A breathing vibrant creature
has been condensed and conformed
into a cyborg,
an association of wires and thoughts
connected to a laptop
spinning stories to serve to the web
that will present a like or two
every week or so.
It is a wired transformation
that nobody asked for,
nobody approved.
It may be reversed
at any time.
It is not too late
yet.
I followed her to Latin class
since she said that’s where she was going after Spanish.
I had a language requirement to fulfill
after taking Spanish 5-6.
I don’t know why she took Latin.
I was glad to have a place to follow her, though.
She was bright and bubbly.
I wanted to see her anywhere I could.
She was a year ahead of me.
I was lucky that I had been able to have had two classes with her already.
To be able to orchestrate scheduling Latin was quite a coup.
There was only one Latin 1 each semester,
so we were bound to be in the same course
and I could see her for the whole term.
Sophomore year was going to be great
and I would never be lonely again.
The triangle before me tells me to yield
but I find that sign to be too womanly
and the handlebar moustache above my lip
proves that I am far too masculine a sort
to take such a command lying down.
No, I shall not yield,
just on a sign’s word,
however nice its coloring may be.
I shall go forward, brave as a turk,
sallying forth into the stark new day,
taking whatever ground needs be taken,
faithfully, carefully!
But yielding only to the greater force
with the greater arms
when they tell me to.
Look forward, future, say what you hold.
Will there be fond memories of glorious days
or horrifying shame for what we’ve let pass?
Will there be an epic silence awaiting you,
still and sweet, after such cacophony today?
Tell me future, what will you say?
Allow her to introduce herself:
she is the one who will not leave you.
Curse her. Use the grimoire from the shelf;
There is nothing you can try to do
to keep her from haunting what is home,
the place from which she can never roam.
She chose to stay with you forever;
a vow she can’t now break whenever
she might decide to change opinion
and just decide to travel on whim.
She can’t leave; as the house’s minion,
she’ll stay forever with prospects dim.
If I ever get out of this place, there’s gonna be some changes when I get back home.
If I ever get out of this place, I’m gonna finish reading the MASH novels.
If I ever get out of this place, I’m gonna look a damned sight different than this,
I can tell you that much for free.
If I ever get out of this place, I’ll have lost that fifteen pounds, gained that hair,
and made you laugh at least once first.
If I ever get out of this place, the sheriff’s gonna kiss my ass!
If I ever get out of this place, I’m gonna go out to the corner
and buy me one of them Frank’s hot and juicy red hots,
and I’m gonna swallow it whole.
If I ever get out of this place, I’m gonna thank the gods I’ve got,
make some new ones I don’t know, pay the tributes that I ought,
and get to work on my list of enemies.
If I ever get out of this place, I will thank my lucky stars,
and keep running away from the place
as fast and as far as I can with all due haste.
They never tell you what you’re in for
or for how long
or when you’re gonna get out
or even where you are.
It’s all really a big mystery, right?
Not this time.
They were pretty up front that I was in for littering,
that it was going to be a lifetime sentence,
and that they weren’t fucking around anymore.
“If you want any time off,” Officer Junior said,
“we might be able to work something out.”
“Something other than a lifetime for littering?” I suggested,
“Yeah, I might be willing to consider fielding a deal.”
“Good,” said Junior. “Let’s talk.”
And talk we did.
Junior, the senior officer on a racketeering case on the Western Eastie Boys,
Laid it out for me:
Turn state’s evidence and I could be cleared in a couple of hours.
Problem: I only knew a couple Southern Eastie Boys
– not anyone from the West.
I wouldn’t be able to do Junior any good.
But he didn’t have to know that.
“So do we sign anything, or do I just get to work
to get you the evidence on the guys?”
“You can’t just tell us what you got?”
“I got the goods in a stash back at my crib at Succotash Lane.”
“We’ll pick it up for you,” Junior said.
“You have some cops pick it up, you’ll be dead in ten minutes.
I’ll pick it up and bring it back here.”
“It’s the only way?” asked Junior.
I smiled my sleaziest. “Trust me.”
So I’m out again, ready to litter some more,
but knowing that if I step out of line anywhere, anyhow,
Junior’ll just pick me up again.
I know that every two-bit copper’s got their eyes out for me
so if anything goes wrong, I’ll be screwed tighter
than a bulb too dim to get lit.
I may be mixing my metaphors here,
but you get the drift.
I can’t get in trouble again.
You never can tell
the trouble I’m in
or how I can get out of it.
Before he stole the paper,
he was warned to keep his nose clean.
His horoscope read “Heed the advice of others; it will serve you well.”
His girlfriend Julie Rodriguez looked at him lovingly and said, “Let’s make a baby.”
Instead, James A. said to himself,
“Time to do something incredibly stupid,”
and he got away from everyone as fast as he could.
It took him no time to find himself in front of the Royal Harem Building.
Supposedly impregnable, he sized it up and said, “I could get in in about fifteen minutes.”
He didn’t have anyone to impress by saying it, but even to the air,
it sounded like bullshit boasting. He felt he had something to prove.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” James muttered to no one but himself,
as he started to scale the side of the building.
This wasn’t going to go anywhere good.
It got him inside the building, though it took him about fifty five minutes, not fifteen.
Security was tighter than he imagined,
His skills were pretty substantial, too.
Once inside, James A. scoped out what was available.
He spotted the primary Harem Room,
where the women (and occasional man) awaited selection
by the King.
He suspected that was the most dangerous room in the place
but maybe not the most interesting.
He wondered what else there might be to see.
A less exotic door struck him as enticing, so he cracked its code
and entered.
It was someone’s personal room.
From the looks, it was a woman’s (not much of a surprise)
who was high up in the social order.
“What is the meaning of this?” shouted a commanding voice,
spinning James one hundred and eighty at once.
What he saw was the most beautiful woman
he had ever laid eyes upon
a glorious brunette,
radiant with anger
at being shocked in her home.
Shocked, too, was James.
“What are you doing here?” The brunette reiterated.
“Why are you in my room?”
“Forgive me, madam, I just wanted to make your acquaintance.”
The lady, unfamiliar with his sly talk, was soon taken in.
When James was finally discovered in the gorgeous lady’s room,
he was prepared to die a happy man.
Such was not going to occur,
but what he had seen
would not be repeated,
as his eyes were plucked
and provided to fish for food.
The Last Vision of James Amacadillo
was to be of the latest bride of the King,
who received a quick and quiet annulment,
and an offer of resettlement to any other kingdom in reach.
She governs me. She tells me what to do.
She governs me; and I love it, too.
She governs me; it’s just the way to be.
I’m just amazed how she governs me.
She tells me just what to do and say.
I just smile when it goes her way.
It feels good the way she wields control.
I’m so glad I’m her adoring doll.
She holds strength like a cat in her lap;
she allows me to remain her maple sap.
She governs me. She manages my bills.
Now I have no worries and no ills.
She governs me; I can put up my feet,
resting assured that my life’s complete.
My girl in charge, with the control she wields,
I’m so safe that my protection yields
a guarantee that if my security
of how wonderful it is that she governs me.
She holds power like lips on a chap;
and I get to stay her only maple sap.
If we want to survive the revolution that’s coming
the only viable solutions are to either enslave
or destroy the children.
They keep envisioning progressive ideals
when we know they’ll grow out of them.
Unfortunately, we cannot wait for the youth to outgrow their idealism,
so we must contain them
until they have past their painful periods.
Let them be controlled until they know better.
Let them be ours
or no one’s.
Frankly, with AI coming around
I prefer the destructive route.
We don’t need them anymore.
Let the children go.
They’ve outlived their usefulness.
So long, kiddies.
It’s been good to know ya!
jonberger 