As I bob about the cosmological soup,

a one-legged amoeba circling a tiny corner of the Petri,

I entertain myself with ideas of potency and purchase.

I catch echoes of myself in the aether

and recognize my own operating system running in the background.

The search for Self has produced nothing but, and I marvel at my immenseness.

Finding neither comfort nor fear I return to contemplating the mundane, and prefer not to engage the loneliness that has been revealed.

Sitting shotgun in the mind of Wallace

hit by a thousand details in an instant,

so deeply immersed as to forget mine own narrative.

Escape is what is provided and so easily dipped in to and, out of.

An easy riding child’s coaster of laughs and knowing smiles to one’s self.

An underlying wonderment of the number of reader/riders that have climbed aboard in the past.

The feeling of unique discovery, the young one’s pretty found stone, wanting to run and show someone worthy of comprehending.

Then, the inevitable return to commonplace, deplaned and already home, putting my unused socks away and back at the grind, dreaming of my next get-away and what might be in store.

I used to be a gangster,

Now I’m just a Dad.

It mostly makes me happy,

But sometimes it makes me mad.

I used to make them nervous,

Now it seems I’m just ignored.

I used to be quite dangerous,

These days, I’m mostly bored.

I wouldn’t really change it,

I knew it had to end.

Life was going to break me,

Now I teach myself to bend.

His boots made a rhythmic beat on the gravel pathway as he approached. The doctor had been summoned to the village late last night, but this was the soonest that he could arrive.

He had been told that a woman there was ill and bedridden but not much else. Communication with these small enclaves of peasant-farmers was difficult in the best of times, but right after World War I, in Austria, with its burgeoning fascist government and internecine fighting, people were distrustful and wary of those from the more urban areas; even if, they needed their help.

“Guten tag.” Said a male villager that had come to meet him at the outskirts of town. He bade him follow and led him away towards the houses.

The doctor stood in stark relief from the man. Dressed in overalls that hadn’t had a day off in weeks, his undershirt stained from the heat and soil, he looked tired and worn down, and the doctor wondered how people labored their entire lives and still had nothing to show for it. Quite the opposite, the doctor was smartly dressed, in tweeds and a vest over his pristine white shirt; his shoes were not cut-out for these roads. His large leather bag carried what he could for examination. He had no idea what he might find with this case, and hoped he could be of help without needing to return to the city for supplies.

As they made their way through the center of the village, two boys dressed in para-military garb played with cork guns in the square, popping their wooden stringed bullets at this and that, then reloading the corks to find new targets. The place seemed quiet and the doctor assumed that most were already at work somewhere in the fields. The houses were tidy and well kept; stark stone structures with thatched roofs. Small, one room affairs that housed sometimes multiple generations all together. The backwards politics of those in these areas seemed easier to understand when seeing the disparity of experience within the same country. The have-nots finding it hard to believe that these differences were not by design.

The doctor’s escort led him up the steps into a house next to the square. The interior was neat and austere. There were no separate rooms, just an area for cooking and a small table on one side. The far wall had thin wooden shelving that held sundry jars of pickled-veg and jams. A small assortment of pots and pans joined them over a small wood-burning stove.

To his left, upon entry, and under a large multi-paned window, lay an older woman in a small low bed. She laid still with shallow breath, and it was obvious she was not well. On the floor next to a side door sat a young girl of nine or so. Her frock was tattered and dingy, arms crossed on her bended knees, head down, and clearly exhausted from all that was going on. Her appearance was such and her age so tender that the doctor considered checking on her first, not knowing who or when was the last time someone had done so. Only the woman’s moaning redirected his attention. He turned to set down his bag, but made note of the fact that the young girl had never looked up at him.

“How are you feeling?” The doctor asked in German. The woman did not answer but instead heaved and arched her back in pain; the girl on the floor began to sob. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

The woman’s cries of pain increased and a feeling of urgency gripped the young doctor. The scene was obviously tormenting the girl, who rocked back and forth and began to wail. Trying to stay focused on his task amid the rapidly rising emotion of the room, the doctor hurriedly felt around on the woman’s abdomen to try and get a sense of the problem. She emitted a shout of pain which instantly elicited a similar scream from the young girl.

Pots and pans flew off the wall; glass jars smashed on the ground. The moment was eerily silent following the ear splitting noise and the flying objects. Before he could react, the girl leapt up and ran out the side door, weeping. The doctor looked over at his escort who seemed just as shocked as he. He considered running after the girl, but the cries of his patient stopped him. “What was that?” He asked, under his breath and primarily to himself. He had little time to consider the ramifications of this seemingly telekinetic event, as he continued his exam of the woman and watched through the window as the young girl ran out into the courtyard.

Out in the square the young girl stumbled and fell. She lay on the ground crying and gulping for breath. The doctor watched while tending to his patient as one of the boys broke from his play to notice the girl’s arrival. Her heaving was so great that the young man of similar age, felt compelled to check on her. Hesitantly, he started over, not wishing to upset her any more. As he knelt down, he gently placed his hand on her shoulder and whispered something to her. She pulled away, hiding her face from him and continuing to weep. He stood, and considered just leaving her alone, but his sense of compassion urged him to try again. He spoke to her in German, softly.

“Are you alright?” He asked. “What has happened?”

“Please leave me…” She cried, “you can’t…it’s..” He bent down close to her.

“It’s alright.” He said.

“Please just leave me alone!!” The girl screamed at him. He stumbled back a few steps, shocked and a little hurt. “I don’t need your help, just get away!” The boy turned to go, but his indignance and pride stopped him.

“I was only trying to help!” The boy yelled back at her, now feeling upset himself. “Please, you’re obviously upset about something, let me at least help you up!”

Jumping to her feet, the girl whirled around to face him and shouted, “Get away from me now or I’ll make you wish you hadn’t come near me!!”

“How very rude you are!” He said, “We were out here, having some fun, and you come bursting through, making a big show of things, and so naturally someone is going to check to see that you are alright! You needn’t be so rude to people when they are just trying to help!”

“No one asked for your help, and I can be wherever I like, I’m not bothering you!” She stepped toward the young man as she said this, and he reflexively lifted his toy gun between them as she lunged.

“Ha!” She scoffed, “What are you planning to do with that?!”

Lietel, the second boy, who had still been playing during most of this, now could not help but be sucked up into the confrontation. He turned away from his paper targets and walked over to the pair. “Leave her alone Janik.” He said to his friend. Ignoring him, Janik raised his gun provocatively towards the young girl’s face.

“Step off to the side!” He shouted. “Leave the square now, away with you!” The girl stepped back. “I mean it Margot, leave here now or I will shoot you!!”

Lietel’s chivalry prodded him to intervene. “Stop it Janik!” He yelled, “That’s enough!” Janik spun around, still hot with anger, now pointing his toy gun at Lietel, menacingly.

“You stay out of this.” He said.

Lietel was shocked and angered by his friend’s reaction. He could not understand how this had all gotten elevated so quickly. He pushed Janik’s gun away with his hand, but the other boy just drew it up again in his face. “You’re taking her side?!” Janik asked indignantly. “I was just trying to help her!” Margot stepped to the side and watched as the boys faced off.

“Get your gun out of my face!” Lietel yelled at his friend.

“Or what?!” Janik screamed. “You can get out of here too Lietel, if you want to take up with this crazy girl!” Lietel was infuriated. He raised his gun at Janik and strode forward forcefully.

“I mean it Janik, get away from her or I will shoot you!”

“You don’t have the nerve!”

“Last warning!”

“You couldn’t..” “BANG!!”

The loud report from the gunshot cut-off Janik’s retort. He fell to the ground right at Margot’s feet and she recoiled from fear. The breath was expelled from Janik’s lungs as he hit the ground, and his small toy gun skittered to the gravel next to him. Lietel lowered his weapon, himself scared at what had happened, never intending to hurt anyone. He glanced up at Margot who was now looking at him with much more fear than she had ever felt with Janik. He stepped toward her, as if to try and explain, but she cowered from his advance.

The doctor, who had been keeping tabs on the situation from his vantage point inside the house, now leapt up, leaving his patient, and rushing outside to the children. He arrived at the same time as several other shocked villagers, the first being a large and angry bearded fellow with a confused look upon his face.

“What is going on here?!” He demanded, and stooped down to check on Janik’s motionless form.

“I…” Lietel stammered. “He was…attacking her.” Although he did feel as if Margot was being attacked, he immediately knew that nothing that had transpired was warranting of such a violent response, and he began to sweat with instant remorse and fear of what consequences might follow. Lietel stood there, mouth agape, toy gun at his side, still gripped feverishly in his hand, and watched as the bearded man scrutinized his friend’s body. The doctor rushed to take over. As he did, the bearded man stood up and angrily took a step toward Lietel.

“What have you done?!” He said with a mixture of fury and incredulity. Before Lietel could answer, Janik took a deep audible breath that stopped everyone in their tracks. The doctor, confused and relieved at once, quickly checked the young boy for injury but could find neither wound nor blood. The bearded man was only momentarily put off from his interrogation of Lietel. He turned back to him and demanded an answer. “What is going on here?!” Lietel stepped back, not knowing how to explain the events he himself was confused by.

“I just wanted him to leave her alone.” He said plaintively, “I thought he was going to hurt her.”

“So you shot him?!?”

“No, it’s only…” He looked down at his toy, not sure what to say.

“Give me that right now!” The bearded man screamed at him. Lietel instinctively took another step back, not wanting to relinquish his favorite toy. “Boy! You had better listen to me!!”

“Stop!” Lietel shouted, as he raised the gun up between himself and the angry large adult. “Stay back!” This only served to enrage the bearded man, who began marching towards him quickly.

“BANG!!”

A female villager who had been standing nearby, shrieked as the gunshot rang out. The bearded man fell where he stood and this time Lietel’s victim had immediate visible damage. Blood rushed from the man’s chest and soaked his work shirt. The thud from his frame hitting the ground was felt by the people there. Everyone froze and looked at him, wondering if he too might recover, but he laid still and lifeless on the gravel.

Almost immediately a young woman from the crowd screamed and started to run off, and without any thought Lietel turned his gun to her, and fired.

“BANG!!”

She fell forward, her momentum pushing her along the ground as she landed. Blood welled up from the wound in her back, and her frock was wet with red. Another woman screamed.

Things had happened so quickly, the doctor was barely able to react at all. Janik was now off to the side with Margot, and when the doctor glanced at them, they both stood placidly, looking back at him with an almost imperceptibly wry smile on their faces. Everyone else gathered at the scene was petrified, including the doctor. No one moved or said a word, lest they be next to face Lietel’s wrath. He stood there now with fear contorting his face, waving his gun at all in attendance, and moving the sights of it from one villager to the next.

There was no more confusion amongst the bystanders as to what was happening now. Although none of them including the doctor could explain it, no one was about to test the now proven killer’s resolve and challenge the reality of what was occurring. The agitated young man herded the shell-shocked townspeople together and shouted for them to form a line. The doctor and his escort were made to queue up as well, and only Janik and Margot were exempted from these orders. The boy spat while barking his commands; the cork of his erstwhile toy still somehow lodged in the barrel. As the doctor lined up for what he could only assume to be a summary execution, his gaze turned back toward the old woman’s house. To his amazement he saw her, standing alone in front of her large window, nude, watching calmly at all that was happening, with the same knowing expression that Janik and Margot had worn.

Lietel had not had a chance to think things out. It had all happened so fast. He had never wanted to hurt anyone; in fact just the opposite was true. He had only wanted to stop Janik from harassing Margot any further. Lietel had never even known her all that well, but seeing her so upset and Janik berating her so awfully, he felt he must do something.

When Alban Leitner confronted him after he shot Janik, he was so confused and scared. He had never had an adult be that cross with him before. He was after all, a good boy. Shooting Alban was an accident, a knee-jerk reaction to an over-matched threat. He simply wanted the man to leave him alone. After that, when he shot Gerda Pichler, he was merely trying to stop an already runaway situation. Had hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but the thought of her going and telling someone else what he had done terrified him; he couldn’t have people running away.

Now, as he scanned the faces of his frightened victims, people he had known his entire life, he was heart-broken at the prospect of what he must do. Even though all this had taken place in a matter of minutes, he had already traveled so far down this path that he didn’t know how to turn back.

Hannelore Bohm was absolutely beside herself; she wept uncontrollably. Could he really now just kill her in cold blood because he was afraid to face what he had already done? Gerhard Egger had always been so kind to him, letting the young boy take apricots from his tree in summer. Was he really to shoot him now simply for being a witness to his mayhem? Johann Maier had taught him how to fish, and Ingeborg Seidel was his mother’s best friend!

He looked over the faces of his own town-folk and that of the visiting doctor, and regrettably knew what had to happen; the die was cast.

“BANG!!”

The sound broke the young doctor from his trance and broke his gaze from the old woman.

“BANG!!”

Lietel had begun systematically shooting his hostages, “BANG”

“Wait!” The doctor shouted, the crazed boy swinging his rifle around to point at him. “Please young man, please listen to me!” Lietel’s chest heaved with erratic breathing; his eyes wild. “Think about what you are doing my son. These people don’t deserve this. I believe you. I believe you when you say that you only wanted to help. I saw from up there, inside the girl’s house, the whole thing. I know that you were only trying to protect an already traumatized friend from further anguish, and that all this just got terribly out of control, but my boy, this must end now.” Lietel’s breathing slowed. His face relaxed a bit and he seemed to be taking in what the doctor was saying. “This has all been very scary and confusing for all of us, including you my child. If we could just stop for a moment and see if we can’t figure this thing out, I really think that would be best for everyone involved.” Lietel lowered his weapon as the doctor went on, “You don’t want to hurt anyone else, do you? Look at these people. They’re scared. You must have known them you whole life, please don’t make this any worse than it already is. I can help you. I can help you explain what has happened here. People will understand, but only if you stop now.”

Lietel looked away from the face of the young doctor. Dried tears covered his face and one could see that he was so utterly exhausted from all this. The doctor wondered where his parents were and if any other help might be on the way. His was the only voice that had managed to stay the actions of the young man so far, and so he continued to try and reason with him.

“I can see that you are tired. Please let me help you… like you tried to help her, remember?” He slowly approached the boy, trying desperately to exude calm forgiveness. Lietel’s face was expressionless, and the doctor wondered if he’d slipped into a state of shock. “Give me the gun.” He said softly, “It’s alright.” He bent down and slowly reached for the toy, and as he did looked up and caught just the start of the same knowing, wry continence that he had seen on the others. Before he could even regret his foolishness, Lietel raised the gun and fired.

“BANG!!”

The footsteps on the gravel pathway made the same rhythm as before. The same poor choice in footwear and fancy dress. Even the leather medical bag was the same; the only difference this time now was the doctor. A new fresh-faced practitioner now strode up the walkway. The same escort as before came out to meet him, and after a brief greeting, bade him follow and they made their way towards the old woman’s door.

The End

The Present, has neither voice nor memory.

I am the player within the game.

I control my character from outside.

The One who controls, is my true self.

There are other characters in the game.

Are they generated by the game?

When I move, they respond in their algorithmic fashion?

Up down left, begets forward right jump?

Or are they, like me, an individual playing the game?

If I am not the character, where do I reside?

In the Ether? Am I the Ether?

If so, how am I not the other players as well?

Am I We? Are We I?

If I am We, why can't the collective I see what the rest of We is doing?

Am I hiding from myself; a child's imagenary game of hide and seek?

If I, We, are out there, in there, everywhere,

Then We must be in the quantum levels, and everything is everything, and the soup is just dreaming.

Remember when you were in jail and no one wrote?

Well this, is better, than that.

Remember when you stole from everyone that you knew?

Well this, my friend, is better than that.

Remember all the ignorance you had, and yet you still spoke?

This, is better, than that.

The anger indulged and rage that you stoked.

Yes this, is much better, than that.

The world is a mirror, reflecting the self,

It's you that you change,

It requires no one else.

The power to manifest glory itself,

Now what, could be better, than that?

I feel...assailed.

By someone or something, I can't...

Is it real, or perceived?

Does it matter?

If the thing that disturbs you does not exist, are you no less disturbed?

I look for it.

I feel its presence.

But like a quantom particle, when I look for it one place, it ceases to be there.

I try and take solace that it probably does not exist, that I am mistaken and everything is probably fine.

Then why am I disturbed?

If a problem does not exist, it is exceedingly hard to correct it.

It occurs to me that the perception of something being wrong, IS the thing that is wrong, and that by extrapolation, THAT is the problem, and it DOES indeed exist.

This makes it no easier to get my hands around it. To grab and wrangle, to force into submission, that which displeases me. In the real world, that is exactly what I would do. Metting out justice with my hands, as this world has taught me.

And so, I remain frustrated.

Chasing my tail as it were, pouncing, or attempting to pounce anyway, on that elusive, ever-present pebble in my shoe.

I remember this, I said.

I turned it around in my hand.

It instantly took parts of my mind back,

Back to the time when I'd placed it there.

I had put these things in here during a time of transition, a time of movement, a time of change and upheaval.

I placed them here to keep them, I placed them here to remember the way I felt at that moment in my life.

I thought it was significant.

I thought it was cool.

They said something about me, these things. They told my story by illustrating the choices that I was making. The things and aesthetics that I valued.

I pictured the future viewer, looking at my collection. Understanding me and my story, told to them through these objects.

I was satisfied.

I replaced the items in the box.

I remembered.

Mostly the good, and only briefly cringed at the other, and quickly moved on.

I put the top back on as she called from the street, "The truck is here, c'mon!"

I placed the box inside a larger box and promised myself to find a proper place for these special things.

I barely resemble that person anymore.

There are travelers for whom,

The galaxies are their seas.

Who know of great worlds,

The likes we've never seen.

Worlds of wonder

Worlds of war

Worlds of pleasure,

Where ecstasy soars

Worlds of treasure,

Of wealth and of fame,

They've traveled these many worlds,

Time and again.

And when they had seen,

What the Universe gives,

They pointed the bows,

Of their mightiest ships.

And not to horizons,

Of gold and of lace,

But out towards wisdom,

And out towards grace.

When I was a boy I fancied myself a philosopher. My ideology knew no bounds.

I was on the right side of every issue with n'ere a trace of malice within me.

Slowly, the world wore away at me. Little by little. Bit by bit. Until the desire for comfort finally killed my sense of indignation.

I understood now the failings of men. The corrosion of the body and the spirit; the river of time carving its way through the canyons of my soul.

Do not be fooled into believing that you produce art. You are fabricating that which is for consumption. That, and nothing more.

So hang your shingle and ply thy trade cobbler, but spare me your politics please, for I am of a wiser sort.