Predication

Stanley was happy to see Rodrigo had hired the one female who had applied for the position, believing prior to seeing her comfortably ensconced during their daily fifteen minute break at the coffee machine, that the fey head of Human Resources would surely have favored one of the several muscular young men whom, in passing, he had overheard adlibbing off the mark responses to rhetorical questions. “How’s it going?” he asked her, as she stood drinking from one of the institutional foam cups rather than sitting at the table in a plastic chair and using a mug brought from home as so many of his peers were wont to do. “I see you already know your way around the place,” a throwaway remark, meant to impress her with his awareness, and be taken as a compliment, for he, himself, was quite burnt out by insurance brokering. She smiled, and though he wanted to believe it was in agreement, being in the business, he was fully aware that it was one which meant absolutely nothing. After twelve years, and having experienced umpteen turnarounds, he could see she would shortly be supervising him and the nine younger brokers with whom they shared the back office, unless he finally held true to his word and opted out for his long planned retirement to a sunnier clime.

© Michael D. Brown 2013

Originally posted at 6S Social Network

Word

When Sister Philip Neri asked us which saints’ names we wanted to take for Confirmation, I hesitated a bit in calling out Justin when all the other boys had chosen simply John or William or Stephen, but I had found the feast of Saint Justin on my birthday in our Catholic calendar, and it sounded mellifluous following Michael Dennis to my thirteen year old ears. Odd, how later my Lives of the Saints told me I was born on the day Little Bennet was celebrated, and that the great apologist was now to be remembered on June first, a month and a half later. So, a mistake, and another thing--we all thought the visiting bishop was going to smack our faces hard when he accepted us into the Army of Christ. We related tales of older brothers coming away with bruises, and in fact, Billy Monahan wet his pants during the pre-communion, but what a disappointment, after girding ourselves for the big one, when his Excellency merely tapped us on the cheek. Shortly afterward, I fell away from attendance at regular Sunday services perhaps because I had lost some of the fear. In relation to my faith, however, the scariest thing that occurred was years later, on the long lonely subway ride late at night, returning from visiting my mother in Brooklyn, when a born again, plain-faced little blond seated opposite, told me with great conviction, “Jesus saves, you know,” followed by a spiel that lasted forty-five minutes without a Word of lie, and I honestly believed he looked like his name might be Justin.

© Michael D. Brown 2013

Originally posted at 6S Social Network

Loosestrife and Angle Shades

"What a setting," he thought, "so perfect for inspiration, with the cabin, the green woods, the early sunlight lingering until the late hours, the glorious food, and booze, and to be surrounded by so many hard-thinking friends."
Nothing and nobody to interrupt contemplation of a free spirited give and take, except for one, perhaps, whose sentiments, more deeply rooted, often provided a distraction, and brought to the fore a pressing need to make decisions and offer excuses. Sometimes reality is unavoidable.
During the day one might marvel at the abundance of purple and yellow loosestrife lining the path to the beach, while at night the way was overrun by small angle shades, odd to find them in this locale and bothersome to say the least, but probably to be expected, what with global warming and all. The moths were immune to flicking as they quickly returned to settle even on moving targets.
It was kind of like the too-real present intruding on a memory that might have provided an hour's escape.

© Michael D. Brown 2013

Originally posted at 6S Social Network

Pepper Dolls

While some of the writers were having a discussion after dinner, and the most fastidious were taking their plates to the kitchen, the devil within Mud set him to cutting up two tiny strips of paper dolls, five men astride and five women dancing. There had been eleven at the table, but one of the dancers had only come out by half, and so as not to appear lame, she was discarded. Certainly, a fragment of the observing souls of all who remained seated was immediately drawn into one of the figures. For those that were ambient or still on their way, well, they would have to share a doll’s eyes or take turns because these were special cutouts made to keep watch over this space long after the night in question. Attempting to find a spot that might not be cleaned frequently and noticing a thick layer of dust on crystal in the corner cabinets, Mud placed the tiny watchers on a door lintel where he hoped they would remain undisturbed for the foreseeable future. So, if you have the urge to return and observe, or if you just want to peep in on a magical space, fly there one night in a dream, and disregard those beige people watching the television we never turned on or who may be sleeping in our beds, but be careful not to disturb the karma in any way because remember the devil had a hand in this, and he’s an ornery cuss to mess with.

© Michael D. Brown 2013

Originally posted at 6S Social Network

Zero Conditional

I have said it so many times, I think people have gotten tired of hearing it because they think I am procrastinating. I don't consider myself a whiner (did she just call me boring?) by nature, but sometimes the sound of what I've just said lingers round my ears long after it should have died away. I'm gonna be. Fuck that--I AM--hell, yeah! Ten minutes out the door, and feeling I've forgotten something, I return, and knock, but nobody comes to let me back in; Christ, they can't hear me for all the laughter going on, and I can't even hear myself think. I'm not complaining, mind you, just stating the fact: I am.

© Michael D. Brown 2013

Originally posted at 6S Social Network

An Excuse for Dreaming

It is becoming more and more difficult to wake feeling refreshed (and I sleep a great deal these days), though it is not a chore to be awake and doing once the weariness has been waylaid. A bit of the perception with which one invaded others’ lives with asperity has lately dampened, but apart from the physical clacking out of details in which they are deficient, there is still the spiritual affinity, the kinship of lacking-in-tandem, that has only recently faltered in making its way into the script. I have no time, really, for analyzing my defects (though I waste much doing so in some areas), and this is one of the reasons I must carry two sets of keys on separate rings, so as not to find myself fiddling overlong at familiar keyholes. Apparently, too, I had come to believe in my misconception that history began in the middle of the twentieth century when a curtain dropped closing off in obscurity all that went before, as if it were of no consequence, had no bearing on what is being hoisted upon us all under the banner of Current Events, and only lately have heard, through intentional listening, I must admit, the clamoring of voices of those ghostly actors offstage still wallowing in the results of their own misdeeds. My parents, heavenly angels though they may (or may not) be, are no saints, and now, in my knowing, can never be considered such, as I have inherited all their misgivings, all their foibles, and the proclivity to repeat their inappropriate actions. In dreaming, none of this matters a jot because in that realm everything is possible, and forthcoming, and that is why I linger within its boundaries, for, seen from that side, there are no frontiers at all.

© Michael D. Brown 2013

Originally posted at 6S Social Network

The Great Escape Looks Feasible.

I am rifling through notes and false starts and contemplating extending stuff already considered finished. I am in pursuit of the last thing I did correctly, attempting to wring a little more solace from the successful completion of a job well done because even though it’s already provided a return on my investment, I am lately feeling that the the next last “i” dotting and “t” crossing won’t provide the same rush that one did. All my recent plans have had to be adapted in a way with which I am not comfortable leading to the throwing up of hands in a gesture of surrender I am unwilling to concede. I am acting like a diva as if my petty concerns were those of many, but am not hearing more than vocal dissatisfaction from any of my mates as they scurry and make enormous changes to be witness to the latest in a long line of paradigm shifts rather than relax at a beach or enjoy the gossip at a cousin’s wedding or just spend the days shopping. I have an opus to write without a fraction of an idea forthcoming. This fence-sitting is depressing the hell out of me, and I don’t give a good goddamn for paradigms shifting or remaining static since I cannot find an affordable escape ticket, but then...

© Michael D. Brown 2013

Originally posted at 6S Social Network