http://michaelkmeyers.com Michael K Meyers Mon, 04 Mar 2013 09:51:11 +0000 http://michaelkmeyers.com en http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/Maintaining-Chill http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/following/michaelkmeyers.com/Maintaining-Chill Mon, 04 Mar 2013 09:51:11 +0000 Michael K Meyers 5106730 <img src="http://payload140.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/5106730/MAINTAINING CHILE.jpg" width="620" height="386" width_o="620" height_o="386" src_o="http://payload140.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/5106730/MAINTAINING CHILE_o.jpg" data-mid="27416636" border="0" align="left"/> Having acquired Championship Knowledge, leaving Joyce on a couch in High Drama Space her mouth agape, I flee. Arriving at near-by Health Kiosk I check my instrumentation and discover that I have spent not one Much-Wellness-Point while in High Drama Space with Joyce. Happy now, switching to Vaporless Trail, I arrive at Water Slide and Water Park Entertainment Area one-quarter charged and plug-in. From Joyce's expression, when finally she arrives winded and perspirant and sees me all blasé nestled down in the Floating Foam-Cushioned Pit, she is pissed off. Joyce isn't a total loser, not anymore, and since leaving High Drama Space she has earned the use of Big Shiny Ball (good for one roll) and right then she rolls Big Shiny Ball my way. I hear it coming (who wouldn't, it's loud and scary). I depart Water Slide and Water Park Entertainment Area before Big Shiny Ball punches a diesel-truck-sized hole though (supposedly) indestructible transparent dome and flee to another door located on neutrally charged side of General Hospital Zone dome under which violence (supposedly) is prohibited. Much time elapses. When Joyce finally arrives she launches Javelin Torpedo in the direction of General Hospital Zone's Big Guardian at The Gate. Big Guardian at The Gate, after torpedo arrives becomes much smaller (toy soldier smaller) before returning to original size (gigantic) because purpose of Big Guardian at The Gate—Joyce does not have enough Insider Knowledge Points to know this—is to ingest and deplete negativity leaving Joyce zeroed-out, but still standing. She marches up to the dome and presses her face against its outside and glares in at me. I interpret her expression to mean she is well-beyond-pissed-off. Then she goes off on me, shouting—I hear her clearly because I have pressed one ear against the dome's concave interior surface—"WordTwit" (my name, which I chose while drunk and cannot change, though I have tried and tried) "some day I will know more and gain access to PowerX and when that time comes I will terminate your big fat ass," which, hearing this, turns my ear pressed against the inside of the dome maroon. I note this by looking at my concave or convex reflection and it also hurts my feeling. So quick I ingest two tabs of Who-Gives-A-Shit and go back to feeling blasé all over again. Having acquired Championship Knowledge, leaving Joyce on a couch in High Drama Space her mouth agape, I flee. Arriving at near-by Health Kiosk I check my... http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/Jimmy-Cagney-1 http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/following/michaelkmeyers.com/Jimmy-Cagney-1 Sat, 16 Feb 2013 14:09:23 +0000 Michael K Meyers 4996924 <img src="http://payload134.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4996924/JIMMY CAGNEY 1.jpg" width="480" height="317" width_o="480" height_o="317" src_o="http://payload134.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4996924/JIMMY CAGNEY 1_o.jpg" data-mid="26767384" border="0" align="left"/> With everyone going around saying who his or her favorite movie star was, Cindy, when it was her turn, said, Jimmy Cagney, which totally cracked Bill up and he started in with out of control hiccupping laughter and ended up smacking his forehead hard against the edge of the bar opening a gash. Cindy who had existed to the Ladies came out and walking determinedly, making clippity-clops, bee-lined for Bill with what turned out to be a turd in her hand. If Bill, as drunk as he was cognizant of shit coming his way he didn’t let on. And when Cindy starts smearing the turd on his face he offered no resistance, though his face got redder. I thought he was going to stroke out—he was that red. Even when shit gets in his mouth, Bill is all ha-ha-ha. Then Cindy exhausted or spent—probably both—went limp and slobbering now headed for the door. Once Bill stopped laughing and had washed his face we took a vote—more a show of hands. It was unanimous: Coming or going Cindy looked terrific. With everyone going around saying who his or her favorite movie star was, Cindy, when it was her turn, said, Jimmy Cagney, which totally cracked Bill up and he... http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/Black-White-Men http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/following/michaelkmeyers.com/Black-White-Men Sat, 16 Feb 2013 13:51:31 +0000 Michael K Meyers 4996836 <img src="http://payload134.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4996836/BLACK - WHITE MEN_640.jpg" width="640" height="503" width_o="1909" height_o="1501" src_o="http://payload134.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4996836/BLACK - WHITE MEN_o.jpg" data-mid="26766892" border="0" align="left"/> She tells me, as though I were unaware, that it is inappropriate and not without risk to speculate in public about faults that I perceive pertaining to matters of national security. It is the job of the Black & White Men to do that, she says not for the first time. That is all I can think to do, I tell her. All my speculations are speculations on matters of national security and that is why for both our sake, and for the sake of our loved ones, I remain indoors. To change the subject I push my hand into the blender and am about to press Liquefy when she stops me and we make love. And though nothing is settled between us, not once-and-for-all-times settled there are moments, I concede, that are better than others. She tells me, as though I were unaware, that it is inappropriate and not without risk to speculate in public about faults that I perceive pertaining to matters of... http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/Survivor http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/following/michaelkmeyers.com/Survivor Sat, 09 Feb 2013 09:56:58 +0000 Michael K Meyers 4949478 <img src="http://payload132.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4949478/SURVIVOR_640.jpg" width="640" height="471" width_o="799" height_o="588" src_o="http://payload132.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4949478/SURVIVOR_o.jpg" data-mid="26488961" border="0" align="left"/> Reconstructing a world from what remained (one leaf), intelligent extraterrestrials probe mystery of what they destroyed, which they destroyed because that is what they do, destroy. With the rest of their time (a long time) they reverse engineer the destroyed world and this is how come we all got put back together like we got put together, and how come we are so fucked up and have lost the ability to read each others minds and why most of us cannot carry a tune or spell worth a damn, and how come no one lives five hundred years anymore. Reconstructing a world from what remained (one leaf), intelligent extraterrestrials probe mystery of what they destroyed, which they destroyed because that is... http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/Finding-Nowhere http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/following/michaelkmeyers.com/Finding-Nowhere Mon, 04 Feb 2013 13:19:05 +0000 Michael K Meyers 4913311 <img src="http://payload130.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4913311/FINDING NOTHING_640.jpg" width="640" height="960" width_o="2048" height_o="3072" src_o="http://payload130.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4913311/FINDING NOTHING_o.jpg" data-mid="26281525" border="0" align="left"/> Alone, unguided by an ancient poetic luminary, monkey descends into Hell and in Hell finds no devil or monkey relatives, or monkey friends in varying degrees of discomfiture or friends torn into bits and in process of reassembling themselves into a semblance of themselves. A bigger surprise is that Hell is overgrown with foliage and badly in need of tidying up. As monkey thinks the thought about tidying up Hell flickers and turns white—as white as this page—leaving monkey suspended in the state of Nowhere. Inside Nowhere there is no one and no anything to supply monkey with info pertaining to forgotten self (monkey self) so traumatically erased from monkey by forgotten trauma leaving monkey brain a clean slate. Monkey rubs prehensile across bristles of a shaved patch on his forehead, a scar located near its center. It will take monkey forever to locate a better clue to the why of Nowhere and still longer for Monkey to fill-in the ever-enlarging blank area currently erasing the tip-end of its tail. Monkey disappears before imagining how to do to that. Alone, unguided by an ancient poetic luminary, monkey descends into Hell and in Hell finds no devil or monkey relatives, or monkey friends in varying degrees of... http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/Bodyguard http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/following/michaelkmeyers.com/Bodyguard Wed, 30 Jan 2013 10:55:14 +0000 Michael K Meyers 4682565 <img src="http://payload119.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4682565/2012-12-31 23.08.47_640.jpg" width="640" height="424" width_o="2048" height_o="1356" src_o="http://payload119.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4682565/2012-12-31 23.08.47_o.jpg" data-mid="24953777" border="0" align="left"/> While scanning my groceries the checkout guy stops, turns to me his face all smarmy and not for the first time wants to know if I've been castrated. I explain to him, slowly, that I have not been castrated and he goes to back to scanning, but the smarminess, it's still on his face. The kid doesn't know that I carry a Glock and attached to my belt and inside my jacket in hidden pockets are additional hurtful things. Because it is the law I have registered my hands and feet with the proper authorities. I possess lethality in triplicate, weight two-fifty yet when I enter the market the checkout guy yells out, "Here comes the sissy." Of course I fantasize about doing him injury and if he were to approach me in a sneaky way while I was on duty protecting someone infamous, who knows. Last night I dreamed I was made of chocolate. Tomorrow I will tell that to the checkout guy While scanning my groceries the checkout guy stops, turns to me his face all smarmy and not for the first time wants to know if I've been castrated. I explain to... http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/Snowman-At-Home-In-Small-Corner-of-World http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/following/michaelkmeyers.com/Snowman-At-Home-In-Small-Corner-of-World Mon, 28 Jan 2013 15:54:02 +0000 Michael K Meyers 4865519 <img src="http://payload128.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4865519/SWOWMAN AT HOME IN SMALL CORNER OF WORLD.jpg" width="557" height="372" width_o="557" height_o="372" src_o="http://payload128.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4865519/SWOWMAN AT HOME IN SMALL CORNER OF WORLD_o.jpg" data-mid="26007823" border="0" align="left"/> SEAL Team sees in dark, likes Mars bars, Baby Ruth, a lot man-to-man stuff. At bottom, though, crawling, running, remain vigilant and stealthy—more stealthy then imaginable because they (SEAL Team) though bulky have acquired (as though my magic, but really by training) Fred Astaire feet and Marcel Marceau (born Mangel, son of a butcher, a Jew, inherited ability to cut meat but demurred), his hands and with those hands and feet, which move quicker then yours and (analogy) are like Romulan Birds of Pray uncloaking and blowing the shit out of dimwitted intergalactic Battle Stars moving all lazy and full of themselves through the vast vastness of space, which is what SEAL Team trains for. Snowman is flipside of Seal Team. Cannot move, requires refrigeration—which is why must remain isolated in small corner of the world. Has carrot nose and coal eyes and no idea how the business of sensing the world outside him/herself (genderless, doesn't matter) is accomplished, but knows every infinitesimal of environ as well as SEAL Team knows theirs due to having huge brain located in bottom two of three rollings of snow out of which snowman became snowman. Because Snowman thinks only quantum theory stuff and not action stuff—for instance freezing the rest of the world and growing snow legs, and a snow libido and running around knocking over stuff seeking a mate—it, snowman, has yet to garner attention of SEAL Team. A good thing. SEAL Team sees in dark, likes Mars bars, Baby Ruth, a lot man-to-man stuff. At bottom, though, crawling, running, remain vigilant and stealthy—more stealthy... http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/Before-Lilac-and-After http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/following/michaelkmeyers.com/Before-Lilac-and-After Sat, 26 Jan 2013 21:00:51 +0000 Michael K Meyers 4853895 <img src="http://payload127.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4853895/LILAC.png" width="351" height="286" width_o="351" height_o="286" src_o="http://payload127.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4853895/LILAC_o.png" data-mid="25940987" border="0" align="left"/> Once, only, Shadow shopped for the family and dined with her husband. Shadow liked delicate things and on days when it was required to receive gifts, Shadow received fragility, a hacking cough enough to do damage to the porcelain figurines on the mantel. You could pass a hand through Shadow or with a hand reach into her and poke about for an internal organ and come away, depending on temperament, sad, or glad to have found none. Inversely, She, Herself, the woman featured in family albums became lumpen and remained in the living room attempting to compose herself into herself by gazing fixedly at her reflection in the blackness of their massive flatscreen. Lilacs, and how she came to know that Shadow hated lilacs was an accident. It was Easter and she’d ordered lilies, and when the florist delivered the paper-wrapped bouquet it wasn't until tearing it open that she discovered the lilacs, and furious, marched into the living room seeking the perfect location to throw the lilacs. Arm cocked, eyes fixed on the figurines, she felt immediately better, lighter, less likely to burst into tears or song. If a decade or so earlier she had known this feeling of lightness she might have chosen A or B to marry and not Jack. Shadow sulked into vapor and sat legs tucked under her atop the decorative Indonesian stool and waited for lilac season to end. Because of terms hammered out during the construction of the Free Trade Agreement, and the emergence of extra-national conglomerations, there is no end to lilac season or tomato or avocado season, and if the above snapshot were taken today Shadow would be there, though proportionally smaller. Once, only, Shadow shopped for the family and dined with her husband. Shadow liked delicate things and on days when it was required to receive gifts, Shadow... http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/The-Cat-the-Canary-The-Spoon-and-His-Intoxicating-Friend http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/following/michaelkmeyers.com/The-Cat-the-Canary-The-Spoon-and-His-Intoxicating-Friend Thu, 24 Jan 2013 13:23:15 +0000 Michael K Meyers 314553 Originally published in Ninth Letter, Issue 14 Originally published in Ninth Letter, Issue 14 http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/Monet-s-Rabbit http://www.michaelkmeyers.com/following/michaelkmeyers.com/Monet-s-Rabbit Sat, 19 Jan 2013 12:35:09 +0000 Michael K Meyers 4801570 <img src="http://payload125.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4801570/MikeM0513.jpg" width="326" height="467" width_o="326" height_o="467" src_o="http://payload125.cargocollective.com/1/0/26876/4801570/MikeM0513_o.jpg" data-mid="25639847" border="0" align="left"/> The famous Monet late in his life worries he would die before finishing a painting covered in water lilies. He shakes his head to clear it of death, (his beard making a swishing sound as he does) and reminds himself that (1) I am famous, and (2) often feel defeated and (3) always figure out what is wrong. Standing more erect now, Monet notices at the periphery of his vision near the open garden door a blurred flash and glancing down sees a rabbit, the top of its ears in close proximity to the bottom of the canvas and closer still to his right boot. This rabbit, Monet thinks, is no ordinary rabbit but is Death’s messenger, or one of them and that soon I, Monet, will die. He shakes his head again, his mind emptying and refilling and speaking to the rabbit, saying, "You, Rabbit!" (The rabbit, in turning to the sound of Monet's voice tilts its head the tips of its ears contacting the bottom edge of the painting now tinted blue), "you are no messenger of Death, you are a paint rag," and to validate his declaration (and to confuse Death's messenger should the rabbit be one of those), he swipes his brush across the animal’s head. The rabbit, a slash of magenta running diagonally right to left across the crown of its head hops around the studio and after failures locates the door and disappears into night. Monet falls back into his cushioned chair, strokes his beard and organizes his ankles, crossing left over right, then lances at the open garden door, wondering, Do I have the strength in me to get up and close it? Discovering that he does not he returns his attention to his beard, then gazes at the unfinished canvas and sees what is wrong. One imperfect lily. And he says aloud, "Lily!" Then he closes his eyes and enters the dark where he will remain for a long-long time; in his cushioned chair, ankles crossed, beard gripped tightly, ears gone mute to the applause. The famous Monet late in his life worries he would die before finishing a painting covered in water lilies. He shakes his head to clear it of death, (his beard...