Be Consumed: A Poem About Sharing Too Much of Yourself

There’s no time for hors d’oeuvres
No time for plating
You’re my last table
And I’ve kept you waiting
I arrive naked
With just a lid on me
I lift it and say,
“I hope somebody’s hungry”
 
I work a knife into the meat
All the way around I twist
Until I’ve carved a bacon strip
Right out of my wrist
Now lean back
Open wide, say, “Aaahh.”
As I unspool my forearm
Into your gapping maw
 
When I’ve stripped my hand
Right down to the gore
You bop up in your seat
A puppy yapping for more
So I move on to the other arm
And carve off bits of bicep
Strength I never put to use
A grip on things I never kept
 
I feed you the parts
That I can afford to lose
But you keep yapping
And I just can’t refuse
So it’s on to the vital organs
It’s on to things I’d rather not share
Still you’ve got an appetite
And I pride myself on being a good waiter
 
I open my skull
And give the best service I can
The best years of my life
All my best laid plans
By the time I’ve scooped my brain out
And fed it to you like bits of popcorn
I don’t know any better
Than to give my last beating organ
 
Take the napkin from your lap
Dab the corner of your lip
Don’t bother opening your wallet
Don’t bother factoring a tip
This meal is on me
(Or it was me I guess)
You live to consume
I lived to impress

How Hard Selling can Harm Your Brand

If you’re an aspiring writer looking to sell your work online take a lesson from the retailers of yester year.

Malls are transforming into community centers, places where you can renew your license, bowl ten frames, and lift weights. Meanwhile tent pole retailers, like Macy’s, Sears, and J.C. Penny are all pulling up stakes.

While most blame the rise of online shopping I blame the retailers. Shoppers who venture into brick and mortar stores are there to browse while retailers do everything they can to get in their way. CEOs blame shrinking profits on their employees’ inability to hand sell, to walk customers around the store, to give every person the same attention they’d give to shoplifters.

When I walk into a store and a clerk says, “What can I help you find today?” I’m taken aback. Continue reading How Hard Selling can Harm Your Brand

Keep Telling Yourself: 8

A story worth…

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Write's block

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14 year old self

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Keep Telling Yourself: 7

On youth

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Introversion and writing

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Writing is better than…

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Paw Prints: On Grieving the Loss of a Pet

When I unlock the apartment I wait for Mala to meow for her meal. When I kick off my shoes I anticipate her whiskers on my heels. When I set the mail on the table I wait for her to run her black ears beneath my fingertips.

When I set the grocery bags on the counter I expect her to inspect them. When the bags are empty I expect her to leap inside. When I open the refrigerator I expect to see her on the bottom shelf licking the bacon.

When I sit on the couch, Mala leaps up onto the armrest, descends the pillows, and approaches my lap. The moment I turn to pet her she’s gone. When I sit on the toilet I can feel her doing figure eights around my ankles. There’s nothing but tiles when I look down.

It’s a pavlovian response, but unlike Pavlov who conditioned his dogs to salivate at the sound of a bell, Mala has conditioned me to associate her with everything I do. People don’t train cats. Cats train people. Continue reading Paw Prints: On Grieving the Loss of a Pet

Keep Telling Yourself: 6

Hard truth

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Hold it

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On my word count

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My Summer Writing Soundtrack

Keep Telling Yourself: 5

Use your disappointment

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Some muses are bad influences

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On writing…

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How Pan Got His Flute

I coasted down the mountainside with dew beneath my feet and air kissing my cheeks. All the wolves howled, all the crickets chirped, and the all owls hooted as I passed. All the night creatures offered their greetings for I was their guardian.

I was Syrinx, the nymph charged with protecting the wilderness from the axes of man.

This was Arcadia a hidden place untouched by seasons, where flowers were always in bloom and rocks were evergreen.

My sisters’ laughter carried down the mountainside. They were frolicking on the highest peak, perfecting their dance routines. Most Nymphs used dance to sway the hearts of men from committing violence on the woodlands. I wanted to influence men’s hearts with my mind, with my writing.

I rode down the slope until I was certain I was alone. I reached into my tunic and produced the instruments of my craft: a sheet of papyrus, a quill, and a bottle of vegetable juice. Continue reading How Pan Got His Flute

Keep Telling Yourself: 4

Reminder for we writers

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