Sunny Moony

Sunny Moony

A unit is essential, like a burger, a night’s stay in a hotel room or a pair of pants. It is whatever the vendor declares, and the buyer then agrees, to be worth one.

Sun notes are worth one unit during the day, while moon notes are worth one unit at night.

Sun notes are traded at all times, whereas moon notes are only accepted at night. A sun note is worth two units at night, the worth of two moon notes.

Moon notes also break down in increments of full, three quarter, half, and quarter. This promotes liberated commerce at night, as part of celebration, and the reciprocal survival methods of demonstrable trade by day.

To make a sun note, cut two circles from a piece of yellow construction paper so that, when you pinch the circle between your thumb and index finger, you can see the edge of the circle on either side of your thumb. Glue these to one blue square of construction paper each so that you can just see blue all the way around the yellow circles. Then glue these blue squares to a red rectangle, one on each side and at opposite ends, so that a smaller rectangle is exposed beside the blue square which is about the width of the circle, as well as a border of red around the blue in comparable size to the blue border beside the yellow circle.

To make a moon note, cut two circles from a piece of white construction paper so that, when you pinch the circle between your thumb and index finger, you cannot see the edge of the circle on each side of your thumb. Glue these to one blue square of construction paper each so that you can see the blue all the way around the white circles. Then glue these blue squares to a black rectangle, one on each side and at opposite ends, so that a smaller rectangle is exposed beside the blue square which is about the width of the circle, as well as a border of black around the blue in comparable size to the blue border around the white circle.

Easy X Farm

“Time is of the essence. . . ” – Samuel Spade

Easy X Farm

Arnold, age 15

“I’m not learning here what I want to. These walls my prison, and my warden chosen, by me, my indoctrination and my security.  But these intermediate tasks, moving water and goods, fixing this dirty house and maintaining the surrounding areas, and getting along with these people, sometimes it’s sickening. I could leave if I had to, if I wanted, if I was provoked.

“I’ve never known any different, same as my sister does. I can never tell what my parents know, if they even know each other. They lie all the time.

“We do what we have to do to survive, no dreams beyond that. No one comes to visit or bother, and we don’t care to leave the grounds.

“Dad says we’re different, though he won’t divulge too much as to why or how. He holds a disdain in his heart, one he believes mutual to the city people. I’ve never seen them.”

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Maggie, mother of Baby Arnold, to father Earl

“But Earl, if we don’t accept these things, we will lose our friends. How would you feel if your loved ones, in apparent crisis, refused your help? Don’t you ever think of other people?”

“But that’s just it. I’ve thought long and hard and nothing will change if I don’t do anything about it. We don’t need that kind of help, and we should hold out for when we’re really in trouble. We are a family, and we must be proud if we want to stay this way.”

It was unseasonably cold the morning they decided to leave, before the sun rose. They were dressed, Earl in a dark suit and Maggie in a spotted blouse with matching long skirt that flowed as they hurried, and the small children wrapped in blankets, one in each of their arms. They didn’t tell anyone they were leaving.  How could they? They didn’t even know themselves until it was already happening, though they’d dreamt about it plenty. They’d always had enough money, but were always hoping the world would come around. And that might have happened if they weren’t the first, last, the only, of their kind. They would be happy somewhere.

Earl had a distant cousin, Amos, who agreed to give earl a plot of his land to tend and live with his family. “Two conditions,” Amos defined. “One: not a word to anyone that you, me, or we know that I’m helping you this way. I hate to see my blood treated this way is all. Left for dead, don’t matter why. It’s your choice but that don’t mean anything to me. Two: You give me all your money. I will help you, but with you being lost to our world you don’t need your money like I do. And if things happen that you want to leave, we’ll work it our so that may be. You have my word.”

Their liberation was immediate, and things naturally fell into place. Earl and Maggie hadn’t a care in the world beside their little ones, though Earl knew in his heart that this was meant to be and the four of them would be taken care of. Now, in their new home, he saw they had a chance to flourish, and future civilizations would see their happiness, a kind to cherish and embrace. To let go of such tethers, and to remember such a cruel, foolish world of building towers that, at the time, were thought to last forever, in light of all aesthetic.

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Maggie churned butter on the cool shady front porch as Lilith played with her dusty dolls some few paces away. Earl was hunting and Arnold tending the vegetables. The young ones didn’t remember a time that their little home did not exist, but their parents had enjoyed every minute of building it from scratch, using just what they need and making it so perfect. It was unlike any house that ever could have existed, with such beautiful design passed onto them from their own maker. Honest, humble, neither dirty nor clean. Alive.

The sun had gone down. Maggie and Earl prepared dinner as the children cleaned up. “What will you tell them the day they want to leave? Are you going to tell them they cant?” Maggie held a rolling pin covered in flour, as she was, in crossed arms. She did not blink or sway.

“I will tell them the truth. That if they want to survive they must be strong. That they will face strangers that meet them with harsh disgust. That the comforts of some are the evils of others. But not necessarily of many, or all. And that we may only become something better if we accept our current flaws. They have a beautiful opportunity, one that we together dreamed about, and now it is their beautiful world, one they may know and realize completely if they choose.”

They loved their children not as if they were their own, but as if they were their selves. Their very own bodies to promote, exploit and manipulate. Yet what Earl didn’t realize is what’s good for a few in the eyes of one isn’t necessarily in those of an other.

???

Hook, Bridge, Sink

A random story is selected and written, as any other. A character is selected, a disposition and a point of view. The moral may be different, but the format must remain the same, for consumption purposes.

“I don’t believe in the quantum path, the one I could have chose. Dark matter doesn’t exist to be seen or felt, or believed. And it always just so happens to be in the last place I look. Car keys in the 99^th drawer, defeating the very concept of a hundredth.

           

“Nobody is perfect. They never become, or are, hungry, sick, lonely, anxious or in the way. They are the negative environment that sets the standard for my positivity. I owe them a just amount: nothing. Just as I owe myself. At the resolution of the problem, the solution is simple. And I may dissect and subdivide the remainder, time permitting.

“The difference between one and zero is one. The difference between one and one is zero. And between zero and zero, there is no difference. . . ”

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George Schrödinger is hella stoked: the chance to meet the maker of The Akashic Records, the greatest record store on Earth. It just so happened to be erected not a block away, “meant to be,” as far as George was concerned. And today is the grand premiere.

“The sun is shining; not an obstacle in front of us. I must be trippin’ on each lace and crack as I certainly approach my destination. I broke my breakfast in half and I’m feelin’ it. And soon I will be there. I pray, “Mein Gott, clear my schedule until this afternoon. I must prepare my self to learn and retain my world.”

George finds himself on the footbridge, where a sign is posted: “Do not throw anything off bridge.” Upon reading, he glances around, down either end of the bridge. He is the only one around and he thinks “the coast is clear.” He’s always up for a challenge. So he pulls three bottles from his knapsack, one of goat’s milk, one of Malbec, and one fresh squeezed blue raspberry juice. He arranges them in a neat triangle between his palms and fingers, extends his arms beyond the railing, leaning his stomach, and lets go of all three at once. He waits to hear a crash on the asphalt below, which never comes. Instead his body is pulled back and thrown to the ground, and his rights are read. But he successfully persuades for his release, and concluding short hostile argument, with his explanation to the officer, “it wasn’t anything that I threw.”

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He got up and dusted his sleeve. His mouth was bleeding. The officer apologized, saying his name was Bart. George shook hands with his free one and said nothing. He was trying to concentrate on what he was doing before the shake, the blood, the explanation, the throw, the sign and the bridge. He stared at Bart’s badge listening for a solution. “Have you ever rode in a cop car?”

The seats had built in warmers and they listened to jazz. George recognized everyone as they flew and he had no time to speak with any of them. “They all do their best, as I do” he thought, “seeing independent success in self or an other.” He turned to Bart, “Won’t we ever stop fighting?” George thought hard at Bart, who continued cruising the center lane, silently professing a creed to his land and people.

“Here we are.” Bart pressed a button on the steering column and the passenger door slowly opened. George stepped into the golden light, waved goodbye and made his way for the door. His lungs adjusted to the darkness as his lungs adjusted to the smoke, pushed his way through the crowd, got to the bar and asked something that has always troubled him: “is this the path of least resistance?”

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