Memo to Me

Your lack of will
is a willful act.

Incite

More? Wednesday for me now equals eight hours on campus with roughly four hours of class. This started as the opening of ''Endure'' but I figure the two stood better on their own.

Dedicated to Jackie Leseur.

When evening light falls

the loving luminescence

of a glowing heart still guides.

May peace find you as you go,

wheresoever you go.

And as you piece the subtle text

of your life

I ask;

let me be a thread -- to prove tensile and worthy.

Endure

When the leaves of our lives

are riddled by time,

time will tell

in hues of red and yellow,

black and white,

that roots so deep

are nourished by past falls.

Mr. Stranton's Will: Part 3

This story is officially nothing more than a writing exercise, something to work on when I'm at a loss for good ideas. Please take it lightly -- as I do. Also, note the blatant Ferris Bueller rip off at the end. On a different note: school is officially in session which means the blog should also be done with it's ''Summer Vacation.''

In the early morning hours of a cool march twilight a patchwork of black bellied clouds, edged at the seams with moonlight, marched overhead. The denizens of Morgan Illinois, along with many from the farthest ends of the state and beyond, flocked in a bewildered awe to the reading of Mr. Stanton's Will, which was, strangely, looking more and more like an impromptu 4-H fair by the minute.

Under floodlights, rented by local vendors and opportunistic carnies, parents and children of varying ages ate cotton candy, funnel cakes, chicken fingers, and many a deep fried victual otherwise. They hucked balls at charity dunk tanks, tossed rings at bottles for the chance to bring home a goldfish, and catapulted tattered rubber frogs onto twirling lily pads to win – ironically – giant stuffed chickens. They tirelessly worked their way from booth to booth, tent to tent, and tilt-a-whirl, to Ferris wheel, to fun house, to freak exhibit as though it were 7pm on a Saturday.

At the heart of this funfair, stood the object of much curiosity – a ring, much like those used in boxing but bailed in chicken wire. Having overseen the ring's construction atop the cindered remains of a shanty many hours earlier, only Ronald Tomsfield Esq. knew the ring's true purpose.

With mega phone in hand Ron made his way into the ring's center.

''Attention. Attention please.''

Rides screeched to a halt and the bustle cooled to a din as Ron continued on.

''I'd like to thank you all for coming and to start I'd like to apologize for the lack of facilities. Much of this event was unforeseen. Moving on. You all know why we're here so I'll get right to it.''

Ron retrieved a pair of reading glasses from his inside suit pocket and settled them into place over the indent on the bridge of his nose.

''THE LAST WILL AND TESTEMENT OF MARVIN CHRISTIAN STRANTON,'' Ron began from a page handed to him, ''Article One: I, Marvin Christian Stranton, being of sound body and mind, as per the multitude of psych evaluations my pain in the ass lawyer forced me to under go, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament, hereby revoking all other Wills and Codicils heretofore made by my hand. Article Two, Personal Representative: I hereby name, Ronald Tomsfield who is referred to herein as Grif...'' Ron hesitated before he continued, reading the words as though he were in disbelief – during their inception, there was never a thought that these pages would ever need be read aloud. '''...Grifter Mc Dicksauce', in spite of his past failures, to administer my estate or lack there of...''

Ron lowered the page to take an aside. He adjusted his glasses to see over their rims, into the enraptured audience.

''On second thought, instead of reading the whole of this ill advised, profanity littered, libelous, debacle of a legal text, let's just say that among the many pejoratives against myself and others here in, Mr. Stranton makes clear that the sole benefactor of his estate shall be chosen by means of, 'Chicken Bingo.'''

Heads turned. A clamor swelled and was hushed by Ron's immediate continuation, so suddenly that the chatter seemed more a gasp.

''The terms of the will, if not so simply put, are simple. Every one listed in the 62650 zip code's phone book will be eligible''.

Heads turned once more. A murmur of disappointment rose as a portion of the crowd dispersed. Those who remained were as attentive as ever.

Two men entered the ring with a large canvas, which, after be laid out and pulled taunt, fit squarely within the ring.

''This mat features every one of your names.'' Ron went on, shouting to be heard over those whom he was not addressing. ''The names are written in equally portioned sectors of a grid. To put it plainly, the first name the chicken defecates on is designated the beneficiary.''

Ron gathered up all his remaining dignity into a proud posture before adjusting his tie, wishing all the best of luck and making his way out of the ring to be replaced by a lone chicken.

The crowds reaction to the careless looking chicken was minimal at first but as the concept sunk in many began push and shove, jockeying for a ringside positions while others were content to cheer or jeer the chicken from afar

Pandemonium ensued.

People screamed enthusiastically at the chicken, which had begun bawking and flapping about nervously, losing feathers behind it. Even those who had no stake in the game began to shout out in shear jubilation, having taking a renewed interest. Those who had located their name along the edges of the ring fought violently to hold their ground, calling for the chicken as they did so. When the chicken passed near they used straws to blow air into the chicken's cloaca, encouraging it to do its business nearest their name.

All together, at some point or another, over twenty-eight thousand people cheered for that chicken to shit – and not a beer tent in sight.

For two hours this went on until finally the chicken was able to relax enough to lay her fecal gold squarely atop the name, ''Lawrence Gruber.'' Ron entered the ring to confirm this, making a slow gait towards the spot that mark the winner. The hoarse and fatigued crowd's patience was tested as Ron lazily hunched onto the spot with a groan.

After a moment, Ron stood and declared, ''The Beneficiary of Mr. Stranton's $12 million dollar inheritance is a Mr. Lawrence Gruber. That is, once more, Mr. Lawrence Gruber.'' Ron clearly enunciated his words so as to avoid confusion. For a moment: silence. '' Mr. Gruber, Would you please present yourself.''

A pause.

''Gruber... Gruber... Gruber...''

Lawrence Gruber, was home, asleep, as any rational person should be at 5:00am on a weekday.

Better Days

This is just a lil' something I had lying around that I decided to read at the Random Tea Room, Broadset reading. Just putting it out there...

Shingles shaken from roofs are whipped into the street.

an aching store front groans in violent winds.

Beyond the window pane, penny candy.

I used to buy a dollars worth at a time,

at a time when a dollar stretched a lot further.

No neon light buzzed to indicate, OPEN.

On a day like this,

a heavy branch hurled through the window

wouldn't raise much suspicion.

Ingenuous Disingenuousness

I've been lax. For those who read this stuff, I thank you. Even in my most unproductive of stupors, I would just like to say, I still make it a point to stay abreast with the works of others. My hats off to them. You are inspiring, inspired people.

I've been writing some short versed poetry lately. Expect a few of the like before I get back to short stories. Anyway, I hope this makes sense to you.

The day took a turn for the worse;

you remember.

Beyond your expectant glances

and their glaze,

I saw clouds thickening.

Obnubilated intentions and ideas,

served only to proliferate our ingenuous disingenuousness.

Then the rain came.

A storm of subterfuge,

befell an otherwise convincing ruse.

When the cataracts lessened,

a tepid glow returned.

The resulting humidity left an indelible musk.

Fallen limbs were cleared and candles lit,

just in time for the guests to arrive.

Sock it to Me

It's been too long and for that I must apologize. I've no excuses save for having been swept away in summers folly. Well, I have been working a lot too. No, no excuses! It's time to lasso this beast and get back to riding[writing]. So, I may as well put the cherry atop my laziness by posting something I wrote for school before posting anything new. First, a brief back story: My doddering old English teacher failed to put the ''Argument Essay'' assignment in the syllabus, additionally, she never even told our class about it. So, on the would be last day of class we are assigned a surprise essay, which we are to turn in to following week. I decided to match her capriciousness with my own. This was the result...

An argument for socks only being sold in odd increments.

I think the most obvious benefit for selling socks solely in odd increments would be that whenever anyone loses a sock to the darkest, forbidden regions of their dryer, closet, dresser, or to wherever else socks get lost, they will be relieved to know that a replacement has been standing by. No longer will people be subjected to a need to throw away a perfectly good sock simply because its mate goes missing. Furthermore, there will be no need to throw away two socks when one, inexplicably, wears out faster than the other.

I'm certain everyone has been in the position of being forced to root around through their sock drawer for an extended period of time before finding an appropriate match. I know I've hit this time consuming snag many times, causing me to fall behind on my routine. However, having an odd number of the same type of sock would increase the likelihood that one would quickly find a match, thus enabling them to get off to more worthwhile endeavors.

It is important to note that my proposal is also beneficial to the disabled. No longer will those deprived of their lower limbs, for whatever reason, feel ostracized every time they are forced to buy their socks in pairs. They will, finally and unashamedly, be able to purchase a single sock if they so desire to.

Americans have been well documented innovators. They don't call it American ingenuity for nothing. Imagine every house in the United State having one extra sock handy. The possibilities are endless!

With so many extra socks floating around, surely something will become of them. They could be used for a multitude of different things including but not necessarily limited to: polishing the silver, dusting the furniture, waxing the family car, covering a trailer hitch, keeping a hand warm, standing in for holiday stockings, etcetera. An extra sock could come in handy when younger children want to make sock puppets, or for when older boys insist on keeping an extra sock in their nightstand for whatever reason.

Many of those resistant to sock packaging legislation would begrudgingly buy two packs of socks in an attempt to skirt the new system. This is precisely the point! Now, anyone who would have wanted only three pairs of socks will, instead, be forced to buy seven pairs of socks. Moreover, even those who choose not to double up on their usual order will be unavoidably flimflammed into buying an extra sock. This, theoretically, stands to double the income of the sock market! [Pun intended.] In all seriousness, it is a proven fact that increased consumer spending stimulates the economy.

I know one would have to assume that the aforementioned boom in sock sales would only be temporal, as the initial boost in sales would regress to the mean as people stockpiled socks, thus limiting the need to purchase them frequently. I can assure all that this damning situation will not be the case. If we apply Parkinson's law [which states that the demand upon a resource tends to expand to match its supply] to this scenario, we will see that the number of socks being worn, lost or simply worn out increases with the total number of socks owned.

The health of our nations feet and by extension our nations people also stands to be improved by my proposal. It's a proven fact that keeping feet warm and dry keeps people healthy and nothing helps feet stay warm and dry more so than a change of socks sometime during the day. As illustrated above, the public's increased sock supply will be met with an increase in sock usage, which translates into people unknowingly being inclined to change their socks throughout the day.

In summation, having socks sold in odd amounts will help reduce waste, save time, ease the emotional suffering of amputees, propagate ingenuity, stimulate the economy and, improve the quality of life for our nation's people.

If only we could get any of these socks manufactured in America, then we would really be in business.