A Gilded Planet

In second grade, a precocious young girl named Heather constructed a diorama representing the court of the Virgin Queen Elizabeth I. Somehow, Heather had interpreted a creative assignment about the ecology of rainforest biomes to be one dealing with the English Renaissance. Her teacher could hardly complain about the resulting project, as it was far more intricate and sophisticated than the projects that the rest of the snot noses had concocted even if it was lacking in the sort of flora and fauna native to places such as the Amazon. Heather received 4s in nearly every category that trimester except “Following Instructions,” in which she received a 2. Later, in middle school, incessant teasing sent Heather to the brink of an eating disorder though she pulled herself back in time for a relatively healthy, happy high school life in which she performed roles both comic, romantic and tragic in Shakespeare plays while secretly falling in love with his sonnets. She had to keep this a secr...

At 9:01am, Barleycorn's is a church, a temple, a place of worship with mass three times per day, prayer in the direction of the Black Monolith five times per day, and a reading of the Sacred Scrolls of Wisdom by Rabbi Michael Lerner at least once per week. Barleycorn's is located with building that has a steeple, a bell tower, and two minarets, along with stalactites, stalagmites, and many other pseudo-natural wonders. At around 8pm (or just after sunset, whichever comes first), Barleycorn's closes down, the last prayer said, the last mass read. At 9:01pm, Barleycorn's reopens as an all-night diner. It serves hot pastrami, corned beef, roast beef au jus, meatloaf, chicken salad, tuna salad, potato salad, bacon, lettuce and tomato, meatball sub, macaroni and cheese, fried mozzarella sticks, grilled cheese, chicken soup for the soul, chicken parmesan, chicken cacciatore, chicken kiev, chicken fried steak, chinese chicken salad, bbq pork bun, cobb salad, taco salad, bre...

The little man wearing wire-rimmed spectacles invents words in his spare time but right now he asks for too many samples at the ice cream shop. All the other customers feel hung up by how long they have to wait for him to pick his flavor. A couple passes by the shop and ducks into a movie theater two doors down in order to be spontaneous; they see a movie based on play written by a famous man of letters they first read about in a museum located an ocean away. The usher rips their tickets before directing them to theater number seven. The usher used to save the stubs of every movie ticket he purchased but when he started working at the movie theater his collection became grim reminder of the job he enjoyed less by the day. He muses to himself about burning all the stubs while tearing the ticket of a tall old man who frequented the theater so regularly that the usher felt mild embarrassment that he didn't know the old man's name. He directs the elder cinephile to theater number ...

I thought I had the perfect system. I had mastered climbing the gutter and drainpipe system of the house of suburban 70s stucco that my father had deemed acceptable to rent during an extended respite from living on base. I could climb in the window to my room while creating as minimal noise as possible that might echo and creak into my father's ear drums usually located on his head somewhere around the other side of the house. I had it made. At any hour of the night, I could come and go as I pleased. I don't know if I ever thought whether I had earned the right do so due to my fifteen dutiful years living under His thumb, I just knew I wanted to spend as little time locked up in His kingdom as possible. Those were wonderful months (or was it mere weeks?), and the freedom intoxicated me. The Saturday night that I silently twisted my body through the crack in the window and landed on my bedroom floor only to look up to see my father sitting up straight on the edge of my bed in ...

In third grade, I used to solve quizzles, wuzzles, phrase scrambles, commonyms, mad gabs, number blocks and hink pinks. I did this to please my teacher, Ms. Vasconcellos, who was the focus of a crush so secret I wasn't even fully conscious of it. Eventually, these word and logic games simply became an end in and of themselves. I was hooked on solutions, on thinking my way through to the answers to satisfy my brain. In class, Ms. Vasconcellos would emphasize what she called thinkable fun. There was no need to turn off your brain in order to have a good time. At home, I always had to follow orders. My father actively discouraged thinking for myself in many situations. Maybe that's why I liked Ms. Vasconcellos' class so much. I kept in contact with Ms. Vasconellos for years even after I finished elementary school. She would tell me about the latest ideas she would use in her classes like puzzle-mindedness which was, in her words, "the tendency to approach problems and ch...

"He comes to a gateway in the brick wall," Allie said. She took a long drag lying about in every stage and in a vast a hole in the darkness. "Sheets; in tanks, in boilers, in axles, in wheels, been to Hell," Jacob said, wrenched into eccentric and perverse the smile in his voice. "And I suppose mountains of it broken up, and rusty in its age walked to the bed." Allie let out a small bubbling in her youth; bright fireworks of her pillows as if she'd claw her way into them: steam-hammer; red-hot iron, white-hot iron, cold-black iron close to her ear. "This is a place to make a man's head ache too!" "And that's fine. But you don't do this very like me before I was set up. Because I'm the one honest man in this run in families. Your servant, sir." "Yours, we're married." PS - This prose poem (a literary style that is so hot right now) is a mash-up of Charles Dickens' Bleak House and Jacob's Shad...

“In the land of Janaki, there exists a tall cylindrical edifice covered in alabaster that serves as both a tomb and a monastery for fertile academic minds. First built in the decades following the ill-fated Keshite invasion, it did not become a tomb until centuries later. The insectivorious King Grimmage III committed his life to quiet study in the building and when he died he left strict instructions to be buried in the structure that was from that day forth to be known as Grimmage Tower. “Grimmage Tower developed a reputation as the most prestigious refuge for those citizens of Janaki blessed with enormous gifts of scientific, analytic, artistic or literary character. To be invited to Grimmage Tower is a great honor, and many of Janaki’s brightest lights spend years working in its catacomb cells before eventually being buried in its mausoleum. The admission of an individual working in a field heretofore unrepresented inside Grimmage signals a new respectability for that endeavor, a...

Friday, September 24th – Only thing worth mentioning: spent longer than needed chopping vegetables Saturday, September 25th – Spent a good portion of the day replacing light bulbs Tuesday, September 28th – Can’t stand that lady at the drug store. Why is that lady always in there? Also, not going to forget to do this, no matter what they say. Thursday, September 30th – When the light wouldn’t turn off after flicking the switch, became convinced that it was all a dream. But it wasn’t. Monday, October 11th – Spent the entire weekend trying to learn how to make Tofu taste good Tuesday, October 12th – Remembered uncle in Thailand is still in a coma. Sent him a postcard. Thursday, October 14th – I have decided to start using more pronouns. Clarity is important. And consistency. Sunday, October 17th – My landlord burst in today with some mishegas about the property rental people and how they needed keys to unlock the door for a showing or so...

When Tommy Fitzgerald offered to buy me a drink for the 21st birthday I had several months ago, I did not know what to think. “Your 21st birthday should last all year, am I right?” he said with an enthusiasm bordering on spooky self-regard. Some friends had warned me that Tommy was a fat, two-faced liar. From what I had heard, he was a schemer of schemes and not to be trusted. But in my admittedly limited interactions with Tommy, I had found him fairly forthright and even amusing to be around. As he explained to me how to rent a car before turning 25, I thought I would let him buy me a drink after I finished my second beer of the evening. How often do you get to hang out in a cool Ethiopian restaurant-bar with a group of friends you see none too frequently? Sipping my Whiskey Sour as the somewhat slapdash and informal program started, I thought to ask Tommy about whether he would be voting for Maggie in a couple of weeks as I planned to do. I actually can’t remember if I thought abou...

On February 17, 1998, the acclaimed filmmaker Cesario Flores was asked by a critic to name his favorite movie. He answered by naming We Won’t Go Home Again , a book divided into a series of photo essays followed by some tense journalistic prose of obvious relation, which seemed to at first confound and then infuriate the critic. “Every movie I make is about a lesbian relationship between a young girl and a woman in late middle age,” Flores added as a somewhat generous explanation. The critic, Christopher Dennett, responded by letting the interview devolve into an argument. Dennett had become known for championing a very controversial French zombie film. Seeing how he could profit by trading in provocation, he later wrote “A Review of a Film That Doesn’t Exist” which earned him at first a letter of rejection but later further notoriety. With that in mind, Dennett decided to needle Flores about his constant conflicts with producers over their requests that he stick to a script rather j...

“The ignorant man works for his own gain, the wise man acts prolifically for obvious reasons, and the wise woman behaves above all as a seer. She sees the ignorant man’s work for what it really means and the wise man’s actions for what they represent to the world. She has constant doubts, as do her sisters, but the doubts are merely a mad distraction implanted by the twisted arts of work and action. Knowledge from sight remains with the woman while man’s feeble attempts at escaping inner despair fall away with every iteration. ” Alexandra Anixter wrote the above paragraph in the first edition of The Book of Life . The very same people who had once embraced her researches chose to ostracize, persecute, and attack her for what she had written in a radical departure from her previous work. She engaged in heated debates with academicians of every field of inquiry in lecture halls and labs; at conferences that went out over networks; on elevators; in coffeeshops; within the shadows cast b...

Timothy Corbin had been diagnosed with von Donnersmack’s syndrome, a psychological condition that prevented him from continuously internalizing his own age. Named after Aureolus Theophrastus Bombastus von Donnersmack, the 19th century German chemist who first theorized its existence after observing the behavior of a student, it had developed in Timothy only very recently. One day, Timothy would be able to study as he normally had in the past. But the next day he would apply for Social Security benefits, thinking he would qualify as a retiree. And the day after that he would be at a playground riding the Merry-go-round without the cares of maturation and adulthood entering his mind at all. Timothy’s unpredictable behavior quickly became a concern to his friends and family. His roommate, Chad Schmidt, had first noticed when Timothy began to watch PBS Newshour and Nickelodeon alternately with alarming frequency. Chad and Timothy had always shared a certain imaginative curiosity, but Cha...

“I built the bloody church, I damn well better have a say in the advowson!” Lord Beauchamp bellows at the cowering messenger before him. “Yes sir, it’s just that the bishop –“ “The bishop – !” Beauchamp thunders, before attempting to regain his composure to add quietly, “ – is not my concern. My concern is Ranulf. I want him out of my household. You can understand that, can’t you?” The messenger, practically in a crouch before the large table that serves as a sort of desk for Lord Beauchamp, had been averting his eyes but now allows them to meet his master’s. “Most certainly, my lord. But the bishop insists that his office has the prerogative as the parish is in his jurisdiction and that to cede such a privilege without compensation would be irresponsible.” “Aha! The truth outs, as it always does.” Beauchamp’s face brightens with malice as he wheels his large, barrel-chested frame around the table to loom over the messenger more directly. “Of course, coin might make the bishop...