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                                                    …in a land

of strung-out queens joining hands beneath

a roseate sky…

                                                  —Timothy Liu

Yeah, I left out the rest of the sentence, the

beginning and the end, which was a bit more

bleak (to say the least), but nevertheless a

gorgeous portrait (…where storm-tossed petals

vulture circled an ever-widening grave—) –  that’s

just the stuff that comes after the part at the top

of the page, and, see, even Tim couldn’t turn the

end of the poem into a complete sentence.  Due

to the apocalypse, I assume.  Which of course

could happen any day.  Could have already

happened.  Are we (meaning, am I) even here?

I try to remain hopeful, despite the despair.  I hate

being this; hate even relaying it to you in this manner. 

In fact, the word “HAPPY” floats over my computer after it

experiences five minutes of non-use – which includes the lack of

cat paws tip-toeing over keys, and/or her whole body hunkering

down on top of them (the keys of my laptop) for warmth, I suppose.

She’s even managed to change the name of my computer at least

twice (and no doubt has managed an email or two, as well, but un-

beknownst to me). I try to be.  Happy, that is.  The screen saver is

a reminder that I am, right?  Even my iPhone screams HAPPY when

it’s unlocked, which doesn’t take much – just a slide of a finger

across the screen: no fingerprint nor password necessary.  And

the screams come with an ice cream cone with colorful and seemingly

inedible swirls, too.  What have I to hide, anyway, (or what have I to relay

that the world, my world, that tiny ((and shrinking)) pond of whosits and

whatsits of whom I grow more and more skeptical every day...  Is

this one going to be just another user?  Is this one going to be an emergency

or will it show up should I have ‘an emergency’?  Is it unlikely...?)

that isn’t already out there, I mean. Who pays attention to it all

anyway?  A lot of people didn’t even finish that last sentence. 

It’s true.  And they even started it.  No one can be counted on. 

Most certainly not I.  How can that fact be sold in such a way

as to convince one (myself) that this fact is just another part of the

‘joy of life’?  Perhaps I shouldn’t go into advertising.  What a depress-

ing reminder of a life that could've been.  Even today, people confuse billboards

advertising the latest installment of X-Men, the one where the really bad guy

(I think he’s supposed to be a god, actually) is strangling Jennifer

Lawrence, with reality.  Well, his character is strangling her character.  They’re 
both just characters.  In a movie that most of us will see at one point, despite

the reviews.  To be fair, the bad guy is played by Oscar Isaac, but you can’t

really tell that it's him.  After all, he’s playing a god, not a human.  And Jennifer

is the blue mutant with scales: the one with ambiguous ties to both sides

(i.e., the good guys and the bad guys).  Maybe she…or, pardon me…

maybe her character, deserves to be strangled?  Well, nobody

deserves to be strangled, right?  So why the ‘feminist’ uproar, I wonder (or is it

just Rose McGowan)?  It’s just a movie with a couple of prominent women

included in its cast.  It’s just mind-deterring, if not thought-provoking

fiction.  Like my life, for example.  Yeah, right.  So, what's the fuss with
reality, anyway?    What is it, really?  
Peaches and love to all.