Archive for Poetry

A Creative Writing post, Thank God

I had almost forgotten that this is part of my stated objective of the blog.  These are the last two things I’ve written; tell me what you think, please.  Even if they make you want to puke your guts out.  Be advised that the story is a long one.  That’s why the poem comes first.

A DISTANT, CRASHING SOUND

A distant, crashing sound
is what your heart hears
through the pipeline inside you
when your brain hears my voice
from across Chicago, canned
and processed like bad fruit.
Your heart wonders
what all the fuss is about,
because you just think you’re hurt.
Your heart forgot me in May,
when the days are coated
in a humid foam that I waded through
to get to your window
where my brain made

A distant, crashing sound
that my heart only heard
just last night.
Tissues in the wastebasket,
shouldn’t that prove I care?
But I won’t lie, telling you
that it wasn’t hard to go,
since my brain was walling me off
while my heart was catching up.
Our long car silences
must have clued you in.
Last week especially,
when the CD scratched,
and through the silence,
all we heard was

A distant, crashing sound
and we looked at each other
quickly.
After I pulled over
to let the ambulance by,
you kissed me abruptly
and when all I did
was look at you funny,
we both heard again
a distant, crashing sound.

HOW TO ASSEMBLE A DOOMSDAY DEVICE

Am I just trying to be loved?
That’s the second-to-last thought that runs through the mind of an ideal supervillain just before he (or she, potentially) detonates his doomsday device.  The last thought is, of course, No, I’m doing it because – and insert your own personal motivation there (good examples are: to show them all, to prove that I’m the most evil, to bring everyone down to the same level, to destroy the world, etc., but use your imagination!).
The road to true supervillainy is not for the faint or kind of heart.  It is a series of tough tests of ruthlessness, single-mindedness, and savvy public relations (after all, if no one pays attention to you, what does blowing up the earth really accomplish?).  And, of course, if you’ve really hit it big, it requires the defeat of at least one superhero, possibly even a whole team.  And it takes more than those three to really become a star of the world of supervillainy – unparalleled brilliance needs to come into play, because let’s be honest, if you already had super-strength, you’d be fighting for the other side so you had more excuses to beat up on people without being brought up on charges.
We here at the J. Robert Oppenheimer Evil Genius Fellowship Association appreciate all of this, which is the reason we are the place those of the evildoing persuasion come to us when they need funding for their death rays, teleporters, weather control devices, and what have you.  You and we know that villains don’t have a mythical gold card with which to obtain inexplicably huge amounts of funding for ambitious projects.  It must come from somewhere, and we want it to come from us.

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Remember when you are first assembling your doomsday device that every part is important.  Falling asleep in your lab when you should be welding is no excuse when a bolt pops loose, disablign the rotator mechanism or the cooling unit or what have you.  All that will get you is a timer stopped at 0:03 and a gloved fist to the face.  Supervillainy is a game of inches, like baseball.  Or jai alai.
The second thing to remember about doomsday device assembly is comprehensive setup.  While that may sound like unnecessary business jargon, the explanation is easy enough: if it is easy to remember how you’ve put your doomsday device together, then it is easy to fix problems and it is easy to dismantle if you’ve had a change of heart.  The only thing worse than being thwarted from destroying the world is accidentally destroying the world when you no longer want to.  And remember, the emergency shutoff wires must be a combination of red, blue, green and yellow wires (in keeping with the Oppenheimer Association by-laws).  Which wire is the correct wire is up to you, so use your imagination.  Don’t be afraid to pick the yellow wire – no hero will ever guess the yellow wire, you have our guarantee.
Thirdly, always make sure that your doomsday device has a timer.  A remote detonator, while providing more instant gratification, allows two different contingencies to happen more easily: one, the theft of the detonator.  Unless you plan on keeping this detonator in an invincible safe until the absolute split-second you plan on using it, there is always the chance of theft by a hero that may have super-speed or that may be able to phase through walls.  We here at the Oppenheimer Association know that the supervillain’s problems are varied, and we simply wish to simplify, always simplify.  The second contingency is that of cold feet.  Though we respect a well-thought decision to not destroy the earth, we also believe that most instances of the villain failing to detonate his/her own doomsday device are due to mere garden-variety nervousness or temporary moral pangs.  These should not be tolerated as they are reflective of a level of commitment below the standards of the Oppenheimer Association.
And that brings us to the most important point we will have in this manual, the point that we introduced at the very beginning – you must always know what you are fighting for.  A crisis of motivation has made many a great supervillain come crashing down on himself in the moment of truth.  Because, when you are looking at the soon-to-be-destroyed earth in the rear-view mirror of your private space shuttle powered by ketchup (or mustard, depending on the type of fuel-injection system you use), the only thing that will make you turn back (provided you have disabled the world’s space defenses, but come now, J. Robert Oppenheimer could do that from his grave, rest his soul) is you.  Without commitment, then all of this is moot.  Just ask Iratastrophe (see Appendix for details).
We do regret that this is the end of this instructional paper, but it is our firm belief at the J. Robert Oppenheimer Evil Genius Fellowship Association that each supervillain and/or evil genius should be as creative and self-motivated as possible.  After all, if we showed everyone how to be a supervillain, then how would anyone be different? If you’re still unsure of certain aspects of your prospective life of supervillainy, though, please be on the lookout for other installments in this series of instructional papers, such as “How to Hold Someone Hostage/For Ransom,” “How to Hold Multiple People Hostage/For Ransom,” “How to Introduce Yourself to the International Community,” “How to Reduce a Superhero to a Blubbering Ninny,” and of course, “How to Apply for An Oppenheimer Fellowship.”
Good luck with any of your endeavors, and as Dr. Oppenheimer would say, “You break it, you buy it.”

APPENDIX

World Saved, Iratastrophe Behind Bars After Confrontation With CapyBaron

NEW YORK, NY – After coming within minutes of total destruction, humanity can take a deep breath and go on with its daily life, thanks to the heroics of  the CapyBaron in defeating supervillain Iratastrophe.
The so-called “Long, Rodent-like Tooth of the Law” was able to disable Iratastrophe’s thermonuclear device before it could be sent to the core of the earth via a super-submarine that would have entered through the Puerto Rican trench in the Atlantic Ocean.  The device is reported to have been carrying roughly 300 times the amount of nuclear payload of the “Fat Man” atomic bomb that was detonated over Nagasaki.
“It’s all part of the job,” smiled the CapyBaron as he humbly accepted a cash reward of $100,000 from the President of the United States.  “I’m sure anyone as powerful and righteous as I would have done the same thing in my position.”
Although Iratastrophe was not available for his normal lengthy pre-imprisonment press conference, he was heard to yell, “I never should have listened to you, Claire!” at a woman behind the cadre of reporters and police officers who appeared to be weeping behind a pair of pink sunglasses.
When asked to describe the scene at Iratastrophe’s lab during their final confrontation, the CapyBaron explained: “I had just burst through the door of his inner sactum, where he was arguing with some broad – I beg your pardon, woman – and after sneaking aboard his submarine, I heard both of them begin to cry.  Really, they were just crying like babies.  That bought me enough time to chew through the correct wire with my super rodent teeth and save the world.”
When asked which wire was the correct one, he smiled broadly and laughed, “Blue, always blue.”
Iratastrophe, whose real name is Ira Gould, was escorted from his laboratory, which was located on the top floor of the apartment building in which his mother lived on Pinehurst Avenue in the Upper West Side, by local police appearing to have received a severe beating and showing multiple bite marks, is awaiting trial, but is expected to plead guilty on two counts of nefarious conspiracy and eight counts of attempted genocide in exchange for a life sentence as opposed to capital punishment.
The CapyBaron has requested to inform readers that anyone wishing to make a donation of thanks can send checks or money orders to: Schwartz, Goldstein, Hertz and Schwartz, Esq., 1120 W 46 St, New York, NY 10003.

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First Creative Writing Post!

Two poems this time.

And The Flags At Shea Stadium Say Nothing

The wind is different
in every inch of the air it occupies.
Two leaves on one tree
move differently, each point imperceptibly
two directions arguing,
although they don’t realize the wind speaks
to each in different ways.
A golfer kills a handful of grass to judge
where to smack his ball,
though each will flutter away, independent.
To study these blades
is an exercise in the sociology of inches of wind.

A colored pinwheel
on the lawn of a ranch house in the Midwest
turns in one direction
because each piece of plastic, each dorsal fin
is attached to the next,
like the webbing between a human’s fingers
only more rigid –
moving only forward or backward – angering wind,
which values its own caprice.

Window Hemorrhage


Keeping the lights on inside a train
approaching Grand Central Terminal
creates a disturbing visual effect
as it burrows further underground.
I look out the window, which has become
a mirror of surprising accuracy, reflecting
the words in my notebook as the scribbles
of Da Vinci, making me feel both smart and crazy,
but more importantly, shows me that the lights
of the tunnel around the train are passing
through my body, cutting through my heart
and stomach and liver, causing what I assume
could only be massive, fatal internal bleeding.

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