Momma Don't Play

June 27th, 2014


To: the people living in my house
From: your mother
Re: my writing

By now you’ve realized that every cell phone, gaming system, DVD/BluRay player, TV, iPod, laptop, and any other electronic plaything I could get my hands on has been confiscated. You’ve given me no other alternative except to take these drastic measures. Your items are secure; under lock and key at a storage facility. Don’t bother trying to find which one. I rented a space under a fictitious name – and no, it’s not my pseudonym.

I have rented a private cabin, also under an assumed name. I and your beloved luxuries will return only when the following demands are met in full:

1. My office/workspace will be respected at all times. This includes my laptop, PC, printer, printer paper, and anything related to my writing.

2. No means no. I don’t know why this is so hard for you people to grasp.

3. Unless there is a substantial amount of blood, a vital body part is injured/missing, unexplainable smoke, one of you can’t be found, or some other ACTUAL emergency, I am not to be interrupted when I am writing.

4. I’m not the only parent in the house. Start asking your father.

5. Anything I can do, you can do. This, of course, applies to those of you over the age of 12. Nate is the only one who can’t reach the tap or the refrigerator door yet, so that means all of you are capable of getting your own glasses of water, etc.

6. Headphones must be worn when listening to music, and TV’s muted with closed captioning enabled, when I am writing.

7. I’m the writer, that’s why.

I will be home late tomorrow afternoon. When I get back, I expect the laundry to be folded and put away, the refrigerator restocked, the carpets vacuumed, and the beds made. I will be meeting with each of you privately, to ensure you understand to what you are agreeing. Each and every one of you will sign this document if you ever expect to see your stuff again. Anyone who violates this agreement will be forced to watch as your items are slowly and carelessly dismantled and sold on eBay for parts.

For my part, I promise to not make your lives a living hell.

Your Loving Mother

It's All In The Challenge

I believe Spock said it best: “You may find that having is not so pleasing a thing as wanting.” And I had wanted to be the most famous soccer player in the world. Yet my feet feel leaden as I walk with my teammates away from the sidelines and onto the field. It sounds like every one of our loyal fans in the stadium is chanting my name. MY NAME. Just for fun I thrust my fist in the air and watch as the crowd goes wild. That should buy me a little more time. Let them have their fun.

I used to love this sport. Hours upon hours learning the kicks, memorizing the plays; every goal a brick in my yellow road to FIFA. And here I am, about to make my mark in soccer history.
Spinning the ball lightly in both hands, I scan the field. All eyes are on me, and I hate it. What’s happened to me? As I shake out each leg, I admit the unease came after our first round against the Brits. It was all too easy.

While the ref’s worked frantically for quiet, my thoughts returned to my early years. A panorama of bruises, cuts, and sprains kindled a fire in my soul. You chose to make this easy, I pointed an imaginary finger in my face. You’ve been playing checkers instead of chess.

That’s when I saw it, the checkmate move. The fuel for my fire was not in the winning, or as Spock said, the having. It was the challenge that ignited my being. The want of it all. And I wanted the World Cup real bad.

Taking charge, I rose each hand in the air and made a flourishing bow; my finger pressed to my lips, hushing the four corners. The King held sway. Kissing the ball, I turned my back on the goal and waited for the ref to blow his whistle. I swear I could hear his inhale like he was next to my ear. In a split second I had bicycle kicked us to the finals.
Easy? Who was I kidding

Churn, Churn, Churn

Churn, Churn, Churn

For everything there is a reason;

A profit born for every season.

From dawn to dusk the grand cohesion

Picks the scab of nature's lesion.

Churn, churn, churn.

Once a lush and beautiful land

Untouched by the greedy baron hand;

No matter the time, the shore, the sand,

Yielded treasures beyond demand.

Churn, churn, churn.

An idea birthed by greed, you say?

A crusty pilgrim's paid holiday

Or the wanderlust of, yeah or nay,

The inner groaning for far and away?

Listen closely for the sound

Of second's hand completing its round.

Timeless pirates and reapers abound, 

Raping the plunder they "thought" they found.

Churn, churn, churn.

As so it was, and so it is

The prophet dare not be remiss,

And asks you plainly, answer this:

What's the going price for eternal bliss?

Churn, churn, churn

Sindustry

June 13, 2014


Sindustry


Schools of blunder continuously churn
fodder for the masses.
Seeping sloth forms institutions
of Higher Learning.
Fools once scorned adorn
classrooms and courtrooms,
holding justice’s scales; perpetuating
error upon error.
One rises. Another falls.
Cancerous sores on the underbelly of humanity
take center stage.
Gold plummets to
dross’ rapture.
We hold these truths to be
self evident.
Sex sells.

Upheaval

June 12th, 2014

Upheaval

Empty plates and abandoned lots

Scar the City Planner's plots, 

Revealing ghosts to each passerby

That dreams are sometimes built on the lie

Of men who rose to considerable wealth 

At the cost of their paid slave's health.

Some idols stand while others crumbled.

Old behemoths never humbled

Over time; still menacing 

New construction replenishing

What was once the bragging right

Of each and all who beheld the sight.

Churning wheels grind away

The rusted girth of yesterday.

Paved glitter. Something new.

Renewed hope. Is that you?

Please stay.

When Art Imitates Life

June 11th, 2014

(a slight variation of this can be found, written by me, at www.writersdigest.com, under writing prompts. I like this version better :) )

“What a stupid prompt,” Jessie muttered as she left Professor Mundane’s classroom. “I’m above this type of drivel.” Her tirade cut short by the disapproving stares of her classmates, Jessie lowered her head and made for the closest bathroom. Laden with her books and laptop, Jessie had to lineback her way through the hydraulic door. Once ensconced, she sighed in relief.

“I hate this course, I hate this school, I hate my professor, and I hate this bathroom!” Hearing her voice echo off the utilitarian tile walls gave further impetus to her almost nuclear meltdown. “All I want to do is write poetry. Great poetry. Nobel prize-winning poetry! But NOOOOO. I have to get a degree before anyone’ll take my writing seriously.”

Throwing herself into the handicap stall, Jessie dumped her armful in a corner and paced furiously around the cramped space. “I should have done further research on the curriculum approved for Journalism students. This is a top ten school, for God’s sake! Maybe that’s the problem, Jess. You should have chosen that artsy school in northeastern Pennsylvania. THEY would never even consider plaguing their student body with such nonsense.”

Jessie knocked one knee into the toilet porcelain. “Why me? Why me?” she shrieked in annoyed pain. Sensing her adrenaline fueled rampage coming to a fast end, Jessie slumped her forehead against the cool metal door. “It’s all right,” she cooed to the floor. “It’s all right. I can do this. I can make something out of nothing. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again. I’ll show them. No one is going to break Jessie Prima.”

Jessie stood up straight, tugging her rustled clothing in place. Patting her cheeks and forcing a smile, Jessie grabbed her gear. “I’ll show them,” Jessie boasted as she confidently released the latch on the stall. The door swung open, and Jessie stopped dead. Directly in her path were two very large males, grinning from ear to ear.

Looking up at no one, Jessie wailed “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

A Tribute To Brandy

June 10th, 2014

Night comes late.
Time for bed.
I dream of Brandy;
Things left unsaid.

My childhood mare
Both night and day.
When will Brandy
Come out to play?

Honey perfection
In every sense.
Passionate kisses
Spark sweet cadence.

Never aging.
Always true.
Stepford women
Based on you.

Time for change,
Time to grow.
Mourning comes
On twilights glow.

Fond remembrance.
My faithful friend
Slipped into the sea
At youth’s end.

Anatomy of a Scam

June 10th, 2014


This is not a work of fiction.

Sometime in May of this year (2014) I applied for a position as proofreader with whom I thought was Relatieplanet. Relatieplanet is a legitimate company located in The Netherlands. Relatieplanet is an internet dating site. I learned of this employment opportunity via a link published by Freelance Writing Jobs on their Facebook page. I assumed that FWJ would have verified the veracity of any jobs before listing publicly.

Before applying with "Relatieplanet," I searched diligently for any negative comments and/or reviews. I found nothing. I confidently applied for and was subsequently hired as a "Relatieplanet" proofreader.
Although I was informed in an email that someone from the company would be contacting me by telephone, I have never actually spoken to anyone from "Relatieplanet." All communications were by email. My contact wrote that I could choose to be paid by check or wire transfer. The only personal information I have shared to date is my name, physical address, email address, photo, and telephone number.

The first red flag was how quickly the company received my employment contract. I was given an address in The Netherlands. I mailed the contract via regular post from my city in Indiana, USA on a Saturday. I received a confirmation email from "Relatieplanet" the following Tuesday. Did I believe that mail sent by regular post from Indiana would arrive in The Netherlands in 2 days? NO!

Having invested zero dollars and very little personal information, I noted the flag and proceeded with my proofreading tasks. The second red flag came a few days later. I was congratulated by the "Relatieplanet" critics for my excellent proofreading skills. I wondered why this company would need to hire outside proofreaders when they had English language critics on staff.

Considering that my first day's work took under 2 hours, I continued editing the copy I was sent. Red flag #3 was the timing of correspondence between "Relatieplanet" and me. The Netherlands is 6 hours ahead of us here in Indiana. I was receiving emails at what would have been late evening for the Netherlanders. Then there was the lack of regular communication. My employment contract stated work days were Monday through Friday. After 2 weekdays of not being sent work, red flag #4 popped up.

4 red flags led me back to Google. I found 2 links with information regarding a Relatieplanet Proofreading scam. The most helpful and accurate information was found at  www.archivesandends.blogspot.com. I was not the only victim of this new scam targeting freelance writers.

All but convinced that I'd been had, I decided to test my employers. The next day I received a work document to edit. I took a chance and submitted approximately 1681 words of gibberish. The next day I received an email, complimenting me on another fine job! In that email I was asked for my bank information, so they could wire my earnings on the previously specified date. Oh, another red flag was their addition error of my total wages; in my favor, of course.

I decided to respond, asking them to send me a check. No immediate response. After a day or two I sent an email, stating that I knew they were scamming me, and shame on them for trying to take advantage of someone who needed work so their family could avoid eviction.

I thought the matter was over and done with until yesterday. I received an email from "Relatieplanet," pleading ignorance to my accusations. Today I received a FedEx delivery. Someone from Florida overnighted a check written to me in the amount of $4800.00. The check was not from "Relatieplanet," or any other company. It was a personal check drawn from a Wells Fargo account.

I'm not a mathematician. I do know that 2+2=4. I was scammed. I confronted the scammer. The scammer contacted me, and in less than 24 hours I received a check for $4800.00. By the way, there was nothing in the way of correspondence in the FedEx envelope; just the check.

I immediately telephoned the Indiana Bureau of Consumer Affairs. I was told to contact the Federal Trade Commission, and also Internet Crime. I took the check and envelope to the Vice President of my bank, who made a copy to forward to their fraud division.

Lo and behold, when I arrived home I had about 8 missed calls from someone claiming to be my employer! The area code is from California. Of course it makes complete sense that a company located in The Netherlands would issue my paycheck from a private personal account in Florida, and then telephone me from California - NOT!!!

So concludes this chapter. Keep watch for an epilogue. I'll keep you abreast of any new developments.

MTK

Zombies Make Me Hungry

June 4, 2014

If this really is a matter of life and death, Danny thought to himself as he tried not to outrun Dylan, it's a good thing I carbo loaded at breakfast. After last night's round trip to LA, I could barely whack the alarm's off button. If people only knew how much energy it takes to maintain this superpower, Danny almost chuckled out loud. People? I wonder how Dylan would react if I took off right now? Danny decided to play it cool, as the cafeteria was just ahead.

"Dylan, you know how I hate flash mobs!" Danny cried. Before Dylan could respond, Danny took a closer look and realized that no one was singing. What initially looked like a clip from Michael Jackson's Thriller video turned out to be a real life zombie fest. A throng of students were unsuccessfully pushing tables and chairs towards the teacher's lounge, in a vain attempt to stop the flesh eaters from advancing.

"It's the teachers," Dylan almost shouted in Danny's ear. "I was just biting into my egg sandwich when I heard Vice Principal Gotshall scream. Coach Resnik was gnawing on her arm, blood spurting everywhere. Then they all started to turn. You should have been here, Danny. Blood and guts from the teacher's lounge, and kids running and slipping in puked up breakfasts here in the cafeteria. A bunch of us tried to barricade the lounge doors, but those teacher's were too fast. That's when I came to get you!"

Danny looked at his best friend. They'd been role playing for an apocalyptic moment like this for months. We never had a scenario for a breakout at school though, Danny scoffed. Doesn't matter; the boom should do the trick.

Breaking free from Dylan's stranglehold on his back, Danny took off. Faster and faster, Danny ran circles around the now-confused zombie pack. Almost positive of the effect his superpower would have on their mutated brains, he went all out.

BOOM.

Danny zoomed back to the spot where Dylan would have seen him last running. Dylan would assume that the boom and resulting blast would have stopped Danny from moving forward. Coming to a complete stop, Danny found himself, along with his classmates, dripping with the remains of his high school's administrative staff. It worked. Danny congratulated himself. The anomalous electrical structure of the zombie brain could not handle the sonic boom created when Danny exceeded the speed of sound.

"What was that?" Danny asked his dumbfounded friend with innocent incredulity. In the moments that followed, Danny could think of only one thing: pancakes.