NEEDLE STACK
A needle in a stack of needles
Start over begin again
Lather rinse
Absorb the new
Shake your ass
Scream the lyrics with a fist in the air
Blood boiling heart beating through concrete
Crush everything there is no stopping you
HARD WON BAR LAND
she brushes my arm
Intent on having my attention
Must be the Pabst
Or the Schnapps after shave
Maybe she’s in heat perhaps we should meet
Before I can investigate she is gone
And now this asshole is slowly annexing my bar space
My appeasement tactics are not working
They never do
These fascists in their tight tees encroaching on my hard won bar land
I need breathing room
LEFT OF CENTER
Arrogance my only virtue
Narcissism my only vow
I sweat for work
I bleed for nothing
I eat to stuff it
I drink to snuff it
I don’t sleep
So, now it is time to adjourn
We only have the present
I will spend mine being the buffoon
The center of attention
Or at least slightly left of center
BLIP
Counting the hours
What hour was it when his breath last fogged the glass
The hot mist of time thick with shoulda, coulda, wouldas
Solid and substantial but waning
Ebbing, leaving us with every moment receding
A dawn with no dusk to follow
Or twilight eternal but in a wink it is gone
Time is folding up in front of me
A line on paper doubled over
Meaningless as names
Essential as the sun
Strong as water
Pure as snow
Then the sun sets early
Youthful star that seemed so bright yesterday, is gone today
It is not yesterday we only observe from the future looking back at our past sins
He was shot for four dollars and an Iphone, he was here three days
He lived a blip
WILLING VICTIMS
The object of my desire
Never objectified
For the crown she wears keeps her chin raised to the sky
My courtly love, my courtly lust rather
I am trapped, jailed, imprisoned within her eyes
My eyes know what my hands, my tongue, my whole body want
Dream of
Yearn for
I see her shoulders bend and spring back
A bird, no feathers just smooth creamy coffee skin
No bird, a cat, this lioness cranes he neck her eyes searching for prey
Is it my heart or my loins pounding
They are both willing victims
They have succomb
This woman
This goddess
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Butting Heads and Investigation into the Male Dilemma, a play by Joseph Partington Coleburn
Butting Heads and Investigation into the Male Dilemma, a play by Joseph Partington Coleburn
Act one Scene One
The rocky mountainside stands immovable jutting angrily into the pale blue sky. Storm clouds on the horizon look on these peaks, but the great crags react to nothing. They are alone they were here first and they will be here after. The sun shines down the angular rocks cast foreboding shadows along the Cliffside. Even the sun, slowly receding upon the horizon, an inconstant in the face of these mammoths. Looking closer there is a scuffling two horned animals kick up dust on the hill side, knocking rock loose, sending pebbles cascading down the slopes. Their breath in the cold air is like the smoke from a dragon’s snout. The beasts stare with unblinking black marble eyes. One rears up and begins to gallop straight for the other. The latter follows suit and in seconds these two horned beasts are locked in heated battle. Grunts and the sounds of their horns butting against one another echo down this uninterested landscape.
Soon, one horn is locked to another, each animal struggling to get free. There is pushing and pulling and panting and wheezing. And then a pause. The two sets of black marble eyes forced inches apart. They are stuck.
Beast #1: Well this is just perfect…
Beast #2: (struggling) Let go, come on let go! This hurts!
Beast #1: (laughing but in pain) “Let Go?” Let go with what dingus it’s not like I have opposable antlers.
Beast #2: (stops) Well then what do we do?
Beast #1: How should I know? I guess we will just have to wait for someone to come by…
Beast#2: This sucks. This is all your fault.
Beast#1: My fault! My fault!?! YOU tried to steal her from ME.
Beast#2: Listen Lenny I saw her first that means she is my mate.
Lenny: (annoyed) But Dave, I had already mounted her and you come along and push me off, what kind of friend does that? I mean you mount it, ya mate it am I right?
Dave: Lenny I known ya a long time, but all is fair in love and mating. I mean I need to procreate as much as possible, think of the species.
Lenny: What about me? That is all I think about too. I mean I need to spread my seed.
Dave: (sighs) Ok, Ok, it doesn’t matter now, we just need to figure out how to get free.
Lenny: Yeah, but how.
:::Pause:::
Lenny and Dave: HELP!!!! HELP!! HELP!!!!
BLACK
To be continued…
Act one Scene One
The rocky mountainside stands immovable jutting angrily into the pale blue sky. Storm clouds on the horizon look on these peaks, but the great crags react to nothing. They are alone they were here first and they will be here after. The sun shines down the angular rocks cast foreboding shadows along the Cliffside. Even the sun, slowly receding upon the horizon, an inconstant in the face of these mammoths. Looking closer there is a scuffling two horned animals kick up dust on the hill side, knocking rock loose, sending pebbles cascading down the slopes. Their breath in the cold air is like the smoke from a dragon’s snout. The beasts stare with unblinking black marble eyes. One rears up and begins to gallop straight for the other. The latter follows suit and in seconds these two horned beasts are locked in heated battle. Grunts and the sounds of their horns butting against one another echo down this uninterested landscape.
Soon, one horn is locked to another, each animal struggling to get free. There is pushing and pulling and panting and wheezing. And then a pause. The two sets of black marble eyes forced inches apart. They are stuck.
Beast #1: Well this is just perfect…
Beast #2: (struggling) Let go, come on let go! This hurts!
Beast #1: (laughing but in pain) “Let Go?” Let go with what dingus it’s not like I have opposable antlers.
Beast #2: (stops) Well then what do we do?
Beast #1: How should I know? I guess we will just have to wait for someone to come by…
Beast#2: This sucks. This is all your fault.
Beast#1: My fault! My fault!?! YOU tried to steal her from ME.
Beast#2: Listen Lenny I saw her first that means she is my mate.
Lenny: (annoyed) But Dave, I had already mounted her and you come along and push me off, what kind of friend does that? I mean you mount it, ya mate it am I right?
Dave: Lenny I known ya a long time, but all is fair in love and mating. I mean I need to procreate as much as possible, think of the species.
Lenny: What about me? That is all I think about too. I mean I need to spread my seed.
Dave: (sighs) Ok, Ok, it doesn’t matter now, we just need to figure out how to get free.
Lenny: Yeah, but how.
:::Pause:::
Lenny and Dave: HELP!!!! HELP!! HELP!!!!
BLACK
To be continued…
LARRY
He was homeless
He was a vagrant
He was a drunkard
But he was decent to me
He had his own language
Cobweb castles in the mornin’ to warm up
Before he hoofed it down to the library
He always had a schedule
But nowhere to sleep
He couldn’t eat the chips that the church gave him
‘Cause they was too hard for his crumbling teeth
He had nicknames for his favorites
Two Tone and Spotey Odey
He laughed easily
He just came by for water
And a jaw wag
He made the squares feel uncomfortable
I only saw him drunk once and I didn’t like it
He had a family outside the city just like mine
One day he stopped stopping by
I never saw him again
But I still wonder about Larry
Every time I walk the streets
With nowhere to go and nothing to be
I wish I could’ve done more
But all he ever wanted was water and a quick chat
I hope he is somewhere
Still hoofing it
Watching out for tiggy and ooch
And not trusting cats ‘cause they’ll snitch on you
The ghetto screamers blaring bass
As he tries to find his way home
Wherever that is
He was a vagrant
He was a drunkard
But he was decent to me
He had his own language
Cobweb castles in the mornin’ to warm up
Before he hoofed it down to the library
He always had a schedule
But nowhere to sleep
He couldn’t eat the chips that the church gave him
‘Cause they was too hard for his crumbling teeth
He had nicknames for his favorites
Two Tone and Spotey Odey
He laughed easily
He just came by for water
And a jaw wag
He made the squares feel uncomfortable
I only saw him drunk once and I didn’t like it
He had a family outside the city just like mine
One day he stopped stopping by
I never saw him again
But I still wonder about Larry
Every time I walk the streets
With nowhere to go and nothing to be
I wish I could’ve done more
But all he ever wanted was water and a quick chat
I hope he is somewhere
Still hoofing it
Watching out for tiggy and ooch
And not trusting cats ‘cause they’ll snitch on you
The ghetto screamers blaring bass
As he tries to find his way home
Wherever that is
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Arnold Worthington Fishburne Never had a Pet and Never Wanted One
Arnold W. Fishburne never had a pet and never wanted one. He feared most things that couldn’t relay their feelings to him in words. Animals, babies and trees, were all things that were so foreign to him that sometimes deep down in the recesses of his brain he thought they were out to get him. Arnold knew, or had been taught, that thoughts like these were silly and should be dismissed as soon as they appeared. Still there were times when he would catch an animal looking at him in a certain way, or hear a tree creek., and that same unnerving feeling would grip him.
One spring Arnold’s roommate Ashley decided to get a dog. As much as Arnold wanted to protest he couldn’t for the life of him think how. Arnold W. Fishburne had learned at a young age that rocking the boat was not for civilized people and that most things were best dealt with by putting on the brave face, swallowing your pride, and shutting up. The puppy was a pitbul hound mix and was the most adorable puppy Arnold had ever met. Shaka was his name. He whined, he destroyed things, and he made messes. Arnold loved the dog but would never let anyone know it, not even Shaka. He loved and feared it in equal measure. Here was a thing that could rely on him, that he could mold into something. Arnold decided that for the good of the dog and for his own safety to keep his distance.
And so it went on like that for a while, he clearly was a part of the dog’s life, but he refused the responsibility out of fear. One Saturday in the fall Arnold, Ashley, and Shaka drove out to a friends mountain retreat for a bonfire. Arnold knew from experience that these bonfires were usually a nice drunken time where he could relax and just get outside his own head for one night. Ashley knew that there would be other animals there, so he thought that bringing Shaka would be good for him. As soon as they got there, the dog began frolicking with the other dogs and barking at the chickens and Arnold moseyed over to the giant bucket of beer. After they had been there an hour or so Ashley asked Arnold what they were going to eat, they couldn’t continue this debauchery without first filling their bellies. Some of the other party goers assuaged their fears with the promise of a rabbit stew that they were going to make. So, knowing that a meal was impending, Arnold W. Fishburne redoubled his efforts to forget the world and his worries, cracked a new beer, and passed around a bottle of liquor telling everyone to “DO WORK”.
A short time later Arnold found himself pleasantly drunk but impossibly starving. He thought about this in a vague, fuzzy way as he entered the kitchen to see what was the status of the stew. As he entered and saw friends still chopping up vegetables and the rabbit still braising he realized that this stew would not be ready for some time. At this point Arnold began to panic. He was drunk there was no stopping that now, and now he was starving and sweating and the whole world was going terribly wrong. He tried making some jokes about how hungry he was to lighten the mood to no avail. As if on cue, Shaka entered the kitchen and glared at him. Did Shaka know that he was more vulnerable now than he had ever seen him? Was this his chance to strike? Arnold shook these thoughts away and said “Hey Buddy” and rubbed his ears. Shaka just shook his head and scampered off leaving Arnold feeling rather lonely. Arnold stood there in the kitchen deep within his own mind despising the dog and himself and the world, when he noticed the smell of fresh baked brownies. He investigated and found that a tray of brownies had just been removed from the oven. He was starving he needed to eat a brownie. A beautiful hippie girl informed Arnold that they were magic. He looked at her brown sparkling eyes and thought that they certainly smelled magical. He was welcome to one she said, so Arnold throwing caution to the wind sliced the brownies and ate one.
After eating seven brownies Arnold was no longer hungry but decided that he desperately needed to be outside where the air was. He started to feel the blood in his brain and his vision began to curve in at the peripheral. All at once space-time folded in on itself so that Arnold felt that he was in three separate times and spaces at once. It was disorienting because in one of these space time pockets the sun was still up and he was still laughing and smiling with his friends by the bonfire. The second pocket was dark and he was under a giant tarp to protect him from potential rain, there was a band playing music and the music was also somehow coming out of him and he was predicting the song even though he had never heard the band before. He saw Ashley’s face here in the crowd and was comforted slightly to know that he was also quite out of his mind. The third spot that Arnold W. Fishburne was stuck in was a wood pile and he was alone. He laid there in the woodpile looking up at the stars and taking stock of what was happening to him. If he could just get a grip on how drunk he was, he was positive he could handle, even enjoy the magic pulsing through his body. He sat there thinking of things to sober him up and begging the Gods to make the rabbit stew be ready now. Arnold looked down at his hands and began to cry. His skin was melting in to the wood grain. He was stuck, he was trapped, he was going to become part of the wood pile forever. As he saw the skin of his right hand growing bark on it, his head spun and he vomited. He was so glued to this stump that he couldn’t stand up so he just leaned behind the wood pile and regurgitated the demons that were plaguing him. It was at this point that he realized he was in the midst of a severe bummer.
Shaka sauntered up to the wood pile to investigate. He sniffed at Arnold then went over to lick up his pile of sick. Arnold couldn’t handle this, he lost control and said GO ON GET OUT!!!! The dog trotted off looking hurt.
The next morning Shaka was nowhere to be found. Arnold still in a semi haze was convinced that he had magicked Shaka out of existence. He sat there on the ride back to the city, a horrible guilt welling up inside of him seeing his roommates distress. Arnold W. Fishburne knew that it was his fault his bad vibes that caused the dog to disappear. Worse than the guilt was the feeling lurking deep inside that he had got what he wanted. Arnold W. Fishburne had never had a pet and never wanted one.
One spring Arnold’s roommate Ashley decided to get a dog. As much as Arnold wanted to protest he couldn’t for the life of him think how. Arnold W. Fishburne had learned at a young age that rocking the boat was not for civilized people and that most things were best dealt with by putting on the brave face, swallowing your pride, and shutting up. The puppy was a pitbul hound mix and was the most adorable puppy Arnold had ever met. Shaka was his name. He whined, he destroyed things, and he made messes. Arnold loved the dog but would never let anyone know it, not even Shaka. He loved and feared it in equal measure. Here was a thing that could rely on him, that he could mold into something. Arnold decided that for the good of the dog and for his own safety to keep his distance.
And so it went on like that for a while, he clearly was a part of the dog’s life, but he refused the responsibility out of fear. One Saturday in the fall Arnold, Ashley, and Shaka drove out to a friends mountain retreat for a bonfire. Arnold knew from experience that these bonfires were usually a nice drunken time where he could relax and just get outside his own head for one night. Ashley knew that there would be other animals there, so he thought that bringing Shaka would be good for him. As soon as they got there, the dog began frolicking with the other dogs and barking at the chickens and Arnold moseyed over to the giant bucket of beer. After they had been there an hour or so Ashley asked Arnold what they were going to eat, they couldn’t continue this debauchery without first filling their bellies. Some of the other party goers assuaged their fears with the promise of a rabbit stew that they were going to make. So, knowing that a meal was impending, Arnold W. Fishburne redoubled his efforts to forget the world and his worries, cracked a new beer, and passed around a bottle of liquor telling everyone to “DO WORK”.
A short time later Arnold found himself pleasantly drunk but impossibly starving. He thought about this in a vague, fuzzy way as he entered the kitchen to see what was the status of the stew. As he entered and saw friends still chopping up vegetables and the rabbit still braising he realized that this stew would not be ready for some time. At this point Arnold began to panic. He was drunk there was no stopping that now, and now he was starving and sweating and the whole world was going terribly wrong. He tried making some jokes about how hungry he was to lighten the mood to no avail. As if on cue, Shaka entered the kitchen and glared at him. Did Shaka know that he was more vulnerable now than he had ever seen him? Was this his chance to strike? Arnold shook these thoughts away and said “Hey Buddy” and rubbed his ears. Shaka just shook his head and scampered off leaving Arnold feeling rather lonely. Arnold stood there in the kitchen deep within his own mind despising the dog and himself and the world, when he noticed the smell of fresh baked brownies. He investigated and found that a tray of brownies had just been removed from the oven. He was starving he needed to eat a brownie. A beautiful hippie girl informed Arnold that they were magic. He looked at her brown sparkling eyes and thought that they certainly smelled magical. He was welcome to one she said, so Arnold throwing caution to the wind sliced the brownies and ate one.
After eating seven brownies Arnold was no longer hungry but decided that he desperately needed to be outside where the air was. He started to feel the blood in his brain and his vision began to curve in at the peripheral. All at once space-time folded in on itself so that Arnold felt that he was in three separate times and spaces at once. It was disorienting because in one of these space time pockets the sun was still up and he was still laughing and smiling with his friends by the bonfire. The second pocket was dark and he was under a giant tarp to protect him from potential rain, there was a band playing music and the music was also somehow coming out of him and he was predicting the song even though he had never heard the band before. He saw Ashley’s face here in the crowd and was comforted slightly to know that he was also quite out of his mind. The third spot that Arnold W. Fishburne was stuck in was a wood pile and he was alone. He laid there in the woodpile looking up at the stars and taking stock of what was happening to him. If he could just get a grip on how drunk he was, he was positive he could handle, even enjoy the magic pulsing through his body. He sat there thinking of things to sober him up and begging the Gods to make the rabbit stew be ready now. Arnold looked down at his hands and began to cry. His skin was melting in to the wood grain. He was stuck, he was trapped, he was going to become part of the wood pile forever. As he saw the skin of his right hand growing bark on it, his head spun and he vomited. He was so glued to this stump that he couldn’t stand up so he just leaned behind the wood pile and regurgitated the demons that were plaguing him. It was at this point that he realized he was in the midst of a severe bummer.
Shaka sauntered up to the wood pile to investigate. He sniffed at Arnold then went over to lick up his pile of sick. Arnold couldn’t handle this, he lost control and said GO ON GET OUT!!!! The dog trotted off looking hurt.
The next morning Shaka was nowhere to be found. Arnold still in a semi haze was convinced that he had magicked Shaka out of existence. He sat there on the ride back to the city, a horrible guilt welling up inside of him seeing his roommates distress. Arnold W. Fishburne knew that it was his fault his bad vibes that caused the dog to disappear. Worse than the guilt was the feeling lurking deep inside that he had got what he wanted. Arnold W. Fishburne had never had a pet and never wanted one.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
You're in the Bar You'll Go Far
Something dark and tasty of the beer variety
All things and plenty but don’t be hasty
Go slow
Let it ride
Drink it down
Sling back the goof juice ‘tis the season
The fryer went down
The fryer went down
Relax you got your Pabst
And the persistent beats drowning out the patron’s squabble
It’s a long story in a martini shaker
It’s a dry morning buzz and a kiss on the cheek
It’s the syncopated sweat beads
Tap Tapping on the small of her back
Bare bodies bouncing and bending
And you are spent but you don’t know where the floor went
There is no ceiling just endless black night sky
Tonight you’ll smile and stare and run your hands through your hair
She’ll be there and she’ll wonder where you came from and where you’re going
But she’ll know soon that you’re nowhere and nothing
For tonight you can feast one another and lie
Un-focus your eyes and look at your words
As they bleed and you regurgitate them in a meaningless scribble
Mr. Manager sits and lords over it all
We’re all bricked in to our tomb
The Pharaohs of old still begging to be remembered
You’re in the bar you’ll go far
All things and plenty but don’t be hasty
Go slow
Let it ride
Drink it down
Sling back the goof juice ‘tis the season
The fryer went down
The fryer went down
Relax you got your Pabst
And the persistent beats drowning out the patron’s squabble
It’s a long story in a martini shaker
It’s a dry morning buzz and a kiss on the cheek
It’s the syncopated sweat beads
Tap Tapping on the small of her back
Bare bodies bouncing and bending
And you are spent but you don’t know where the floor went
There is no ceiling just endless black night sky
Tonight you’ll smile and stare and run your hands through your hair
She’ll be there and she’ll wonder where you came from and where you’re going
But she’ll know soon that you’re nowhere and nothing
For tonight you can feast one another and lie
Un-focus your eyes and look at your words
As they bleed and you regurgitate them in a meaningless scribble
Mr. Manager sits and lords over it all
We’re all bricked in to our tomb
The Pharaohs of old still begging to be remembered
You’re in the bar you’ll go far
Some of my Favourite Quotes
Potent Quotables!!
“You can’t spell fatigue without Fat…”
…Agatha Flatbottom from The Dirt Diet
“It is always better to give than receive…especially when fists are involved.”
…Kato Aktagawa, Ancient Japanese Proverb
“I put the Man in Mantra.”
…Painder Faize, from Meditating on Maditations
“Some days you’re the teenager, other days you’re the unwanted fetus.”
…Arnold “The Beef” Fishburne, from Selected Letters
“I’m not above scheming if you need somebody to scheme.”
…Some Girl At Crossroads, from a conversation about some girl who totally sucks
“You can’t spell fatigue without Fat…”
…Agatha Flatbottom from The Dirt Diet
“It is always better to give than receive…especially when fists are involved.”
…Kato Aktagawa, Ancient Japanese Proverb
“I put the Man in Mantra.”
…Painder Faize, from Meditating on Maditations
“Some days you’re the teenager, other days you’re the unwanted fetus.”
…Arnold “The Beef” Fishburne, from Selected Letters
“I’m not above scheming if you need somebody to scheme.”
…Some Girl At Crossroads, from a conversation about some girl who totally sucks
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
ARNOLD W. FISHBURNE
Arnold W. Fishburne awoke one morning and realized he would never be truly happy. He laid in bed and stared up at his cracked ceiling and listened to the rain beat down on his roof. Nothing made him happy, but nothing made him unhappy either. Arnold W. Fishburne had never had a feeling. He had never felt sad, mopey, or depressed. He had never felt happy, confident, or joyful. In fact the realization he just had didn’t really evoke any sort of feeling. He wondered for a moment what the point of realizing things was if it wasn’t going to affect you in some way. Then he realized that this was stupid to even think about since he didn’t really care. Arnold W. Fishburne was a very boring character, he usually woke every day around the same time and began staring up at his ceiling without feeling anything. He would get out of bed and not feel the jarring cold of the hardwood floor next to his bed. He would stumble to the shower and not feel the scalding hot water burn the dead skin and the futility of a life without feeling away. He wouldn’t feel cramped and claustrophobic as he tightened his tie.
Arnold W. Fishburne was a manager at a shipping company who had no feelings. When he talked of safety, service, and production, he never got the same elation that the other managers did. When his employees didn’t work hard he wasn’t mad. When his superiors reprimanded him for not meeting expectations he felt no shame nor want to do better. He didn’t feel the slow surging ache in his feet from the steel toed boots he was required to wear while in the operations. The sharp pain in his lower back that came every time he helped lift a heavy package, did not manage to jar him. In fact, sometimes Arnold had trouble feeling the ground beneath his feet and thus was prone to falling down. His clumsiness made him the subject of a lot of jokes, but even this didn’t hurt his feelings, because you can not hurt that which isn’t there.
One night, after a long day Arnold laid down on his bed, not because he felt tired, but because at night you lay down on your bed. He laid awake staring at the ceiling and didn’t feel the extreme monotony of the day seeping out of him into his sheets. Arnold could barely even feel the mattress beneath him. Which was a good thing because it was quite lumpy. Eventually sleep came as it does for us all. And then the dream because all men dream.
Arnold was walking barefoot in tall extremely bright green grass. He could feel twigs crunch as he walked along. He could feel the warm wet breeze blowing his way from a nearby lake. He could feel the sun hot on his neck and he could feel little droplets of sweat beading up on the ends of his hair. HE COULD FEEL!! He ran just to feel the air in his lungs and his heart pumping harder. Arnold saw a tree and he hugged it. The bark scraped his arms and he felt the immovable giant, a century old. He kicked the tree with all his might and let out a Neanderthalic yulp. Tears of joy streamed out of his eyes. Arnold sat down at the base of the tree and smiled the widest smile that had ever been stretched across any face.
While Arnold sat there he noticed a little doe bending down near the lake to drink. He ran to touch it. It scampered away. Arnold chased it but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t catch the doe. Somehow he knew it held his salvation, he must touch it. It looked at him with knowing eyes and stopped to lap up some rain water collected on a rock. Arnold could barely breathe as he crept toward the strange woodland creature. His hands outstretched he hears no sound but the deer’s gentle slurp. He reached the deer his hand outstretched. He touched her and felt how soft she was. The deer leaned forward and stood on her front legs. For a moment her hind legs were in the air. And then she kicked back with both of them straight into Arnold W. Fishburne’s crotch.
The deer scampered away again. Arnold felt a deep pain surging from his crotch, ground zero, the epicenter sending hot shockwaves of pain throughout his body. Through sobs he screamed “I NO LONGER WANT TO FEEL!!!!!”. Arnold W. Fishburne emptied his stomach as it contorted with a pain he had never felt. His genitals throbbed and his heart felt as if it would burst. Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore. He woke. He felt nothing. The dream was over the numbness returned.
Arnold W. Fishburne was a manager at a shipping company who had no feelings. When he talked of safety, service, and production, he never got the same elation that the other managers did. When his employees didn’t work hard he wasn’t mad. When his superiors reprimanded him for not meeting expectations he felt no shame nor want to do better. He didn’t feel the slow surging ache in his feet from the steel toed boots he was required to wear while in the operations. The sharp pain in his lower back that came every time he helped lift a heavy package, did not manage to jar him. In fact, sometimes Arnold had trouble feeling the ground beneath his feet and thus was prone to falling down. His clumsiness made him the subject of a lot of jokes, but even this didn’t hurt his feelings, because you can not hurt that which isn’t there.
One night, after a long day Arnold laid down on his bed, not because he felt tired, but because at night you lay down on your bed. He laid awake staring at the ceiling and didn’t feel the extreme monotony of the day seeping out of him into his sheets. Arnold could barely even feel the mattress beneath him. Which was a good thing because it was quite lumpy. Eventually sleep came as it does for us all. And then the dream because all men dream.
Arnold was walking barefoot in tall extremely bright green grass. He could feel twigs crunch as he walked along. He could feel the warm wet breeze blowing his way from a nearby lake. He could feel the sun hot on his neck and he could feel little droplets of sweat beading up on the ends of his hair. HE COULD FEEL!! He ran just to feel the air in his lungs and his heart pumping harder. Arnold saw a tree and he hugged it. The bark scraped his arms and he felt the immovable giant, a century old. He kicked the tree with all his might and let out a Neanderthalic yulp. Tears of joy streamed out of his eyes. Arnold sat down at the base of the tree and smiled the widest smile that had ever been stretched across any face.
While Arnold sat there he noticed a little doe bending down near the lake to drink. He ran to touch it. It scampered away. Arnold chased it but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t catch the doe. Somehow he knew it held his salvation, he must touch it. It looked at him with knowing eyes and stopped to lap up some rain water collected on a rock. Arnold could barely breathe as he crept toward the strange woodland creature. His hands outstretched he hears no sound but the deer’s gentle slurp. He reached the deer his hand outstretched. He touched her and felt how soft she was. The deer leaned forward and stood on her front legs. For a moment her hind legs were in the air. And then she kicked back with both of them straight into Arnold W. Fishburne’s crotch.
The deer scampered away again. Arnold felt a deep pain surging from his crotch, ground zero, the epicenter sending hot shockwaves of pain throughout his body. Through sobs he screamed “I NO LONGER WANT TO FEEL!!!!!”. Arnold W. Fishburne emptied his stomach as it contorted with a pain he had never felt. His genitals throbbed and his heart felt as if it would burst. Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore. He woke. He felt nothing. The dream was over the numbness returned.
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