Mohawk On Display

“Hi. I hope you don’t mind my coming over here. It’s just, nobody else is around… Not that I wouldn’t come see you anyway! I just mean, well, you know how it is… You don’t mind, do you?

“It’s odd… I see you all over the place… I mean, not you, obviously, but they’re like you, sort of. If you think about it… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that. I guess I’m just trying to say… hi.

“You’re not going to say anything, are you? That’s okay, I understand. Just let me know if I’m bothering you, okay? Although, I guess you can’t, can you? Don’t you have some way of… I don’t know. This is all very odd. No, not you. This. Us. Whatever this is called.

“I wish I could be like you. No, really. The way you’re just so… here. And real. Always. You know, I once had a dream, only it wasn’t a dream, it was real, sort of. I woke up, and… oh no. What is this? That’s horrible. Who did that to you? No, forget what I was saying, I’m so, so sorry… Does it hurt? Oh god…

“It’s all right to cry, you know. Can you? Maybe not. I’m sorry, I really am, I just don’t know how to do this… You’re so beautiful, and I just want to… oh. I’m touching you, aren’t I. Have I been doing it this whole time? I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I? It’s just, you’re so beautiful…

“But, you’re not always, are you? Sometimes you’re just there. I mean, that’s how some people see it. I try not to. Honest! It’s not really fair, is it? You don’t have any control over how you look. You can’t change that. So why do people judge you on it? It’s not fair! Just because it’s easy for them… I mean us… fuck.

“But I’m not always like that. I swear! I mean, just now, when I saw you, and it was just… I’m afraid I don’t know how to put this… When I saw you, I just felt like I had to kiss you.

“There. I’ve said it now. I want to kiss you. Is that okay? I feel like… like I know you. I know what you feel, sort of. You do have feelings, don’t you? God, what a horrible thing to ask. It’s just… I’ve felt it too. Once. I think. It was that dream… thing. I’ll tell you what happened. I promise.

“I was asleep one night. And in the morning, I woke up. And I couldn’t move. And… I was you. I knew, with utmost certainty, that I was just like you! And I felt… calm. At peace with the universe. Let me tell you, it was wonderful. So wonderful. But it was lonely, too. I’ve tried to tell people, and they don’t understand. They never could. But you, you understand.

“And that’s why I want… need… to kiss you. Can I? God, of course you can’t answer. Damn it! Okay, I need to… just… do it. One kiss, that’s all. I promise. Here we go…

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have supposed you… I mean… I have to go. I’m sorry… I’ll try to come back! I mean, I will come back! Eventually… Goodbye! Fuck.

The tree’s leaves rustled in the sudden breeze.

As some of you may know, I was recently heartbroken when my girlfriend left me.  It hurts, but I’m healing, and part of that process is putting my angst towards something productive, so that I don’t spend all my time wallowing in self-pity.  Although wallowing is fun, and not just because wallow is such an awesome word!  *wallows*

Anyway, getting to the point, I wrote a poem.  But not just any old poem - a love poem.  In haiku. But not just any old love haiku - a bilingual love haiku.  That means that it can be understood in two completely different languages.  And not only that, but one language is used primarily by humans, and the other is used primarily by computers! It’s a bilingual trans-species love poem haiku!

That’s right, all my loyal nerd readers.  I wrote a love poem that is simultaneously in English and Java!  Is it sappy?  Yep.  Is it nerdy?  Hells yep.  And am I proud of it?  To…ta…ly!!!

Okay, first off, here’s the poem:

/*I see you in*/ class
You {double my; //happiness
long as; You are; //'round

static //and quiet
public/*ly I can't show how
Much you mean to me*/

/*My life's been a*/ void
main/*ly a*/( String of[]){ //failures
{}You make; //me hopeful

/*One day in class*/ You
Wear; /*a gorgeous dress and I
Choose to take the dive*/

/*I say I love*/ You
But; You don//'t reciprocate
;//Sheepishly I leave

/*I*/ try {//to move on
System//ize my life and just
/*Throw*/ .out //emotions

//Still my pen won't stop
/*I feel I must*/ .print( /*some lines
Telling*/ of[0] //my thoughts

/*Why*/+" is "+//it the case
/*That we cannot all be*/ "loved");//?
}/*This is love's big*/ catch

/*But then I find a
Truth without*/ (Exception and){}
finally {//I see

/*You may not be loved
By those whom you fancy most
But someone loves you*/}}}

Now, you can read that as it is, but if you know your away around Java, you can save it in a file called You.java and compile it.  It has no dependencies and compiles and runs without any errors.  If you’re lazy, download it here: You (61) Even better, if you pass it your name as a command line parameter, it has a special message to you, from me!

Finally, since I’m super duper nerdy, I made sure that anyone could clean the code into a readable English poem, by removing every instance of the following thirteen characters: /*{;([])}.0+”

Hell, it’s so easy, even a computer could do it!  (Are you noticing a pattern here?  I’m preparing for the arrival of my inevitable bionic fans )

This program cleans up You.java and prints it out nicely for you: You (61)

Aaaaaaaaaaand….I’m done!

Colors were flowing in front of John’s eyes. He lacked the ability to turn, or blink, or even contemplate what he was seeing. He simply drew in air, expelled dust, and observed the light spectacle.

Gradually, the particles of his bedroom began to fall into place. John could see that he was lying on his mattress, with his head propped up at a sharp angle, so he had a direct view of his own torso. His shirt was open, and the skin was stretched tight over his lumpy stomach. The grotesque sight did not offend John in the least. Part of him had always been aware there was something foreign living, growing inside of him, and he was used to it.

Now that the stage was set, it was time to introduce the characters. John was aware of a churning sensation in his stomach, and could hear voices vibrating through his skeleton and into his skull. They echoed at first, but quickly came into focus.

“Yyyyyoouuuyou waaaanteted tututoooo meet us?”

The sound had an unnerving quality to it, as if the speaker’s vocal cords had been surgically removed, and in its place grasshopper legs and metal filings were vibrating.

“Don’t worry. Everyone finds us eventually. You’re late, but at least you’re still alive. It’s…different, otherwise.”

John realized that he knew who was speaking to him.

“Well, who else would be living inside your skin?”

John wondered why.

“It’s quite simple, really. We feed on your experiences, and you feel us in return. We give you dreams and emotions, and you give us the materials to work with.”

John was reminded of something his ex-girlfriend, a new-age hippie, had told him. She said that nobody actually exists, but that our experiences give rise to memory, and our changing memory gives rise to consciousness. He didn’t know exactly what that meant, but recalling it made the bugs in his stomach restless.

“You have nothing to worry about, John. You’ve lived with us up until now, and our presence will have no future impact on your lifestyle. Actually, without us, you couldn’t continue living the way you’re used to.”

John wasn’t sure he understood, so the voice continued.

“What is life, if there is no driving force? We push you to feel, and to act. Pills can only take you so far, sadly. You wouldn’t be here to dream this if we had given up on you a few years ago.”

John knew what the voice was referring to. He had slit his wrists, but in his daze he had managed to dial 911, and woke up in a hospital. He couldn’t remember having picked up the phone, and he still hated himself for that moment of indecision.

“Oh come now, you don’t really mean that. Do you?”

John considered, and knew that he did mean it. Truly.

“Well, we’re sorry you feel that way. But we’re afraid we can’t let you go like that. You see, it wouldn’t befit our existence.

John insisted, but a battle for control against one’s feelings has only ever ended one way.

***

John lived for several more years. No doctor could find a way to wake him, although his brain waves showed that at times he was fully awake and aware of his surroundings.

Occasionally, his eyes leaked. They could afford him that.

Here’s a poem I wrote for Binghamton’s Q Magazine (February is a special “Fetish” edition).  Let me know what you think!

Unique…Just Like Everyone Else

I’ve gone through hell since you left me.
I’d forgotten how lonely life can be.
Sleeping alone is not the same,
And at night I wake myself calling your name.
I thought life was perfect - I guess I was wrong.
But I can’t live without you.  I’m not that strong!
I know you said true love doesn’t exist.
Still, whatever we had is sorely missed.
I’ve tried new girlfriends, therapy, and even weird porn,
But your memory continues to jab like a thorn.
Because worst of all, I thought you should know,
I can’t get off without your sixth toe.

Hello all my wonderful readers.  I know I slacked off on writing last semester, but I hope to fix that!  I’m taking creative writing, and I’ll be posting any interesting stuff I come up with.  If I start to slack off again, feel free to yell at me

For now, here’s something I came up with in class.  It might be continued, or not.  We’ll see.

Tim wakes up an hour later, still feeling a bit groggy.  He contorts into a few different positions, but they’re all equally uncomfortable, and he gives up on making the world disappear.  He opens his eyes.

Yellow wallpaper.  “Whose house is this?” he wonders.  He checks under the covers.  No girl.  He doesn’t feel hung-over either.  Just sort of funky.  Dropping the covers, he surveys the room, but there aren’t many clues as to its, or his, whereabouts.  No dresser.  No pictures.  No windows.  Two doors.

Time slides out of the rough sheets and checks the door on the right.  It’s a closet with a change of clothes and … gauze?  Ten boxes of gauze and as many rolls of medical tape.

Just as he starts to get dressed, a woman pops in through the other door.  Tim freezes, standing half naked in front of her, but the woman seems unsurprised.  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, dearie.  You might start bleeding again.”

“Bleeding?” he wonders.  “From where?

The woman strips Tim again, quickly and clinically, and pushes him back onto the mattress.  “Back to sleep, dearie,” she remarks, as she turns and strides out the door.

Just a bunch of random poems and stories from today’s creative writing class. I’m too tired to give explanations or whatever.

***

I can turn back time
But only in my dreams, so
I wake up crying

***

I start in iambic pentameter,
But it seems I can’t find enough words.
My thoughts are becoming quite brief.
I think this page is too big.
A haiku this is not,
But it’s still too short.
To express my
Feelings quite
Clearly.
Damn.

***

Enough to callous the soul.
It depends. Do you love me?
Large enough to frighten, and small enough to bore.

How many roads must a man walk down?
Do you believe in love at first sight?
How big is the universe?

***

If I could, I would take a tiny piece of skin from everyone I have ever met and graft them onto my body, so whenever I hug myself, I know I’m hugging the world, and the world is hugging me back.

On second thought, a human mosaic might be kinda disturbing. Seriously.

***

Drawing me inside
The spiced, fragrant tea boils.
Chai - drink of the gods

***

Don’t hold love too fast
Or it will retreat in fear
I am living proof

***

Dead moth in my palm
Could I have done it some wrong?
Or did it just die?

***

Mohawk on Display
It’s a strange blog, I’ll admit
But visit it please

***

Doorknobs

A drabble (contains exactly 100 words)

They make life simple, it’s true. Just grasp, twist, and pull. Open sesame! But everyone knows that feeling, that sinking feeling in your stomach, when you grasp, twist, and the knob won’t budge. Locked. Now imagine if every doorknob would disappear. Sure, you’d have to do the funny maneuver where you dig your fingers into the hole and pull, and you might get the occasional splinter. But personally, my heart soars when I’m walking through a building and I see a door with its knob removed. I know that I’m welcome here. I was expected long ago. The door’s open.

***

Before birth, each person is given a new soul, devoid of any bias. During life, the soul grows, develops, and learns about the world. It develops its own views on good and evil. Everyone’s soul will have a different opinion of what is “correct” behavior, but every soul will be able to judge whether it approves of its body’s actions, based on its own definition of “good.”

After death, the soul is separated from the body, and is shown an objective view of its past life in the physical world.

After this event, I’m not sure where the soul goes, if it goes anywhere, but that does not matter.  What matters is that the soul, with its ability to judge morality, will either be pleased with the life it facilitated, or will be disgusted by it, and punish itself for failing to convince the body to abide by its own rules, creating its own personal hell.

In summary, the soul has limited interaction with the body.  It can view the world through the body’s point of view, develop views on morality, and then try to nudge the body to do what it considers “right.”  Whether it does a good enough job convincing the body is what determines whether it is satisfied in the afterlife (heaven) or punishes itself (hell).

A terza rima I cannot write:

The rhyming is far too complex.

It was clearly invented out of spite!

–

Why can’t the structure be more lax?

Didn’t the creator realize rhyme

Is a burden poets carry on their backs?

–

This is a class assignment, and my poem’s running out of time!

Do you have Shakespeare’s number?  Or Robert Frost?

I think I may have to drop them a dime.

–

At this point I know I’m completely lost.

I can’t even figure out how to begin!

And look at the wasted paper it has caused!

–

Wait a minute… I finished!  I win!

At last I an turn my poem in.

I lie here tonight within my grave.

The air around me hangs heavy and silent.

The inside of my house is dark.

Around me not even the worms dare whisper.

Everything down here is dead.

For now I am, at last, alone.

–

Above, my friends stand alone,

Disjointed by my filling grave.

They try in earnest to recall the dead,

But, of course, their minds are silent.

To one another they can’t even whisper:

It seems this night has grown too dark.

–

I lie here tonight within the dark.

My soul, it seems, is quite alone.

To God I cannot even whisper:

His presence does not grace the grave.

Now I know what it means to be silent:

Now I know what it means to be dead.

–

Above, my friends stand like the dead.

(You couldn’t tell, not in the dark.)

Just like my soul, they’re perfectly silent.

(Are all our souls, in fact, alone?)

They cannot sense, above my grave,

Even the slightest, slightest, whisper.

–

I lie here tonight within the whisper,

For that is what it means to be dead:

Locked away within a grave,

Thoughts dampened in the dark,

For once, completely and utterly alone,

All noises fade and become silent.

–

Above, my friends stand completely silent,

Wishing they could utter a whisper,,

Anything to pretend they’re not alone,

Anything to pretend they’re not dead.

But still they stand, in the dark,

Dying right above my grave.

–

They are all dead.

They’ve found the dark.

The world is their grave.

People who sit beside you on a train,

And make you wonder (quite in vain)

Who they are, where they’ve been.

Why they’re here and what they’ve seen,

–

Don’t they take a part of you?

(Yes, I know, it’s sadly true.)

For when they stand and turn to leave,

They take a chance you’ll never retrieve

–

To ask them who, and where, and why,

And what was it that made them sigh,

And do they know they’re making you

Unable to your crossword do?

–

For when they stand (I know, it’s sad)

They take the train of thought you had

And leave you with one wishing that

You’d opened up your yap!