal.

 

We’ve seen them at their weddings

singing songs of love and crying

as they recite their vows with joy

and sanctify the knot they’re tying.

 

We’ve seen their network of friends

spanning far and wide

and a new car every year

’cause their friends enjoy the ride.

 

We’ve seen them at the restaurant

never arguing, that’s true

and attending all events

and laughing right on cue.

 

Me and my wife have seen

the perfect couple.

 

We saw one just last week

they weren’t together anymore

“- separately quietly,” she said

but they were still tied up in court.

 

It seems that after all

they both still had their flaws

but they looked so good together

through all the hems and haws.

 

An hour ago we fought,

something mundane and silly

and making up was quick

just a simple kiss really.

 

We haven’t been the perfect couple

for over twenty years

and toiled a little here and there

with blood and sweat and tears.

 

And here we are still

with all love has to broker

and happy as a lark

to be a couple mediocre.

 

Don’t forget to check out my project on

Sorry, Charlie on Kickstarter

Happy Family

Meet_AIKO_from_Davao_City_(2088973620)

 

Carlee and Gavin had been fighting for ten straight minutes.  Where to eat, who had to sit in what seat in the back, who was taking a shower first when we got home, who called who a butthole – you name it and they were fighting about it.  My wife Melissa had not taken her medicine today, left it back at the house this morning, and it was showing.  The definition of malcontent.  She was staring out the side window, her mind in some other place far from here.

 

I told them to please hush for the fifteenth time and then threatened to ground them both when Carlee hit Gavin and he called her the B word.  Melissa was ignoring the whole thing, me included when I nudged her on the leg to get her to help.  When she finally did swing around, it was to ask what they were fighting about.  She hadn’t even been listening and now they both launched into simultaneous tirades concerning the last fifteen minutes of arguments.

 

I was getting a headache and my back was tensing up.  I asked Melissa for four Ibuprofen and she was too busy ignoring the kids’ heated and unruly answers to pay attention to me.

 

“Jesus Dad, I’m freakin’ starvin’,” Carlee whined.

 

“Yeah, food would be nice right about now,” Gavin agreed.  Then went back to texting.

 

But they had both agreed and that was like the planets aligning during an eclipse.  That’s when I saw the Chinese restaurant down the street behind Kellerton Mills.  As far as I could remember, that old place had been abandoned since I was a kid.  It had been an ice cream shop, the kind that would slop a big gob of ice cream right in your Coca-Cola.  I made a U-turn and headed back.  It held a nostalgic attraction.

 

Nobody was paying attention as we drove up, but when Melissa looked up and saw the brightly colored green and yellow neon sign, she looked around like she was lost, crinkled her brow, and said, “Yea.  Chinese.”

 

The name of the place was New China.  We got out and noticed a green VW was the only other car in the small parking lot.  It had flowers painted on the side.  It made me smile until Gavin slugged his sister in the arm, a little harder than necessary, and claimed, “Punch bug, can’t punch back!”  Carlee chased him through the doors, cussing him every step of the way.  Melissa rolled her eyes and jerked the door open like she was a hostage.

 

“I want the pot-stickers and the lobster seafood stuff,” Gavin demanded.

 

“If he gets that, then I want the cream cheese thingys and the shrimp platter,” Carlee grumbled.

 

“I’m not eating here,” my wife said, finding another window to stare through while we were here.

 

I noticed that the Chinese lady at the counter had been watching us all very close ever since we entered.  She didn’t seem annoyed, just mildly curious with a poker face of sorts.

 

“Um, hi,” I offered with a smile.  She smiled back.  The first smile I had received back that day if I remember correctly.  “I’ll have the Lobster, number 8 there, and some wantons  and… um, the shrimp platter, number 4 that is, and um… let’s see… how about some Kung Pao chicken, and then a Dr. Pepper, sweet tea, and a Coke with no ice.  Thanks.”

 

She smiled back but did not make a move to record my order.  There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, perhaps only on my side, and then she looked over at my table.  Carlee kicking Gavin underneath the table and Gavin threatening her with bodily harm.  Melissa was parking lot catatonic.

 

“Happy family,” said the Chinese lady with a slight smile.

 

“Oh, uh, well,” I fumbled.  Was she making fun?  “We have our days, you know.”  I tried to smile.

 

“No.  You try Happy Family.”  She pointed above her head without looking up.  “Number 11.  You lucky number today.”

 

“Oh, gosh no.  Trying to the keep the kids, you know, happy,” I said.  I was gesticulating now and for some reason felt like I was apologizing, why I don’t know.

 

“You like Happy Family,” she stated plainly.

 

I was tired.  “Really… just the original order’s good, I think.”

 

“You like Happy Family.  If you don’t like Happy Family, you no charge.”

 

I just didn’t feel like arguing any more and this lady wasn’t understanding at all.  I could have walked out and told her never mind, but that would have led to even more ruckus in the car.

 

I shook my head in resignation.  “You know what?  Sounds fine.  Let’s try it.”

 

“Good man make wise choice,” she said.  Then she broke into a smile wider than I’ve ever seen.  Her teeth were perfect and white and her eyes seemed, now that I was closer to the counter, dilated like she had been to the eye doctor.  I had a very strange sensation on the back of my neck, like I had just walked through a spider web backwards.  I reached for my wallet and it wasn’t in my front pocket.

 

“Sorry.  I left my wallet in the car.  Be right back.”

 

I went to the car to retrieve my wallet, noticing on my way out a small women coming out of the bathroom.  She smiled at me as she walked to the counter to get her food.  My second smile of the day.  Upon reentering the restaurant, I noticed that there were other people in there I hadn’t seen before.  My table was empty.  As I handed the Chinese lady my credit card, I turned to watch two Oriental children quietly doing their homework at a nearby table.  My crew must be in the bathrooms, I thought.

 

There was a very attractive Asian lady picking up some napkins from the front.  Must be their mother.  As she turned to me, I noticed just how amazingly gorgeous she was.

 

“Duck sauce, babe,” she asked?  She smiled.  Smile number three.  And a little mischievously I might add.

 

“Come again?” I said.

 

The Chinese lady at the counter caught my attention and said, “Sign here please.”

 

I was still looking at the beautiful Asian woman who had obviously misspoke when I grabbed the pen.

 

“Oww!”  I meant to holler, but felt like I was at the bottom of a dream well.  My ‘Oww’ came out softly and without conviction.  I looked down at the receipt.  It was such an odd looking receipt, this receipt that the blood from my finger was oozing down on.  How clumsy of the lady to hand me such a sharp pen.  I signed my name with quite the flourish.  It was unlike me to do so, but it felt good just the same.  I was feeling giddy.

 

“Duck sauce is good, honey,” I told my smiling wife.  I grabbed our meal from the nice lady and my children, Yang and Wei, started helping each other get their books together.  I smiled back at the most gracious Chinese lady as a cook pushed through the swinging doors that revealed the kitchen.  As I glanced into the kitchen, it for some reason reminded me of a glorious painting by Hieronymus Bosch.

 

As my Happy Family and I left New China, I smiled at the VW lady who for some reason did not look to be enjoying her Pu Pu Platter.

 

Don’t forget to check out my project on

Sorry, Charlie on Kickstarter

 

My Kickstarter project: Day 14

Sorry Charlie Cover

 

Well, it’s day 14 for my Kickstarter project for Sorry, Charlie. Seven backers have pledged a total of $160, which is 17% of my goal. And while I am very happy that anyone’s even looked at it, much less donated to the cause, the project is about $300 short from the midpoint goal.

 

Disheartening, but not overwhelming. I have a split personality when it comes to the backers. Part of me is very happy that only one name on the backer list is a friend. Why? Because that means that total strangers have looked at the project and decided it was cool enough to donate to. One person has even hit the $100 mark and gets to be a character in my next horror short called The Trolley. It’s a certain kind of validation when people who aren’t emotionally attached to you in some way decide to back something you’re doing. Sometimes friends and family feel like they have to smile and say nice things about what you’re doing even if it really sucks. Strangers however, will tell you it sucks.

 

The other part of me is a little irked, and for basically the same reason. Only one person I know has backed the project. One person. I’m not sure what that says, really. The people who normally feel obligated to put my stuff on their refrigerator door have inexplicably gone stealth on me.

 

I’ve listed some of my obstacles related to the project.

 

People don’t know – A lot of the people I talked to about my project had never heard of Kickstarter. This was weirder to me than it should have been. I made the mistake of thinking that just because I have known about Kickstarter for over a year now, that everyone else should know about it too. After all, I’m the guy who is usually last in line to pick up on Internet memes or the latest vernacular trends. I was still saying ‘Oh, snap’ up until about 6 months ago. So how could everyone else not have heard about Kickstarter? I think people were still trying to wrap their heads around the whole Kickstarter thing while I was droning on and on about the project. I have since opened with, “Have you heard of Kickstarter?” and progressed from there.

 

People don’t care – Some people have been very helpful. They let me post my bookmarks on their boards or set them on the counters next to the checkout. And there are some people like the lady at the library closest to our home. I go in and the lady at the front hands me over to another very professional-sounding, smiling face. I think, ‘awesome.’ I explain my project. She smiles and says to follow her. We move to the back of the library. I follow her into a small office in the back. There is no light in this office and I find myself looking around at my dark surroundings with slight apprehension as I move through the office. She opens another door at the back of the office and there is a corridor. There is no light here either, so she takes out her cell phone and uses the flashlight thingy on it. I start to speak, but before I can she reassures me, “Right this way.” She is still smiling. I follow. The hallway has no windows and as we turn a corner, I notice the ceiling is getting lower and lower as we move along. I am becoming uncomfortable. We turn another corner and there is a set of stairs leading down into darkness. I stop. I say, “I’m really in a hurry. I have to get my lunch’s haircut appointment,” which doesn’t make any sense, but I was nervous. She replies, still smiling, “Don’t be silly. Right this way,” and continues down the stairs. I turn around to leave, but then realize that the only light is headed down the stairs with her and the hallway behind me is getting darker. I move forward down the stairs. We descend two flights in silence. I am afraid to say anything. When we arrive at the bottom, we both have to push through some heavy, hanging plastic. Maybe they are renovating or something. We walk for a distance that seems like to me should take us directly underneath the grocery store that is across the street outside. As I am about to speak up again, we stop. “Right here, sweetie,” she says and hands me a sledgehammer, her light shining bright against a concrete wall. I am hesitant, but have no other alternative. I pick it up and begin swinging; closing my eyes each time the iron connects with the concrete, little specks of shrapnel filling the dark corridor. In a few minutes, there is a small hole in the blocks. She motions for me to stick my head inside the hole, which I finally do. She leans the phone in and points it down. At the very bottom of the hole, next to the overturned, exoskeleton of a roach, is a small tin container that holds a few pens with business names on them and a couple of library sanctioned bookmarks. She smiles and says, “You can place your bookmarks here.” I slide my arm down into the hole and drop a couple of my bookmarks in the tin. I am sweaty from the manual labor. My face covered in a white dust. I resemble the ghost of a miner. I am ready to go now, but she points at the hole in the wall and says, “Well, cover it up.” Okay, this isn’t exactly how it happened. But this lady and a few others directed me to put my bookmarks in places that no one would ever, ever see. So really, what’s the difference? Some people just don’t care, and there’s really nothing you can do about that.

 

People are afraid – One guy handed me two bucks while I was out proselytizing the Gospel of Sorry, Charlie. He didn’t like online transactions. Don’t get me wrong. I’m very thankful for those two dollars. But he represents another layer of possible donations that are buried under a fear of financial transactions over the Internet. My mom said the same thing when I told her. “So, I have to do it online? I have to put all my card and financial information online?” Well, yes. I’m sure the people at Kickstarter don’t want thousands of checks mailed to them each day. And the more I think about it, the more I wonder, even in this day and age of tech savvy consumers, if the whole process of having to set up a Kickstarter account and link it to your Amazon account has put a lot of people off. Older people who might give, but who aren’t really sure how all that Internet stuff works. And then there’s a lot of younger people who would drop you a dime, but don’t have an online account. But what would be a feasible alternative? I’m not sure there is one.

 

I don’t have a website for my book . . . yet – I know. Very stupid. Should have done that before I even launched my book. Agreed. But I didn’t have a lot of time, and honestly, if I would have waited until my site was up to launch my book, or this Kickstarter campaign, I would have never done either. Sometimes you wait yourself out of ever doing anything. I felt like I had to do something, or the moment would slip away and never happen. So I did. But having a website is very important for a number of reasons. I’m still working on it.

 

I don’t have a social base built up – From everything I’ve read, this was the number one thing that propelled a lot of projects far beyond their original goal. They already had a relationship with readers, fans, or clients. Some had thousands on mailing lists or following their blogs. When I started the Sorry, Charlie Kickstarter project, I had around 30 followers for my blog. And I’ve never been one of those people with 500 friends on Facebook. More like 30. And Twitter? An embarrassing 5. I know how to grow these numbers on Facebook and WordPress, and I’m doing that daily, although it may be way too late to help this project. But I still have no idea how to get followers on Twitter. None. And I’m long-winded. How would I condense this short story of an article into 140 characters? I guess I could link to it. For my 5 followers.

 

Blogging more – I have been visiting other blogs and trying to increase my followers. It is very time consuming. And I don’t want to do what I call spam-following or spam-liking. You visit 1000 pages a day and like everything or follow everything, all in hopes that people will do the same for you. You might get 5,000 followers that way, but none of them will be interested in what you are saying. It’s a meaningless swap of ‘I’ll pretend to like you if you pretend to like me.’ Each blogger never again reading what the other puts out. I’m very particular about who I follow and why. If I follow you, I am generally interested in what you are doing. And finding blogs out there that are generally interesting takes surfing time. I’m doing better, but I have to allocate more time to connecting with other relevant blogs and people.

 

Niche blogging – My blog is a mix of rants, poetry, updates on my writing, projects, short fiction, and more rants. What it is not is a single resource for all things writing. I’m going to start doing more how to’s and exercises gleaned from books on writing. Exercises and resources. Things that can hopefully inspire action in other writers. And I may change the theme of my WordPress blog. Something with a menu that will clearly separate poetry from book promotion.

 

Bookmarks – I did design some bookmarks. My book cover is at the top, followed by where you can buy the book, and ending with a note to check out my Kickstarter project and the QR code that can take them to the Kickstarter project page. It looks decent. I’ve given away 250. I don’t know if it’s helped at all. Maybe. Maybe not. I probably need to give away more like 2,000. But color copies cost money. And the heavy-weight, gloss paper cost money too. With the slight margin I’ve given myself on the project, I’m liable to go in the hole as it is the next time I spend $30 on guerilla marketing. I could have also listed some of the rewards for different pledge levels on the back of the bookmarks. People like rewards.

 

Social – I did the initial spamming of friends, family, and acquaintances. And promised not to bother them again. I will though. I put a link at the end of my email signature that links to my project page. And I have started contacting online bloggers who review books and have thousands of hits on their blogs.

 

In summary, I am doing things post-launch to get the project rolling, but I was not as nearly prepared as I thought I was going into it. Even for the small projects category. Wish me luck and check out the project if you have a second.

 

Sorry, Charlie on Kickstarter

 

 

Ego

Frowny-man1

 

I am a raging poet,

my inked hatchet

flesh wedging a spray of bloody

word foam onto the triage

of paper,

bending

folding

spindling

mutilating

a torrent of liquid emotion,

wrenched thought spasms

corrugated prisms of mind swell,

and when I have wrought and reaped,

stretched my filigree soul over

a brittle weave of yellowed paper,

soaked the pages with philosophical blood,

crimson views of humanity, caramelizing

the sticky pages together,

a pungent weld of glory and desperation,

my wife looks it over and says,

“Yeah, cool.”

 

Don’t forget to check out my project on

Sorry, Charlie on Kickstarter