Monday, June 27, 2011

Where there's Smoke...

It’s been said that where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

And I’m inclined to believe them.

I’ve been trying to quit, really I have. And I’ve mostly done well.

I’ve gotten down to two or three a week, all told. But I admit, sometimes I can’t resist.

Like now. The smell of gasoline, the warmth of flames in my face, the sound of screaming inside as the owners of the house wake up.

It’s a beautiful moment. Tranquil, perfect. And afterwards I crave a cigarette more than I can resist... maybe they have it backward.

Where there’s fire, I smoke.

Friday, June 24, 2011


“Climb Everest,” the brochure read, “in comfort and style.”

I normally spend my vacation time, rare as it is that I get vacation time, in Vegas, but it was the sort of pitch that caught a persons attention immediately, and I had to admit it drew me right in. I had to know more.

I also had to admit, it did look sort of fun.

My luggage would be taken from me at base camp by staff dressed as Sherpas, and flown to the summit via helicopter that I might have access to it upon my arrival without having to worry about it’s transport myself. I, meanwhile, would travel via enclosed snowmobile, accompanied by a tour guide to show me the sights. Stops would be made every four hours at tastefully appointed rest stops, where there would be restaurants for any “climbers” who were hungry, and photo-ops available so our “historic climb” could be properly chronicled. At these stops, naturally, there would be wifi, since what good is it to climb Everest if you can’t post photos to Facebook in real time?

As you’ve probably already guessed, each rest stop would also have a Starbucks.

The trip would, all told, take twelve hours, and atop the mountain was a fully staffed, five star, luxury resort where I’d be spending four luxurious days. Whether I wished to hike a pre-determined trail, ski the parts of the mountain that had been adapted into slopes, or simply relax in the worlds highest-altitude hot-tub, all my needs would be met atop Everest. The hardest part, a fun-fact box explained in colorful text, was getting the oxygen in and around the hotel to the levels we were used to. But somehow they’d managed, obviously, and the hotel they’d built looked, from the photos I saw at least, gorgeous.

As I said, it wasn’t my usual sort of vacation, not the sort of thing I’d ever have thought to seek out had I not chanced upon the brochure. However, I did have a weeks vacation time saved, the hotel did look amazing, and sometimes you need to open yourself to new experiences.

And I’d always nursed a deep-seated hatred of the very idea of human endeavor and achievement. This seemed the perfect thing!

I’m leaving July 6th. Should be fun!

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

With 90 seconds to go...’s not the best time to realize you’re one building over from your target.

And still on the roof of the building, to boot.

I’d never jumped between rooftops, but the distance seemed doable.

Tough, not impossible.

I ran, leaped, and missed the opposite ledge by inches.

Still thanking God for that fire escape.

Slide down the escape’s ladder, no time for steps, leap to the top of a dumpster, from the dumpster into the alley, and then sprint into the street.

Put another three dollars into the parkour meter, and then away again, back out into the city night.

Saturday, June 18, 2011


It was at a party, on my last day of freedom, that I saw him.

The party wasn’t for me, of course, no parties were for me by that point. None of the people I’d once considered “friend” wanted anything to do with me. But I did donate to the gallery, once upon a time, and for that they’d invited me, and nobody’d ever thought to withdraw the invitation.

After all, who could imagine I’d actually show up? After the freak show my trial had become, it was unthinkable that I’d ever show my face in public again. Yet there I was.

It was my last day, after all, before sentencing. Why not go out for one last huzzah? And the looks on the faces of those vapid socialites was a thousand times worth it.

Nonetheless, I never thought I’d see him.

The governor had been rumored to be in attendance, but he was always rumored. His actual presence was shocking to all. He was, after all, pondering a run for the Presidency in a very public manner, and it had been widely assumed he was too busy for frivolous gallary parties such as this. Everything ground to a halt as he walked by, deep in conversation with two aides, and everyone turned to stare. Even an alien observing the room would know at a glance that a) he was a man of tremendous import, and b) he did not belong here.

I, a man who’d traveled in these circles for years before those unfortunate accusations began to surface, saw it even more quickly.

It took minutes to fully comprehend the simple fact that he was here, but mere seconds to formulate my plan.

Which was good, since it truly was my last chance.

I walked toward, and then past him to the wet bar. He, lost in his hushed conversation, paid me no attention at all. As I passed, I clipped him across his shoulder with my own, knocking us both temporarily off balance.

“Oh, pardon me.” I muttered, sheepishly.

“Of course.” He replied, distracted.

And that’s why I’m back on the streets.

Anyway, this has been fun, but I really have to wrap things up now. After all, I have eleven other jurors to track down after you...

Thursday, June 16, 2011

Conversations: For Father's Day Weekend

Nineteen Seventy-Eight:

“Honey, are babies supposed to turn blue when they sleep?”

“What? Jesus, NO!!!”

“Wait, please, I was just kidding!”

“Kidding? Son of a bitch, you think that’s funny?”

“Kind of...”

Twenty-five years later:

“Hey, tomorrow’s Father’s Day. Got any plans?”

“I dunno. Grieving, I guess.”




“Three weeks ago.”

“Had I known that?”

“I’d mentioned it.”


“Why? Was it you who killed him?”

“Wait, what? No!”

“Dear lord, you did, didn’t you? You killed my father! You evil bastard!”

...both dialogues benefit from having actually happened. Thanks, Dad, for bringing another weirdo into the world.

Thursday, June 9, 2011


I lost my virginity during highschool, to a girl I thought I loved but now understand I barely knew at all.

She also thought she loved me. High schoolers think things, sometimes.

I don’t regret it, exactly, but I admit with hindsight I’d rather it’d been with someone I’d known better, when I was old enough to properly understand what I was getting into...

But I suppose that’s not important now. Point is: My virginity’s gone. I lost it, and however I regret the circumstances, what’s done can’t be undone, and I’ll never get it back.

So... may I have yours?

Tuesday, June 7, 2011


Philosophers have noted that reality’s experiential, and that it’s thereby impossible to divorce “the universe” from our experience thereof.

Most famously it’s been noted that, were we nothing but a brain in a jar, being stimulated by electrical current, we’d perceive existence no differently than we do in day to day life.

It’s thusly suggested that we cannot trust the evidence of our senses. This is the point.

I understand this.

Yet my thoughts return to those brains in jars, convinced they’re people living full lives.

And in my own jar, in this little lab, I can’t help feeling jealous...

Friday, June 3, 2011

After the End

After the end, I continued writing.

Nobody'd ever read it, I understood that. The internet was gone, and i was utterly alone. I'd been the only one to make it to the shelter in time, and I had no idea if there was anyone left alive outside it's foot-thick, lead-lined doors.

Still, creativity has a selfish aspect, and even unread, the simple act of writing relaxed me enormously. So I kept it up, though the subject matter I wrote upon changed...

I was now writing about day jobs, and standup, and friends, and a safe, suburban life.

You know, fantasy...