the ink may be smeared,

apologies.

but to whoever it may concern:

please let me in.

i've been hiding

too long

keeping my

heart

black

wrapped

in thorns

hidden away

under vibrant

lace curtains

i'm so

fake

i need to

be with

others like

me

shed these

layers

of fake smiles

and platisicine words

please

let me be

myself

"I'm sorry for my existence."

"I know."

"Have you ever seen The Simpsons?"

"Matt's mentioned it once or twice."

"Do you have a favorite place to vacation?"

"I like Florida. It's like a joke, but it isn't."

"It's a true microcosm."

"Walmart is fun."

"I drunkenly called a guy wedgie guy because he was pulling put a wedgie when I saw him."

"I know."

After a brier moment of silence, "Where do we go from here?"

"It's up to you."

"Can we go find a platypus and name it Perry and give it a hat?"

"Okay."

Sample:

June

A dog is barking. It’s a small dog, I can tell. A nasty, annoying little shit that barks at everyone. I know, I had one like this most of my life. The barking is just about the only sound out there. There isn’t much of a night life in this city, and even if there was, it wouldn’t be around this place.

I was originally hopeful that the dog’s barking would actually be useful, something more, beside the web-cams that will let me know that the Vandal is approaching. But I guess after so many false alarms, I became jaded. There will be no shortcuts. I just need to be alert until the end of the night shift.

The “living room” is small. The owner did not leave a lot of furniture; just the table, the bed, and the chair. Bare minimum. For some reason, he did leave a mechanical clock, and its faint ticking joins the dog’s barks.

I get up to stretch my bones a bit. The hard wooden chair is not very comfortable, and it was not designed for what I’m doing , sitting on it for whole nights and watching the lions on the CCTV display on my laptop. A pillow doesn’t make it much Better. I need an office chair, something made of soft leather, something that would absorb the weight of my fat ass comfortably for long periods.

I walk over to the window.

The two web cams are hung on the window netting pointing at different angles at the entrance to the `Glorious Residence` block. The lions are still standing. No vandal yet.

I lean on the windowsill, looking out. There are no cars driving past. It’s all dead. 1 in the morning and nothing.

The apartment is very small and rather primitive. The landlord, a nice old guy, was not legally allowed to rent it to me. Renting to a Laowai (foreigner), is something problematic in China. You need to get some inspection, and redo the ‘facilities’, mainly the toilet and shower. This place is small even by Chinese standards, the bathroom is the standard squat ’n flush toilet. The bed is a wooden frame with some burlap ropes netted together to brace the mattress. But In this case, there is no mattress, but a thick blanket. When I moved in, I was worried that it will not hold my weight. The bed, the bathroom and the little extra I had to pay to the landlord in order to get this room though, are worth it. It has the perfect view that I need of the street and the lions. Sooner or later, the vandal is going to come, and I am going to catch him.

Thinking of the vandal though is not an encouraging thought. I still need to figure out what exactly I can do , when I finally meet him. I don’t want to think about what will happen if he is anything like those dreams.

I make a hurried dinner of instant noodles, or as I translate from Chinese: “convenient noodles”. This preparation doesn’t require me to leave the computer for a long time. I set the kettle boiling, run back, open the pack, and get things ready as I watch the computer screen. Finally, I add water, and some fresh needle mushrooms, that I’ve already cleaned. Done. In total, I lost about a minute of viewing time, but now I have something to eat, I also made another big beer mug full of tea with the rest of the hot water. I’ll drink that later. Both the paper cup and the mug are sitting beside my keyboard, steaming. I can smell the soup.

I’m actually very sick of eating this crap. It’s terrible and I can feel how it isn’t doing anything good to my body. In the first week on this diet, when I stopped calling to Chen’s take out, I couldn’t hold the stuff in and had to run... Now I guess, for better or worse, my stomach is acclimated to the toxic sludge and I just feel nauseous a bit. No biggie.

I wish China would have more of a canned food culture, but they don’t. No camping here. They have a lot of spicy dried things and spicy oily things but it’s not for me.

Calling Chen’s is out of the question. I can’t afford it. I can’t afford a real meal, not since I lost the last gig.

The clock is ticking, Mechanically and existentially. My dough will run out , but it’ll be a close race between that and my visa which has a very definite expiration date. I ration the money the best I can, but I can’t do a thing about the other. So instant noodles....

Maybe I should look for a new job. Maybe I should just give up.

Oh . Here is someone walking across. I didn’t look for a second, but the guy got out of a green company taxi cab, but this isn’t the vandal. He is walking away, down the street and out of view. He looks youngish, and wobbly. Got a bit drunk; a late night office outing. Going to a Karaoke bar. Getting drunk on Baijiu... But it’s a bit late for him to come back from a drink with the guys... He is a bit under-dressed as well. So, what is he doing, walking around at 1....2 am?

Well, now I have a game! Some entertainment. He`s wobbly and of course it means he had some drinks. But it couldn’t be a normal party. Even the Mazhong saloons aren’t open this late. I can think of a nightclub or two, but they are too far away, and he doesn’t look like clubber material.

My story is this: They guy did go to a Karaoke bar early on, where he stayed later then his buddies. He did that because he was going to try to hit on one of the girls. But that didn’t work out. These girls don’t sleep around and would not let him even get a phone number. Our guy didn’t see that, and thought the girl was sending him signals. What can he lose? He took a shot and struck out.

Now, we are about eleven—twelve o’clock and our frustrated friend is facing closing time at the KTV. Doesn’t matter- he is very drunk by now and walks around plastered. Now, he faces a dilemma that his muddled brain can barely handle: Go back home, and try and get some sleep- Tomorrow is still a work day. Or try doing something fun. He does neither and enters the park around the corner. He spends the next hour screaming and goofing off with the public exercise machines.

Finally, our guy’s alcohol level gets low enough and he takes a taxi home. What he doesn’t know , is that his wife left him, pissed off from all the late nights and the general insensitivity. The guy will somehow get up tomorrow, or actually today. He will hurry getting things right for work, but by the time he comes to the office, he will get into trouble. I don’t think he’ll get fired, but it would go as another black star in his file. He already has a few. The work day for him will be a hell of equal parts hangover and worrying about is wife. Not productive, he will not hit the sales quota. He won’t get past the minimal commission rate and by the end of the month will be really hurting. The decline in his life will continue on and in the end, he will be driven mad, strip naked in the middle of the office and scream at the top of his lungs, “I’m a Daisy!!” while standing on the desk.

Just a game. While I was playing the game I was still looking at the screen . I didn’t need to neglect my work. Just the amazing power of mind games to pass away the time.

But mind games have their limit. On the screen, the two night-filtered images, display the two lions, in real time, on two separate windows. I got the application for this, when I was starting out, along with the web cams. The field of vision overlaps somewhat, but I do get a fairly wide picture of the street that connects to the neighborhood. On the far right, I can see that wind is blowing, ruffling through the leaves of a branch that grew over the wall. Nothing else is happening in either view. I take a sip of cool, cheap green tea, and I think about all that’s happened, to bring myself to this moment in my life.

copyright ©iraweiss

Name : Ira Weiss (pseudonym)

Project Name : The Stone Lions Of Dalian

Genre: magical realism, suspense, young adult.

Target audience: 15-45

Word count: 168,000

Synopsis: Ira Weiss is living an isolated frustrating life in China. He struggles with loneliness and wrestles with thoughts of going home. when one of the stone lions that guard the entrance to his neighborhood is destroyed, Ira sets out to find who is responsible. He is haunted by terrible dreams of a vandal who destroys stone lions. Upon further investigation, Ira finds that stone lions are being destroyed all over the city of Dalian. Ira tries to involve other people, including the police in the matter but his failing in communicating and the general indifference of others frustrate him. he becomes obsessed with catching the vandal and forgets about all other matters.

The novel deals with many psychological aspects of isolation, alienation, and obsession. Ira uses his hunt for the vandal as a distraction of making harsh but necessary life decisions. he internalizes every perceived insult and completely misses the opportunities of making positive relationships with real people.

My Bio:

I have lived for many years in China , currently living in the city of Wuhan.

Living in a different country teaches a person how to deal better with crises and stress. And this story, to some extent, is based on my early personal experiences and state of mind.

I think this novel can help many people who suffer from anxiety and the inability to make important choices, and have fear of reaching out to other people.

Hobbies:

Writing, playing, and listening to music, making toys, but mostly dealing with baby stuff at the moment.

Personally, I am a proud but anxious new father, to a beautiful over-energetic toddler who should eat more.

Let me tell you a story about a girl who was born in the sunflowers

It was a series of bad luck really

Her water broke early and one flat tire later they’re in the middle of a field

But sometimes those worst moments turn into the best days of our lives

A baby’s cry rings out amongst the endless flowers

Let me tell you a story about a girl who grew up in the sunflowers

Her papa loves her so much he plants her a garden of sunflowers

She spends her childhood hiding, and reading.

and playing, and sleeping.

and breathing in the flowers

Let me tell you a story about a girl who fell in love in the sunflowers

This little girl grows up and moves away

She becomes a gardener

And that’s when a young man starts coming by

He asks about a different type of flower everyday

Until he comes in and says he’s looking for the perfect flower to ask out a girl

She suggests sunflowers

Half an hour later he suggests they have lunch together with a bouquet in hand

They were married surrounded by the yellow flowers

Let me tell you a story about a girl who lived her life in the sunflowers

Over time her back starts to ache

So when she’s saved up enough, she opens a floral shop

She spends the rest of her days selling sunflowers

And going home to a husband who always makes sure there’s a vase of them by the window

And to two sunshiny little girls who love the colour yellow

Let me tell you a story about a girl who died in the sunflowers

She lived a good life, a happy life

Eventually her skin started to wrinkle and her hair turned white

but as she lay there in that hospital bed, she knew she was loved

So many bouquets, all of them sunflowers

Until her whole room was garden

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep-

And yet...

Let me tell you a story about a girl who was reborn as a sunflower

for a while it’s cold and dark

wet and damp and cramped

so cramped she decides to stretch

she stretches until her fingers break through the earth

and she pulls herself up towards the sky

And when she feels brave enough, she uncovers her face to feel the sun

The warm glow kisses her cheeks as she smiles

her yellow petals caressed gently by the breeze

she is a

sunflower.

standing tall,

towering above

the torment of

the world.

she wears

a crown

of butter

yellow,

radiant,

almost glowing.

she is full

of

seeds.

seeds of wisdom,

seeds of hope,

seeds of

possibility.

her stalk

can support

anything,

so go

ahead

and throw

it at her.

murders

of crows,

drought,

weedkiller.

she will

remain.

but like

a sunflower

one day

she will

wither

away

&

die.

There are still Twinkies.

No, they're not as good as they used to be, but hey they exist.

(After Zombieland I thought you might worry)

There are still communication networks.

The fact you can existentially post this query to billions of strangers online must mean it's not truly hopeless yet, right?

There are still dogs.

At some point we'll probably wipe out most species on the planet - we can't lose that one.

There are still cats.

If they still deign to exist on our plane, maybe it's not as bad as we spoiled humans think.

There are still jobs.

Maybe not great ones, maybe not as many as before, but people are still out there working. Which means we don't have to rely on our non-existent hunter/gather skills yet.

There are still deliveries.

In the past three months I've had Modge Podge, printer ink, graphic novels, black paint, freshly roasted coffee, the first season of Good Omens, boxer briefs, face masks, custom foam core board game miniature storage solutions, dog toys, cat food, and Welsh cakes delivered to my home.

(don't ask, but hey - it all made it)

There are still babies being born.

You think you've got it bad - imagine when they turn two and some poor relic walks up to one of those COVID kids and tries to shake their hand, causing their little social-distanced minds to blow and leaving them rolling on the ground in a fit of tears.

There are still space missions.

'Cause honestly speaking, this rock ain't getting any better so if we don't keep working on how to get off it then you should worry.

There are still good people.

Maybe they're outweighed by bad people, or confused people, or people who just can't right now - but they're out there, and I like to think so long as I can stand at least one other person on this planet then my doomsday scenario has an ally I can rely on to hit the button with me.

Or for me, as I run the other way.

Maybe we'll just both run and throw something at the button.

They're usually big for that purpose, right?

There are still instruction manuals.

In case we do lose all of the above and have to learn to do everything ourselves, including hunt/gather and operate buttons.

*Whenever you're feeling down, remember to always take inventory - what you've got is usually more than your worst case scenario might have imagined.

The Fall. In practically every religion, there is a narrative regarding a “Fall”, or “The Fall”. I never genuinely experienced the notion of that. Indeed though I am a Christian, it didn’t occur to me that “The Fall” signified the origin function of the complete scripture. Each pastor I associate with uses “The Fall” as a biblical reference to each infirmity. Awaking one morning, I subsequently conjectured why it remained so relevant. That one aurora was the wakeup omen of all my vulnerable beliefs. It completely originated while I woke up to a phone call. Annoyed, because it remained barely 4 a.m. & I wasn’t scheduled for my alarm ’till 7:30 a.m. I answered abruptly.“Is this Isabella Hunter?” Unenthusiastic, irritable, & exhausted I snarled: “Why are you calling me?” I ought to confess that I was dampened by his distant, penetrating voice. So I softened my voice, not wanting to arouse my mum. “Humankind possesses only 7 spans left ere I terminate it!” He frightened me! Oh, how he frightened me! His wretched call was similar to a transpiring shot with an arrow. Direct, punctured, & shocking! Abruptly, the peculiar man hung up, issuing me with dark, dejected silence...

Genre: Drama/Mystery

Age range: 16+

Word count: 202

Author name: Tatiana McCruel

Why project is a good fit: It grows deep into the idea of the Fall and explores religious tension and inquiry.

Target Audience: Teens/ Y.A.

Platform: N/A

Education: Middle school

Experience: Classes taken on writing

Hometown: Cleveland, Ohio

Age: 13

Whoever it is, they are late!

And for the tenth time in an hour, she questioned the wisdom in setting up this meeting. She changed her cushions for a third time and sat sipping on her second cup of tea. She pulled out her phone to make new plans. The night was still young and there was more she could do with her youth than sit by and watch life pass her by. This is the thought that kept her awake at night and stopped her from making long-term commitments. The logic behind this was simple; if she was committed to something she couldn't do it all. And more than anything she wanted to do it all before the clock chimed on her life.

The knock on her door sounded like a secret code; two short taps, one loud one and crowned off by three short taps. The thought in her head was that it was a weird way to knock and she hoped she hadn't invited a serial killer to her house for tea.

'You are not the person I was expecting,' she said to the figure standing outside her door. And he definitely wasn't who she was expecting. She was waiting on one of those mobile therapists. She had filled in a bunch of answers online and had been told one would be with her, today. He just didn't look like what she expected a therapist to look like with his gray beard that was tucked into his waist belt, an hourglass and a scythe.

Common sense reminded her to verify his identity.

'Who exactly are you?'

'Your worst nightmare,' he answered in a gruff voice and pushed his way through the door. Not violently but authoritatively. Like he had more right to be in her house than she did. She watched him from the door as he changed her cushions and made himself well at home.

'This is not funny. And I don't know who sent you here but I'd rather you leave. Before I call the police.' Was she supposed to shut the door behind her when there was a strange man in the house. But her phone was on the couch where the stranger had made himself comfortable. He seemed to notice that and smiled back at her.

'It would be a shame if the police came over, considering you invited me here.' He picked out the raisins in her cookies and bit into them.

'I didn't...'

'According to the answers you filled in, you said you wanted help facing your fears and here I am. Your fear in the flesh.'

'I'm scared of heights like every rational human and need it fixed for the hiking trip I'm supposed to take. But strangers and being kidnapped are becoming a close second.' she snarled and he laughed.

'I've watched you for a while...'

'And that's not creepy at all,' she mumbled, interrupting him. He ignored her.

'...and you are more scared of time, the uncertain future, time running out,' he paused, 'death. And who better to walk you through that fear than Father Time himself.'

'I am not scared of time,' she said softly and slowly, as though she was talking to a little child, 'Father Time is a myth and why would you be Father Time when you are an hour late to a meeting.' She figured this was a delusional old man and there was no harm in interracting him.

'Who says I'm late? Maybe I'm proving a point. How you can't comfortably sit in the silence because you are working against unseen deadlines. Come child, sit, let's have a chat about time.'

my dear friend , i posted many articles about feeling better and overcoming depression and anxiety. so have thousands of others.

but anxieties have this way of coming back. maybe just in different form. people have lived with that since the dawn of time and they will continue to do so in the future. all you need to remember is that in the large scale, the entirty of your life, this is just a short moment.

try thinking of this like calculus. i HATED math in highschool. but i remember learning about functions and derivatives.

try to think of it like this. your life is a strange wavy function. the general trend is upward. now. at this moment, the derivative is a downward line. but the line meets the function through only two points. after that, it’s gone.

this crisis will be over. this math will over, this post will be over. and you will rise and laugh.

if that doesn’t help you, let me prescribe a radical treatment. it works like a treat.

find a performance of Franz Schubert piano trio in E flat major. listen to the interplay between the piano, the violin and the cello.

now, go to the second movement. it begins with a slow march-like tempo of the piano, a quiet moment. then the cello comes in and cries his sorrows in what i believe is the most beautiful melody the human race put together. I imagine a trio of friends meeting. they had a happy moment at the first movement. then they settle down , and over the emptying second round, the cello cries. he is broken, he is lonely, he is afraid.

the piano and violin talk it out, they sympathize. they too, have known great pain.

the rest is mostly joyous. things happen . a break from the melancholy.

listen to that cello. listen closely. I beg you. if your heart aches like he does, then you are human. you feel pain. but you have hope.

*i recommend the Heifetz trio, if you can get it. maybe on youtube?

glaxies glide

within me.

pulsing to the

rythm of my heart,

lighting stars

when i smile

and

darkening

(and condensing to a small ball of pain)

when i cry...

my soul

is endless

emptiness

and

fullness

(an “out of this world” contadiction)

that i

will never be able

to fully understand.

(but like space, my knowledge of it grows each day).

so,

do not judge me by my

skin

(calling me out because i’m different)

because

my soul

is way beyond

this body,

and you will

never

be able to capture it.