Stories

Mono-Chromatic Contours

Eggs hiss. Mists lifts off the pan. Folds form. Firm and runny meld, blending between contours of protein. Heat gently wakes the inert batter. Bubble brings life. They burst and form like lava reaching in futilely upwards against the force of gravity. Scent washes in waves. Bright morning pulse of breakfast. Tinge of olive oil and gaze place he eggs formation in its evolving state. Thin brittle streaks stick to the pan's edges, lifting but remaining in place.

"You know the world once had color."

My father, thin lips and raised eyebrow, looks up from his worn book. His eyes betray a sense of deep experience and knowing. They smile under the streaming light. Their surrounding wrinkles remind of the omelette's folding pattern....

Strength Training By Sisyphus

Morning softly whispers. Her gentle cool air and dewy mists kiss the early light. Fresh winds blow in across the western plains bringing hints of mown Kentucky bluegrass and animals sweat. Sisyphus slowly wakes, his coarse cotton covers bounding him to the embrace of the mattress below. His head lazily rotates away from the wall. Eyelids shed their shells of death, allowing hidden pupils to dilate in response to the born-again pulse of electrons at dawn....

Gan Eden In Slumber

Ding. Elevator doors open to revela a large, foggy court yard. Instincityvley, the man walks forward. Bare feet sense cold damp cobblestone, a soft hexiginal pattern. Grounding and sophistication. The nakenness of the man's body tickles with warm mists. The man smells the rainforest through his pores. Its enchanting thickness scatters light largley hiding the suroudning forest fgrowht. The forset rests above, hazy contours protec the couyard beneath, like an eagle sheltering its young from uncertain skies.

Language and memory slowly return. Gan Eden. Home. A sense of safetfy slowly returns. Earth. Mission. Details of the man's 26 year deployment return...

Shabbat Table Repitition

The boy sinks into the cloth chair. The soft center, a trap that weakens the back and collapses the torso. The boy feels defeated in posture. Unable to project confidence forward. The boy notices his instinctive futile attempt to regain solid footing. He feels the outer wooden beam against his butt, and his body try and fail to secure balance. The anger towards the chair returns, a heated knotted core of resistence. Frustration enters the psyche like torents of rain against metal slated roofs. Who bought these chairs? What were they thinking? Does no one care? The monsoon rages against the chair and all that it represents. But the chair is just the start.

The conversation pulls the boy's attention towards another dot of agitation. Like a rehearsed drama, conversation follows a script. Each charchter chimes in. Something about the dips. Something about someone annoying someone else. Something about the market. Something about the war in the Middle East. Nothing new is being said. Perhaps the boy wonders there is nothing new to say. And in that the boy realizes that his reaction is all part of the same predictible drum beat. That even his resistence he too is part of the same predictible pattern...

Blood letting

The boy has had enough. His snaking forehead vien throbs with festering futilty. His forehead bruised. Discolored. Shades of orange, red, and deep scarlet. Blues and purples blot raised areas of skull. A rainbow of frustration. At last his fury pours forward. Crimson radiant red falls. Gravity and pulse work together to depressurize his skull. The oil of his mind cries out into the void. It cries and God responds with all knowing silience. His tears of plasma mix with tears of salt, forming a river of battled waters. The droplets lift off skin and find flight. Suspended in oxygen. At last, released from tragedy. They fall to gravity's rythm, beckoned into grave. At last, they make contact. Cold unforgiving soil abosorbs their weight. The soil absolves of all suffering and sin. At last, reunited with earth, the tears find home.

Dreams Of A Boy

The boy dreams. He dreams and sweats and cries and dreams. His lofty dreams often fail to reconcile with the mundane. Their sunshine and melty goodness seem above the corporal realm. Reserved for the Gods. Gated by the divine for a world to come. And yet the boy dreams. He dreams of a girl, her smile so sweet it reflects Godliness in each being - so all knowin and all lovin the angles descend from on high to sing within her grin. He dreams of a girl, her eyes so deep that the ocean finds threat in their blue waters;glimmers of treasure surround their sparkle of light, waves of goodness and beauty and surrow all woven together - a perfect ode to the human condition.

The boys dreams. And one day God will deliver.

The Lonely Throne

God worries too. Sometimes it keeps him up at night. The choir of angles and the northern lights don't ease his troubled soul. God worries about all things. He worries and mourns and laughs and yells and births and killings - each moment a creation and a recreation of being itself. God worries about Godly things and about manly things. He worries about the dogs and the cats, the chicken and the cows. He worries. Only the embrace of connection itself quiets his mind. He wonders in these moment of darkness why he embarked on this project - what was the point of it all.

The point his all knowing all seeing energy reminds - is love. Just like it is not good for man to be alone - God too gets lonley. He too requires communication and affection, tenderness, and care. God doesn't know Mankind's connection of the equal but even a connection fo the divine and the mortal is enough to allow God to feel seen and heard.

Consequently, God worries.

Yellow Tipped Nose Girls

The boy knew he must marry a girl with a yellow tipped nose for his father and his father's father, all the way back into the mists of time did just that very thing.

Finding a yellow tipped nose girl was difficult.

And soon the boy discovered that now only did he need a yellow tipped nose but also a silver wide toothed smile to blind the sun, lashes that could tickle a rabbit, and legs so fast they could outrun a sloth.

And soon the boy realized that many girls also had "needs". A spine so tall it could wrap around their a quarter one million times, hair so thick it could suffucate a newly born piglet, and enough biscuit cookies to feed a village of malnourished Brazilian sabertooth tigers.

And so the yellow tipped nose boys and the yellow tipped nose girls, trapped in a world of yellow tipped noses, could not smell love.