I have noticed unexplainable surges in my stats, and it just doesn’t make sense. For example (as pictured), beginning Jan 31, I have 30, 23, 38, 28, and 21 views. Typical for my site. But then on Feb. 5 views jump to 497 and then today I’m already at 183. How does this happen? And the weird thing is the number of likes just doesn’t jive with the number of visitors. Does anyone else experience this or have any idea why it does this? I would love to have stats like this, but I just don’t feel it’s legit. This has happened several times before.
The rainbow in the sky has anxiety as the planets cry and the moon tips over. His spacesuit is uncomfortable, he thinks, as he floats outside the ship trying to make a repair to a component he doesn’t even understand. He turns his head toward a beautiful blue planet, not Earth, and wonders what it would be like to walk around down there.
“That’s Nebius,” a voice inside his space helmet says.
“How the hell did I even become an astronaut?”
“You faked it. Your life is a hoax.”
“Thanks for the confidence boost, R2-F2.”
“Are you almost finished?”
“Yes. I’m just letting this thing do all the work.”
A small robotic extension is busy making repairs to a golden shield coupling and extension fuse chip cradle lock.
“I hope they realize in Houston that I’m just making things worse up here. I just want to come inside and read a book by a window as space floats by. I’m a dreamer, not a doer.” He taps on his helmet and clears his throat. “Houston?”
“Go ahead Aries 9.”
“I quit.”
It was dawn on the edge between night and day five years later. Wet, buttery grape jelly floats atop an English muffin at a small-town New Mexico diner made of turquoise and tin. The plate is colored used white. It has gray veins. There are bacon and eggs beside the English muffin. A cup of warm coffee near his right hand—the one who was once an astronaut but now someone who travels along the highways and byways of time and space at his own pace. He’s happier now. He makes his own rules. Goes where the stardust takes him. His apartment is white adobe in this place. Second floor with a veranda. It feels like he’s high on devil’s lettuce.
The charms at the door of the diner sparkle in the cold sun. The air smells of desert and leather and cooking. The talk is low, nearly muted. Suspicion flares in random sets of human eyes. Love and wonder bloom in others. Dishes clink in the background. Voices of the workers quickly speaking Spanish float upon the air. A cash register clangs. The door opens, closes. People come and go. Wind intrudes. He looks out the window. Mountains in the far distance are colored purple haze. It all feels like a movie. He gets up to leave…
Then another place in another sector, dimension, dream world. Blue sun beyond black limbs and branches. A walking path. Grass clipped close and the color of winter hibernation. Water, out there, somewhere. Sloshing and icy. Another apartment along the galactic, sporadic, star-studded thoroughfare. These apartments, these stops as he travels through the realms of life and death. He wonders why he keeps dreaming of apartments. Yet they comfort him, somehow. A place to hide and call home. A place to drink too much, a place to sleep and look out a window, a place to sit on the couch and stare at walls, a place to simply exist even if alone. A place to count stars at night as they hover above soft pink and blue lights. The music down below, in the distance. The gathered talk and dance. He somehow wishes but then doesn’t… Fireworks splatter color on the canvas of night. The pops unravel memories. He looks up at the wondrous pitch of the universe, a black yet bejeweled phantom, chariots sparkling, and he knows, the unconventional architecture of his immortal life will always be there, and he will never die.
Icicles like dragon teeth hang from my house. They drip, drip, drip, like blood in the sun. Like crooked piano keys they dangle precariously from the edge of the roof. Wet, cold spikes, remnants of a crippling storm, they let gravity pull down their tears and drop them to the ground. The sun’s orbish glow mingles with the ice to create glistening starlight like space… And I FINALLY watched the last episode of Game of Thrones.
… But let’s take our kid to the park and have a great time. Let’s play in the grass and smile about it. Let’s laugh and be happy that even in death this world buries us in more debt. These people shouldn’t be having a good time; they should be depicted as being crushed with worry. Reality. Yes, dying is expensive, and so is everything else. They keep taking more and more from us. Even dying creates a bill. But wait, there’s a way to cover those expenses… by paying for life insurance. Another bill. Dying is expensive? Living is expensive. Living to die is expensive. I wonder how much a ticket to the afterlife is.
A lemon-yellow sun god sits on a rock on a moon of Saturn. Legs crossed, eyes closed. He manifests the destruction of Earth, the riot planet, the asylum zoo and fever razor swallow ship. All the depressed machines, better known as human beings, swallow pills and cry and wallow in a dark blue sky. Peppercorn puppets put on a play at the burning library. All are slander and wrought-iron hearts. The balloon bitch from night church comes into the store and demands to be blown up. Pissy pubes and contorted face give her away. So clerkie refuses to go out of his way. Act like that… “No helium for you!”
Tick tock on the rocks. Man in high-rise pajamas drinks tequila straight from the bottle. He goes out to the veranda and looks at the glowing skyline. A million Christmas trees and now he sees double because of all that booze. He calls his lawyer in the Hamptons and asks if he can sue someone for acting like a whiny bitch. “I’ll try anything once,” he answers. “Emotional distress, yeah, that’s the ticket.”
Acid gnomes gather beneath the limbs of swirling trees. Shadow people are on an odyssey of the mind. They walk through walls waving signs of revolution, sticks aloft, shouts enhanced by bizarro anti-totalitarian rage. Assassins of lust vibrato drop down from the sky like hidden monkeys, stalk the monarchy in the halls of the infinite palace and its afterlife echoes.
The man’s weird thoughts settle. He gets a notification on his phone. Cigarette Sally won’t be coming to dinner. I need space… is what she texts.
“I need to be in outer space,” the man says to the phone as if she could hear him. He turns to a portrait of a polar bear hanging on the wall above his comfortable couch. “But I guess the drugs and booze have already shot me out of a cannon and now I’m just floating.” He returns to the veranda and looks out at the city once more, awash in multi-colored light. “All those people in all those windows and here I am in solitude and altitude with my sad head and my money and my loneliness.”
He sighs, drains the tequila bottle, throws the empty bottle over the edge. There’s a crash of glass and a yell. “I could have killed someone,” the man suddenly realizes. He pokes his head out over the rail and looks down. No blood. No guts. No reds and blues popping on the slick streets of mirror magic. Nothing tragic. He looks up and sees the dialysis of Heaven pumping in the light pollution, filtering the holy anarchy of Enoch.
The man goes back inside, goes into his closet and stands before the full-length mirror he has there. “My name is Ted for Christ’s sake,” he says to his reflection. “Ted… Stupid.” He studies his lean and miniscule muscular body. “Teddy… ready Teddy,” and he thrusts his hips to mimic sexual intercourse. Then he laughs at himself. “What am I doing?” His phone dings and doinks. Another text from Cigarette Sally… Perhaps I was a bit hasty in my decision about tonight. Still want to get together?
Ted grins. No.
Why not?
You had your chance, and besides, I’m having enough fun by myself.
Are you messed up again?
I’m blitzkrieged.
I don’t think that’s a word.
I have my own language, so, shut up.
Stop being an asshole, Ted.
Stop calling me Ted. I want to go by Teddy from now on.
That’s gay.
You’re gay.
Sometimes I wish I was. Men are pigs.
I’d like to watch.
See! My point exactly.
Whatever, Sally. Think I’m going to drop some acid.
And hang out with those gnomes again? Really, Ted. You need to grow up.
My name is Teddy! And those gnomes are my friends.
I’m done for tonight. Get some rest.
Teddy growled at his phone and threw it against a wall.
Sunrise came and woke him from his restless slumber on the couch. He sat up and things were still swirling. Gaping faces appeared in everyday objects. Colors were brighter than normal. He felt weird. He thought he saw Cigarette Sally sitting in a chair across from him and he could see through her skin to her glowing green bones. He reached for his phone on the coffee table. There was an unread text from Sally: Are you okay?
Zip it. Jiggle the handle. Eat her like a bowl of dog food.
God, Ted. What is wrong with you?
I have lots of personal problems.
You sure do. I must get ready for work. Are you going to work today?
No. I’m never going back there again.
What!?
I just don’t want to anymore.
How will you live?
And therein lies the problem of our society. Why does my survival have to depend on some stupid job?
Oh boy. Here we go again with that socialist crap.
No, Sally. You’re brainwashed and stupid. Capitalism is crap.
I’m not doing this right now, comrade.
I’m breaking up with you, Sally.
What? Why?
Because you’re dumb. You don’t believe in me or my assertions of peace and love.
You’re nothing but a drug-raddled hippie!
With a $100 haircut.
Your hair is stupid.
Your whole body is stupid!
This is juvenile, and I’m not doing it anymore. Let me know when you grow up and are living in the real world.
The real world sucks, and you know it…
Teddy sat at a small table in the breakfast room of the Admiral Hotel in Bergen, Norway. He sipped on coffee and ate a buttery croissant. The day was going to be just fine. He planned on taking a walk around the city, browsing the shops, getting lunch, and then returning to the hotel to work on his novel. He smiled to himself as he looked out the window toward the harbor. He picked up his phone, took a picture, and then texted Sally.
Another wonderful day here. How’s life in the States?
The days are slowly getting longer. The shadows are outrunning the stars. Veils of a stone keep and funeral incense fluster the black birds on the wire in a world left unkempt by savage people. The boy taps on black smudged keys on a keyboard that no longer works. He turns away from his blown-out computer and casts a glance toward the window. The way soft light hits the Earth makes his guts tumble. He’s always been moved by scenes of dusk and the polished versus the unpolished. The radiance versus the radiated. Streams of glowing black moon, the acrobats up there doing drills in preparation for another war. In an empty socket the boy plugs it in—his rechargeable gun. He watches, but nothing happens. He knew that, but somehow, he was still hopeful. But all he wants to do is color in a coloring book from the streets of Santa Fe with paper that smells like real life. The box of crayons sits on a shelf above his desk. It’s covered in dust. He pulls it down, blows, and makes a retracting face as the dust explodes all around him. The boy suddenly realizes he can do whatever he wants. His head is in the window again. The vacant trees are now black against the bruise-blue sky. It’s time to gather the lanterns from their hiding places… And be quiet doing it.
Harry Potter glasses stare back at me. The undefined womb in my dreams has me catapulting thoughts and ideas. Why does my head feel empty when I need it most. It’s those new pills. I think they are draining my soul. I ache to create but the words don’t come easily. There’s a blockage, there’s a wound, there’s the chains of capitalism that keep me frozen. They steal my time and pay me merely a dime and I cannot break the cycle because of MONEY. Just enough to barely make it, and only a week to drown if I were to just walk out like Thomas did. People. He was a lazy complainer.
But then again, I can’t really say much because I once walked out on a job after four hours. It was such bullshit. Working as a night auditor at a hotel. It made me sick to my stomach thinking about having to do it 40 hours a week for an eternity. I couldn’t take it. I didn’t fit. Don’t fit. I left. It was Colorado cold and I even left my winter coat behind. I didn’t want them to see me putting it on. I was crazy then as I am crazy now. I went to the mall, The Citadel it was called. That’s back when malls were all the rage and you could walk around smoking a cigarette. And that’s what I did. All the stupid and rebellious things I did that threw my life course offline. Where would I be now if it weren’t for that, that, that, this and that…
And here I sit. Today. It’s cold outside but the sun is shining. Wife sleeping behind me. Fans whirring. Cat running around outside the door. My fingernails need trimming. My car needs to be cleaned out. I need to do laundry. The house is dusty. The cat needs brushing…
My guts hurt. Emotional hurt and a feeling of unsureness. I work as a produce clerk in the local grocery store. The customers are a pain in the ass. Bitchy, whiny, dirty people walking around in their rebel flag clothes and with fat bellies hanging out. But not everyone. There are some genuinely nice people I encounter, and for them I make an effort. The others can crawl back to their run-down trailers and drink their Bud Light and enjoy their possum for dinner or supper… Whatever you want to call it. And to be oblivious to reality.
Where was I? Wanting to go back to Norway. Wanting to go back to Iceland. I ate better. I slept better. I felt free. And they were two of the most absolutely beautiful places I have ever been to. Roaming the streets of Oslo and Reykjavik was dreamy and different world. Living in this current calamity that is Amorika. It’s sad. It’s debilitating. It’s infuriating. It’s frightening. And I am stuck. Because of money. And time. And circumstances. And the dice of life.
Cookie made and photographed by Aaron Echoes August
The psycho cookie man sat at a table and stared out the window. The noise of the others and the television blaring did not bother him as they usually would. He blocked them out with his new noise-cancelling ear buds he got at the Christmas party. He didn’t know who they had come from so there was no one to thank so he said nothing as usual. He had blended into the yellow calliope wallpaper and disappeared.
The day outside was gray and there was light fog that made the world look mysterious. He studied the manicured grounds and the people walking around out there. Beyond the yard there was the thick forest that buffered the asylum in all directions. Then there was the flat road that led to the gate and to a circular drive where patients would come and go. He remembers the foreboding entry way well. It broke his soul even more when he had arrived.
He looked down at his drab clothing, gray in color and personality. The others mostly ignored him. He was like repellant for some reason. He felt as if he intimidated people. Maybe it was his size, or his tattoos, or the rough face, or the haggard beard. Maybe it was his salty eyes of golden-brown. Or maybe it was the fact that he was deemed crazy by the outside world and was sent there to suffer even more.
Someone brought him a bologna sandwich on a plastic tray. There was also a small carton of milk, a fruit cup, and a cookie wrapped in plastic. He peeled the bread of the sandwich apart and peered inside.
“There’s no ketchup on this. I need ketchup on my bologna sandwiches,” he said, turning his head this way and that way as he followed the movements of the orderly around the half-empty cafeteria.
“Sorry, Karl,” the orderly said. “I’ll be sure to bring you some. But seriously, man, ketchup on a bologna sandwich? Personally, I’d rather eat tree bark.”
“You’re devoid of compassion,” Karl said.
“It’s just ketchup, Karl. Calm your tits.”
He sat on the edge of the bed in a room as drab as his clothes. He looked out the window covered in a cage. How inviting the forest looked, he thought. He didn’t care about the rumors he has heard about the forest. Wild people. Creatures. Traps. A maze. Endless. No escape. Karl looked at his watch and sighed. Time dragged there. Group therapy was coming up. He hated group therapy. His problems were his own, he decided.
“No one else’s business,” he whispered to the walls.
There was a guy who thought he was a cat and when he talked every word was “Meow.” His name was Sylvester.
The therapist leading the group stopped him and said, “How about you do something different today. How about you use real words so we can all understand you?”
“Meow?”
“No. Speak English.”
“Meow, meow?”
“English.”
Sylvester shook his head no and then proceeded to start licking himself.
The therapist sighed and then turned his attention to Karl.
“Karl? Anything you’d like to share today?”
“I want to know about the forest and if everything said about it is true.”
The therapist paused for a moment.
“Well, as far as I know, the forest is just that, a forest. Trees, ground, sky, small animals.”
“I heard it goes on forever,” Karl said.
“No, Karl,” the therapist answered. “It comes to an end and that’s where civilization begins.”
“I would like to go to the civilization.”
“I’m sorry, Karl. That’s just not possible.”
“Then I don’t want to live. Not like this. I feel like a token of a person, not a real person.”
The others in the group nodded their heads in agreement.
“Yes!” the therapist exclaimed. “Now there’s a topic. Why do you feel like tokens and not real people…”
Karl sat in a lawn chair beneath a rare sun. He closed his eyes and listened to the birds of spring. He breathed deeply and caught the scent of flowers in the nearby garden. Something suddenly stirred his mind and his eyes popped open. There at the edge of the forest stood a strange man and he was motioning to Karl to come to him. Karl shot up out of the chair, cocked his head and looked again at the strange man. Yes, yes. He was still there. He was still motioning.
Karl looked around. There were two orderlies out on the grounds, but they were occupied with other patients. He turned to look at the windows of the main building. No one was watching. He took a deep breath, then he took a step forward, and then another step forward. No one noticed so he went even further until he was at the edge of the forest where the strange man had been standing. No one was there. Karl quickly dropped to his knees. He was suddenly hidden. It couldn’t be this easy, he thought. He reached an arm into the forest and there was a mystical energy that made his fingertips tingle. Could it be some kind of invisible electrical fence? he wondered. He went further and the forest took him and soon he was surrounded by a greenish crystalline glow and the scent of natural life.
Karl was in awe as he walked through the woods. It was beautiful and peaceful and void of noise and condensed criminality. There were no screams or crashes of plates or incessant nonsensical talking. He stopped at a small clearing and took a deep breath. He looked up and saw black rosary beads hanging from a branch, silver Jesus dangling at the end. He decided it would be best to remove his asylum clothing and be naked. He stripped and threw the clothes in the brush. He kept on his shoes and socks. The trees laughed. The sky darkened. The rain soon came.
Karl huddled beneath a rock outcropping. He was cold and he shivered. Maybe it was wrong for me to escape, he thought. I’m still suffering. I just want to stop suffering. His mind ached and he began to weep. His tears mingled with the rain. He cowered there beneath the rock, naked, alone and broken.
When Karl awoke there was sunlight filtering down through the treetops. He heard birds. The air was now slightly warmer and when he sat up, he swore he heard traffic on a roadway. He stood up and brushed the mixed groundcover from his naked body. He moved his head in the direction of the sound of cars and began walking that way. It wasn’t long before Karl emerged from the forest and there in front of him was a bustling boulevard. He stood there at the roadside and cars were honking at him over his nakedness. On the other side of the boulevard was a shopping center and there was a Target store, and Karl wanted to go to Target because he wanted to stay on Target in his life from now on. But then again, he was naked and meandering across a busy thoroughfare.
“What are you doing? Put some clothes on,” someone in the parking lot yelled at him.
Karl walked through the doorways of target completely naked. A red suited manager named Rick came up to him immediately.
“Sir. Sir. You can’t come in here like that. You need to turn around and leave.”
“But I need to buy some clothes,” Karl said. “I want some nice, new Target clothes.”
The manager quickly escorted Karl to the men’s room and had him stay in a smelly stall.
“I’ll bring you some clothes. Just stay here, please,” manager Rick said.
Karl pushed a red plastic cart through Target. He was wearing new sweatpants and a T-shirt. The cart was empty because Karl had no money, but he enjoyed just strolling around looking at all the things he couldn’t have. That was his life. Had always been his life. And they dubbed him crazy for it.
A year later, Karl was on a jet plane heading for Oslo, Norway. Hilga, his girlfriend, was sitting beside him. She liked to have a lot of sex. They were going to live there in the capital city. Karl had gotten a job at the Oslo Public Library as an associate administrator. Hilga was a barista at the coffee shop located inside the same library.
Turns out Karl wasn’t crazy at all, but Amorika thought so. Karl is a genius with a high IQ and a penchant for critical thinking. But no one recognized that in a sea of capitalist pigs. Because Karl was simply another brick in the wall, another piece of machinery in the production and purchase cycle. Of course, he couldn’t be “normal” and loud and annoying. It just wasn’t in him and he was deemed different. His soul had been suffocating. That’s why he did the crazy things he did. Society was unfit for him. But none of that mattered anymore. He was leaving that wretched life and country behind. He was finally going to be a real mannequin.
CEREAL AFTER SEX 