A Houseplant is Dying, Tell it Why it Needs to Live. (prompt #2, of 642 things to write about.)

Earlier today I noticed my ficus, Fifi, was still droopy, so I watered her. It was all I could do. It must have been about a week since she began to wilt. I’ve done everything I could think of. I moved her to a spot with more light but that only made her shed more. I began watering her twice a day, up from once. I even bought some really nice plant food and poured the whole bag into her pot. I am at a total loss for what to do as I sit next to her stroking her few remaining leaves, blowing carbon dioxide I made from my lungs onto her leaves in breathy “I love you”s and “please, don’t leave me”s.

Tricia and I bought Fifi on a whim from a booth at the local farmers market on sunny Sunday when we first leased this apartment. I thought it was a silly purchase but it made her happy. “It’ll bring the place some life, Nate.” She told me as she handed me the pot to carry to the car. “You’ll see, we’ll take care of it together. It’ll be like having a kid that doesn’t shit all over itself. We’ll call her Fifi.”

“Her? How do you know it’s not a boy?” I asked as I adjusted the pot in my hands so as not to drop it and a large chunk of soil tipped out down the front of my white t-shirt. I laughed and so did she.

I guess to her it was more than a plant it was a symbol of our love, our life together. Over the next few years we kept the plant in the same spot, a few feet from the small window in our shared bedroom. She would water it everyday before she went to work, caress it’s leaves and whisper something before turning to me caressing my hair, whispering, “I love you,” and kissing me goodbye.

The plant grew and shed leaves all around it’s base. I’d pick them up before she came home, begrudgingly. “‘It’ll be like having a kid that doesn’t shit all over itself,’” I’d say in a mocking her. Every so often during her morning ritual I’d poke fun at her for loving the plant more than me. She’d raise her eyebrow, put her hands on her hips and affect a mock indignant tone then she’d give me a little more than a kiss.

It was beautiful, and happy, and light, and it was some of the best times I ever had. Then seemingly out of the blue Tricia became tired. She would still wake up water the plant whisper to it and kiss me but it was more like soap actor going through the motions than my beautiful, passionate Tricia.

As time wore on she would stay in bed more often, slowly neglecting her morning ritual more and more. She said it was nothing and she’d be better the next day. She’d say the same thing the next day and the next and the next until I finally forced her to the doctors. He said it was cancer. He said it was much too late to do anything about it, it had already spread to most of her organs. It was a matter of days he told me. All they could do was to make her comfortable.

She was admitted to the hospital. I made them let me bring Fifi into the room with her. Everyday I would go to her. I’d water the plant, stroke it, and breathe, “I love you,” onto it’s leaves. Then I’d cross the room and sit in the chair next to her bed. I would hold her hand, stroke her lank, greasy hair, and whisper “I love you, please don’t leave me,” in her ear. I would do this every day, every day until she mustered her last bit of energy and rattled, “I love you, Nate, I’m sorry. Please, take care of Fifi for me.”

Advertisements

No More Clowning Around

Richard sat in the mirror meticulously applying his make up. He painted the white foundation in long smooth strokes making sure to flatten any clumps along the way until it covered his entire facade. He then made a caricature of a smile in red and blue around his mouth. Finally he pinched the big red ball so the slit on the side opened up. He stared into it for a second before he placed it around his nose. He looked himself in the eyes and smiled; no longer Richard, he exhaled and said to himself, “Hello, Boppo,” and squeezed his big red nose twice making a honking sound with his mouth each time.

Sarah sat in the kitchen repeatedly tapping her thumbs together between her folded hands. She stared at the space between their dirty refrigerator full of half checked to-do lists and invitations to children’s birthday parties, and the semi-doorless, paint chipped cabinet that surrounded it. She then got up and paced the wobbly kitchen table they’d picked up from a craigslist curbside ad. Finally she stopped at her framed bachelors degree. She traced the lettering through the glass before she thoughtlessly turned her head to his clown school diploma framed in cartwheeling clowns attached hand to ankle, dressed in all manner of brightly-colored, tasteless outfits. She sat herself back down and frowned; no longer able to cope, she exhaled and said, “What’s taking him so long?” her rage built each time she heard him honk from the bathroom.

He walked in with a goofy grin plastered across his face. She wanted to smack it off.

“You look like an idiot.”

“That’s kind of the point isn’t it?”

“Funny,” she said laying her slender arms on the table.

“Exactly,” he said not looking at her as he opened the fridge.

He bent over at the waist looking into the fridge. His vibrant rainbow covered, egregiously large ass seemed framed by the light emanating around it.

“You know it’s better to bend at the knees.”

“Yes, Mother,” he said removing the peanut butter and jelly and placing it on the counter.

“Won’t they have food there?”

“I’m hungry now.” He said turning to her, biting his sandwich with his lips peeled back.

“You just going to leave that there then?”

“You seem aggravated, Sis. Can we skip the passive aggressiveness and jump to the yelling? I’m kind of on a time crunch.”

She stood from her chair with such force it toppled over backward, he started. This made him look more surprised than his perfectly painted eyebrows intended.

“Fuck you, Dick.”

“Go on.” He nodded causing his pastel blue/green afro to bob.

“Our house is turning to shit; Nothing ever gets done around here except your stupid make-up. ”

“Okay, valid point, but you know I’m gone all day-“

“Don’t you dare say it.” She said stepping toward him.

“-Clowning around. I wasn’t going to until you said something.” He explained, “what I was going to say was: I’m gone all day working two jobs so we can keep the house, what are you doing? Maybe if you spent less time on the computer and more time checking off all these fucking to do lists you keep making then maybe the house would be in better shape.” He punctuated this by shoving the rest of the sandwich in his mouth.

“I’m talking to professors and applying for internships trying to better myself. Plus, dad never taught me how to be handy, you’re the big brother isn’t that your job.”

Swallowing, “My job… my job? Just because I’m a guy means I’m supposed to be handy? You went to college what’s your stupid degree worth if you don’t even know how to use a screw driver.”

“Oh, my degree is stupid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh I’m sorry I forgot you went to clown college let me explain it to you. Your. Degree. Is. A. Joke.”

“Fitting, I mean, I am a clown. At least mine wasn’t a $500,000 joke. Who’s hiring physicists right now? No one? Oh weird, at least I knew going into it my degree was going to be a joke.”

Her arms flailed in rage. “You know that’s not how it works, you have to get your- why am I even explaining this to you?”

“Just because I’m a clown doesn’t mean I’m a fool.” His oversized shoe squeaked as he stepped forward in anger. “If I didn’t have to pay all of the bills, buy all the food and pay your fucking student loans I could be a clown full time, I’d never have to take off my costume. I could be living my dream.”

“God forbid you can’t live your stupid dream of being a clown. What about my dream, huh?”

“Your dream? How is going to school indefinitely a dream?”

“It’s not indefinite, I can’t be a professor with only a bachelors degree. I need at least a master’s and that’s if I just want to teach at a community college,” she shutters. “I need you to support me in this you’re all I have.”

“I do support you, that’s what I’m saying. I need you to support me too, and maybe help out around the house some when you have nothing better to do.”

With the fury only years of rumination could build she yelled, “How am I supposed to support you if all you want to do is clown around?”

He retorted with the same energy, “How are we supposed to both live our dreams if we can’t even support each other. Everything we’ve ever done has been one sided always you, you, you. I’m sick of it, I have to go.” He turned to leave and his oversized trousers clipped the jar of jelly shattering it on the floor. “Ah, shit. I got shit on my fucking… fuck”

“You’re just going to leave that there, huh?”

He’d already left the room, faintly he heard, “always fucking cleaning up after you.”

“Eat a dick, Sarah.” He yelled.

“Eat a bullet, Dick.” She yelled back.

He slammed the door causing a shudder to go throughout the old house. Sarah’s framed diploma shook off the wall and shattered in front of her.  She bent down to pick up the jelly covered, broken glass.

A clearly audible scream emanated from the house as Richard opened the door of his ’98 Honda Civic. He didn’t look back as the suspension creaked under him as he got in and drove off to the child’s birthday party.

Parked out front of the gaudy McMansion which vomited rainbow colored streamers and the laughter of children Richard downed 2 tiny bottles of Makers Mark he’d bought on the way. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror and said, “Hey kids… No that’s not right,” this time in a higher register, “Hey, kids!” He cleared his throat and belched then said in the same pitch, “Hey, kids! It’s me Boppo, ready to have some fun?” Then affecting a ridiculous expression he laboriously climbed out of his tiny sedan, dropping his emptied bottles into the pristine gutter as he stood.

Sophie, adorned in jewels and a flowing, crisp-white sundress, greeted him at the door. “You must be Boppo,” she said curtly ushering him through the door, “follow me, the kids are in the back.” They passed through the wide open french doors decked with streamers and a banner exclaiming, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY PRESTON!” It opened to a sunwashed patio brimming with Tommy Bahama decorated adults and GAP adorned children. The patio led to a vibrant green lawn where a petting zoo and a bounce house had been set up. “You can set up there in the corner by the refresments.”

“So where’s Preston?”

“He’s right over there. Preston!” she called.

A small toe-headed child turned to look. A plastic, silver spoon dropped from his mouth as his eyes widened in fear. He wheeled on his heel and ran through the crowd, through the open doors and up to his room.

Sophie turned to Boppo in disgust, as if he’d drop-kicked her precious Preston. He shrugged.

“Why don’t you just get set up I’ll have my brother bring the other kids over.” She huffed then turned and briskly walked into the house.

No sooner than he’d dropped his duffel bag and started unpacking did children gather wide-eyed around him.

“Hey, Kids! It’s me Boppo!” He said, exuberantly opening his arms to them. “Who wants a balloon animal. I can make worms, snakes, and armless lizards.” He began pumping air into a balloon but let it go early, purposefully hitting himself in the face. the children walking away with their punch turn to laugh. A couple of children poked their heads out of the bounce house and some dropped their petting rabbits to giggle at the silly clowns antics. There was even a chuckle from the adults keeping an acceptable distance.

As he pratfell and bounced through his routine the sweet sound of children’s laughter washed over him. Normally, this assuaged the pain of what happens outside of his costume, but it failed to wash away the poison from this mornings argument. The end of his act had come but his sister’s terrible scream replayed in his head and preston never returned while Sophie stood at the back of the patio with crossed arms and furrowed brow.

Boppo exclaims, “Where is the birthday boy I haven’t seen him all day!”

“He’s inside crying,” one boy gleefully explained, hand raised.

“That’s too bad maybe a song will cheer him up, now sing loudly so he can hear,”

Boppo led the children in singing;

“If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands.

“If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands.

“If you’re happy and you know it, and you really wanna show it, clap your hands.”

“No Preston?” Boppo said planting his feet and raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sun. As he pretended to search for Preston the memory of Sarah crying for hours after the clown had left Richard’s 7th birthday pressed itself to the fore of his mind. A fresh wave of guilt washed over him. As the mornings argument replayed he saw his sister crying in her childhood room while his mom convinced his clown to stay. Richard halted, locked in the memory of tugging on the his clowns pant leg saying, “please stay, I never laughed so hard as when you fell on my sister”

Boppo exclaimed, “One more time kids!” and led them again in singing;

“If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands.

“If you’re happy and you know it, tell me how,” Richard slipped.

“If you’re happy and you know it, I want you to show me.

“Tell me how.”

A few surprised looks specked the faces of the crowd of adults, and another toe-headed boy matter-of-factly said, “That’s not how the song goes.”

Shit, Thought Richard. “Tell Boppo why you’re happy, kids, maybe that will get Preston out here,” He recovered. “How about you little boy? Yeah in the red striped polo.” He said pointing.

“I’m happy because I have a mommy and daddy who love me.”

A pair of adults wrapped their arms around each other’s waist, and an invisible hand squeezed Richard’s heart.

“Uh, what about you little girl?” Boppo mechanically pointed to a golden haired girl in a pink dress.

“I’m happy because I love my brother and he loves me,” she said hugging the boy next to her.

“That’s great.” Boppo mustered as Preston and his mother emerged from the house wiping tears from his cheeks. With renewed gusto Boppo exclaimed, “we did it kids there he is: the man of the hour! What makes you happy, Preston?”

Preston sniffled then, with pride, said, “I’m happy and I know it, ‘cause mommy said I gets to tell you to leave.”

“Oh.” Richard’s frown was strong enough to pull even Boppo’s painted-on smile down with it. He looked at the mother whose hands draped her little boys shoulders in a gesture of comfort and transferred will. She met Richard’s pitiful gaze with a mother’s immutable pride.

“Why don’t you gather your things and meet me inside,” then leaning down to her child she encouraged him, “go play with your friends, the scary clown is leaving now.”

Richard reluctantly gathered his things and met Sophie in the house.

“Kids, am I right?” He said jokingly.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing. Listen, I’m sorry Preston was so scared, I had no way of knowing.”

“I didn’t expect you to.” She said maliciously as she snatched her wallet off a shelf. She wrote a check and handed it to him.

He stared at it for a second before saying, “what’s this?”

“A check.” Her expression might as well have said, “idiot.”

“This isn’t even half of what I quoted you.”

“Well you made my kid cry, he didn’t even see your act.”

“Do you think what I do is some kind of joke?” He said waving the check held in his overly large, white gloves.

She stared at him blankly, “what’re you complaining about? You’re lucky I even paid you.”

“Do you think I’m some kind of fool?” His jester’s staff fell from his unzipped bag as he waved the paltry check at her.

“I’m the one who should be mad. You traumatized my precious Preston, who knows if he’ll ever recover? You’re lucky my husband isn’t here.”

Picking his staff from the floor and waving it furiously in the air above him as he walked away he retorted, “fine, whatever, bitch, tell your husband I said ‘hi’ when he gets home from whatever’s more important than his kid’s own birthday.” He said slamming the front door behind him.

At the end of the driveway he put a cigarette between his lips. While searching for his lighter a man called out from behind him, “Boppo, Boppo. Hey you heading out?”

Richard quickly removed the cigarette and hid it in his palm as he turned to see a man in a silky, collared shirt with palm trees framing his protruding beer-gut and a kid hanging from his arm walking briskly toward him. “Yeah, Boppo’s job is done here, off to make the next group of kids smile and laugh.” Boppo waved his hand into a bow.

The kid stood silently in his vibrant blue polo and khakis as his dad explained, “My boy, here really loved your act.” he leaned in to whisper, “can I get your card his birthday is coming up in a couple weeks.”

“Of course,” he reached into the pocket of his duffel bag searched around affected a surprised look. “Oh no, it looks like I’m all out of cards,” he exaggerated his dismay, then looked down at the kid, “what’s that behind your ear?”

The kid looked around in surprise and frantically brushed his ears, “What, I don’t know?”

“Here let me get that for you.” Boppo reached behind the kid’s ear and presented his business card to the wide-eyed and elated child. “Give that to your dad so I can come to your party.”

The child held the card in both hands as if it was the golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s factory.

His father said to Boppo, “thanks, man you were great,” then to his kid, “didn’t you have something you wanted to say to the clown, Jimmy.”

Jimmy raised his eyes just above the card and said almost in a whisper, “I wanna be just like you someday.”

His father held his gut laughing and said, “Kids say the darnedest things don’t they,” as he patted Boppo on the shoulder.

Richard affected a laugh and said, “yeah, yeah they do.”

They waved goodbye as he crossed the street and got in his tiny sun-damaged sedan. He lit his cigarette started his car, stalled. Turned over the engine once more, then drove off.

He looked at himself in the rearview mirror, Boppo stared back. He talked as the cigarette bobbed between his lips, “Is this what you wanted? Is this what you dreamed it would be?”

“Shut up, Boppo. Don’t you start in on me now.”

“What did she pay us, let me see the check.”

Richard removed the check from his pocket.

“Ooph, ouch. What a bitcharooniedoonie,” Boppo observed.

“Yeah life probably just isn’t going her way and she has to take it out on whoever will let her get away with it.”

“You’re right about that, man.”

Richard took a long drag of his cigarette, “fuck.”

“Yeah that was brutal. What were you thinking when you let that ‘tell me how’ shit slip. That was a just us thing.”

“I don’t know, man. I guess that fight with Sarah was really getting to me. That was some good thinking asking the kids what makes them happy. Even though they… kinda hit me where it hurts you really saved the act.”

“Yeah what the fuck was Sarah’s problem this morning?”

“She’s probably not happy with how her life turned out either. Ever since our parents died she’s been pulling further and further away from me. I just need to talk to her about it.”

“Yeah because that worked so well all the other times.”

“I mean a real conversation, no bullshitting around the bush.”

“Do you really think you can do that?”

“Yeah, well I’m pretty sure I can. I mean it’s like I’ve been hiding behind this mask from everyone, especially her, and all it really does is make everything worse.” Richard said to the mirror as he rounded the corner to his street and flicked his cigarette out the window.

Boppo parked the car in the driveway and said, “whelp, I guess it’s showtime, Richard.”

He entered the house. The only sound was the door latching behind him walking towards the kitchen. When he passed through the doorway he noticed the jelly had been cleaned but there was broken glass and pieces of wood on the ground. He looked up at the wall and notice his diploma had been taken from his frame and replaced with Sarah’s. Infuriated he stormed into the living room. No one. He then raged into the den. Not even a tumbleweed. Finally, with his temper boiling off his make-up he busted through Sarah’s door to find her crying.

“Get out!” she screamed.

Richard saw the girl sitting alone in her room crying and immediately forgot his temper. “What’s wrong?”

“I said get out of here.”

“Sarah, come on I’m your big brother tell me what’s wrong?” He said removing the big red ball from his nose.

“Just shut up. You wouldn’t understand, everything… just, just goes your way doesn’t it? Get out of here you fucking clown.”

“I just-“

She looked him in the eyes “This isn’t a joke, get out.”

Defeated Richard left to his room. When inside he pulled out a half emptied bottle of Makers Mark and spit cleaned his tumbler with a dirty shirt from the hamper. He set them on his desk, sat down and began drinking. After the second glass he poured a third and left it as he got up to rummage through his closet. He parted the hanging t-shirts and clown pants, and tossed aside an overly large banana, a deflated inflatable parrot, and a several pastel colored wigs until he lifted an ornate box from the heap. He took it back to his desk and placed it between the bottle and the glass. He sipped his whiskey as he opened the box. He pulled from it multicolored ribbon over and over and over until he had to giggled at the absurdity. Finally reaching the end he took from it an ornately carved pistol. Richard held the gun to his temple and said, “Goodbye, Boppo.” Then pulled the trigger.

BLAM, read the tiny flag.

Pick One

Name’yer favorite band,

right off hand.

Sure, ya can.

“Heard em asuh 8th-grader;

I’ll love ‘em forever.

No this’uns better.”

What’s that’ya say?

More got in th’way?

Well ya’can’t stray.

“I can’t choose;

I love all who’s

been my muse.”

Havin’ trouble son?

More than one?

Can’t be done.

 

A Love Story, Part 1

Bananas, or My First Lesson

 

Everyday I take the same way home after school; go left out of the main entrance, walk three blocks, turn right, pass the zoo, and my house is four blocks down on the left. Its a simple route that my dad taught me when I was in 3rd grade and I’ve been taking it ever since. I’m nearing the end of 8th grade now and soon I’ll be in a new school, and I’ll have to take a different way home; maybe I’ll have to take the bus, maybe it’ll be miles away and there won’t even be a bus. As I was overthinking every possible danger of my new route I heard the familiar howl of my friend bananas.

 

“Bananas,” I call back with the name I’d given him the first day I walked home on my own.

 

“Where are you, I hear you but I can’t see you” I yell to him playfully as he bursts out of the trees and lands on the bars. He howls and screeches at me as if he’s catching me up on the events of his day. I pull out the banana I always bring to give him on my way home. He crawls down the bars to meet me at shoulder level and starts grabbing at the banana.

 

“No, Bananas, what did I tell you about manners? Now ask politely.” He complies and asks in his native tongue for his banana as I peel it, “here, since you asked so nicely” I hand him his banana then unwrap my own. We sit for a moment enjoying our fruit, usually I run my mouth when I meet up with bananas at the end of the day but today, I guess, I just had too much on my mind, or not enough. He just sits there, though, as unexpectant as ever. I’ve always like that about him, sometimes its nice not having another person around. They always expect you to contribute when sometimes you just want to focus on yourself.

 

“I’m going to miss you bananas, next year, when I’m off to high school. I really hope I can make time to see you, but my older brother keeps telling me ‘enjoy this time, you’re not going to have time to later.’ He’s an idiot though, he always tries to scare me with that stuff.” I pet bananas as I explain, he lengthens his body to extend the feeling of my hand on his fur each time I stroke it. “I don’t know, maybe he’s right, he always comes home and closes his door and doesn’t come out until dinner. Mom and Dad did just give him a computer though, he’s probably just playing with it the whole time. I can’t wait to get my own though, he says its the best thing ever. Well, he says the internet is the best thing ever, he never says why though, I mean I’ve used it before, it is pretty cool; I can do all my school work on it without having to go the library and carry books, but I’m always locked out of stuff on it.”

 

I continue absent-mindedly petting him, he purrs and closes his eyes, he still hangs on the bars, lower now as I’d taken a seat against the fence, and enjoys his banana. I take a bite out of mine. We sit again in silence. The only sounds are the common and usually ignored; cars passing on the street behind me, passersby patting the ground with their feet, and sometimes brief confused whispers between pedestrians as they pass by me sitting at the fence of the zoo as I stare glassy-eyed in no particular direction while I stroke my friend.

 

“You know, Bananas, I think you’re the only one that ever listens to me. Yeah, my parents always say I can tell them anything but its so uncomfortable talking to them about… stuff. Mom always tells me to talk to Dad, Dad always tells me to talk to my brother, and he just tells me to google it and when I do its blocked. I just want to know why Jenny makes me feel weird.” Bananas twitched drowsily while I continued to pet his soft little body. “I just get so… so weird when I talk to her now; like, my body tenses up, I start mumbling and forgetting my words, then, the worst part, my stomach feels like it’s fallen out completely and I feel like I might throw up all over her. I’ve known her all my life, and, I mean, we’ve grown up together. We’ve always been in the same grade. We used to live next door to each other and play everyday. I remember our moms used to wash us in the bathtub together when we came inside covered in dirt.” Bananas wriggled under my hand so I took it off and let him stretch, when he was done he laid on his belly, fully extended now in the dirt on the edge of his habitat. He opens one eye and looks up at me expectantly so I continue to stroke him. “We did everything together; made mudpies, played doctor, climbed trees. She’s my best friend and now I can hardly look her in the eye.”

 

“Who in the eye?” Bananas and I both jump out of our skin, he curls up and retreats slightly under a bush as I look around to see a familiar face.

 

“Jenny, hi!” The words stumble out of my mouth as I fall over myself to greet her.

 

“Hey I thought I’d find you here, I wanted to hang out with you after school but you left in such a hurry.” She says as I hug her. My stomach flips upside down and I can’t find anything to say to her.

 

After a pause she says, “Who were you talking to?”

 

“Just bananas, he’s my friend.” I reply, I really hope she didn’t just hear my voice crack.

 

She giggled even before I finished my thought, and it just made my stomach churn even more. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen him,” she goes over to the edge of the fence and begins calling him out of his hiding place. “Bananas, Bananaaas,” she repeats this a few times until he eventually crawls out from under his bush, “Hi, Bananas, its been a long time huh?” She croons to him.

 

As she bent over to say, “come here boy, come here,” my eyes, uncontrollably and unnaturally, run the length of her body. When did her skin get so smooth? Had her hair always been so soft looking? Then, when my breathless eyes finally ended on her chest I thought, what are those; had those always been there?

 

I catch myself before she does and step a little closer to her. She already got bananas to fully come out of his bush and was petting him gently but firmly.

 

“I think he likes you more than me,” I say as I watch my monkey wriggle and purr more than I’d ever seen him before.

 

She giggles again, like she wants me to faint, and says, “yeah, I think I have a softer touch because I’m a girl.”

 

“Yeah,” I say back, forgetting every other word I’d ever heard.

 

“Hey, Timmy…” She pauses, seemingly entranced by petting Bananas. I noticed he was fully extended on the ground, trying to feel her hand on as much of his body as he could. It looked as if he’d never felt anything so perfect in his life. Just as I began wishing that was me Jenny looks up at me and says, “I came here to find you because today was the last day of school and I just really wanted to tell you, I think I really like you, like, like you, like you.”

 

I feel my heart fly right out of my chest, my stomach, nowhere to be found. My palms start sweating and my face explodes with fire, I finally manage to say, “uhh… bluh… guh…” She just continues to stare at me while she absent-mindedly pets bananas into an absolute frenzy.

She stops immediately and jumps away in terror, straight into me, knocking us onto the ground. I just lay there dazzled by her sparkling green eyes, “I never really noticed how pretty your eyes were.” She smiles the biggest most heartfelt smile I’d ever seen and wraps her arms around me pulling us up. Her arms still holding me tight. I wrap mine around hers, but now It doesn’t feel so weird, now I just feel perfect; whole.

Why You Can’t Have Your Cake and Eat it Too

Payday, I insert my paycheck, the numbers go up,

Groceries, I treat myself to a cake, and fill the basket with necessities,

Home, I take a slice, small but delicious,

Television, I turn it on, nothing but commercials,

Bites, small and satisfying, I take from my cake,

Bills, “fuck, this can’t be right,” I say spitting frosting on the paper,

Smoke, take my mind off it, I’ll go on the web,

Amazon, my mind’s off it, this looks nice,

Package, on my doorstep, fills me with excitement,

Lights, flip the switch, it’s still dark,

Fridge, open it up, food is spoiled,

Cake, enjoyable yet limited, already gone.

Babe Gets Jailed for Being an Anarchist, McCarthy is Back.

Today I read an article about a 20 something anarchist being jailed for not testifying against herself in a special court. Here is her statement before she was jailed. What the actual fuck? Why is this happening? Are we really headed toward another shameful witch hunt? This country is taking a turn toward 1984 and I for one will never be able to handle a society like that. I feel a great many people won’t either. This is the time to stop this. This is the time to peacefully request that the people who believe they have power stop being assholes or we will be forced to retaliate, and there are a great many more of than there are of them. It’s time to peacefully defend our land from our own government which threatens to tear it away from us. Thats not to say its their fault either, the poor fools lost all control long ago and the people who do actually care are considered idiots while we all suck the dicks of the people who line their pockets with our taxes.

Rise up, get empowered, blah, blah, you know the spiel.

P.S. here are a couple articles if you’re interested; I’ve always thought schools were prisons, this proves the school officials agree.

Enslavement

Let the kids grow up and believe they deserve more than they earn. show them ways to buy the things they want without waiting or working. give them jobs so they think they’re getting by or living the life they’re supposed to, but don’t pay them enough to get ahead. only give them enough money to eat the food you make and the clothes you sew, but not the education you had. this will keep them under your thumb. their perceived debt to you never has to end. you could own human beings, multiple human beings, for the entirety of their lives. all you have to do is make everything you were allowed to have slightly more expensive make all the jobs you used to work pay slightly less, and they will be clamoring at your doorstep for more debt so they can live the the illusion you created.