news cycle

I read the news today
you did?
oh boy
oh boy, what?
oh boy, you don't wanna know
I doubt you read the news
what do you mean?
watched, scrolled, clicked, listened but not read
those were the days, print journalism
I clicked the news today
doesn't sound right, does it
clickbait
I tell them turn it off
who
anybody
it's too much
tune out, turn off, and drop out
history rewritten
it's all too much
history is the nightmare
from which I am trying to awake
or never wake up
change the channel
click the remote
no more dials
cable news
so-called
dial-up
hit me up
leave me alone
turn it off
cut the cord
unplug
switch the channel
turn it off
recycled rubbish
toxic waste
asbestos we can
cut the cable
endless entropy
blank screen
like The Sopranos
the end
the reaper
go dark
blink
no news today
oh boy
oh girl
oh them
oh us

what's your story

so, how did it end?
how did what end?
how did the story end?
I don't know
what do you mean, you don't know?
the story's not over
what?
like I said, the story's not over
it's still being written
in a manner of speaking, yes
for that matter it's never over
you could say that
for every story
who's writing it?
or editing it
but really stop messing with me
I'm not messing with you
everybody wants to know how it ends
we all want that
closure
finality
clarity
tidy, wrapped up
you know how the story ends but you're not telling me
no, I really don't know, I'm not lying
can't you make something up?
of course I could 
so go ahead
that's phony
why
the story writes itself
here we go again
let it ride
live the question
Rilke
the mystery
wabi-sabi
imperfect
unfinished
not lasting
that?
something like that
more or less
there's your story

mother superior jumped the gun

my dear Mother Superior
yes, my child
my dear Father Superior
go on, my child
I can't seem to keep my vows
which ones, my little one?
well, all of them
oh?
oh
especially my Vow of Silence
dear me
woe is me
we can see that
or is it woe is I?
technically
technically is this breaking the vow?
we haven't gotten that far, digitally
the spirit of the law versus the letter
something to consider
to weigh
to ponder
there's that old joke about the Vow of Silence
which one?
there can't be that many
the one about the person who meets with the Superior once a year
oh, that one
and is asked, how are things going?
right
I remember now
cold food
a year later, stiff bed
the year after that, cold room
right
and then expelled
yes
"all you ever do is complain"
tossed out
that's the one
exited, to the curb
there's the door
knew it!
 

law and order

the meeting will come to order
who called for a meeting?
do we have a quorum?
you all received a copy of the agenda
oh, no we didn't
I didn't get the minutes from last time
me either
me neither
my hand is up here
the meeting will come to order
what meeting?
I was just walking by
me too
me three
what's the topic?
or topics?
does anyone have a gavel?
we'll start with a prayer
the hell we will
there are no banners allowed, sir
it's not a banner
no banners, ma'am
can we please come to order?
I pay my taxes
actually, you don't
that's a fact
everyone here knows that
you don't either
order, please, order
we'll begin with the pledge of allegiance
that's the wrong flag
who says?
will someone read the minutes?
call the sergeant at arms
why?
knock some sense into you
and you
you too
youse
and you
not me
not us
we already have a tank here
we do?
in the back of the auditorium
who could miss it?
that's not a tank
it sure is, it's mine
yours?
sure, a BV202 Mk II
how'd you get it here?
I drove it, who's gonna stop me?
order, can we have some damn fuckin order
watch your fuckin language
your honor
you don't have any honor
you never did
even a tank can't bring order
jeez
it's Swedish, a Volvo
Volvo? they're known for safety
I feel very safe in this tank
where'd you get it?
online, 25 grand, Sweden
does it work?
of course it works
it does?
it does?
it just did
no, it didn't
it sure did
right, it didn't
we still can't bring this meeting to order
can't get it off the ground
off the ground?
bring in airborne
I have friends
amphibious too
lucky you
friends with jets
and choppers
friends who have friends
bring 'em on
neutralize the zone
call 'em in
we'll finally have some order around here
amen
I thought we weren't praying?
amen
 

talking points

we never talk
yes we do
I mean talk talk
we do, what about right now
you call this talking
it's not barking woof woof
that's what I mean
what do you mean
see, it's just a big joke to you
what exactly do you want to talk about
what do you want to talk about
real stuff, honest shit
like what
I don't know
like sex
no
no
secrets
maybe, maybe so
dirty little secrets
little white lies
or any color
how about lists
like what
things you hate
or that scare you
now you're talking
I suppose
what else
things
resentments
fears
acts of shame
Tupperware parties
violent fantasies
sexual
Midwestern
Republican
that tiny voice in the head
to make you laugh
or cry
that too
now you're talking
if you say so
give me my pillow
turn off the light
set the alarm
don't snore
I'll try
how
stop talking
shush

St. Inquisitive

I could have, couldn’t I? I wish I had. Why didn’t I? What was I thinking? (Before you go there, neuroscientists long ago demonstrated no difference between thinking and feeling.) Having gone that far, having done such doings, said such words, I could have hit the brakes, paused, slowed down, or — gasp! — come to a stop, sure, a rolling stop, the kind cops give tickets for, but a stop nevertheless, even if the word and the action were adorned in demurring, qualifying quotation marks, in Helvetica bold ital. Or a complete stop. Stop right there. On the other hand, in the other brain hemisphere, what if I couldn’t have? Given who I was then, the accumulated detritus and virtue coursing through my blood making me who I was in that time and place, who is to say those parameters allowed any choice whatsoever? With that notion percolating, go back, rewind the tape, as in the days of reel-to-reel tape recorders, and record again, record over the first take, what we now call overwrite or reboot in computer parlance, and say, “I couldn’t have, couldn’t I?” And the absurdly laughable Samuel Beckettish logic-and-illogic shotgun marriage of it all says, What’s the difference? Tell me, tell them, tell us the difference between could and couldn’t, between did and didn’t. I fail to fathom, plumb or plunder, any real or imagined difference. You vehemently shout: Of course, it makes a difference, it makes all the difference in the world, your world. Says you. I’m not playing with belly-button lint here. I’m not semantically self-abusing here (to use the lusciously lubricious term the Roman Catholic pre-Confession Examen of Conscience employed in the days of my seminary youth, etymological pun intended. Is there anything more oxymoronic than “self-abuse” as a term applied to self-administered pleasure? Can any two fused words say more about a generation? It is LOVL [laugh out very loud] now but not then, when we needed a St. Portnoy to save us). But I digress, and not because of perfume from a dress, Mr. Prufrock. Or do I digress? This metaphysical monologue, this diction-ated debate, on could vs. couldn’t is no dodge, no escape from responsibility. It’s an honest question twinned in pain and peril: Could I have gone another way? Could I not have gone another way? With or without the “not,” it’s the same question. Alas, after all this, after every self-administered midnight polygraph exam, after infinite Torquemada auto-interrogations on rack and ruin, I am finally brave enough to cry, Tighten the screws, have at it, boiling oil and all, ask it from every angle and in every tone of voice! 

I can’t for the life of me answer Yes or No.

And I blithely shout, It doesn’t matter.

heavy mental

I'm going to give you an address, and say it three times, and a little while later ask you to repeat it back to me.
Okay. I can do that. All righty.
John Smith 42 High Street Bedford.
That's a weird address.
What do you mean?
I mean, it's a name and an address.
That's what I meant.
Then say what you mean.
I just did.
Never mind. On with the exam.
Do you smoke?
No.
Drink?
No.
Are you a Mormon or Seventh Day Adventist or Muslim?
None of the above, but none of your business.
Do you exercise?
Sometimes.
Tell me the address.
The address? Or the name and the address?
You know.
No, I don't, but here goes.
John Smith 42 High Street Bedford.
Excellent!
Says you.
Are you angry?
Be honest, is that one of your listed questions?
None of your business.
Are you angry?
John Smith 42 High Street Bedford.
What about Pocahontas? And is it Bedford Falls, like George Bailey?
I can't say.
Can't or won 't?
I don't know.
John Smith 42 High Street Bedford.
What?
You heard me.
I did. I think I did.
Bedford New York? Like Bedford Hills?
They didn't say.
Who?
The people who . . .
The ones who . . .
The people ones?
The ones who gave us the address.
The name and the address.
Those too.
The toos.
Them.
Us.
Us versus them.