The boy child

The boy child

[Some doors only close]

“That’s ridiculous,” the boy child states to his manny. “I swear to you,” the manny promises, arms raised in surrender. “Prove it,” the boy challenges. “I cannot,” the manny shrugs. “Why?” the boy asks. “Cause. Think about it. It’s a door that ONLY closes,” the manny suggests. The boy thinks this over for a bit. “I suppose you’re right,” the boy child decides. “But then how am I ever supposed to find out whether or not you are?” “You will find out someday, but not today,” the manny promises. “Promise?” the boy confirms. “Promise,” the manny reiterates with an offered pinky. The two pinky swear.

 

 

There

There

Garlic, onions, something else and definitely fresh black pepper wafts through the air and hits me square between the eyes. Pastries, butter, bread, garlic butter, char, everything I need to make a simple meal for my stroll along somewhere one ought to perceive as beautiful but that is now no longer defined as such. I scratch that bit of scalp where your hair becomes face at the top of your forehead and worry, in dismay and self-conscious awareness, that I may perhaps someday go bald. Grey is a story all its own, one for which I eagerly await.

Nevertheless, the air feels damp, and my hair smells of the sort that is all nah-tchur-ahl, unadorned, raw. The smell reminds me of myself, oddly enough, but a younger self, a self that rarely went a day without a shower. When the rare occasion would arise wherein I need not shower on a given day, my hair always took on a certain quality all its own after about two days of being left alone. Fondness, a sense of feeling, being alive when I smell the scent. Garlic overwhelms me all over again.

The streets feel hard, lined with concrete, cinder-block, cement. Chairs are stiff, of the upright, iron-wrought, tiny wooden circle, bistro type. Tables barely hold enough items to satisfy one much less any company. Vanilla. I smell it in the air, and then, the taste hits my tongue. Vanilla bean. Following my nose, I stop in for a small scoop of iced cream. Tiny, the wooden spoon feels fragile but sturdy, the first plunge proves the latter. Bursts of cold and soft and the sensation that my mouth will indeed fill completely with the supple sensation of my mouth filling completely with flavor. Cool, warm, home-like vanilla.

 

 

‘There’s a Fungus Among Us’

‘There’s a Fungus Among Us’

 

Etiquette in the Age of Social Media: Admirable Conduct as a Disconnected Human

by Alyas Whilebitz

 

Chapter 2

“There’s a Fungus Among Us”  – Mangus Fries

 

“It’s the intention that drives us. It’s the unintended that defines us.”

– EV Maddox

A person who brags openly admits that she (for the sake of redundantly repeating she/he, each will be interspersed throughout, randomly) feels inadequate when she looks at the world and compares herself to it. A person who is not only confident in who she is but who is also confident in what she does, lacks the need to brag. A person who is awesome, amazing is known by the world as awesome and amazing, thereby removing any need for the awesome, amazing person to then tell the world, in effect bragging, that she is in fact awesome and amazing. Thus, a person who brags, does not feel as though the world thinks him awesome or amazing, which then requires the braggadocio as a statement by the braggart, himself, to the world that he thinks he is awesome and amazing.

This then is the reason why I say here that braggarts are losers. Give them no attention. Do not worry about a braggart’s brag. Do, nevertheless, know what the different types of braggarts are in order to distinguish the various, potential harm a certain braggart in your life is capable of inflicting. Outlined throughout the rest of this chapter are the different Tiers and Levels of harmless to harmful types of braggarts. As we progress through the various Tiers, know that all higher-level Tier behavior includes the already stated lower-level behaviors within the same Tier. (For example: a Boletus Tier, Level III, also exhibits all of the behaviors applied to Boletus Tier, Levels I and II, etc., etc., but a Polypore Tier, Level II, may not necessarily exhibit any of the behaviors of any Boletus Tier Levels, but for the most part, all braggarts exhibit behaviors of multiple Tier and Level combinations, just not necessarily.) Let us begin.

[ Continue reading “There’s A Fungus Among Us” by TK Camas ]

The Monitors: Dei (according to Ladybug)

The Monitors: Dei (according to Ladybug)

“Well,” Ladybug begins, “if I’m being really honest, that’s one really ephed up question, man. Man? You are a man?” … “Okay, great. So, you know what I mean? Right? It’s weird to ask about how someone tastes. Read more

The Monitors: Big Red Barn (according to Ladybug)

The Monitors: Big Red Barn (according to Ladybug)

“Well,” Ladybug begins, “it’s not so much that it looks like a barn than it smells like a barn. Or, I don’t really know. You’re maybe asking the wrong thing here. Right? Look at me. What do I know about telling or explaining it all to someone the likes of you. Why do you want to know anyway, all about that barn? Or, what was it, you called it The Barn? So what’s so fancy about the thing? What is peeking that fancy of yours so intensely, eh? Read more

The Monitors: Dei

The Monitors: Dei

Unlike most Monitors who are born of and raised by former Monitors to potentially become Monitors, thrust into the world at the moment of birth, Dei is a Monitor. Discovered in her early infanthood manipulating light, Dei, of course, found herself catching the attention of Bromides. Not knowing who they are or what they are all about, Dei felt them watching her and fled the world of men before understanding the enormity of her power. Luckily, however, with her powers being so great, by happenstance, she found herself on the Listmaker’s Ranch. Read more