17 June, 2012

THE G.O.D. Project



It was something that should not be.

But there it was, the fleshy creature breathed and pulsed with life before him on the lab table. The smell of vinegar, stale coffee and cigarettes hung in the air. But now there was a hint of something else.

Something … organic.

“I've created life,” the scientist whispered to himself, barely believing it.

Brushing aside cookie wrappers and taking a sip of coffee, the young man jerked opened up his notebook and nervously jotted down his formulas- which up to this point had failed.

“There, there, “ he whispered to his creation, although he wasn't sure why. “Be still,” he said quietly.

It squirmed and cried much like he had heard babies are wont to do.

He looked back at family pictures on the wall, half imagining, half daydreaming.

“She had always wanted a girl,”the man said wistfully as he looked at the picture of his late wife. He smiled faintly and then nervously returned the girl to her crib, his pen to his notebook.

“Her name is Amélie,” the scientist wrote in the notebook, then set the girl back into the crib and closed the cold steel door before stepping outside.

He lit his cigarette and took a breath, breathing out the sharp smoke. He sighed, staring out at the city, wondering what he was going to do.

“They're going to want to run all manner of tests on her. Control her,” he whispered to himself.

The scientist returns inside after a few minutes and grabs a cup of coffee on the way to the lab. As he heads to where Amélie is, his jacket begins to vibrate. He doesn't want to answer his phone, but knows he must.

“Hello, Andre,” the Scientist says.

“Hello, I understand you've made some progress. When were you going to call us, Max?”, Andre asks on the video screen.

Max smiles, trying to think quickly. “She's not a real person,” he says. “Don't worry about it.”

“All the more reason you shouldn't have any concerns over our monitoring of the project, “ the man on the other side said.

Max smiled nervously.

“You've made a very big step, haven't you?” Andre said

“Creating life is no different than creating any other thing. I've just taken the next logical step that previous scientists had not,”Max said.

“You've become a God,” Andre said, not able to suppress a smile.

Max simply nodded, trying to remain polite and unassuming.

“We are in the Northern Lands, the Presidents are working out our foreign relations,” Andre said.

“So it will be a while until you can come?” Max said. “First day next week,” Andre said, “I'll set it up with the President and the Commanders. In the meantime, I'll send something good your way. You need to celebrate your achievement. We live in a great Empire.”

“That's not necessary,”Max said, “I have sufficient food and a good lab.”

“Nonsense, Have fun! Be thankful! Get drunk! Go party! Go fuck somebody for once!“ Andre replied with a laugh and hung up.

Not two minutes later a loud whirring noise flew over the lab and Max found a plastic envelope under the door. Inside was an electronic transfer notice for ten million dollars.

He was impressed, but he was distracted by the little girl in the crib. He looked at her bright blue eyes that looked so much like hers. Then he picked her up.

He could take the ten million dollars and run away. They would find another scientist and he had done his work. He could live in Panama and smoke weed and drink rum and coke.

But he knew he could never do it with her. With Amelie. And looking into her blue eyes, he knew that wasn't an option.

He sat, holding the baby's hand as she cried, wishing his wife were there to help him out. He knew all the proper ways to hold a baby, all the proper ways to reinforce and communicate. He knew that this child was nothing more than a combination of stem cells, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen and some other trace minerals. He knew exactly how she came to be. But he was scared to death of her at the same time.

He hooked the baby up to some machines to check her vitals. Her heartbeat was very strong. Her blood tested very healthy. He smiled down at her and gave her a premixed synthetic milk formula- the best he could do at the time being.

Then he closed the door and walked outside to stare at the night city sky, filled with neon lights, helicopters and a million strange scents. He held a syringe in his hand, filled with a strong sedative.

From outside he could still hear her crying. He didn't know what to do.

He could already tell Amélie was going to be a feisty one, the way she stared so intently and he was thinking about what would happen when Andre came by and tried to take her away.

“They would probably give her something much stronger, “ Max told himself. But as he looked down at his hand, he knew it was a bad idea and so he stood outside, smoking cigarette after cigarette as the sounds of sirens and young kids having fun on a Saturday night filled the city air.

Then he came back inside and held her until she fell asleep.

14 June, 2012

It's not me, it's You

It's not me, it's You

Tuesday is “Meeting Day”. I'm still unemployed, and every morning, I sift through e-mails and phone calls about potential job prospects that haven't amounted to spit. After waking up, stiff from eating the wrong foods and staying up late, I pour my cereal and drink my cowboy coffee, half asleep, half waiting while still hoping for a different life to come in through my door than the one I wound up with, the one everything I'm doing is leading me further into.

At 8 in the morning my neighbor bangs on my door. She drank too much and needs some aspirin. I smile, obligingly and go to retrieve the pills for her, enduring her narcissistic rants and vague complaints about the system and her life in general.

Like everyone else that lives here, I know “the system” sucks, but the last thing I want to do is talk about it endlessly while watching TV, drinking beer and eating shit. She invites me to watch TV with her, I lie and tell her I'm too busy.

I tell myself to be patient, but she isn't getting the feeling that I want her to leave. I concoct a job interview and tell her I'm not interested in dating- “it's not you, it's me”. The fourth time I've told her this.

I throw my dishes into the dishwasher without washing them and look over my calendar. It's blank except for a few words that were printed there. It's one of those annoying inspirational calendars.

It reads: “I wish you a difficult life. An easy life brings no satisfaction.”

Half of me wants to believe this, knowing that the best things I've ever had in life were hard won, but half of me doesn't know what I'm fighting for anymore. Half of me just wants to stick an ice pick in the face of the fucker who made this calendar. But then again, I'm too fucking tired to care.

After running and going to the support group that I've been going to for the last eight months, it's back to looking for work. Craigslist. Indeed. Monster. The Wanted Ads. The Employment Boards. Cold Calling. I do it all. It's just there hasn't been too much luck lately and so I sit in Starbucks and wait, interrupted only by intermittent diarrhea.

Some days, when the sun shines just right and after I've drunk too much coffee and depleted my cache of job prospects, I take some time to write. I reminisce about the time a long time ago when I used to dream that one day, everything would make sense. But after I can't count how many rejection letters, I know it won't amount to spit. I'm chasing a dream that doesn't exist anymore and yet life keeps going on.

I leave Starbucks in mid thought. On the long walk home, I smoke a j. I'm feeling relaxed and not worrying too much when I spot my old friend Brian who has taken my ambivalence a step further and now sleeps in his van, permanently.

I share the last few puffs of my j with him. We sit and laugh about what life has brought us, saddened by the seemingly inevitable decay of society into a shitty dictatorship, replete with pollution and bad TV.

I tell him drinking is bad for his health. He laughs hysterically. I can't help but laugh, too. I buy him a beer and walk the rest of the way home.

Arriving back in my apartment, I scan the calendar. It's only February. There are ten more months to this year. Most likely forty or more years to my life unless I commit suicide.

There's a light flashing on my answering machine. I listen to the message. It's a garden store calling in for an interview. Not my first choice, but I'm not as excited as I know I should be.

I sigh in self pity and look at my board of pictures. Family. Friends. Dreams. Things that should matter. I tell myself: One day at a time and laugh at the hilarity of saying an “A.A.” slogan while high.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

09 June, 2012

June is LGBT pride and awareness month

Just a reminder. =)
Love your fellow humans no matter their sexual and gender orientation.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stonewall_riots

05 June, 2012

. . .

This hole I am in now
is like so many others
that others have made.
This hole I dug from the Earth
and sometimes I don't care that
I made my own grave.

I resurrect every morning.
I fight disocciation
Seige apathy
and fight the good fight.
As I look for work
trying to pull out of this suffocation.

I hold tight
that's when my heart stutters

fears take over
and all too often
they win
laying waste as i sit in, shuttered

The voices
tell me "die"
I hear them, and I,

knowing
to die would ease some pain
and heighten others.

Remaining trapped.
But
I'm
No prisoner.
No Kafka.
Not lost because I exit only in the wind
Nobody
Nowhere
Shell of fear and paranoia
Echo of escapist depression,
disocciative fantasy
a fantasy that is no longer my heroin(e)

Retroactively Gay

http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2012/06/05/green-lantern-going-gay-to-help-boost-stagnant-comic-book-business.html

I assume everybody is aware that we now have a very prominent gay superhero. Green Lantern. He's not Superman or Spider-man or even Magneto or the Hulk, but he is a very major character in the DC's convoluted pantheon.

Whether or not the decision to retroactively make the first, original Green Lantern gay (he used to have a family and be married to a woman) is something we may never really know, and whether or not this was done to just boost sales and interest in superhero comics is up to debate. What we do know is that we have an out of the closet, gay superhero, which is fine. I think the bigger question is- why should it matter?

Of course LGBT (lesbian, gay, bi, trans) pride and LGBT rights are a very important issue. The fact that somewhere around 10% of our population can't even get married is insane and makes no sense to me. The fact that bible-thumping Christians often tout the homophobic sections of the bible and seem to forget the parts about love and acceptance and the "first throwing of stones" thing is beyond sophomoric. The LGBT community deserves the same rights as all of us.

Why are we still here and why don't we have more bisexual, asexual, trans and two-spirited superheroes?
And why can't all these superheroes come together, forget their differences and focus on the things that are tearing this world apart, as we speak? And why can't we?