unusual

by bofa xesjum

hello hello yourself. how are you? very well, thank you. i often see you walking. yes, i walk almost every day. may i ask, what is your name? my name is overlord underling, at your service. that is an unusual name, it seems to me. oh really? what do you find so unusual about it? i have never heard it before, that is all i meant. and do you know the name of every person on the planet? ha ha, no, please rest assured i did not mean that at all. it occurs to me, my friend, that you have not told me your name. my name is king tutankhaman, and i have ever been a poet and a dreamer. you do not say so? tell me, what is your favorite color? come now, speak up.. my favorite color is blue, the color of the sky, the color of the soul, of immortality. what do you think of the current political situation? what suggestions do you have to fix it, eh? i did not know that there was a current political situation, or that it needed fixing, or by whom. that is just the sort of insipid evasion i expected from one of your sort. a poet and dreamer, indeed! i beg your pardon. what exactly do you mean by one of my sort? my sort of what? please explain yourself. you know exactly what i mean. i can not wait until the earth is well rid of simpering ignorant parasites like you. well, isn't that a nice way to talk. let's start over, shall we? i told you my favorite color, what is your favorite? red, the color of fire, the fire that burns away the filth of chaos and existence, does that answer your pathetic little question, sir? i suppose it will have to do. what is your favorite painting, and in what museum or other public or private building is it displayed? a painting of a sunset on a stormy sea, painted by none other than myself, and owned by myself, displayed in my most private inner sanctum. this is all very interesting, but i am afraid that i have lost track of the time engaging in this conversation, so if you will excuse me - excuse you? no, my good man, you have wounded me most grievously, most grievously indeed. and so mark me well, i will - i - goodbye, until we meet again!

final

by bofa xesjum

there are no parakeets here today to give the scene a touch of veracity the minister has taken the day off to visit the aquarium the pictures are still in their frames ladies and gentlemen in indescribable costumes without incandescence and of no import to the new age of insolence do any of you know what i am saying? very likely you know more of these matters than i i am a lonely harbinger of a distant day anticipating a deluge of disinterest the clouds are weary of the sky though outwardly tranquil and taking the opportunity to bid a final farewell to the conquerors

brain

by bofa xesjum

i am only a human with a human brain there are many things i can not explain not even to the bees or to the ants to the king of spain or the queen of france long ago in the primal ooze i was a lizard and paid my dues i crawled out of the mud and sat on the bank and had only myself to thank i dreamed my dreams one at a time doing nothing was not a crime seasons came, and seasons went and hardly a halfpenny was spent wise men appeared, but have no fear only once every thousand years you could sit beside a waterfall with nothing in your mind at all you could think your own thoughts or maybe not one at a time, one at a time plato threw you a nickel, and buddha a lousy dime now we have the information age everything written on one big page a river of facts that never ends old number nine trillion comes around the bend -

history

by tom tophead

the human race is crazy as crazy as loons or maybe crazy like foxes dancing to happy tunes roosevelt built the atomic bomb a long time ago or maybe it was hitler i don’t really know truman went to yalta to give stalin his love lucifer laughed in darkness the angels wept above the world was put in notice by dr edward teller marx and freud just laughed at him because they were clever fellers nixon was in the kitchen baking an apple pie the apples gave him a great big hand then khruschev happened by kennedy went to cuba it is in the history books castro was his daddy but the ladies liked his looks johnson wore a stetson hat and drank whiskey from a glass nixon rose up from the dead but all things must pass no one remembers agnew though he fired the first shot in the eternal culture wars which now is all we’ve got reagan had a great big smile which stretched across the earth the world is freed from bondage but still awaits rebirth who remembers osama bin laden gorbachev or al gore? humanity has its suitcase packed but still stands on the shore o children of the modern age look back upon the past for you will never know a world where things were built to last

wayward child

by anonymous

life is for the lonely, death is for the dead shoes are for feet, hats are for heads the night is for walking, the day is for sleep through the silent streets i creep everybody hates me, though i done no wrong through the mist i stumble along rain is falling, i do not know what to think i need a drink don’t mind me, i do not know where to go pay no attention to my tale of woe if somebody were to listen, i have nothing to say no princess to save, or dragon to slay what a loser, you nod so knowing very well, i will be going down the road, without a trace with my stumbling steps and forgettable face past the waning moon and the rising sun into the ocean of oblivion wayward child of eternal scorn who never even asked to be born

for

by dog e relaford

a is for the artichokes, blooming in the spring b is for the basketballs, bouncing in the bling c is for the crocodiles, lying in the sun d is for the dandelions, not having any fun e is for the ectoplasm, taking its turn f is for the folks that never learn g is for the gardener, planting the seeds h is for the horrors, waiting in the weeds i is for the instigators, destroying civilization j is for the jokers, drinking juleps on the plantation k is for the kangaroos, jumping up and down l is for the laughing ones, taking over the town m is for the mothers, sewing patches on their dresses n is for nobody, cleaning up the messes o is for the opposition, calm and polite p is for the parasites, putting out the lights q is for the quicksand, surrounding the castle r is for the rabbits, causing all the hassle s is for the serpent, who knew it all along t is for the terrorist, banging his gong u is for the undertaker, gazing at the moon v is for the villain, who will be here soon w is willie, your cousin on your mother’s side but don’t wait up for uncle joe, he ran off with the bride y is for all of you, waiting for the train z is for the zookeeper, who will never explain why the alligators get the best tables and the baboons try so hard, but are unable

the big story, part 2

by nick nelson

part two of two

click here for part one

charlotte, who had listened charitably to frank’s bombastic ramblings, finding them at least well-intentioned, no longer found them at all meaningful. and after enduring a last meaningless sputtering tirade against the whole ungrateful ignorant universe, showed him the door. frank was mediocre - an unforgivable limitation in her book. how nugatory it all was! the world seemed to resume its natural course. and everything went back to normal. but fate is omnipresent. and the parliamentary upheavals resumed with a new urgency and ferocity. power struggles, large and small, erupted in all walks of life. pete plumworthy, a spawn of satan, emerged as the new champion of privilege. the previously quiescent mob embraced him enthusiastically as its savior. it all seemed quite reductive to the self-appointed cognoscenti of the official media. roberta rogers, an erstwhile restaurant hostess representing herself as a revolutionary of the old school, rose to challenge pete. pete and roberta were both denounced as reactionaries by sam snick, a panhandler and prophet from portland maine. tess tucker, the unchallenged empress of all media, thought it all suspiciously serendipitous. but in a sensational interview with tess, watched by billions across the globe, pete announced that he and roberta were joining forces to usher in a new age for humanity. sam snick rallied his followers to new heights of subversive action and protest. for a brief moment, it seemed that transgressive ideas would carry the day. but it all proved illusory and underwhelming. a valetudinarian caution prevailed, embodied by the person of uncle bob burnside, an elder statesman who emerged from his shack by the seashore to calm the roiling waters of revolution and reaction alike. the walpurgisnachtian night seemed over. just as charlotte was finishing up her extrapolatory account. having barged into the room as she was putting on her finishing touches, frank resumed his yammerings. history resumed its zigzagging ways. the end

the big story, part 1

by nick nelson

part one of two

it was an apocalyptic time. the authoritarians were taking over, they pretended to be beneficient. but they were really bad. charlotte jones contemplated the scene from her window on the seventh floor. she thought it was all very delimiting. she resolved to write the definitive history of what was transpiring. her account was exhaustive. many extraordinary things happened. she was describing the fulminating speech of senator tucker that sparked the overthrow of the third coalition when frank familiar burst into the room. frank was a fascist whom charlotte had dated briefly in her third year of grad school before discovering his true nature. but charlotte truly loved freedom and wanted to be who she was. frank was gregarious and overbearing. and pronounced himself a universal genius. but he was not really much good at much of anything. he wrote a book on the history of the world which attempted to be groundbreaking. he pronounced that there was no such thing as happenstance, that everything happened for a reason. and that the human race was doomed unless it heeded his warnings. against the hypocritical masters of the earth, who cared only for their own immediate gratification. but his inflammatory words failed to ignite. and the human race clung stubbornly to its indigenous apathy. the imperialist dogs went their laughing way. and mocked poor frank’s judicious analyses, insofar as they took any notice of them at all. frank’s brain turned into a bitter kaleidoscopic mush, and he walked the streets talking to himself. his once expansive mind dwindled to a lilliputian parody of its former self. he rejected magnanimity and embarked on a narrow path in a dark wood. part two