Michele Archives

September 8, 2005

Michele: The Credulist's Tale

Once upon a time there dwelt in a town
A man of feeble mind
Who oftentimes recounted tales
Derived of delirium and lack of prayer
He told of seeing such things as could not exist
Appearances of objects of a circular nature
Amidst the stars and the devil-moon
And the townsfolk laughed heartily toward him
And his noon-time incantations of fear
Until that day the circular objects did indeed appear in the sky
“Ye shall rue the day you laughed at me!” he shouted
And he did climb upon the floating object
And the object did light aflame the whole town

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September 11, 2005

Michele: Have You Seen Her?

I think I see walk by the house and I follow. I think about grabbing her, pushing her hair back from her face, telling her I love her, then I remember that it’s gone, all gone.

I walk and cry.

I crane my neck around and I think I see her again, black hair and pleading eyes and trembling lips and my heart cracks, bleeds and falls apart right there. Someone picks me up, hands under my arms and I go limp. I don’t even turn to look for her. I know she’s gone. I. Know. She’s. Gone.

She’s gone.

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September 12, 2005

Michele: Swallowed

...take your capsules now.

No. I will not take the capsule. They want us to go down with the ship, to take all the secrets and mistakes with us.

When the first Code: Release alarm went off, I panicked briefly and then went into save-the-world mode. And then the emergency radio (which I hoped would always remain silent) went off and I realized there was never a Plan A. Right to Plan B.

The plague will get me eventually. But not before I let everyone know who let this dog out. I’ll save the capsule for when the bloating starts.

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September 14, 2005

Michele: ....But Someone's Gotta Do It

I am a Mischief Maker. Each night I meet the others at the gate. At 8:00 the gate opens and we take wing.

The others are bold with their mischief and while murder and mayhem delight the gods, it does not give them the ongoing drama that my deeds provide. I start rumors, whisper conspiracies, lay the groundwork for political upheaval and the toppling of governments. It’s a specialty.

I celebrate each success with a tattoo. When my body is fully inked, I will retire from this and take a job cooking for the gods. Just as rewarding, less competition.

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September 19, 2005

Michele: Pissing in the Wind

They sailed the seas
night and day
in search of land and treasure

Grim they were,
ripe and dirty,
the crew of SS Pleasure

They beat their wenches.
hoisted grog,
and sang shanties on the deck

And when they docked
they raped and pillaged,
left each town a wreck

“We have no fear!”
the captain laughed,
as he pissed into the sea

“No quarter!”
cried the first mate
as he also aimed his pee

And then the Pleasure
began to list
and the sides to give

Poseidon reared his head above
“That will teach you
to piss where I live!”

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September 23, 2005

Michele: Father's Day

In the two seconds it took for the ball to leave the pitcher’s mitt, sail toward the plate and arrive in front of him, he mentally shooed away the taunting images of past strike outs and pop-ups, and shouts of “Failure!” that took on the voice of his father.

He swung the bat with the ferocity of escaped anger.

The crack of the bat and the way his legs felt as they carried him safely to first base exhilarated him.

Standing on first, he looked to where his father was cheering wildly. All he could think was “Fuck you, dad.”

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September 25, 2005

Michele; Season of the Creep

The Creeping Season lasts only two weeks but it feels like forever. It comes the morning of the first frost, has for hundreds of years now. We just pray a lot and peek out the curtains to watch the fuzzy brown stuff creep out the forest and over the stream and onto the street and the grass and our sidewalks. It moves real slow, like it’s taking it’s time, the bastard.

When it’s gone after two weeks so’s one of our young ones. The creep has gotta eat, I guess. Maybe after the frost is when kids are in season?

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September 29, 2005

Michele: Publish or Perish

They promised me big money and crowded book stores filled with rabid fans. They promised I’d rub elbows with the literary elite and sip wine with the beautiful people. I signed the dotted line and waited for those promises to come to fruition.

So now I’m in Boise, pouring the remnants of a mini bottle of Kahlua into a two day old cup of coffee. Twenty copies of my book sit in the corner of my motel room, the adhesive on the cheap binding falling victim to the humidity.

The jacket design, a simple noose on red background, beckons me.

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September 30, 2005

Michele: Swimming With the Fishies

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October 2, 2005

Michele: Back Atcha

I saw her in Wal-Mart. She was pushing two screaming, dirty children in her shopping cart. I stood at the edge of the aisle watching her as she let out a deep sigh, dug into her purse, shook loose tobacco off two lollipops and handed them to the kids. Her eyes went wide when she spotted me; she was remembering the day she saw me working in the local McDonald’s, back when she was gorgeous and rich.

I couldn’t keep myself from saying the same thing to her she said to me then: “So this is what you’re doing now?”

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