Monday, May 27, 2013

To: Lenny


That day arrived again – the one day out of the year when mysterious gifts, kind looks, and favorable acts gravitated towards Lenny. The one day when people remembered he was a fragmented human being and not the homeless bum of O’Neil Park.
Sometimes he received clothes, sometimes he received food; people hesitated giving him money. They thought he was going to buy drugs or alcohol with it despite him being twenty years sober largely thanks to his military service. Once he was discharged from the service his world collapsed bit by bit. He couldn’t readjust to society’s expectations of normalcy. The simplest decisions, like what type of detergent to buy or when to take the dog out for a walk tested his resolve. Eventually, his wife had her fill and left, taking the dog with her. Lenny was thankful they never had children. He couldn’t screw up their lives any more than he had destroyed his own. When the military built Lenny into a soldier, he didn’t know how to be anything else. He couldn’t turn it off. He never did.

Within a year, Lenny was living in the streets. The military wouldn’t help him. His mental instability had alienated his remaining friends and family members since he refused to seek any assistance. People didn’t think Lenny was the same person anymore but Lenny believed he was the man he was destined to become. He was a soldier and would be to the day he died. This was the day that people were thankful for Lenny being that soldier.

Friday, May 03, 2013

Stupid Circus Rat


I don’t know what I was looking at; the husk that was my good friend Jack was borrowing my couch for a psychedelic escapade. Meanwhile, all intentions for thirty minutes were devoted to teaching a squirrel to do a backflip. There was no validation in living in the suburban area, being responsible, or biding by my morals; but if I could teach this furry bastard to accomplish the unexpected, I’d become immortal.
Training is eliminating options. The knowledge implied minus the knowledge impaired. Remove choices; fuck the corpse of alternatives until this diseased mammal puke has no choice but to throw it’s legs over it’s head.  I could use shock treatment, or motivational pin pricking; fur plucking might – OH! It just did a backflip. Damn rat must’ve been reading my mind.