my kingdom

by nick nelson

i went to the beach because I lost my best friend and searched the horizon which did not seem to end my friend gave me a kingdom to call my very own with an army and a navy and a golden throne and personal bodyguards dressed in style and a private beach that stretched for miles tall buildings filled with bureaucrats all dressed the same and mobs beneath my balcony cheering my name he gave me these things because he was my friend but a demon appeared and this message did send beware of false gifts and do not count your wealth truth is a serpent and is bad for your health i thought of the good times but not for long betrayal and oppression are the themes of my song the sun went down the waves faded away the way that they do at the end of the day I walked down the hallway and stood at the door my friend was inside I heard him fall on the floor I hurried inside and there he lay dead a message was written upon his bald head beware of the sneagle that flups in the broove you will plead with the judges but they will not be moved i opened the window and climbed down the tree the hounds of unmercy were howling for me in all the confusion i somehow escaped wearing sherlock holmes’s hat and dracula’s cape now i sit by the seashore with an empty glass the clouds roll by but the storm will not pass somewhere folks drink coffee and somewhere folks drink tea somewhere the sun is shining but not on me if you want my story to come to its end tell any gendarmes who ask you you were never my friend

joe d miller

by bofa xesjum

this is the story of joe d miller. joe was not born on the gold coast, or with a silver spoon in his mouth. he was not born in cincinnati ohio, or in north las vegas nevada. his father, jim miller, did not sell encyclopedias, and was not a jockey. his mother, adele, born adele wliber, did not work at a nail salon, or behind the counter of a woolworth’s. joe d had a brother, ray, who did not grow up to be a mass murderer, or a best selling novelist. and he had a sister, peggy, who never married a billionaire, or a rock star, or a football star. growing up, joe d did not play tennis or basketball. he never had a best friend named duke, or a dog named roughneck. he never studied latin, greek, or hebrew. he never failed an algebra test. he did not write poetry. he never learned to play the piano. he never played canasta, pinochle, or whist. he did not have a job after school at the soda shop, or at a gas station. he never had a girl friend named sally, or irene, or dolores. when joe left high school, he did not join the marine corps. he never traveled, in any capacity, to vietnam, kuwait, iraq, or afghanistan. he did not drive big rigs across this great land of ours. he never played the guitar on street corners, with either a hat or a paper cup on the ground in front of him. he never married a woman named sandra, or had any children named peter, charles, or olivia. he never appeared on the cover of time, or of rolling stone. no organization of any kind ever named him “man of the year”. neither “friends” nor “seinfeld” was his favorite tv show. neither frank sinatra nor bruce springsteen was his favorite singer. he never bought boxes of sno-caps or milk duds at movie theaters. he never saved a child from a burning building, or a dog from drowning. he never saved the world, or murdered anybody, or discovered a cure for cancer or any other disease. he is not buried in a shallow grave. he is not buried in grant’s tomb, or in lincoln’s tomb, or under the white house lawn. no one has ever written a book about him.

wine and conversation

by nick nelson

it was a lovely evening. four old friends, omar khayyam, confucius, margaret fuller, and hannah arendt, got together for some wine and conversation. omar khayyam poured the wine, and after the compliments on his excellent taste, the conversation started. I undetstand, confucius began, that you, hannah, plan on attending the conference in vienna in may, on “whither the left?” i, personally, want nothing more to do with the so-called left. oh, please, margaret fuller quickly interposed. let’s not talk politics. i understand, omar khayyam said, that the new government in spain is talking tentatively about limiting the role of the church in the spanish schools. a hopeful sign, is it not? good god, if i may use the expression, hannah arendt cried, let us stay off the subject of religion! i heard, said omar, only heard, mind you , that the two new nominees for the academie francaise are scheming rascals who would roast their grandmothers on a spit to get their books published in america. oh, let us stay off personalities and vulgar gossip, hannah arendt admonished omar. i do not suppose, said confucius, that you want to hear the rumors about the cultural minister of the republic of b————, and the young women employed on his staff. i most certainly do not, margaret fuller replied. hear, hear, added hannah arendt. having established the bounds of acceptable discourse, the four friends talked long into the night, and consumed no small quantity of omar’s wine. it was all very civilized. how long ago it seems!

chipmunk

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

billy woke up with nothing to do his brain was dead but his heart was true he heard a commotion out in the street at the window his eyes a strange sight did meet a mob was shouting a thousand strong billy made out the words of a song the words made no sense but struck him deep the tears inside him he could not keep the sadness inside him he could not hide he put on his hat and went outside but the streets were deserted and quiet regained papers blew in the wind and it started to rain billy went back inside and his hat off he took he sat down in a chair and picked up a book it had a blue cover and pages of white and the author had taken the trouble to write the tale of his life for all to peruse and was very sincere but the book had no news billy put the book down and stared into space no sign of discontentment appeared on his face he thought of the adventures that he had never had and the tv shows he’d seen some of them not half bad he thought of all the nights and days when he had slept and ate and wished he was a chipmunk wouldn’t that be great?

sylvia stands at the window

by fan taser

sylvia stood at the window, wondering what had become of jeffrey. a dog ran down the street, barking furously at every living creature it encountered, as well as a few inanimate objects. a man holding his straw hat on to his head so that it would not blow away. chased after the dog. the man reminded sylvia in a vague way of horatio, her deceased betrothed, who had perished heroically in the great battle of t——————, of which so much has been written and sung. jeffrey may have his faults, such as perpetual tardiness, sylvia mused, but at least he is not an irredeemable brute like horatio. the man chasing the dog down the street and holding his hat on his head was named peter petrovich muldoon. he was a plausible rascal who was determined to marry an heiress of more than adequate means. the dog was known as hiram, or so he had been christened by peter petrovich, who had rescued him from the streets in a fit of black melancholy, when peter petrovich had been walking the streets of hamburg, waiting for a tap on the shoulder that would return him to his native land where he was wanted for sedition and conspiracy. a dog, thought peter petrovich. the dossiers on me in the various information ministries of the continent - none of them would mention a dog! therefore he resolved to adopt hiram, and though he had some difficulty overcoming the dog’s innately suspicious nature, managed to do so. how long ago it seemed! actually it was only six weeks ago, when he had stood on the dock at copenhagen under a blue sky beribboned with fleecy clouds and looked over the sparkling blue-gray waters and been waved through customs by the ruddy faced golden mustachioed customs officer, who had exclaimed, “what a fine looking beast! “on seeing hiram. so now peter petrovich and hiram had for six weeks enjoyed the pure free air of britain, land without guile, where the “bobby” was your friend and wished you a cheery good morning, instead of an ill-nourished ruffian in a tightly-belted trenchcoat, bent on revenge against what remained of civilization. so if hiram was feeling a bit out of sorts - from boredom perhaps? - and inclined to run a little bit amok, peter petrovich was not enraged but rather sympathetic, and chased him down the green country lane with something resembling a wistful smile. just as peter petrovich and hiram disappeared around the bend in the road, julia walked into the parlor and interrupted sylvia’s revery. “i seem to have lost my scissors,” julia anounced to sylvia, in the peremptory way she could never completely lose. “help me find them, if you please.” is this all there is? thought sylvia, watching men chase dogs down the street while holding their hats on their head, and finding lost pairs of scissors? but aloud she said, “certainly, julia, i am sure they are here somewhere. ”

the relocation

by fred flynn

when dr x returned from his relaxation period, he was stunned to find his humans gone. he summoned nurse y, and asked her what had happened. nurse y exclaimed that doctor z, who had long complained that dr x’s treatment of the humans was improper, had finally succeeded in bringing the board to his opinion. the humans had been taken away two days ago, preparatory to being released into their “natural habitat”. but they do not have a natural habitat, dr x exclaimed. the laboratory, and the center, are the only habitats they have ever known! i know you have discussed this many times with the board, nurse y reminded dr x. but there was nothing i could do. their papers were all in order. of course, nurse, of course, i did not mean to fault you in any way. but dr z - there are no words to describe that two-timing rascal! the humans have only been gone two days, doctor, and i took the occasion to give their quarters a thorough cleaning - in case you succeed in getting them back. that was very good, nurse. i commend you for your farsightedness. nurse y departed, leaving dr x alone with his thoughts. dr x burned with righteous indignation. was his life’s work, all his hopes of fame and advancement and tthe approval of his fellows to vanish in an instant? not that he had not had warning. it had all begun on a cold winter day when dr x had been showing his laboratory and explaining his progress to dr z and a couple of other members of the interdisciplinary committee. the interdisciplinary committee was a body charged with an easy oversight of individual researchers, basically to ensure that the researchers were actually doing something, anything, and not completely slacking off. their visits were regarded as routine, and most researchers looked forward to them as an opportunity to get a free lunch at the interdisciplinary committee’s expense. so dr x had at first been mildly surprised, but not really annoyed, at dr z’s questions. dr x had four humans under his care whom he had been studying for years. two males named genghis khan and johnny carson , and two females named jezebel and margaret thatcher. he had inherited genghis khan and jezebel from his mentor, dr b, and had raised johnny carson and margaret thatcher from the time of their births. i do not think, dr z had begun, that these creatures are being provided with an environment suited to their needs and natures. dr x was taken aback. they are being provided, he replied politely, with their proper environment, insofar as we can determine what that environment was. my predecessor, dr b, and myself have always followed the consensus as to what that is. that is all very well, dr z replied in an acid tone, but your wonderful consensus has come under attack in recent years, as i would have expected you to know. yes, dr x replied, dissenting voices have been raised, but dissenting voices are always being raised, in every discipline. i am confident i am still well within the boundaries of what is accepted in the discipline. dr x pointed to the humsns. look at them yourself, he asked with a confident smile, do they seem at all discontented? the humans could be seen behind the large glass window of the laboratory. genghis khan was devouring an italian sub with fries, jezebel and margaret thatcher were watching masterpiece theater on a thirty inch t v, and johnny carson was taking a nap. they are what they are, dr x continued, creatures who enjoy a curiously varied diet - which does not come cheap. dr t, another one of the visiting committeepersons murmured - dr x ignored the interruption. but who are easily pacified and and amused, with repetitious entertainment, he concluded. but that is the problem, dr z insisted. they should not be pacified and amused, but allowed to assume their true natures as primates, as hunter gatherers in the forests, like their ancestors, but this is all they have ever known, dr x, now becoming a bit annoyed, replied. and more to the point, all that their ancestors, for hundreds of generations, knew. what many, not all, of their ancestors may have known for generations, dr z responded. but that was the problem - that was what caused their near extinction - that they had become so far removed from their true natures. but they are primates, sir, primates! and you are replicating the cause of their near extinction! i think, dr t interrupted smoothly, that this is not the place for such a discussion. we see that dr x is running a tight and clean ship here, and that all the correct protocols are in place. that is all that need concern us here today. if dr z has objections to dr x’s basic approach, i am sure he is aware of the proper channels to pursue those objections. i believe it is time for lunch. that was the first time dr x had been aware of dr z and his agenda. there had been annoyances since then, but dr x had never thought it would come to this. so the humans were to be released into their “natural” forest habitat, to forage for themselves for the water they had been always provided with, and for food - grubs and roots and termites and whatnot - that they had never dreamed of - and maybe some berries that they would have no wheaties for the berries to be put on, and some bananas and mangoes that they would not know how to slice. and in competition with gorillas and chimps and baboons who were stronger than they were, and old hands at the game. and maybe bears and lions and tigers as well! and pythons! his poor babies. he could imagine genghis and jezebel, who were not getting any younger, trying to climb a tree to get at a handful of poison berries, and falling and breaking their necks. and poor margaret thatcher, how would she get through the day without her jelly donuts, and without perry mason and the real housewives of miami, and without her hot chocolate with opium before she went to sleep every night. and johnny carson, with his endless yawns and naps, spending a day looking for a puddle or trickle of water. unfiltered water! hunter gatherers, indeed! dr x wept for his children, and for himself.

the mountain and the monkey

by horace p sternwall

once there was a mountain that never went anywhere a monkey often passed it by and sometimes stopped and stared why do you look at me so rude the mountain would complain though you laugh and point your finger you will never feel my pain i am only a monkey the monkey said with a straight face i see you are a mighty mountain and have put me in my proper place i do not like your attitude and suspect sarcasm in it a tear trickled the mountain’s face an awkward silence lasted a minute very well, the monkey said if you are not satisfied i suggest you crawl under the wide blue sky or otherwise run and hide with that the monkey took his leave and frolicked across the earth the mountain stayed right where he was because he was cursed from birth