Fire Flight

Fire Flight

The moon as metaphor for the goal —the desired thing— that sits just out of reach, just beyond the grasp of outstretched fingertips, always watching, looming, always seen high in the sky above the mind that seeks, wishes, urgently, to wrap a hand, an arm, the whole body around the fat width of the face that haunts with its shadows of doubt, its illumination of promise. The metaphor that insinuates beauty, hope, longing, the possible. The metaphor that insists on triumph of the will over defiance of the spirit. The reality, the attuned understanding with regards to foundations built upon process over whim. Read more

Three-Top

Three-Top

Glass glasses clink; meat sizzles and steams, hot; ceramic plates slide across stainless steel expediting shelves with a scratching woosh; pans bang and crash into thick black plastic tubs; a knife chops quickly; the low rumble of conversation intermittently overshadows the shouts and commands streaming out of the kitchen when servers and busboys swing the door open wide to either retrieve an order or return dirty dishware. Seated at a table at the end of the bar —nearest the kitchen— the three can experience it all. Butter, garlic, brewed coffee, warm bread, black pepper, tray after tray, full of food and beverage, pass by one after the other in an endless stream. They have yet to see their server. A young Latino boy arrives at their table; without a word, he flips then fills each water glass and promptly walks away. Distracted by the general chaos surrounding the location of their table, none seem too concerned with the menu. Read more

Cliques that Clack

Cliques that Clack

The night was an odd one filled with strangers and friends and friends of friends and strangers with friends. During the cooling months of early fall, the weather lends itself well to the shutting off of air conditioning units in preparation for winter. A fine line exists wherein cooling mechanisms are no longer needed and warming methods are not yet necessary. This late-atmospheric condition makes for the most comfortable, party experience. Read more

Unknown

Unknown

“If I’m being really honest, I don’t really know anything about her,” he responds, resistant at first but then with full vigor. “Very well. There are some things, however, that you can tell us,” the itinerant interrogator suggests. “Yes, sure, of course. I would love to help in any capacity,” he helpfully volunteers. “When did you first meet her?” He slinks back in his chair and feigns a good ponder, “At the gala, sorry, the New Year’s Eve Gala that’s thrown every year by the judge’s family.” “The judge?” “Oh, sorry, the Inter Terrace Judiciary Chief Judge, the Honorable Patrick Constance,” he nods vigorously. “Understood.” “Yes, the judge,” he habitually responds. Silence falls upon them. Read more

If I could live and die and live to die and live again …

If I could live and die and live to die and live again …

Hibernation, she would say if ever given a wish. The fantastic world of the half-life livers, as she puts it, if only to herself. They say, she says, that bears hibernate for months at a time, sleeping, sometimes giving birth to and raising cubs until they’re big and strong enough to emerge with their mothers into the wild. The fantasy of sleeping for months on end tickles the back of her hands as she rustles from slumber at an hour too early in the morning. She rolls over, and the clock reads 0647. Far too early to emerge into the world of the real, she confirms. She knows that no one can really know for sure what those hibernating bears actually do during all of those cold months cooped up in their caves … no … dens. And the ironic thing to her is that bears are covered in enormous amounts of fur that ought to make trotting around during winter somewhat pleasant, if not, ideal. But what does she know? she asks herself. Read more

Garbage

Garbage

I grew up in a tiny town not but a few miles from a fairly famous, mountain resort. Of course, I had little to no idea about the luxuriousness of my upbringing because I was, as it were, a local, and for anyone who knows what it’s like to live where the rich and famous play, being a local means more to the locals who live there than being local means to those who visit. The vast majority of available jobs were/are seasonal and cater to the catering of tourists (e.g., hotels, restaurants, ski/snowboarding instruction, golf caddies). When a person grows up among the illustriousness of luxury, one ends up with a skewed perspective of one’s own privilege and a misguided perception of what normal encompasses. Read more