My Cardboard Balcony

So many weeks never end the way they start. You begin with a meteorologist's migraine of sorts - high winds and heavy fog, cold and dreary versus sudden impending sun and heat and strain. That sort of weather message works metaphorically, too. It's been a rough week for me, not just work-wise, but creatively, too. Work itself is fairly mild compared to the mental fluctuations I've had. Being caught on the grotesque cusp of restlessness versus a calm desire to do nothing is a pretty ugly situation. Some days I just want to be a homebody, and other days I just want to abandon my house, swipe up my girlfriend, and go on some sort of random adventure. On the bright side, today was good. You find people who like you, no matter how hard it is for you to believe or remember sometimes. You have drink and good company, and in the end, it settles you. It lets your mind breathe. And now I'm going to let my mind breathe some more by having a glass of White Zinfandel and going...

Super by Belinda Roddie There was a superficial man who lived a superficial life With his superstitious mother and his supernatural wife Read the paper every morning and drank whiskey every night So lived this superficial man in his superficial life His wife tried to put a spell on him to put sparks in his eyes But her husband would not have it in his dim and weary light He was happy with the way he was, happy with his plight Said the superficial man to her in his superficial life Two years from then she disappeared with their supercilious son In a purple smoke that filled the room and poisoned old man’s lungs His mother shrieked and clutched her cross and died from simple fright So the superficial man was left alone in dark and solemn sight The supercilious son sent letters in a cool but loving air But his father would not open them, for he no longer cared He was happy with the way he was, happy with his plight Thought the superficial man as he lived his superficial life Then...

The two suspects were sitting together on the same bench, handcuffed and very stiff. They did not move much. They barely twitched their eyebrows or sucked in the air through their feeble nostrils. One of their noses quivered slightly, white powder settling in his whiskers. We sat down across from them, waiting for them to speak. We would have to be the ones to "break the ice."