incongruential.

The consequences of what you do right now, in this moment...
   Do they keep vibrating, like a pond surface shattered by water droplet?

Can we ever escape eating this figurative potato chip right now?
   Or will it all come crashing down onto the figurative scale that is ever increasing...

Me.  I want it; what happens later happens later.  I want it now.
   Come.  You can have it.  I know what happens later.  You know it not.

This isn't me.  What have I become?  Fix me.  I want to be fixed.
   You broke it.  You decided in every instance of your present to break yourself.  Fully.

No, no.  This is a terrible dream.  I need to find a needle.
   You are the dream factory.  Sleeping in your wakefulness, tempted, drawn, conquered.

I'm not this way.  I'm better than this.  We are better than this.  Farce.
   Come.  You can't have it.  You can't have what you need.  Destroy yourself.

... Living in the present is for __________

idylles.

They sat together on the love seat, his hands gently caressing her.

      "I don't usually talk to you, except to scold, but have I told you... you're the most beautiful thing."

You have, on many occasions.  I've never reciprocated.

      "These are the best times."

Yes.

      "You listen to everything I say."

You listen to none of what I try to say.

      

   Silence.  Ears adjusted, and the gentle tick of the clock cracked the sphere of quiet each second.  

Computer hummed along with her.

He stroked her neck with one hand, leaning to kiss her forehead.

   The clock sounded: seven thirty exactly.

      "I'll see you in nine hours."

Mmmmmmmm.

As he opened the front door, a blast of cold wind seeped through and wrapped her fiercely in its embrace, made her open her mouth in surprise.

He looked back

      "Good girl."

She looked up

meow

11/26/2013. dear elsie.

Hello.  Do I know you?

Wrong question, sorry.

      I was going to write... For the time being, just to you.  I don't know.  One of my friends tried to commit suicide the other day.  Life is precious, idn't it?  Wanted to help but, I was more angry than concerned.  Can't people see they only get one.  You only got one.  Too short too.  I'd trade... A lot of things.

      I got six days until a lot of things are over.  Don't quite know what I'll do, though.  Life right now, it's just a cycle.  I waste hours doing absolutely nothing in the right way, then I sit up at five in the afternoon and it's all gone.  Then I start to scramble to finish everything.  It doesn't happen like that when I do things with people, but I suppose that's how everything works.  Peer encouragement pressure sort of idea?  Life is as bland as you make it.
      Do you think it's in human nature to eat other people's food?  Ask God for me, please.  It's... 11:26 on November the 26th.  We could have been here, together, for... stuff, you know.
      So I stopped robbing myself.  It felt alright.  Then it felt a little weird... Can't quite put my finger on it.  Not emotional robbery, no.  But it was sort of... Physical and mental, without being emotional.  Hurt.  But it was on a really shallow level.  Eights are out this week.
      Do you remember, sometimes, when neither of us had the gall to speak to each other and it'd go on for weeks, just because we were afraid of being overly eager?  Sometimes, I wish we could just have doggy mindsets and do doggy things in doggy ways, except be toilet trained.  That works out, doesn't it?  I'd much prefer dog than cat in personality trait.  But you know, we're cat people.

Have fun in heaven, Elsie.

Signed:

Eisle

For:

elsie, 1913 to 1964.

workday.

"Censure me in my leisure, and awake your senses. ... No.  That doesn't sound right.  I can never remember when I need to."

Morgan turned toward me with an incredulous look, an awful smirk etched carefully on his face.  "That is, em, masterful, sir.  I must salute you for, em, managing to copy Shakespeare by misunderstanding and misquoting his work.  Truly, truly."  He struggled to keep his face straight.
      "Really, Morg, I can't do this.  How do I write something... like this... for anything... like this?  Eh?"
"It's a ruddy obituary, Sam.  Don't.  Use.  Shakespeare.  You'll regret it."
      "Mmmmm... mmm.  I can't.  I'--"
"Yes, you're having an existential crisis.  Don't deny it, man.  As Richard the Third said, em, 'chop off his head, man.'"
      "You scrub."
"Ah, us scrubs, the intellectual garbage of the news world.  Love it."
      Out of a sudden urge to act out a movie scene probably found in most modern romantic comedies, I crumpled the paper up, stood up to throw it into the waste basket, and stubbed my toe on Morgan's table leg.  The office buzzed with suppressed laughter.  Morgan smiled in an utterly condescending, charming way.
"At least, sir, I do my job with integrity and surety; I'm a perfect, em, scrub.  You got some work to do though."
     
      "Scrub."
"It's due before lunch break."
      "Oh."

6/29/2013. dear elsie.

      Remember when you were an awful person, Els, and all I could do was try to, well, play along?  But then I realized, I had my bad days too.  I was going to be there for you.  Just a little bit late, as always.  Me, I mean.
      So, the uh, new glasses; I got new glasses.  They're funny.  Sometimes they stay and sometimes they don't and I have to cremate them to make them fit.  That probably wasn't right, but I like that word.  Enough news and reminisce.
      You know what people don't like to talk about that's always there?  Anger.  Festering anger.  Festering.  I like that one too.  I gave my name to the lady at Starbucks today and she looked at me as if to say, "Well, well.  Another one of... those."  Not sure what she meant, but I was, well, angry.  But just a bit.  Not festering.  I wasn't actually angry, ha.  One of those days when you're not sure if some hotshot celebrities aren't Christians, haha.  What defines work?  I worked a whole day.  I played RPG's the whole day.  However, that is my occupation.  Therefore, I worked a whole day.  Logic doesn't apply.

      Oh, honey bunches of oats.  I didn't fold the laundry yet... it's sitting behind me [glumly.]  My mum just walked by and said, [roughly translated, I'd just tell you in Chinese but, you know, I don't want to write pinyin] "Wow, you still haven't folded the laundry?  Duck sauce."  Duck sauce being a substitute for, you know, that.  Mhmm.

      Guess.  What.  I didn't complain about women today.  Your lucky day.  I'm one hot tomato.  But you know, I'm actually planning to in just a little bit.  Have fun in heaven, Elsie.

Signed:

Eisle

For:

elsie, 1913 to 1964.

look.

"Be still with me."

      Soft blades of wind spent past the tunnel entrance, propeller seeds wafted along by them, scattered in front of the hole.  Rinna knelt slowly, her fingers gently embracing the last dandelion, inevitably wilting, alive but waiting, waiting to die.  Clocks began to tick inside her head.  Her mouth formed a small "O" as she turned and saw the frigid, angry storm clouds forming in the distance.

      "Ben.  Ben!"  No response.  It was always like this; too late, and why?  Because

      A dry lump formed in Rinna's throat as she peered into the tunnel, greeted by an unlikely object to her face - a - what was it?  "Boo."  Up, away, out of the tunnel it flew, one single
balloon

      Ben's voice startled her - she'd thought he was still asleep.  Looking up, she caught the double sensation of the mischievous sparkle in his eye and the ceiling of the tunnel knocking against her head at the same time.

      He smiled

   She didn't

      "We need to go, now.  Come on.   And, don't do that again."
             "Do what?"
      "Scare me."

      Ben's hand closed around hers.

"Be still with me."
   "But...!"
"Rinna."

            "I left the casserole in the oven."

6/11/13. dear elsie.

      I don't know much anymore, Els.  I just can't reciprocate the way, you know, I'm expected to.  Or the way I think I'm expected to.  I think I can, but it's more of a matter of actually executing.  Speaking out, yeah?  Wish I was Irish.  You had some Irish blood, didn't you?  But... every time I get, you know, close, I just sort of... stop working.  Working the right way.  It's really annoying.  I think she thinks I hate her, really. Or am sort of ambivalent, is that the word?  I'm not.  I don't hate her.  I really, you know... I really enjoy time with her.  But I... ugh.  This is awful.  This whole thing is awful, putting vocal noises into writing is awful, I've got an awful procrastination tool right now which I really don't need.  It's all awful.  Just, bah.
      Well, anyway, I met a man today, his name I can't recall because I never asked for it, but I loved his hair.  It was awesome.  Indescribably awesome.  How indescribably awesome?  I'm having a hard time describing it.  He was cool.  I have sweaty wrists, what's up with that?  Oh, I got a haircut.

      I can't decide whether to tear my whole work apart or just half-ass it the whole way, or week, now it is. And you know my new justification for using the word ass?  It's not original.  If God can use Balaam's ass, he can use yours too.  Quite enjoyable, mmm?  I don't know, I just... can't figure out where to go with life.  I hate being so young.  It's a bother.  That haircut?  It was avant-garde by my mum's standards.  Not mine.  I wanted to shave the whole thing off.  Silly delusion, suppose.
      Indubitably, I just had start my new paragraph off with a razzle-dazzle word.  You know what I mean?  Can't be using "I" and "And" and all that.  I think I'm finished.  Yah.  I didn't spill anything.

Signed:

Eisle

For:

elsie, 1913 to 1964.

august night.

He laughs, the sound bouncing off the vaulted ceiling of the entryway with booming echos. So loud. Oops. He shuts his mouth firmly and grins apologetically, awkwardly. The girl across the doorway smiles, nervous hands twitching her skirt back and forth.

"Be back by curfew," says her father.

"Be safe," says her mother.

The boy nods and shakes hands with both of them. His palms are clammy and his heart pounds but he tries to be firm and confident. The father winces. Too confident. He lets go quickly and smiles, trying too make it apologetic and not too bright. The father smiles back. Thank God.

The girl opens the door and they walk down the sidwalk, her shoes click clicking, his a muffled thump step, thump step, thump step.

The silence is long and uneasy, both of them grinning like that can make up for the missing words.

"Do you like cotton candy?" "I've never been on a roller coaster." Their words cover each other.

More silence.

"It's all right, you can, go ahead."

"No, you. What about roller coasters?"

Hesitation stretches long as he turns at the light.

"We should go on one."

"Okay."

apollon.

They sat together on the rooftop.

"Days like these are long.  Not much to do, mm?"  The Thin one exhaled softly.  He had a peculiar dimpled face; it was a boyish cute face.  His side-swept bangs ruffled his eyes as the wind caught between the strands.

The Tall one sighed, longer.  Louder.  "You want to go down to the docks?"  His crew-cut fought with the gusts of wind, struggling to stay immobile.  He flexed unintentionally.

Thin adjusted his glasses, leaned back, said, "I'd rather go over to your place."  He blushed.

"Not for my sister, you don't.  We could just go to the station, see where that takes us?"  Tall frowned.

"Alright.  I have... eight dollars.  You're paying."  Thin rose, his knees cracking painfully.  He groaned.  "Must've gained weight."

The Tall one smirked.  "After you just implicitly harassed my sister by turning red after suggesting we go to my house?  Fat chance, baby girl."

"Oh, shut it.  We're both adults, aren't we?"  The wind blew.  "... When was the last time you went to the bathroom?"

"This morning."

sisters.

They hadn’t stayed long in the kitchen when it was time to put things away. Seeing the plates and silverware, Chloe promptly sighed. She felt overwhelmed with the work she still had left to do. Out loud, she hastily asked, “Do you mind if I go upstairs?”

Bethany and Tiffany were obliging. While they too had work to do, they felt no inclination of doing it. Their work could wait, they figured. They stood up, easily stacking the dishes and closing the lids of the jam and peanut butter jars. Glancing at each other, both wondered who would wash the dishes.

“I can wash,” volunteered Tiffany. She wasn’t exactly eager, but like always, if something was expected of her, she would do it willingly.

Seeing the chance of a competition, little sister Bethany quickly picked up the sponge. “Not if I get to it first,” she silently remarked. She began wiping the plates and forks, while Tiffany cleared the dishrack. They had made a happy compromise. Tiffany started singing.

“This is the song that never ends… it goes on and on my friends…”

Bethany joined in, “Some people started singing it not knowing what it was…”

“And they’ll continue singing it forever just because!” Laughing, they both were thankful for the fun times they could have.

surreel.

      It was... I was surrounded.  Great white sharks, circling me slowly, waiting for the first sign of fear, they were.  No more.  No more would I see my dear friends and family.  Shouldn't it be family and friends?  Well.  To our work alive.  What do you think of marching to Philippi presently?  I do not think it good.  Because... I am no narwhal.  I can fight no sharks.  Ooh, they're scary.  Blood.  Don't show fear, and don't bleed.  I have an open cut from last week.  Did I put a bandage on already?  It's on.  I can feel it.  Focus.  Relax.  Roll the shoulders back, roll with the punches, and punch them back.  Yes.  FOR A RED DAW-

"Sir?  Sir."

I started involuntarily.  A gnarly hand rested lightly on my shoulder.  "Yes!  I'm here!  What seems to be the problem?  Eh??"  Don't panic.  Get... ready... they'll pounce any minute.  Oh.  "Oh, I'm sorry!"

"Your audition was to start six minutes ago, sir.  You've been sitting staring at the keys vapidly for quite some time now."

Did he just say vapid?  Me, vapid?  Really.  Couldn't he find a better word, like... facetious.  Or maldovish.  Or thunderbolt-like.  Oh.  Wait.  "Audition?"

"Yes?"

unspoken.

The feeling you get when you write an email and decide not to send it. The feeling you get when you think of a birthday present for someone but never buy it. It’s because of precaution.  ‘Better safe than sorry’ the saying goes. Who knows where our words will land on the other person’s heart?

But I wonder what the world would be like if we always told people what we really thought? A lot more would be ugly. A lot more of hurt would be caused, I’m sure. But for the good things, should restraint be applied there? I hear a tongue shriller than all the music cry, ‘Yes, even there.’  Timing is crucial. So is the motivation behind our actions. Yet I mourn for the lost words of things unspoken. Instead, packed away in the hidden memories of eternity, they reside. 

May the Lord redeem the thoughts of His people.

4/30/13. dear elsie.

      Today, I went out and grew out my hair, Els.  Well, not today, but over a period of time.  If I try really hard, I can cover both my eyes and I look like a mushroom.  I was going to write in May, but I just... felt like writing it now.  I'll write in May too, not like I'm not writing at all.  Right.  How's Ursa?  It's probably nice to have her there, was a bit of a surprise for us when she went up to live with you instead.  Still, at least you have company from down here.  

      Nope, haven't gotten the call back yet.  There's four or five people vying for the spot, so I'm pretty sure I'll get bumped.  I don't mind, I'll just keeping looking for stuff.   Yah?  

      I actually told myself not to tell you to come back.  Must be pretty nice up there, worshiping God all the time and all.  I'm being selfish, yeah... but I think you went a bit too early.  Well, I started again.  Mmmm... I'm trying to decide whether life is worth doing.  Like, for a bunch of years.  But you told me to keep it, so, suppose I will.  Thanks.

      So I took the baseball bat to the computer.  Well, actually just rebuilding it, but uh... you know.  That kind of thing.  I'll let you know later.  Oh.  The firm's doing horrid right now.  Boss is using a totally rubbish business model.  I got acc[here, the text is obscured by some unidentifiable blackish blob.]

Accepted, sorry.  It was blueberry muffin.  You're favorite.

*Your.

Signed:

Eisle

For:

elsie, 1913 to 1964.

shadows.

Shadows are hanging heavy on the things I love.
I'm veiled along with them, but when will it become all right to believe in sunrise?
I live a smiling life of thrill and magic, with luxuries like Brooklyn Bridge and carousels.

But despite my shine, I'm shadowed myself:
broken, heavy, lost.
Doing everything right is too hard.

None of us holds the answers (joy!)
Even the righteous are silenced
We'll keep longing to leave the shadows.

purpose.

Is it to wait, and wait, and wait, until the right flash of inspiration comes along and laser beams fly out of your ears, the most magnificent of works taking shape as you release your final form and write the greatest... thing... man has ever seen?  Or is it to go on, regardless of consequence, regardless of how putrid and awful your work is, until you come across one jewel within the recesses of your head?

This isn't even my final form.

Is it to smile and say, "Not today", brushing it off like you brush off the offending strands of hair off your forehead?  Is it to avoid your cat because he makes your eyes well up with tears out of allergies, and not cuddle times?  Or is it to cuddle?

Can I haz cheezburger?

Or is it to lie defeated, tangled within the cavern that is your fluffy comforter, mocking yourself for producing the greatest of nothings?

I am no man.  Death!  Kill the halflings.  Where is Gandalf?  For I much desire to speak with him.  Frodo Baggins.  I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.  So it begins.  Gandalf Greyhame.  He has fallen, into shadow.  Look unto the east.  He was twitching.

upgrade.

When, in the world we hate

We know why cats will die
We have eaten crumpets
We drown sorrows in rye
And pencil on floor lets
Our mean existence fade

We are fallen astray

Pluto, a planet?  No.
Zygote: baby, not cult
Fifth he was, James Monroe
Until we're shamed, adults.

Then, the bell rings; we're late.

This is why, boys and girls, SCHOOL IS BAD.

Perky.

Perky grasshopper likes leaves and sunlight and flowers. One day, perky grasshopper bounces her way to the meadow beyond the fence.

On a rock beyond the fence sits a grumpy-looking toad, unmoving. Grumpy-looking toad squints at perky grasshopper and then lets out a croak. He then goes back to staring straight in front him.

Perky grasshopper decides that she'll go explore the meadow beyond the fence. She converses with crickets, banters with bluebirds, and mooches around with mushrooms. Then she goes back to talk with toad. He's still looking grumpy. Perky grasshopper pops herself on the rock next to grumpy-looking toad's perch. He blinks.

Perky grasshopper pauses. She doesn't know what to say. Grumpy-looking toad speedily snaps out his tongue to snatch a bug. Perky grasshopper wishes she had a tongue to catch bugs with too, if only to have something to say to grumpy-looking toad.

The sun is going down on the far side of the meadow. Perky grasshopper hops away over the fence, with her back to the sunset.

--

Why do toads look so grumpy,
and why is there nothing to say,
and why must grasshoppers wonder,
are they are too perky or not enough?

unstable.

oh 
i am drawn to you
dancing around you
yes your algae friends, i will join them
sitting on your windowsill
i'll give you things
that you can't give yourself

but but but
so fragile
both of us

It's wrong to justify yourself through your goodness, to call yourself safe and sure because you're selfless. Nope, I am not safe or sure, no matter what I do.

I need some help, maker of ocean and sky. I want a force field to protect me, and of course I am impatient to learn what is wisdom, how to care for the unstable without being swirled in and felled. I don't know who to trust to tell me. I still think my doubt knows more than anyone's knowledge.

I once heard someone say that to hold back from loving, in fear, is actually more risky than to risk.
Still: love isn't as simple as discarding the stability others' love has cloaked me with.


oh, i am drawn to you {and is it righteous or warped?}
dancing around you yes your algae friends, i will join them {hopefully}
sitting on your windowsill i'll give you things {sheathed there by faith unless He moves me}
that you can't give yourself {what only He can}

breaking.

"Shhh! You'll break it."

"Break what?" she asks, laughing again.

"The silence."

Her golden laugh trips over his words. He tries to look stern, but fails, breaking into a huge grin.

"Why'd they let you go?" he asks, catching her in his arms -- never wanting to let her go.

"Let me go? From what?"

"The zoo, you strange creature."

Again, she laughs. There's a mysterious quality in her laughter that makes it both boisterous and soft. It's for this mystery that he allows its shimmery tones to go on breaking the precious silence of the sunset. They take a seat on a park bench -- his arms still around her.

"Oh, you're silly," she tells him, snuggling closer to him on the bench. "No one would pay anything to see me. At least, not the outrageously expensive prices that most zoos charge."

He smiles. What else is there to do when she takes his jest so seriously?

"Ooh, let's go to the zoo. This weekend. Friday morning through Sunday night. Just you and me. The Bronx is close-by and it's always lovely this time of year."

"It's spring, darling. All it does is rain in New York this time of year. How could it be lovely? And it's expensive, dear. You just described the ticket price as 'outrageous.'"

She smiles at him, with that sly little grin.

"Oh, you just want to jump in the puddles of New York... am I right?" he looks at her, wondering how her eyes can sparkle so brilliantly. It must be the setting sun -- sparking a gleam in her eyes, setting her hair on fire, giving fuel to her dreams and love.

"You know me too well," she says, sighing into his arms.

Ahh, but he doesn't. She's such a mystery to him. Always was and always will be. They watch the rest of the sunset in peace, their weekend plans already set. There's nothing to ruin the moment... nothing to break the silence. Until a thought comes to his mind.

"Wait a second, darling. Your second chemo treatment is on Thursday. You won't be able to walk, let alone j--"

"Shhh!" she interrupts him, putting her fingers to his lips. "You'll break it."

"Break what?"

"My dream."

Her laugh, once more, interrupts the silence.

everyone.

"Did you hear about the new patch in LoL?  I heard they made some new skins."  

"Ehhh, what's uh... lol?  Like an Mp3 player?"

"Naw, man, League of Legends.  You're behind."

"Hey, do you have the afternoon free today?  Let's go out."

"Mmmm... I should.  Where?"

"The usual.  You know how it goes."

"Hehehe.  I got you."

"Hey, how did your calc test go?"

"Bombed the quadratics.... But everything else, I think, pretty good."

"You have quadratics in a calc test...?"

"Oh.  Hmhmm.  I gotta go to the bathroom."

"Look at him, he's totally going to go to the staff office and try something crazy."

"I know, right?  What a lark."

      Walk around a less busy area of the hallways so that when I smile at someone, maybe they'll smile back at me, just because they don't know me.  Or because they're not busy talking to their own friends.  The ones they'd talk to first if they had to choose between them or me.

      Wish I could have a circle of friends to talk to.  Seeing the people congregating around that one guy, the one who can make everyone laugh, the one who's better than anyone else.  Thinking of something to say to fit in.  Walking away.

      Sitting at an ice cream parlour with my dad, wishing I were sitting at an ice cream parlour with my girlfriend.  Oh.  I don't have one.  Just wanting to be someone who's not me.  Just wanting to be better.  Just wanting to be nicer.  Just wanting to be less weird.  

      Talking to my friend about girls.  Why do we always talk about girls?  He's talking about how he wants to get a girlfriend.  Why would he want to get one?  Shouldn't he like... bump into one on a busy street corner in Chicago or on the "down" elevator when she's going down and he's trying to run up?  You don't get girls.  You realize. 

      Talking about life late at night with myself.  Wondering if I'm an idiot who counsels himself about how to live life and not procrastinate.  Thinking about God.  Does He care?  If He cares, does He care about the people who spit in His face with poisonous words?  What are poisonous words?  Do I speak those poisonous, blasphemous words?  Sure, yeah, sometimes.  

      

      Yeah, he cares.  Just got to find out how.  And sometimes, it's nicer not to have everyone.  Just someone.  Or just Someone.