The Swing

An abandoned swing
hangs by a frayed rope
from the old, gray tree.

The wind whispers.
The swing sways.

No movement
without movement.

The wind whispers outside my window.
It whispers of cats and dogs and children laughing in the yard.

When I hear the wind,
I’m reminded of your voice.

When you held me tight,
I felt I could be gentle.

Despite their soft facade,
laughing children are the sharpest objects.
To hold one is to risk pain.
To risk pain is to risk hope,
but to hold life
without risking hope
is to risk never having loved
or been loved in return.

The wind whispers.
The swing sways.
Movement begets movement.

The Swing

Greetings you have been gifted $5 MILLION USD From Mr. Bill Gates. Reply me for your claim.

You have been gifted 5 million dollars from a tech entrepreneur.
You feel as though all your dreams will now come true.
You reply him for your claim.
“Hello,” you say. “I am calling to claim you my 5 million dollars.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Bill Gates says in a distinctly Seattleite accent. “My brother died in a car accident last week. He was driving his limousine when it crashed into a tree.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” you offer with a heavy heart.
Bill Gates’ mystery brother dead!
“It cost 5 million dollars USD to pay for his funeral. So now I am in need of your help. Will you help me?”
You sit in your kitchen in quiet awe.
A split watermelon attracts a housefly.
This famous, wealthy stranger needs your assistance.
You ask, “What type of help do you need?”
Mr. Gates replies, “I need 1,000 USD ASAP.”
You respond in disbelief, “Bill Gates! You need 1,000 USD?”
Bill Gates exclaims, “How untrusting you are! I was set to bestow 5 million dollars upon you, yet you question whether or not to gift me 1,000 USD, preferably wired to this Turkish bank account.”
You say, “It’s just that you sounded so desperate.”
Bill Gates laughs.
You laugh.
Gifts and goodwill toward all are awesome.

Greetings you have been gifted $5 MILLION USD From Mr. Bill Gates. Reply me for your claim.

The ABCs

Your life, so far,
has been confined
to a sheet of paper.

Your world is flat.
The edges –
sharply defined.

To most outsiders,
you are nothing
but a jumble of lines.

The paper is stark white.
You, however, are a deep dark, like a pit.
Above you, the sky is black and infinite.

You have waited years
for someone to come along
and decipher you.

One day, a creature stands above you.

They look
as though
they could
have been
born under
a very bad sign.

The thing speaks, “What do you see?”

Is it talking to you?
Or is it talking to itself?
Your flat world ripples
with anticipation
as it lifts you closer.

The creature ponders
over you for hours,



is what you have desired.

You know now you will be known.

The creature looks at you again and again and again…then whispers,

It has passed the test.
You will be known.

The ABCs

The Clouds O’er the Lake of Heavenly Tears

You are too young
to be wandering
through a maze filled
with masked individuals.

Too young
to be stopped
from touching
anyone at all.

The masked ones
only look at you.
They do not speak.
Can they speak at all?

They never even move
their dark eyes
from your worried face.

You feel alone
in this maze,
and the only thought
that keeps repeating
is, “What if
one of these people
were to suddenly
turn around and attack me?
Would it be the end?”

But none
of the masked people
attack you.

They only look at you,

You feel like
they are
judging you.

Are they looking for something?
Are they looking for something bad?

In the distance,
you believe you see
your father, waving.

He calls out to you,
but you cannot hear
what he is saying.

You walk
towards the figure, and,
as you do,
one of the masked people
grabs you by the wrist.

His hand is cold.
The masked man whispers,
“Do not go gentle
into that good night.”

He draws
a blade
and stabs
you in
the gut.

You fall to the ground
in silence,
and the darkness
of eternity
covers you.


You arise again
in the afterlife,
by the Lake
of Heavenly Tears.

Alongside you
are mothers mourning
the premature loss
of innocent children.

It is their tears
that fill the lake.

The sky is red.
There is blood in the lake.

The mothers cry, “We have nothing left to lose.”
The lake responds, “But do you understand now?”

The sky is blue.
There are bones in the lake.

The sky is pink.
There is longing in the lake.

The mothers weep
for all their dead.

A voice calls from the clouds,
“You must choose, angels.
After all,
the only thing
the dead have lost
is their life.”

The Clouds O’er the Lake of Heavenly Tears

A Strange Kindness

I too often fail to think of my adversaries’ machinations.

In fact, I often fail to think of my adversaries at all.

Today, however, I am thinking of the way my adversaries work.

Those who are doing adversarial work and writing adversarial words are only doing what they should be doing.

Those who seek for help with their adversarial work are only doing what they should be doing. Those that offer to help exhibit a strange kindness.

Those who seek for help with their adversarial work are likely acting out of the belief that their work is something with true meaning.

My adversaries should read more about amor fati.

A Strange Kindness