the play's the thing . . .

Play it as it lies. Lays, if you will. Play Layla, the long version, of longing, if you please. The play's the thing wherein we'll catch the conscience of the king. Play the cards you're dealt. A pair of queens. Royal straight. Royal gay. Royal blue. Play it as is. Plebeian. No overplay, excess, much, more, most. Play your hand, not heavy-handed, ham-fisted, handcuffed. No superlatives, nor absolutes. Try the comparative, for wiggle room, for loopholes, for breathing space. Infinitives. Imperatives. Let it go. Let it be. The be-all and end-all. Is what it is. No more, no less. Just this. Just now.

The Weight of Absence

Morning rite, almost liturgical: three slices of Heidelberg Cracked Wheat, toasted, real butter on all three, not too dark, tan; one slice with Bonne Maman Raspberry Preserves. 

On this morning, in the fortnight tidal wake of Good Mother's passing, a succession of holes. Slices hollowed by air, by loss. Heart-shaped, one-half-inch diameter. Upper left, not perfectly duplicated as in an assembly line but discernible sameness just the same. 

With a hole silently skewering the loaf, is it still 24 ounces? 

How much does nothing weigh? 

What is the weight of absence? And at what cost?

Take this bread. Eat. Digest. Begin the day. Lighter than yesterday. And heavier, too. 

the kindness of stranger

Mall food court. Dinnertime, not loud or crowded. A weekday. The 1909 Carousel bearing silent and stilled witness. I ate a quarter chicken breast, mashed potatoes and gravy, and string beans from Boston Market. Root beer. I picked up the tray on my way to dump the unsustainable plate, utensils, and cup into the trash, saving the tray. "Thank you!" she exalted. I thought I misheard. I turned around. "Pardon me?" She worked for the mall. Would you call her a food court janitor? Her gratitude seemed disproportionate. Misplaced. Too excited for the banal and quotidian occasion. "Thank you," she repeated. "You're welcome. Thank you." But a voice inside, not far from the audible surface, murmured: "What's the thank you for? I'm just cleaning my place and dumping the trash. What's the big deal? Am I that much of an outlier? Is it so rare?" I faced her. Her smile was wide, her delight was deep. From all appearances, she was happy to be there, doing what she was doing. Grateful for whatever life was dishing out. It wasn't me. It was everything and everyone. It was her. "You have a blest day." "Thank you. I will. You too." 

Some people.

inattentional blindness

I failed to see the gorilla. Even after I was warned. Did you see your gorilla? I looked again. No gorilla. Gone. Was that a fox? I think I saw a fox, furtive and sly and quick. I was too busy concentrating on the other thing so I missed the gorilla. It's not a bad thing. It happens. Don't judge me for it. Or yourself. I wasn't afraid of the gorilla. Don't go there. I just didn't see it, or him, or her. How was I to know? I was told to concentrate on the other thing, the task assigned, the job at hand. Wouldn't you? The gorilla was harmless, in view for nine seconds. I missed it. Right before my very own two eyes. My glasses are fine, thank you. You say you saw it; you saw the gorilla. Good for you. You think it's some kind of accomplishment? So you saw it. Did you give it a banana? How about the gorilla: did anyone bother to ask whether the gorilla saw me? Or whether the gorilla saw you? Us? Those are fair questions. Don't snigger. Go ask the gorilla. The fox, you say? Where did the fox come from? They said the fox was a surprise to everyone. Nobody expected the fox to saunter by, not even the Gorilla Masters. What's that, I'm making up the bit about the fox? How can you say that, how dare you say that? I saw the fox. For a full second or two. Strolling by like a foxy boulevardier. That fox.

Acute Abysmal Chronic Human Wasting Disease (AACHWD)

Acute Abysmal Chronic Human Wasting Disease (AACHWD) is a progressive yet rarely fatal condition classified as a transmissible modern malady (TMM). Symptoms include obsessive-compulsive repetitive behaviors, such as rapid thumb movements, frequent finger-tapping and swiping, bursts of excitement, aphasia, and neuropathy of fingertips. Other observable phenomena linked to AACHWD include voluble cursing at video or digital-device screens, memory loss, insomnia, and rapid heartbeat. Withdrawal attributes include adrenalin letdown, irritability, sullenness, anxiety, moroseness, lethargy, poor appetite, restlessness, and social withdrawal.

Geographic Distribution and Origins

The geographic extent of AACHWD has changed dramatically since June 29, 2007, the date of the inception of the iPhone. Since 2007, the disease has been found globally in free-ranging humans in loci with either concentrated or sparse concentrations of adult homo sapiens. The disease has been increasingly identified outside of the original endemic areas of the United States and industrialized nations. Earlier manifestations of the disease were seen in 1980, first in Japan, coinciding with introduction and popular use of the video game Pac-Man. Designated “eradication zones” around the areas where it was detected have proved ineffective and fruitless. Scientists doubt whether such aggressive management will succeed in eliminating free-ranging foci of AACHWD.

Transmission to Other Animals 

Concerns have been raised about the possible transmission of the AACHWD agent to domestic animals, such as dogs, cats, parakeets, canaries, fish, salamanders, cattle, and sheep, which may come in contact with infected humans. To date, no such transmissions have been observed or reported.

Diagnosis and Treatment
 

To date, no histopathologic, immunohistochemical, and Western blot testing of brain biopsy and autopsy samples have confirmed a AACHWD diagnosis. Clinicians have relied on anecdotal observations of the aforementioned symptoms, but no accurate measurement protocol, regime, or scale exists, leading some scientists to doubt the existence of a verifiable disease.

 

Recent studies have shown limited treatment success correlated to separation from environmental sources of infection, including exposure to smartphones, tablets, laptops, and gaming devices. Even in clinical trials of treatment, however, some patients continued to exhibit progressive aphasia, memory loss, social withdrawal, vision disturbances, and seizure activity leading to status epilepticus or induced coma.

harboring strange thoughts

What-the-heck. What is that. Who is that. The red Ford van on the embankment on the far side of Harbor Street. A piece of undeveloped urban land, a meadow if unmowed. Mowed, it's a grass field for dogs to run, Frisbees to fly, footballs to be thrown. Green space. Hardly anyone ever there, though. On the street, a few feet down from the embankment, the field higher on the horizon, large enough to play football or soccer on, the building's smokers gather, off the no-smoking-permitted rental property. The same two or three, rain or shine, hot or cold. But a vehicle up there? Never. Just the busily buzzing lawnmower, frantic-fast, sound-blocking earmuffs on the driven driver. Keep walking toward my Nissan Sentra on the far side of Harbor Street. What's up. Some guy on the field past the fence of the utility company's construction-laydown site. Quilted black vest. Blue watchcap. Pacing? Glasses hanging down on stringy holders laced around the neck, the kind schoolmarmish librarians used to wear before they became hip. In his sixties. White guy. Impassive, neither angry nor not. Stoic. Is this it, how it plays out. Halt my progress to the car. What next. An assault rifle? A semi-automatic? Not enough people around to be targets, hardly enough to make headlines these days. My jaw clenches. Where'd he go. Back to his van. My pounding pulse. Emerges with small, circular black object in his hand. A few on the ground. Fuckin land mines? Takes a few paces then like an uncoiled spring he spins and whirls and slings. A dervish who launches a discus in the direction of the train tracks toward the mall on the horizon. What, thirty yards tops. A discus thrower! He bends down, picks up another discus, and does it again. Neither a shrug nor a slump nor a bounce to indicate his level of satisfaction or dissatisfaction. Then he reloads, recoils, and fires off another discus. It sails for a few seconds against the rare, cerulean sky, and lands. Fetches the ones he has tossed. I resume my progress to my car. I slow my pace, hoping for more. Casually he walks to his van, gets some more discuses. No. Takes a drink of water or dries his hands or records distances or completes his application for the Summer Olympics. I turn the key and flick on my left-turn signal. I scrunch the car into drive, feel it buck forward, and lean my foot on the accelerator. Just as I begin to drive away, a tiny black flying saucer floats by in the rearview mirror. 

beyond the beyond

Ultima Thule. Far out. Far-er out. Nameless. Ultimate unknown. Beyond the known known. Planetary Snowman. Past the silence. Beyond the pale. Pale moon. The dark side of the moon. Dark to whom. Lunar loss. Tidal wave. Glad tidings. Inner. Borderless. Outer. Vergeless. Limit less. Beyond the beyond.