“My Daddy believed in self-improvement, so he made me swim ten thousand miles. He believed that because we were genetically linked, he owned my strength.
Nurse Amy: Tiffany has escaped. Then she waited for a response.
Then he drove me home in his bright blue Rambler. He was wearing a white button-down sport shirt, black slacks, shiny black shoes, and was humming –
What could I say? I couldn’t reveal to her that I was in love with Tiffany, a serious infraction of Psychology’s ethics and absurd as hell, Tiffany being a chronic schzophrenic.”
The waiting room was a lie. Colorful, soft chairs. Soft lighting not to blind the eyes. White, tiled floor. Small, brown tables decorated with an assortment of magazines. A flat screen against one wall. A small clock on the other. And a warm, welcoming reception guarded by ugly, plastic windows.
“Please, don’t sit next to me. Please, don’t sit next to me. Please, don’t sit next to me,” and the middle-aged woman guided her elderly mother over to the next row of chairs.
It was a large imposing building; however it was not readily seen by just anyone. Walking down the street, it was as if a huge bubble protected it. Only the dedicated lovers of music of different genres could see it and knew what it concealed within its walls. Inside were the usual tables: two tops, four tops, and booths for larger groups. The bar was a magnificent testament to an incredibly gifted carpenter. The bartender looked incredibly like Pete Seeger. The logo on the front of the shirt he wore was a hammer.
It came to pass that the Fire Ants ran out of structures to build with their bodies once the World was razed by atomic fire. Being of such unparalleled wit and alone, they began to experiment with the limits of their bodies, now that survival was forever guaranteed. After adapting to the cold, which they did by burning their cyanide asses in their bellies, they were left to their own devices. They set out to expand across all the lands and thus mobility became the First Principle of their existence, but they could not yet understand this.
Mr. Rogers had sent a memo to Shelly last Friday informing her to report to his office first thing on Monday morning for a meeting. Shelly arrived early in order to have a few minutes to collect herself and get her nerves under control. She was determined to present an outwardly calm and professional demeanor when she met with Mr. Rogers, Department Manager for Ajax Insurance Company.
Shelly had a premonition of what Mr. Rogers was going to say. Since the arrival of Mrs. Ferguson, the newly assigned district division supervisor, the department had been undergoing an in-depth process of agent evaluations and case-load reviews.
“What if he asks?”
“We’ll say it’s so we can be in a cabin instead of having to be in different barracks.”
“Danny, you’re insane. You’re out of your mind, you know that?”
If I knew English better, Tami thought later on, I could try to dig up that song that Danny was singing about how the guy… “held a knife against her breast as into his arms she pressed….” He loves her and she loves him, but for reasons the song doesn’t go into, “she would… not be his bride” so he does her in. It makes no sense what Danny wants me… wants us to do. Danny, “please… don’t murder me. I’m not prepared… for e-ter-ni-tee…”
Danny didn’t want to do his army stint. He wanted to go abroad and study art.
But there he was, stuck on a farm unit, at an out-of-the-way border settlement, where the thought of spending his days picking apples in the orchard and sorting them in the warehouse only got him down. Night duty was just as bad: revving up the jeeps, riding out to the border — except there was no border, just roving patrols from opposite sides of a makeshift line hoping not to run into each other — then sitting there for hours in the dark with nothing to do but slap mosquitoes ‘til it got light enough to call it quits and head back to the settlement.
I watched her as she packed. She was constantly on the move; packing and unpacking was an art to her. Her hands moved swiftly and confidently as she arranged her books in her black simple suitcase; the way they moved was final and absolute.
She was off to somewhere else again – I have forgotten where. She had already moved twice this week.
“When will I see you?” I asked her again.
“Friday night. I’m here for the weekend.”
A gangland adventure utilizing the title of every movie I went to between the years 1999 and 2001, in roughly the order that I saw them.
Mickey Blue Eyes and his gang, the Cockney Crooners, had already eliminated the Fight Club, The Crew and the Wings of Desire, three of the biggest mobs in Brooklyn. If they won their rumble with the Kings of Comedy, they’d rule the borough.
As Mickey was leaving his apartment to stock up on bandanas and brass knuckles, his girlfriend Lola came around the corner. A Cadillac pulled up beside her, and Mickey shouted, “Run Lola Run!”
It was too late. A couple Kings in jester caps jumped out and threw Lola in the trunk.
“Just some insurance to make sure you show tomorrow,” said The Messenger.
The problems you are all creating from misunderstanding the few lessons you’ve learned about Daoism, have become so great that I decided it best to address them collectively, here, on the class blog. As all of your daily comments on the blog have been so completely off base – and, frankly, in some cases, idiotic – I find myself forced to temporarily suspend your comment privileges.