My life is a burning sunrise.
I found the end of infinity.
An echo of the scent of wood smoke screams at me
With the high pitched whine of the saw.
And the woodchips dance and sway with the radio.
Woodchips can’t dance.
But dance they do, a prelude to my opera.
The fat lady steps up and sings my opening theme.
I see the song coming towards me, an audio tidal wave.
As Genghis Khan assaults the doors of Carnegie Hall.
I ride my Horse alongside him.
Marcus Unrulious the conqueror of none.
I howl my rage at the walls, causing flowers to bloom.
“Arigato gozaimasu” they say.
Crystalline teardrops fall from a sunny sky,
They are warm to the tough and explode upon the ground
Each drop the clear ring of a harp string.
I stick out my tongue and taste their bitterness,
And smell the sickening sweetness of abandoned dreams.
I hoist my bag of collected memories and set out t forget myself.
And boldy tiptoe away from my past.
I will find the new me hiding behind the horizon.
The final song sung and the singers take their leave,
But the lights only brighten
As the cattle call cheers of the audience echo across the stage.
Cupidity by: Suzanne Shield-Polk, Ceramic with encaustic wax and collage, 2010.
Particarly Cognizant by: Robert Delaney
RE: Aware of your own genius? Take our quiz!
Dear Administration Personnel for the Institute of Genius Intelligence and Research
First let me start by saying how much I value your inquisition of my person and particularly my mental capabilities. As an educator, I personally enjoy the daily benefits of having a learned mind and a scholarly life. Unfortunately, because of the particular job I have, my knowledge is reserved for the minds of third graders, so I seldom receive appreciation for my full potential. In my younger college years (before I married my husband, Bob, almost 18 years ago), I followed a particularly promising path to be a registered nurse which would have allowed me to flourish my talents, skills, and knowledge to their full abilities, but that unfortunately ran short, and I was left to pursue a career as an elementary school teacher. My husband, Bob, has a very important job as a supervisor of a small construction company, and although I am aware that he is indeed a wonderful husband, he has become more focused over the past few years towards a particular construction project that his firm is in charge of. Naturally, I have felt somewhat overlooked recently, so this acknowledgement of my achievements from your organization is greatly appreciated.
Now, I don’t want to portray any ungratefulness or impatience; I do understand that it has been only a week since our last correspondence via e-mail, and I am aware that there is a particular order for which all shipping and distribution of parcels must go through, but I wish to inquire a time frame for delivery so I know when to be expecting the goods I have requested, so I can arrange my schedule around their arrival. I have acquired another daytime profession throughout the summer months; I am a care provider at a local summer day camp where I help watch over and counsel the youth until I go back to work for my elementary school in the fall. Since my husband, Bob, has the car for the next few weeks (he is attending a training retreat with his new assistant, Brenda), there will be nobody to drive me to the parcel post after I get dropped off from work, so I would like to know, if possible, what particular day the previously mentioned packages should be expected so I can make my arrangements.
I am aware that the Institute’s time is valuable, and I will wrap up this e-mail quickly now, but I do have one more inquiry. After the particular researcher from the research department contacted me via e-mail, and after I took the online examination to confirm the researcher’s results, I was presented with a digital certificate from the Institute of Genius Intelligence and Research, and was awarded platinum status which put me in the top percentile and allowed me to purchase the deluxe package. I am aware that this package is particularly remarkable, and I understand that the $374.86 I spent for this particular package covers the cost for the once a quarter publication of the Who’s Who book that my name will be printed in with platinum text, but I am curious as to what the rest of this particular package includes. My husband, Bob, who is a very wonderful husband, was inquiring information about the Institute and particularly the deluxe package. I could not produce to him that information as I had forgotten it, and also, for some reason the Institute’s website is down. I explained to my husband that the deluxe package’s extras weren’t significant and how this achievement was particularly important to me; he told me that he understood, but he also said that such a purchase should have been consulted with him first. He is the man of the house, and I do realize that even though he has been particularly busy with work and with his new assistant, Brenda, all of our finances should be finalized with him. That being said, between you and me, I’m not so sure he is aware; unfortunately, sometimes my intelligence goes overlooked in my husband Bob’s mind. Nonetheless, I find it easier to appease him than to debate such particular issues like this, so producing my inquired information would be much appreciated.
With my husband, Bob, being so busy the last few years because of his projects, and especially most recently with training his new assistant, Brenda, I have been feeling particularly unacknowledged, and it has become somewhat difficult to flourish my intellect. I understand that my husband is very busy, but I am also aware that he is a wonderful husband who cares and sometimes even tries to spice things up (I recently found some skimpy lingerie he bought me, although he accidentally got the wrong size because they were too small). That being said, I do appreciate his effort, and I am a patient being, but I still feel overwhelmingly unnoticed; thus, it feels good to know that there are other people besides me who are aware of and recognize my genius intellect. So, thank you again for your acknowledgement of my achievements, and I look forward to hearing back from you on these particular inquires.
Dangerous:A Tale of a Rock Star by: Roberto Hernandez
Elmer slicks back his thick black hair with his pocket comb. He is standing on stage with a 1970 red wood grain Gibson Les Paul, after playing a perfect cover of “Welcome the the Jungle” by, THE Guns and Roses in the sold out Houston Toyota Center. The crowd chants his name “Dan-ger-ous, Dan-ger-ous, Dan-ger-ous…”
“Elmer, wake up dude. Wake up, it’s 12:50 man it’s time to go back to work.” Elmer often dreams of being a rock star when we take our usual lunch break at 11:00 am in the gazebo for Wal-Mart employees. Poor fool believes calling yourself a rock star will make it so. I give his due though. He is pretty damn good on guitar.
Elmer is a strange fellow though. A five foot five Salvadorian, with feathery black hair always kept perfect by his gold colored pocket comb. He has these Meerkat eyes that are maybe, no lie, two inches in diameter. It seems like his eyelids are too short to cover his entire eye, so when he blinks it’s as if he is not blinking at all. Maybe that explains his devilish dry, red eyes that he sports everywhere. Also, he walks with a limp. There is nothing medically or genetically wrong with the man’s feet and legs, he just walks with a limp. Typically people this ugly have a beautiful personality, but not Elmer. Nope, just the way he looks on the outside is who he is on the inside. He is the modern day Mr. Scrooge, except he is not knocking on death’s door. He is twenty-six with an attitude of an irritable, haughty, and vulgar seventy year old.
As we walk through to the rear of the store to clock back in, Elmer tugs at my off duty shirt. He directs me to this beauty queen shopping in the grocery aisles. She was maybe twenty-six, five foot nine, and had this caramel silk skin. Her midnight black high heels contrasted well with the tight, thigh high royal purple dress. Usually Elmer has bad taste in women but my god this chica was fine. Her curly brownish-black, soft plum lips, and eyes that could mesmerize a man for hours, and all with no make-up; just makes a man say “wow”. Unfortunately, she had a huge diamond rock on that lovely finger of hers. I just glance and keep walking. Elmer stops in the middle of the aisle.
“Hold on dude.” He tells me. Elmer stares at her as if trying to memorize her skin pores; he doesn’t blink. Even I feel a little creeped out. The girl feels she is being watched and, so she continues to the next aisle.
“Come on Romeo, it’s not like you’re going to go talk to her anyway.” I tell him.
“Bobby I’m no pussy. I’m going to make her mine!”
“Dude, she’s married.” I warn him. But what he said next froze me where I stood.
“Fuck that I’m Dangerous, and I feel like I’m going to have a rock star day!”
“Okay” I said smiling.
He limps over to where she is shopping, the cereal aisle, I hang back about four meters. He starts speaking but I hear only mumbling, like a peanuts cartoon when the grown ups talk. Three minutes into the conversation the husband returns, placing some items in the basket. He stand behind his girlfriend, glaring at Elmer. I told him she was married.
The boyfriend was about my height, six-one, and it was obvious he went to the gym religiously. Healthy food items filled his cart. I keep my distance thinking to myself, he’ll come back now that her man is there.But no, Elmer says something which enrages the muscle bound freak. The guy grabs Elmer by his shirt and delivers a quick jab to his left eye. Elmer drops to the ground and yells.
“Bobby!” I race to his aid. The girl is calm as if she has seen this before.
“Kyle it’s not worth it, lets go.” She said in a calm sexy voice. Three seconds later I arrive and push him away before he lands another punch. Elmer is balled up on the floor shielding his face with his tiny hands. I have no time for Elmer, this Schwarzenegger look alike is coming for me now.
“I don’t want trouble.” I warn him. But he doesn’t listen. He charges at me with a close line attack. Sidestepping I duck to avoid his assault.
“Don’t come at me again or you’ll regret it.” I plead with him. He doesn’t acknowledge that I just spoke. Oddly enough no employee or customers have happened by, the girl calmly watches from the side.
He comes at me again with an all-out offensive barrage; I shake my head. Jab, crossover, duck, uppercut, cross, he falls to the ground stunned. The girl is nervous now.
“Sorry, sorry forgive him he is on steroids and has a short temper.” She says to me. I check out her sexy body one more time and think, damn it all, why are you with this guy. Elmer gets up holding his tender blackened black eye. A thought pops into my head, I can’t believe his hand is covering his eye! I look around 12 o’clock on a Friday in a Wal-Mart and no one is about, the guy is being helped up by his girl. Lucky us no witnesses, we get to keep our jobs and the big guy over there doesn’t go to jail.
Elmer and I get to the back room and sit down by the time clock. I glance at the time, 12:05. Its been fifteen minutes since lunch was over.
“What did you say to him that made him so angry?” I ask Elmer. No reply at first. He paused, building suspense for his juicy story.
“I asked that mamasota if she wanted to be my girl, and for her to come with me if she wanted to have a good time.” I told her I’m a Rock Star and that I can write songs about her and me when we get married. The she told me I was crazy and that she was married already. I told her I don’t give a damn and that she is making a mistake not coming with me. That’s when her muscle came in, then all I said is well do you have a sister that I can pound. That’s when he hit me for no reason. I didn’t think that he would get so upset.”
“Really man, really? You don’t think he had a reason to get upset?” I said, staring at Elmer with his now purple eye.
“No!” He said.
“That’s why I nicknamed you Dangerous, you do stupid things sometimes.”
“I was right about one thing though,” Elmer replies.
A screaming child is pounding her feet on the floor, angry at everyone for the moment. Two rooms down Reba McEntire belts out, “Because of you, I never stray too far from the sidewalk.”
“Stop,”
“No,”
“Mine.” The two younger sisters fight over the favorite toy of the moment, screeching and slapping.
Water dripping in the kitchen sink, “ping, ping, ping, ping, ping,” echoes into my ear drum. Not even five lines, and my husband’s car is driving into the driveway, next is the thump, thump, thumping of his heavy boots stomping the mud onto the porch.
Then for a brief second there is nothing, I type out a few more lines.
The fan blows a soft breeze onto the back of my neck, making a slight buzzing sound.
“It’s my turn”
“But, it’s my bike”
“I want to ride”
“No, mine” The silence is broken by yet another fight, this time a tricycle.
My husband runs over the details of his day while my youngest sits in my lap sucking her thumb, humming.
Some male country singer is now on the radio singing an easy going song about a country road. Somewhere in the background I can hear the buzzing sound of the hummingbird’s wings as he eats from the feeder on my porch.
The helicopter flies over my house, maybe on the way to the fire out in Magnolia. This morning the smoke is thicker here, sticking to my lungs.
The wind blowing through the house rattles the papers on my desk, trying its hardest to send one flying.
My father was a traveling sports writer and didn’t make very much money. I couldn’t knock my dad for taking so much work. The traveling part is what kept him away from my mother, and divorcing her was a risk even I woudn’t be willing to take. I came to understand at an early age that how I learned to tie my shoes wasn’t going to be the only thing I would have to do on my own. My mother called these neglectful acts “social experiments.”
“But Mom, how are they social if I am doing the experiments alone?” I turned my head to the side looking up at her with eyes of very limited innocence left.
“Well it’s social because you’re… using society as your compass but your integrity to make the end decision.”
“Like telling on Melissa when she eats her hair at nap time?” I blurted out, still following each word she spoke with a plan for a full sentence.
“No, like deciding to take a taxi home instead of getting a ride from a nice smelling young man when his wife is not around, or finding a way to get something for free before you try and steal it.”
From the beginning I knew I was screwed. My parents have spoken to me like an adult since the age of four. My grandfather died before I was born and left my mother a very large inheritance. My father always told me that before my mom got the money, she was just a quiet southern belle who wasn’t very interested in material things. The mother I came to know walked around our house like it was a palace and smoked cigarettes from a long, jewel-covered, formal cigarette holder. She also never left her bedroom without a fur coat on, even in the summer. My father says my mother was born in Alabama and, before the money, used to have a soft southern drawl. The mother I came to know had some kind of European accent with no specific origin. I think she just takes every haughty accent she had ever heard in the movies and mixes them all together to make her own. I think my mother believes she looks like the late princess Diana and sounds like Mary Poppins. To me she looks like Cruella DeVille on crack and sounds like Julia Child. When my mother bought me a golden retriever puppy for my seventh birthday, I thought my loneliness would disappear. Six weeks later I came home from school and couldn’t find my new best friend.
“Uh, mom?” I said, closing my eyes as tight as they could shut.
“Yes, darling.”
“Where’s the dog?” I asked her, holding my breath.
“Well I am sorry plumb-cake, but that little beast was frolicking with my Begonia bush. I sent the dog away to run around on a farm in the country.” My mom smiled at me, revealing her blindingly over-bleached teeth and brought a small cup to her mouth while pretending to sip. She put the cup down and it clanked on the gleaming silver tray below it.
“Would you like some tea dear?” I moved toward her and looked down to see my disappointed reflection bounce off the base of the shiny teacup set.
“No thanks. I’ll pass,” I said too loud.
“Well, I hope you like the tea set I just got you as a new gift to replace that varmint who eats flowers.”
I smiled with my teeth clenched and grabbed the cold silver handles on either side of the tray. I lugged it all the way upstairs, then into my room and placed it on my small pink table. I set the table by placing a tea cup in front of each chair and stood up to marvel the ridiculousness of the situation.
When I heard the garage door open, I knew that was my mother’s way of telling me she was leaving.
Sometimes I would get lucky enough to run after her before she sped off, but I stopped because she would pretend to not see me anyway. I ran downstairs to the hallways closet where my Dad kept his clothes. I stood on my tippy toes to unhook some of his ties and ran back into my room. I took five of my least favorite stuffed animals and tied their necks to the back of each pink chair, propping them up into a sitting position. I stood back and looked at my stuffed animal suicide tea party. I left them there for three months before my Mom noticed.
