Harry Werewolf and His Self-Promotion

A man must totally reject a few good opportunities before he can accept his own. -Intellectual Shaman

Harry was going to get promoted. He had been working for this, for the past three years, but with no life blood. The red and green sunrise above his apartment complex was his only reminder that there were worlds beyond his own. He watched an Asian boy a foot shorter than a white girl with blonde hair, with so much confidence spread across his face in a wide grin, as he played with her hair, braiding it, dancing to some imaginary music in his head. She belonged to him because he could dance. Harry felt cold in his car. He looked at his sack lunch, with a jelly sandwich on white, and an apple. He was coming apart at the seams, like a worn shirt. Nobody told him that being smart isn’t enough. One needs to be tough, and one needs to be able to dance. He parked, and went inside. His office was bare. Nobody could tell who he was by looking at his office. It was vacant, like he was moving in or moving out. Harry had been there for eight years.

His phone was ringing…

“Yes,” Harry said.

It was the other eighth-grade teacher.

“You need to update your grades. I keep getting complaints from parents.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

Kristina was attractive and single. She was dating, but single. Harry liked her, kind of, but he didn’t understand her.

“When are you going to have a kid?” She asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you gay, or do you just hate women?”

“Um.”

“You know what, since you’ve been working here, we’ve turned you into a woman.”

Harry didn’t say anything.

The day wore on, and his shirt was wearing thin.

His computer phone was ringing… “This is Mrs. Anderson. I want those grades posted by the end of this week!”

“Mrs. Anderson, I have lessons plans to do.”

“I don’t care if you have lesson plans. Get those grades in, or I’m going to talk to your principal!”

“Listen Bitch! Don’t call again!”

There was silence on the other end. Harry hung up. He had his meeting with the principal in five minutes.

Principal Stevens was bald. He looked at Harry with condescension and unease. Stevens dressed in a 3-piece suit that he bought at Macy’s. It came with a red tie. His side-kick, the vice principal, was sitting at his desk. They were shooting the shit about something. It reminded Harry of the showers, in the football locker-room.

“You called?”

“Yes, Harry. It concerns your request to be department head. It has been denied. People just don’t like you. We need a people-person to be the head of the department. Harry discreetly shut the door, and like a vacuum, the mercy was sucked out of the room. Secretaries stared through the glass wall as Harry erupted. He turned into a werewolf without making a physical transformation. His hand gestures were that of a dictator. When he was through, he walked out; instantly, feeling better about himself. In two months, eight years was only a memory. It was like he had never been there.

The End

The Formula for Female Attraction: Make Her Chase You: Sexy Suntan Lotion

With my love of literature, and my friend’s love of chemistry, we had rare edition books stacked to the ceiling, and a lab tucked against the wall. There was a convergence of stuff scattered across the floor—scuba tanks, maps, weight-lifting equipment, male hygiene products, and they mostly belonged to my friend, but I was also using them. I tagged-along, on his adventures. He was in the lead, with a mad, frustrated, clueless energy determining to solve the direction we were headed in, like a mathematical proof.

Our problem was women. I felt like solving the problem was inviting the problem, but my friend thought differently.

“Just wait until I perfect my suntan lotion,” he said. “It’s packed full of pheromones and will make women rabid.”

“I don’t know if I want to wear that stuff. You know I’m sensitive to smells.”

“You’re just sensitive; and you’re afraid to try new things. This might solve our female problem.” He poured some pink goo out of a test-tube and sucked it up with a syringe.

“First, I’ll try a child-proof test.” He put a drop of it on his wrist.

Burning flesh perfumed the air. “Aeehhh!”

“Put some baking soda on it,” I said. “I have acid reflux—this takes the acid out of my mouth.”

I poured it on his wrist—it foamed from the chemical burn. “Ahhh, that’s better. Obviously, I haven’t perfected it yet, but I have some chemistry students who are willing to be my Guinea Pigs.”

“Maybe you should read Ethics, by Plato?”

“Oh, that’s nonsense,” my friend said. “If I need to know something about that, I’ll just ask you.”

“Are we going to go to the beach?”

“Sure. In fact, let’s take the scuba gear, and look for Nazi gold.”

“You think we’re going to find anything?”

“No; but looking is more than half the fun. If we get bored, we can stare at the women on the nude beach. Nice is beautiful this time of year, and so are the women.”

My friend was looking for flesh. I was looking for something that was alive. I hadn’t found it yet, but it’s a lot like looking for god— you don’t know what he looks like, but you’ll know ‘im, when you find him.

We were diving, off our boat, looking at the submerged city. The water was warm, and my thoughts had completely left my head. I was like a fish that didn’t know it was swimming in the ocean.

“There’s one,” my friend said.

“One what?”

“A woman.”

“Well, why don’t you go talk to her?”

He did. Clayton looked funny with his flippers, speedo, and air tank. As he approached the French girl, she started to laugh. Then he tried speaking French to her, and she laughed even more. I don’t understand French at all, but I do understand what she said. “I have a boyfriend.” Which is code for, “I don’t have a boyfriend, but there is no chance you are going to be.”

Clayton reentered the water like a slimy fish that had failed to evolve. His spine was gone, and he dog-paddled over to me.

“Come on, man; let’s go home.”

“Okay. What can I do to make you feel better?”

Clayton thought about it. “Hamburgers.”

“And Milkshakes?” I asked.

“You’re on.”

We went to Five Guys, near this enormous Cathedral, the French were building for over 200 years. They must really love god. Even the tourists, must love god. It reminded me of the States, because all the restaurants were American.

“I got to solve the female problem, man. I’m just getting too old to be a nerd.”

“You have a Ph.D. in Mathematics and Chemistry, and your brain stopped growing two years ago. Your personality is set in stone.”

“But what if we could change that?” Clayton asked. If we go someplace different, and live there, we can become different people.”

“That’s true,” I said. “Game theory is a theory of personality. It basically suggests, you know who you are based on how people react to you. Your friends and family have an invested interest in keeping you the same. Whenever you start to change, they remind you of who you are. In this way, they control you, because they love you. They don’t want to lose you. They like you, just how you are.”

“You’re one hell of a psychologist,” Clayton said.

“Perhaps; although it hasn’t helped me to solve the female problem. Maybe, we should take the chemical approach?”

When we got back to our apartment, Clayton started studying his chemical notes. “What a fool I’ve been! Instead of minus, this should be plus!” He ignited his Bunsen burner, and nauseatingly attractive fumes erupted like sex.

“Once this batch is done, and tested on my Guinea Pigs, we will know its effectiveness.” A week later, Clayton had a stupid grin spread across his face like a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich.

“My test subjects are women,” Clayton said. “They volunteered because they need the money, but it also may be that they’re more agreeable than my male subjects.” He talked like a King, presiding over his Kingdom. “All of the women fell in love with each other, just like I thought they would. Universities are progressive these days, so no harm done. Lesbianism is in vogue.”  

“Clayton… the ethics of what you are doing…” I said.

He didn’t get it. “Would you like some?” Clayton asked. He was like the devil, tempting me with what I couldn’t get for myself. The bottle was pink. Clayton had drawn a nude woman chasing a nerdy man on the cover. He was not good at drawing. They were more like stick figures. He had included the obscene slogan: Make Her Chase You, underneath.

“Maybe you should’ve gone into advertising,” I said.

“Perhaps; but I like to mess with the secrets of the universe more than people’s minds— that’s your department.”

It was a good thing I liked Clayton. He was interesting. His condescension made him more interesting. All of his friends were like him, and most people couldn’t stand his friends. In fact, most people couldn’t stand me. I wondered how Clayton had changed me. There is no escaping the influence of your best friend. Now, I was less balanced, and more confident in myself.

“I’ll take some,” I said. I rubbed the sexy suntan lotion on my arms; they immediately turned brown. “What did you put in this?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know.”

“You ready to go to the beach again?”

“Sure!” Clayton said.

“We have to see if this stuff works.”

When we got there, the girls were lying under the sun, receiving rays, like love, soaking their sensual skin. Clayton and I were far-out from shore. The ocean breeze was blowing behind us. Suddenly, I saw the beach move. Topless women were sniffing the air, trying to discern, the direction of the wind. Then they saw us, and they started to wade into the water. I felt like Jesus Christ in my boat, preaching to the crowds. They all started to splash into the deep end.

“Let’s get out of here!” I screamed. “Gun the outboard!”

Clayton turned us around, and we docked. We got many looks from women on the street, but we made it to our apartment without getting molested.

“How do you take this stuff off?” I asked.

“Chemically, I think,” Clayton said.

“What do you mean, I think?”

“I never thought about creating an antidote.”

“Well, I need one, and fast!”

“What are you complaining about? Now females are attracted to you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want ALL females attracted to me. You better work fast.”

There was knocking on our door. “You who…sexy boys.”

“It’s our land lady! Quick! Help me tie the bedsheets together. I’m going out the window!”

When I propped it open, there were dozens of women staring at me. I slammed it shut.

“You’ve doomed us forever! Bolt the door, man! Start working!”

“But!” Clayton complained.

“No buts! I’m serious!” The lotion was making me sick. The thought that I couldn’t get away from women was worse than I had ever imagined. It was worse than a celebrity who becomes famous. I made Clayton take amphetamines to stay awake. Three days later, he had the antidote.

“You did it, man. I always knew you could.”

“Are you sure?”

“What choice did you have? I would’ve strangled you, if you didn’t.”

Fear flashed across his face.

I wasn’t lying.

The End

The Captain of the Ship and the Rudderless Young Man

I look into the future

and I see nothing but suffering, if I go the way of other men.

Many of them are happy, for a time

and many of them are tortured, for years

I always keep my ears open

for the truth

I talk to my pastor

He knows I like him

even though I never tell him

He probably thinks it’s because he knows Greek and Latin

but it’s because he reminds me of a cult leader.

I enjoy his charisma and his knowledge

even if he has some plugged-in beliefs

“Would you like to meet for coffee?”

“Sure!” I said.

When I get there, he’s working on his sermon. He’s bald and he has enormous hands. He’s a carpenter, like Jesus, and he has a Ph.D. in Theology.

I don’t have any authority in my life.

which means that I don’t have a doctor, a dentist, or a pastor

He’s my friend’s pastor

I do believe in God

but He’s invisible

and guess what…?

no health problems

no cavities

no spiritual problems

but I do have a problem, I have not been able to solve

It has to do with success

A man needs to be successful, so his time is not wasted

I look at my future

and I see a big waste

No matter who I talk to

nobody seems to understand

Maybe we box ourselves in

with our beliefs

or lack of beliefs

“I have a problem, pastor.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“I don’t want to advance in my career, or any career.”

“You could be making over six figures.”

“But what’s the point, if I trade the better part of my life for it?”

“Well, that’s living, and you’ll have status, and you can afford to buy a house.”

“But the life I’ll lead, will not be the life I want.”

“What’s that?”

“I want to be a golfer and a writer.”

“You can do those as hobbies…”

“No; I want to do them professionally.”

“If you do that, you’ll have an unstable life, and you won’t be able to get married.”

“I don’t want to get married, because my whole life has become something I don’t want.”

“But that’s life; we do the best we can.”

“I don’t want to live that way. I want to be a genius.”

“What’s a genius?”

“Genius is doing what you want to do, and succeeding at it.”

“Don’t people do what they want to do?”

“No; their lives are random accidents. Sometimes they turn out well, and sometimes they go horribly wrong.”

“But they make a living.”

“There is no life. We only have a few years left. I don’t want to spend it in a meeting—not for any amount of money.”

“Then you have a problem.”

“I know. And I don’t want to marry a random woman. I need God to sort out my life. It must be ordained.”

“I’m not sure God works that way.”

“Well, how can He work in my favor?”

“God’s plan is not our plan.”

“I have not looked at a woman in over 200 days. I have striven for moral purity. I am committed to moral excellence. I need God to reward me with success.”

“That’s not God’s plan.”

“I’m in trouble then, because all I want to do is live my dream. Don’t you have any solution for me?”

“Live for others.”

“I can’t do that. All I have is this one life, and I don’t want to give it to anybody.

“Give it to God then.”

“God gave me life; why does he want it back?”

“He gives us free-will to choose him.”

“What does going to meetings have to do with that?”

“Nothing.”

“Then I will keep praying that God will help me realize my dreams. Thanks for the coffee, pastor. I’ll see you in church.”

To be continued…?

Fortune Smiles Favorably on Those Who Don’t Need It

there is unbelievable pain

in this world

and unbelievable ecstasy

if you know where to find it

there is subtle pleasure

when you do

it’s as simple as finding a crock of gold

in the woods

with no strings attached

People can’t see the gold

because it’s invisible

so, if you can

you have leprechaun eyes.

People who can’t see treasure

won’t understand your enthusiasm

This is the way of the world

One should not try to force understanding.

People who pick stocks in the market

and do it well

might advise someone else

to do it

But someone else might say, “it’s only gambling.”

they might be right

it doesn’t stop the gambler, though

from seeing things

that aren’t there

his dream becomes a reality.

A philosopher spends time with wisdom

and it comes from watching nature

it comes from studying literature

absorbing language into his bones

Memorizing

what isn’t memorized.

Why pursue philosophy

if you can be a gambler?

There is so much, unseen.

Transmutation

is the greatest power—

turning something bad

into something good.

When you do this

you can’t lose.

Your time is not money

it’s priceless.

Your judgements

are only judgements

based on what you don’t know.

Fortune smiles favorably on those

who don’t need it.

Spot a Beautiful Butterfly Who Enjoys Spending Time with You

I am a selfish man

so, I consider it a blessing

that fate, or god, or some randomness

put a good friend

in my path.

In my self-centered world

I like what I like

and I like my friend

I find him most interesting.

I am able to share my selfish moments with him

and he appreciates my company.

There is nothing better

than having a close friend

who challenges you

who annoys you

who appreciates you

despite your selfishness

and in the end

you are better off

for it.

We went to the bookstore together

and we went to the mall

We went to his other friend’s house

and we went to the beach.

Ordinarily,

I would have said

“The day was an entire waste.”

But because I am going places with my friend

nothing we do is a waste.

I can’t define what that is

Nothing productive comes from spending time with a person

but they are the richest moments in life.

I suppose the same is true when you meet a girl

that you want to spend time with.

I look at guys with girls

and it looks like they are butterflies

dancing about

in the wind

on a sunny day.

They aren’t doing anything

or having interesting conversations

They just enjoy spending time with each other

It’s good to get outside of your head

to stop thinking about the great thing

you will do or won’t do

and spend time with the flowers

Spot a beautiful butterfly

who enjoys spending time

with you.

What Makes You Superior to the Whole Thing

Most of the thoughts in my head

are delusions

but they drive my behavior

just the same.

I’m not unlike most people.

My delusions make me feel good

and most people do

what feels good.

If you don’t feel good

for too many days in a row

why wake up?

I have this gnawing acid in my stomach

and I sleep on a mattress

with a broken spring

poking through.

I guess I’m hesitant to change

I can put up with a bad thing

for a long time

but when I decide

I can no longer sleep

I can no longer go to the job

something beautiful happens…

like a force

outside myself

I don’t.

The best feeling in my life

is when I walk away

it is like a great weight has lifted.

Society shames men who walk away

but they do it

just the same.

I have resisted

all the messaging

that says, I should keep doing

what I don’t want to do.

I strictly listen to myself

and the months after that

are perfect.

They always are…

When you leave things behind

there is this wonderful sense

you get

like being reborn.

The more times you do it

the more alive

you will be

like a caterpillar

turning into a butterfly

constantly.

I have this delusion

that seems true

It’s a question

I frequently ask myself

“What makes me superior to the whole thing?”

Most people say, “That’s an anti-social question.

People are different, not superior.”

But the question makes me feel good, just the same

I start asking myself, “What makes me different?”

“What can I do, that has never been done before?”

And the question excites me

I think about the common things in my life

and the power I have

to walk away.

Walking away from something good

is a better feeling

than walking away from something bad.

The reason being, if you can’t walk away from something good

there are things you can’t walk away from

you are trapped

predictable

Somebody has found your leverage-point

they think they understand you

because they can control you.

If you don’t argue

you have incredible power

If you don’t play the game

it’s a victory.

People will call you a loser

They will think they won

But if you walk away

those people

are outside

your consciousness.

Your life doesn’t belong to them

and it never did.

I’ve been listening…

I was talking to my sister

the other day

and I said, “I go to sleep, listening to the sounds outside.”

“But don’t you live in the city?” She asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“But you don’t like the city,” she said.

“That’s true.”

“Then why do you listen to the city sounds?”

“For the same reason I listen to people. I hear their conversations

and I know, I don’t want any part of them. If you don’t listen, you don’t know

and you have to listen to remind yourself.”

She looked at me funny. “What about nature?” She asked. “Why don’t you live in nature?”

“Nature can teach us something, if we listen to it; just how people will teach us something

if we listen to them. Nature teaches us

there is no time

pride is foolish

we can only afford to have pride in the city

when we are around people

because nature tests us

and if we don’t know our limitations

it’s a killer.

Time

and all the things that go along with it

are fake—

schedules

dates

advancement.

I live too much in my own mind

too far away from reality

to live in nature

Even though, I love nature

I still love to listen to the city.”

My sister actually thought about what I said. Then she said, “I prefer a quiet house

at night

I like to read

in the quiet

sleep in the quiet.”

I guess that’s the difference between us

I want to hear all the nasty words

I shut the world out

but I still listen to it

I would ask to hear every nasty word said against me

they far outweigh the good

as they always do

because there are more nasty words said

than good

How do I know this?

I’ve been listening…

Don’t Try to Follow Me Because You Will Get Lost…

The atmosphere was heavier than usual. It was stormy conversations and stormy weather. I’ve thought, if I just think peaceful thoughts, and stay away from any conflict or craziness, I can hide in plain sight. But inevitably, I interact with the storm. My clothes are blown at odd angles, and despite my friendliness, people don’t like me, and they start to make my life difficult, stormy in fact. I was reading the Tao—the way. I had lost my way, and I was trying to get back into the natural rhythm of things. Much of my time is spent, not feeling quite right. There is a general uneasiness, a yuckiness, like bad luck, that hangs around like a demon, and makes my life difficult—not terribly difficult—just gives me a little unnecessary adversity—keeps me on my toes, even though I don’t want to be on my toes. After a few days of this, I start to wonder why? The feeling, might be how many men feel, when they interact with their ex-wives. There is a general uneasiness; though, mutually agreed upon civility, and all of these feelings, are unspoken.

If you get away from these things, that weigh you down, you might relax. The woods and a mountain hike, will do. If you could only stay there, you might feel light. No need for ambition or money—those are traded from one person to another, like problems. Peace is free, if you trade your worries for it. This story begins in the present time, during a stormy season of my life.

I was dealing with some unreasonable people, at my apartment complex. I was left alone, all year, until now. They were going to raise the rates on me.

“I’ll just shop around,” I said.

She looked at me through cold eyes. She wanted my money— not for herself, but it was her job to care. I am never able to care, because my job tells me to. People pick-up on my disdain, unfortunately.

I go on these walks, after work, with my mother, and tell her all of my problems. She’s kinda like a therapist, who loves me. I’ve always been a momma’s boy, and I’ve thought about what I might do, when she’s gone. Maybe my neighbor will be a Japanese Samaria who will teach me not to be weak, and I will learn how to bottle-up my feelings and use them like a war-cry in battle. I don’t think that will work. I’ve tried to make girlfriends my therapists… that doesn’t work either. Women have enough problems, enough drama, enough emotions. They are looking for an unmovable rock, who listens. And when he doesn’t empathize enough, they might get angry and scream at him, but the rock just listens, and the woman feels comforted, that he just listens. If I had to listen like that, I would go insane. The prospect of long-term romance is not on the horizon for me. Where am I going to find someone who listens to my stories, and tells me how great of a writer I am, regardless if it’s bad? And where am I going to find someone who listens to my ideas, even if they’re offensive? My mother tells me, I have a good nose. She tells me, I’m handsome.

I said, “I smell dog shit.”

And she said, “You have a good nose.”

I talk to her about the traffic by my apartment. The road lines are confusing and drivers honk at each other. There is yelling. A couple times this year, drivers got out of their cars, and threatened each other. If you take a right, at the light, you go down a road in Maple Valley, where you will get lost. It’s an old railroad track, that was cleared of trestle and turned into a shortcut. It’s a one-lane road. Sometimes you get to your destination in half the time, and sometimes, you get lost. It’s kinda like the Bermuda Triangle. This light is right on the corner, across the street from Safeway. There are accordion players begging for money in the parking lot. I always give them money. I never give money to the church, anymore. For some reason, I trust the street hustlers more than the church. I got this idea that God and Satan might be playing their instruments in the parking lot. They attract people who follow them. I would give them both money. I am confused about who God is and who Satan is. I am at war with my flesh, but my flesh still makes decisions for me. I am half good and half bad. I am trying to integrate my badness, so that I can become successful. Anyway, I envision what the devil will give, to people who give him money. Perhaps, he’s like a pimp, and he will tell me where to get laid. That is too much for me to think about, so I think about what God will give me. He will give me peace, if I ask Him. That is worth more than 20 dollars. I believe in too many things. I heard that it has to do with hormone levels. If a man has too little dopamine, he will start to have faith. I have a lot of faith now, so I think I’m not getting rewarded with the pleasure chemical.

I took the shortcut through Maple Valley because I am looking for an apartment on the other side of town. I got lost. This might’ve added to my bad weather, but the apartment that I found had rates nearly half of what I’m paying. I decided it was a magical place. The only problem is, getting to my apartment might be a challenge. I found it this time because I got lost. Maybe that is the secret to getting back into the rhythm of luck. One tries to get lost, and they find what they are looking for. It’s how the universe works, I think, but I’m a lost soul, and don’t try to follow me. If you do, you will get lost.

The End

More Beautiful than a Mountain Flower

What can be respected?

What deserves our respect?

What is sacred?

And what are you unwilling to compromise?

The world is full of compromise

we are told to compromise

to get along in society

Every time

we do

we give something up.

We say

without saying

what I hold

can be given up.

What makes you an individual

is what you won’t compromise.

It could be your values

When the line is drawn

and you won’t cross it.

Your values

are your values.

If you won’t compromise

people will make fun of you

they will call you rigid and inflexible

they will say, “you are acting like a child; grow up!”

Every time

you compromise

your mind

for unworthy things

your time

for unworthy people

your body

for the office chair, unhealthy desserts, and lack of exercise

you are being molded

by something

that doesn’t care.

In a world

without honor

compromise

is understandable

a reputation is only social credibility

rather than

something one does not sin against.

It used to be

duels were fought to the death

over wounded honor.

People are better off

when they have honor.

They are willing to die for it

Otherwise,

they become machine-like

without identity

without anything

to stand for

slaves

for some larger, shapeless, whole

that sucks the souls of nobodies

until a hollow shell is left.

It would be better to die

than to be the dinner

for the great slug.

The world envies the individual.

If he or she is bought

he or she

is compromised.

Some individuals make money

but they would never trade

their craft, vision, or purpose

for something

lost, manufactured, or common.

What is special

is not found in the world—

it lives in you

until you kill it

with compromise.

You will always know

who does not compromise

they live in the world

but they are just passing through

they always make it better

just by being there.

Flowers are cut and sold

they are never the same in captivity

dying slowly

in a vase

so we can gaze at their protracted

beauty

Go up

on a hike in the blue mountains

where there’s green fields

and see the yellow flower

dancing in the wind

alive

the man or woman

who does not uproot themselves

is more beautiful

than this mountain flower.

Personal Economics on the Golf Course

I was on the city golf course again, playing with myself. I woke up at 1:30 AM, because I accidentally fell asleep at 5 or 6 PM the previous afternoon—I can’t be sure of the time. Perhaps, I have a sleep disorder—there are worse things. I love to sleep, so I will be like kids with ADHD who say they can’t focus on their homework. Actually, the students with ADHD should be considered normal; it’s the rest of us who learned to kill our lives at jobs, just like the homework we used to do, that should be considered abnormal. I thought it would have no bearing on my life, but unfortunately, it did. That’s why people go to college—so they can kill themselves slowly.

There I was playing with myself—wait, I said that already. It was early morning, and because I got up so early, I did all the things I normally do in the morning (coffee, shit, write, eat, write), and it wasn’t quite 6 o’clock. I decided to play golf. But wait, I had to shit again, and I ran out of toilet paper, so I ran across the street to get some more, and when I got back, I decided to play chess online with a guy from Australia. He had a high rating and I beat him by trading my rook for checkmate. Oh, I was already having a great lucky day! It wasn’t even 6 o’clock.

So, I was on the golf course playing with myself. Oh my god; why do I keep repeating myself? I had the chance to get my thoughts in order. I used to think I loved to play golf, but now I realize I hate the game; I just love to think.

As I played, I got better and better; strange; usually, I get worse and worse. I was having one of those days where I was figuring things out—the economics of life. I thought about everything. How I was going to make enough money so I would never need to submit to authority again. The answers would come. My friend was getting married. He left for Mexico, yesterday. And with my friend gone, I could do some serious thinking.

Money was the biggest problem. I could find work, but beating the system was another matter. I needed to get paid while I slept. I was young now, but when I got older, I wouldn’t want to work. I walked by the houses on the golf course. They all looked the same. And the people who sat on their porches, looked the same. They were old and retired, and they wore golf clothes, even though they weren’t playing golf. I wouldn’t put it past one of them to say…

“Look at me, young man. If you do everything right, you can be just like me. I have five grand kids, and I play golf here, every day. I planned my whole life out, fifty years ago, and I got through all the years without any surprises.”

It made me want to pull out a gun and shoot the man or woman who said that, but it was only an imaginary person, and I didn’t have a gun, thank god. So, I kept playing golf, and I played pretty fast. I passed a couple groups, and they waved me on through. When I was forced to wait, I read a book. It was making me laugh. Bukowski has more influence on me than all my friends and my family combined. I told an English teacher this once, and he said, “You don’t seem at all like Bukowski. In fact, you look more like a Mormon.” Maybe conservatives have to read people like Bukowski so they can keep being conservative. We have to let a little out, somehow. If I couldn’t do that, I would probably scream the things that are in my head when I’m at work, and get fired. The thought of it, is a pleasant one, but only because it’s a thought.

When I finished hole number 11, I was even par, but I knew I had lied to myself at least a couple of times on the golf course. On the last green, I gave myself a gimmie, and I think I forgot to count the stroke when I hit it into the woods. I did that a lot, but the balls kept bouncing out. Then I started playing really well. I think it happened right after I talked to the dog on number 12. It was sniffing the grass, and minding its own business. It was a white retriever or white lab or one of those family dogs that sleeps most of the day. If I could be a dog, I would do it, except they have such a short life-span—they probably sleep half their life away. The family had to get rid of their last dog. It was also sweet, but it was a discerning dog. I would pat its head, and it would smile at me. The old-timers and most of the regulars would do the same, and it would smile at them. But this one time, a lady lawyer, patted its head, and it bit her. It didn’t let go, and I heard her screaming, four holes away. It was a spiritual dog, and it knew when it was touched by evil.

The bitch lawyer decided to have it euthanized. She was skin and bones, wearing a pink golf skirt and a checkered sweater. The dog is buried in the front lawn. I don’t know where the family gets their dogs, but they’re special. As I kept playing, I thought about my life. The prospect of marriage was a dangerous one. I lived in Seattle where most of the women wanted to dominate their men. They had tattoos all over their bodies, just like poison dart frogs. I silently thanked God for letting me know they were dangerous. When red touches yellow, you’re a dead fellow? I couldn’t remember what the reptile man told me in elementary school, but it seemed like good advice.

There was this girl in a Thai restaurant who knew my name and brightened up every time she saw me. She knew I must have money and was a bachelor because I ate there twice a week. My friend came with me (this is the friend who went to Mexico) and said, “She wants you, Andy. Why don’t you take her out?”

And I told my friend, “We won’t have anything in common. She doesn’t share my culture.”

“But Andy, you can’t stand Western Women!”

“That’s not true; just Western Women from the West Coast, and there are still some good ones, at least I think; I just haven’t met them yet.”

“If you don’t show interest; she’ll move on to someone else.”

“But man, I can’t date her. If it doesn’t work out, I won’t be able to get my Thai Food here anymore. Plus, my life is perfect. I have a bachelor pad on the third floor, and total peace.”

As I kept playing golf, I thought about how I could make my life more perfect. I was going to be a University Professor. I would have to be extra careful what I said. I would have to keep my distance from women, entirely. If one of them wanted my job, I could just hear the ME-TOO accusation. I had a nightmare last night. I think it came from filling out the sexual harassment paperwork. My second job was already traumatizing me.

I didn’t want to work anymore, but I also wanted to learn how to influence people. What better way, than becoming a University Professor? Most of the students at University were brainwashed anyway. They would be easy to indoctrinate.

I was nearing the end of my round, and I had found a space, in the pace of play, where I was playing with myself again. I launched my driver. The ball vanished into the rain. It was coming down. My polo shirt was soaked. It was a dogleg right. When I turned the corner, there was Dwayne, face down in the mud. Heart Attack? Then I noticed my golf ball. Manslaughter? I looked around. There was nobody but me in the rain. Dwayne was a regular I played with a couple of times. He bragged about outwitting the government. Most of his saving was converted to Bit Coin. Dwayne had a horrible memory, so he kept the encrypted code on his key chain. I felt inside his pockets. There were his keys. I also knew he didn’t have any living relatives. He was a bachelor, like me, all alone in the world. There were worst things to be, like married to a nagging wife, who stole half your stuff, but the culture never told men this, and if a man dared to utter this information, he was shamed mercilessly by men and women. It was horrible to be a single guy after 30. The stigma. But I didn’t care what other people thought. Sometimes I was amused when they tried to make me care.

Bit Coin is untraceable. Dwayne was 88. He lived a good life. I was going to live an even better life. I finished out the last two holes, and transferred his Bit Coin into my account. Now I don’t need to work for a living. Work is the highest value in Western slave society, but it’s all in your head, whether you’re a slave or not. Now I’m not a slave because I have FU money, and I can’t wait to say FU to the boss. One must wait for the proper moment.

THE END