I’ve been to fifty different high schools, the wild west, gone fishing in Panama, and sat in a Stanford lecture hall.

I’ve seen people fall in love more times that I ever will, I've seen heartbreaks and divorces, I've seen love and all the sorts of strange ways to show it.

I’ve saved friends from a burning building, performed life-saving surgeries, I've walked through thick jungles without ever being afraid of death.

I've seen bodies being cut up, I've been in an ambulance on the way to a hospital, I was there as a woman got punished & tortured. I've witnessed death in so many ways that it is a theme rather than reality.

I've seen all of this, and more, more than you can even imagine.

And I've seen it all right in my bed.

The Fourth Industrial Revolution, The Fifth Paradigm, whatever you want to call it,

cyberspace is not a fabrication; it is a form of reality.

how will you create your reality?

who will you let code the Metaverse?

what kind of futures can we imagine?

slippery slippery slope

I just keep sliding

this ground like soap

I can't keep slipping

I continuously mope

on this slippery slippery slope

I am but tied to a rope

I'm on hard ground

and I see you

in this soft thick forest

I'm close to you

I'm with you

and yet I say nothing

slippery slippery-- nope

I'm here and it's now

there's no more waiting

and there is no rope

I can't keep sliding

this ground like soap

slippery slipper--

I only see you once a week

and now you're in front of me

you're my goal

but fear is in the way

slippery slippery slope

I'll sit on a log and mope

hard ground,

I'm better than this.

I might die tomorrow

so I'll get you now

but all this sorrow

is stopping me

and I'm just sliding down

this slippery slippery slope.

Tell me--

what am I waiting for?

what greater time than now?

to its deepest end,

life is at most a single moment

a slippery slippery slope

nothing more than what I wrote

all I can do to keep from falling

is clinging to your shoulder

grabbing onto your hand

and asking what your name is

what's your favorite band?

whatever it is, just say it

life is at most a single moment

this slippery slippery slope

and if I would only talk to you

just that would give me hope.

Something to strive for.

Someone to strive for.

Closer by one step.

Something to strive for,

the black shoes and red jacket

the blue eyes and short brown hair--

Someone to strive for,

and those eyes.

Someone to strive for,

closer by one step.

Something to strive for, yes

Someone to strive for

closer by one step.

Someone to strive for...

A person.

(_____.)

no thing is as good

for me

as good as you.

no song on the radio

except the ones you play,

no movie as exciting

as our experiences,

no food as sweet

as the light in my stomach,

no, not even twitter

gives me the rush

the happiness

the love of life

that I feel.

no thing is as good

for me

as good as you.

what's the point of having this body, if I'm scared to do anything with it?

I didn't ask for these curves

or these breasts

or my stupid long hair...

what's the point of being pretty and dainty and girly, what's the point of batting your eyelashes and licking your lips and swaying your hips as you walk,

what's the point of shaving your legs and wearing bikinis and long dresses and curling your hair and putting on make-up,

what's the point of bleeding once a month and worrying about tampons and having hormone-caused mood swings...

what's the point of being female, when you don't have a male to be a female for?

do you know that feeling of immese joy when you see them?

it's not the lust for their lips

or the desire of their affection;

it's the pure art of gazing

at their handsome constructed face

the way their hair falls around their eyes

the way they walk,

the charm of their words.

an immense joy, you're living on a cloud

and no one can bring you down.

I'm so afraid of death

what more could there be to existence than life?

because once we die, does it even matter if we still exist?

And if our existence is just life itself,

then why am I so afraid?

Sometimes even all the beauty in the world

cannot take away all the pain

the pain of not knowing what's next,

the pain-- the pain of losing it all.

and when you let there be so much pain in your life,

you see,

where is there room for happiness?

I saw you last night. I saw you when

reality fades and the truth escapes

I saw you in my dream, I saw your memory.

you were wearing a grey suit and tie. when I saw, you, I remembered how much I missed you. your black hair, your smile, your laugh. our souls just naturally fit, two outcasts who gave what each other needed. we walked through the crowd, through this dream world, and I held onto your arm, I put my head on your shoulder, and I finally felt

complete.

and I thought about how I should have kissed you that day at the park. I should have told you

I loved you.

and when I when I woke up from my dream, I picked up my phone

and drafted you a text. And then I remembered,

I remembered that you left me

right when I needed you the most.

Then we wrote letters

and I fell for you even more.

You were my anchor.

but when I finally saw you

you were different.

You didn't ask about me

and you lied, even when it was obvious.

You weren't right in the head.

Maybe it was just me, but to be safe I broke it off.

I saw you last night. I saw you when I really needed someone. I needed someone to hold, someone to love, someone to laugh with, someone to share my hopes and fears with.

I miss you, but I don't want to see you.

I was sitting in the lab chair, nervous for the first day of school. When he walked in, my eyes immediately lay eyes on him. He was extraordinarily good-looking; I couldn't hold back my stare. He had something special about the way he walked, the clothes he wore. I could hear him faintly making jokes and laughing. He was so charismatic. He was charming. Right away I knew I would admire him for the rest of the school year; however, I couldn't tell how far the admiration would go. And then he spoke in a loud voice, and everyone turned their heads towards him.

"Okay, class, let's get started."

____

I couldn't help myself from staring in class today. I didn't want it to be obvious. But the way he stood when writing notes on the board was so beautiful, so dominant, so handsome. The way his white shirt tucked into his black pants and his red tie dangled from his neck, the way he took occasional sips of his coffee as everyone was copying down notes, the way his muscles could be seen through his shirt, was so alluring.

And while looking at his body I became sad.

Sad that I will never look like that.

And I just looked down in my notebook, doodling circles in the corner until the period ended.

____

It's been a few weeks and he has talked to me once. When it happened, I saw him coming over to my desk and immediately got butterflies in my stomach. He asked me what book I was reading. My words were jumbled, and I really hope my face wasn't red, because I could feel it growing hot. And while I was looking into his eyes, I thought it. I couldn't help it; I'm a teenager, what do you expect? I thought about what it would be like to touch his chest or run my hands through his hair. I wondered what his lips would feel like if I touched them. I thought of some other things. And when he left, all I could do was smile. When he left, I felt his divine presence leaving me, and felt cold from his absence.

The room was filled with the laughter and warmth that comes when old friends reunite. It was a great room, with rows of chairs and tables and a common fireplace. Festive decorations dangled from the ceiling beams, streamers were draped across the mantle. The highlight of the room, though, was the piano. It was run-down, key-tops peeling, some broken, some stained, but there was something lavish and alluring about it. Around the room, women, skin worn with time, shared with each other what their children and grandchildren were up to. Men, hands weathered from years of tinkering, recounted days of war. The adults sipped their drinks and joked around about the memories they had when they had less years behind them. And then there was me, alongside the other grandchildren, back at it with another game of hide and seek. I was hiding behind the front door of the room. My thoughts began to drift. What if they stop looking for me? I have no friends back at school, why would these random kids care? I am so insignificant, always quiet, I often go unnoticed. I peeked out from behind the door to survey the room. My eyes stumbled upon someone making their way through the crowd. I watched as a lively man with a spring in his step and a grin on his face approached the ancient piano. He pulled out the bench and rested upon it as if he were a king atop his throne, so natural, so dominant. He positioned his slender fingers atop the keys, took a deep breath in, and began to play.

There was a sudden stir in the room. People quickly broke off their conversations and instinctively turned their heads to the new sound. There were some kids who came bounding through the doorway, abruptly halting and curiously searching for the joyous noise. The room began to take on a vivacious, spirited atmosphere. The notes seemed to flow through the crowd, and many started to hum to the now familiar tune. A clap began to echo through the scene. I timidly crept out of my hiding place, drawn out by the music. I noticed old women and men standing up from their chairs and exchanging childlike smiles. I saw adults, with their arms draped across the shoulders of their friends, sway back and forth in unison. I watched the grandchildren, whispering and giggling to each other, and I knew they were thinking, should we dance too? And it was at that moment when the piano man opened his mouth and started to sing. The whole room joined in, like a choir, with raspy voices, clear voices, high voices, low voices, voices with hints of laughter. The old women and men, who have lived through the drastic changing of the world, the adults, who have been through marriage, divorce, and child-raising, and the grandchildren, who in their impressionable way picked up the tune, all knew the words to the same song. And it was now that I started singing with the room that I realized that people, even after all the hardships they’ve gone through, young and old, can all be together in some way, and that they all care about each other and love each other. We continued in song for what seemed an eternity.

~*~*~*~

At the end of the night, as the younger kids staggered sleepily to the couches, and the older men and women and adults brought their clamorous conversation to a low murmur, I found myself at an empty table in the corner. I was lost in deep rumination of my persistent loneliness. A single moment is only a moment, nonetheless. And I still haven’t been found by the seeker. My morose thoughts were interrupted by a new compelling presence at the table. I looked up and met the eyes of the piano man. I felt a knot form in my stomach. This man, who could bring together a whole room with just his two hands, wants to talk to me? But he smiled softly at me and introduced himself.

“You know, I have been playing piano for a very long time. That,” he motioned towards the regal piano, “is pure magic.” He looked up and signalled around the room with his hand. “There is no greater force that brings people together than music. Music is power. When you sing the words together, you are part of a group of people who accept you and remember you, people you know you are important to.” He looked back down at me and pointed his finger at my chest. “Music can help you see that.” He furrowed his brows. “You felt it tonight?”

I smiled and nodded my head.

“Use it to your advantage. When you are at rock bottom, it will help you remember that you belong.”

I scrambled around with my words. I felt as though I just heard a god speak. “Thank you,” was all I could get out. He nodded his head at me, and with a serious look, got up from the table. Just before leaving, though, he turned back around and said in a low voice, “You should try sitting on that bench sometime. It is the best feeling, providing that for other people.” He turned around and vanished back into the crowd.

I sighed. The table was vacant yet again. But I no longer thought of solitude, but of warmth and love. Now, I want to learn to play a song. Then, I heard rapid footsteps behind me.

“There you are! We were all looking for you!” I whipped my head around and saw a concerned look on a young girl’s face. “We couldn’t find you during hide and seek, then we started singing songs! After that my parents made me talk to some random people. Anyways, we’re all playing mafia now in another room. Come on!” She grabbed my hand and I followed, smiling to myself as she led me down the hall.