I once tried to write a short story. It was a three-line dialog about a trip a long time ago that these two dudes went on. It went something like this:

“19 miles to midnight.”
“What?”
“Ok, 18.8.”

The only problem was it was too long. I needed a short story, and fast. Two lines would have been nice, but I couldn’t compact the interaction into such a small dialectal space. Surely I had to reverse my thinking and add a line. So I tried it with four:

“How much further, Jim?”
“19 miles.”
“19 miles to midnight…”
“Well, 18.8 to be exact.”

Unfortunately, it lacked a convincing conclusion. How would the story end? Would the passenger fall silent in satisfaction at the respecified 18.8-mile reply, or would there take place some kind of conflict at that? A discreet critique of Jim’s need to speak accurately perhaps? It certainly needed something — either a resolution or dissolution; at this point it was exceedingly flat. But nothing was coming to me…

At some point about a week later on it struck me to limit myself to three lines, as I had originally intended to do, but to sneak in a whole new character as well. So then I had Jim, the driver, the curious cat (to be known as ‘Frederíco’), and another whom I called ‘the old author’, a retired novelist. It went a little something like this:

“Man, I bet it would take you a month if you were gonna hike it.”, said Frederíco, trying with false appreciation to mask what was really impatience.
Jim gave a flat driver’s-grunt and laid out his ETA: “19 more miles to midnight, folks.”
The old author gazed out at the dim rolling dunes and chimed in to keep everyone aware of the stars that would spin and said: “Look!”

At least now the readers could grin knowing that: even outside of his books can the retired novelist write a new fact. And so, from the muse, it was this story I took.

☯: I used to be a taoist
but couldn’t feel in black and white

✴: I used to be a buddhist
but symbols labeled me at night

☆: I used to be a child
but biology chose me not to rest

♥: I used to be a somebody
but then of just-about-anyone I thought the best

∆: I used to be a liberal
but had great energy to conserve

⚡: Then I saw solar and was green to convert
but knew pollution could not all be environmentally cured

♦: So now I write
because the words are not set tight
before my pen rolls over them
the linear gift of a gem of my choice
the present my thoughts of profound and deep voice

unrecognized labor, it’s like
diplomacy failing to reconcile greedy ego speed
and compassion filled wishing well deeds,
or one too many attempts at subtlety wrapped comically
big in philosophical arrangements, tenacious.
wishing it would all just
coalesce and acquiesce
in other words, gel
jam,
god damn,
it must be done just
work together,
recognize the dissolution of words
brought on by your reading me bland
like you puff away unwanted feathers above,
too lazy to use your hand.
maybe you know it but read on ever blindly, thus,
recognize the fact that i can’t help you all that much
you will mostly have to do it by yourself it seems
but you will do it,
and well, nonetheless,
for you are you, and i am me,
and we are together humanity, said so sardonically,
strained by scarcity propped up with patronizing animosity.
what makes it so hard to snap off the
clingy tendrils of dogma destined to
destroy those of us who look bleak?
let decaying vines crumble earthwise,
back down to base materialism not,
don’t let the wasted possibilities melt
in with our spent passion hot,
that which was meant
to be recovered, remade.
don’t back down to the base materialism we hate.
don’t back down at all.
answer the call – it’s for you…
i don’t want to hear you moan.
climb out of your fuzzy notions of hope of far-too-self-delimiting a scope.
let the curtains rest aside and the sunlight attest
to the fact that
we’re all doomed to
wear our best vest
on the day that we feel the worst,
but it’s no curse,
it’s just the first day we rehearse.
everyday should be this tangibly bitterly incomplete,
but not so much to
deplete that which keeps us up to
hear tales of grand folk
who smiled wide walking down empty wet streets.

Old man time just keeps on running.
You can try to run with him.
You can try to run ahead of him,
but you’ll almost definitely trip.
You may lag behind him,
but he’s got a chain on your leg,
and he’s unstoppable,
so you’re gonna get dragged through the dirt,
and get all bruised up,
and it’ll be a terrible mess.
So pick yourself up.

Start running.
You may find your optimal pace
is actually the same as the old man.
Old men don’t run too fast, after all.
It could be fun — I mean,
you can actually decide where to run.
You just gotta stick with the old guy…

Your intuition is the best direction,
whether it takes you through the forest,
to a friend’s house or yours,
to your enemy’s lair or the moon,
Follow it at a good pace.
It’ll be the best run of your life.