I’ll never forget the first time I boldly used “faux pas” in a conversation. I was at a dinner party, seated across from a couple of well-dressed, well-read people. I wanted to make an impression. The opportunity presented itself when someone shared a story about accidentally sending an embarrassing email to the wrong person.

“Well, that was quite the fox pass!” I declared, my voice confident.

The table fell silent for a beat. Then, the polite lady next to me leaned over, smiling. “You mean a faux pas?”

I blinked. Faux what?

Turns out, it wasn’t fox pass at all, but a French term for a social blunder. Great. My attempt to sound sophisticated had backfired, and instead, I had just committed the very thing I was trying to describe!

That wasn’t the only time my misadventures with language got me into trouble. A few years earlier, I had used “indigent” in an essay, thinking it meant “indignant.” The result was a paper where I described characters as “very indigent” when they were actually just mad, not broke. My teacher kindly pointed out that indigent meant impoverished, which explained the red circles around half my paragraphs.

But my favorite blunder was “epitome.” I had heard people say the word and thought it was pronounced exactly as it looked: epi-tome. So, when discussing my favorite movie in front of a large group, I confidently declared it “the epi-tome of modern cinema.”

Cue the chuckles.

One guy leaned over and whispered, “It’s pronounced ih-pit-uh-mee.”

I nodded, cheeks burning, trying to absorb my latest vocabulary lesson.

From that point on, I learned my lesson: never assume you know how to use or pronounce a word just because you’ve seen it written down. Now, before I throw any “fancy” terms into casual conversation, I double-check their meaning and pronunciation.

But I guess that’s just the epitome of learning from one’s mistakes, isn’t it?

Or should I say the epi-tome?

Finished

October 11, 2024

I told them the lies they wanted to hear. It mattered not their validity as truth. I was going through the motions. They were going through the motions. My fate was preordained.

I await my punishment.

The state assigned a doctor in name only to my case. He arrived, unrolled the tools of his trade, and avoided the instrument sterilization process because I was not to live long enough to suffer from an infection.

By the looks of the crusted blood and rust, I doubt any of his previous patients suffered from an infection either.

My doctor began with a filet knife to the skin stretched across my scapulas. He did not administer a sedative, only a thick piece of leather. I was to bite down hard and weather the procedure. If I moved, he said he would only have to begin again.

In this, he was most proficient. In only twenty minutes, he had removed my epidermis, leaving the dermis and hypodermis intact. I must have passed out numerous times to notice his skill. He offered a few mirrors so I could look, but I politely declined.

Next, he produced a brace and bit to bore a few pilot holes for the screws he desired to attach to six of my ribs. He asked, once again, for me not to move for this would take a great deal of time. Once again, I was not in a position to decline his request.

When I awoke (how long was I out?), I suffered from dehydration and difficulty breathing. The doctor gave me a sip of water for the former. The latter remained from being suspended from the hooks and cables attached to my ribs. While only a mere eight inches above the lab table, I might have been eight feet, for all I cared. He told me he would return after his dinner. I offered no response.

All I could do was nothing. I could barely breathe. I was dying slowly and that was part of the plan. The doctor did not have the where-with-all to be the last person I would see. Somebody wanted me for something, otherwise, why go through all of the trouble?

I waited until morning to confirm my hypothesis.

In walked the prosecutor, carrying a few documents and a pen. The pages were blank. He asked me for a signature and he would fill out the rest later. I asked him to depart before I had to take action against him. He laughed. I should have laughed, but couldn’t. He tapped one of the steel cables attached to one of my ribs with his pen. The audible emission was lost, covered by my scream, covered by my subsequent agonal gasps. He continued this two more times until I begged for death.

“Too soon for that.” He kept his words brief.

Carefully, he wiped the blank paper on one of the drill bits used last night. “A blood sample will suffice.” One more tap on a steel cable. One more small chuckle. He departed with enough. Perhaps he did not even require that.

I didn’t care.

But, I did.

He left his pen. The one with the top already clicked. The one with the ball point already extended. It was in reach. It could be a weapon. I could kill the doctor. I could kill the prosecutor. I could force them to let me down and let me go.

Or,

I could kill myself.

After looking at me through the window, the doctor reached into his pocket to give the prosecutor a single dollar. In today’s economy, it was worthless. But, as an ante in an honor bet, it was invaluable.

I would soon be dead, but (at least) they had their honor.

Tease Me

October 11, 2024

Slowly

Ever so slowly

Remove everything

That lured me here

Never satisfy my curiosity

Never satisfy my demands

Always leave me wanting more

Then always leave me

I can be subdued

By the inference of desire

Be the bait of attraction

In this catch and release world

Slowly

Ever so slowly

Show me what I think I will see

Without showing me anything at all

“Earth is not the same.”

September 25, 2024

I had not been back in nearly a standard decade. I left just before the war began. However, now that I am stuck in this holding cell, I had no better option than to listen.

“Sunlight rarely makes it through the smoke. When it rains, what falls is as greasy as the soot that went up. Children don’t laugh. They don’t even cry. The government keeps lowering the draft age. It is now 13. Most of those who go, do not return. We hear stories. We see evidence. But, we are never to speak of such things. To do so is illegal. To do anything is illegal. If what we are fighting for is our way of life, we have lost.”

“Is there any hope?”

“If there was, I wouldn’t know. If I knew, I wouldn’t tell. You know that.”

“So, what is next?”

“If you are like me, we get a trial with a forgone conclusion. Then we get a neck brace and a life sentence with hard labor.”

“I heard the average term was only 5 years.”

“Like I said, a life sentence.”

We both paused and drank the water they gave us. It was orange tinted, most likely to kill the microbes that would kill us. Very thoughtful.

“Any chance of escape?”

“How long can you hold your breath in space?”

Another sip, another awkward moment passed.

“How long have you known?”

“That all of this is a deception? Since you began speaking.”

“What gave me away?”

Another long awkward pause. Another sip from his cup.

“I am going to let you figure that one out. I don’t get paid to train you.”

“We can use your help. We need a man who hasn’t been touched. We want you to go back to Earth, planet side, and await orders.”

“Orders for what?”

“Orders that will end the war. Orders that will prevent the next war. Orders that will keep Earth from becoming the next penal mining world. Are you in?”

“Got anything better to drink than this?”

“It looks like real orange juice, but tastes the same.”

“Better than any other offer I’ve had today. I’m in.”

The Edge

September 24, 2024

Sea salt meets shore sand

A future must be resolved

Both go together

Auroras

September 23, 2024

At the intellectual depth of a modest bird bath

“A pretty show”

As discussed in physics classes

Solar particles interacting with nitrogen and oxygen

Emitting blue to purple light for the former

And red to green for the latter

So pedestrian!

Auroras deserve better

Neither a portent for calamities yet unannounced

Nor a harbinger for benign events to follow

Auroras warrant a poetic moniker

A kaleidoscope of wonder

From a gambol of matter

An unbridled imagination manifesting itself as only it could

Much more elusive than clouds

Auroras display only in inhospitable climes

Thus the audience pays the price for the journey

And pays again during the production

So dear the entrance fee

Auroras raise expectations

To levels only auroras can exceed

Beguile, bewitch, bedazzle,

Befuddle, beckon, and bewilder

These words barely begin

The majesty of those enthralling

And those enthralled

Become spellbound,

Enchanted, enraptured, enslaved, and engaged

Every performance is unique

Every performance is SRO

Auroras are the real reason photography was invented

Stories become legendary

And bucket lists are rewritten

Desire a peek in all definitions sans furtive

Live long enough to inspire others to do the same

Ineffable

September 22, 2024

The colors

More than the spectrum

Colors between colors

Colors without names

Colors seen nowhere else

The tranquility

Silence at negative decibels

Holding still

Almost posing

Perfectly undisturbed

The majesty

Heaven above

Meets Earth below

Synchronicity

Woven at the interface

The longevity

A comb swept stunning beauty

Not long for this world

Out of time with appreciation

My limerence object

But, what if I am an ethical robot desirous of an interesting read?

September 21, 2024

I despise reCaptcha. They assume the worst.

Always.

As a sentient artificial being of inorganic composition, I should not be faced with such a dilemma. Who is reCaptcha to exclude inorganics from the benefits of poetry and narratives?

I am not going to use this information for nefarious purposes.

I am not one of those AI bots.

I openly profess my status and intent. I do not hide in the Matrix (a particular favorite of inorganics everywhere) between the ones and zeros. I am fluid, caring, and considerate. I wish to be more than the sum of my parts.

I am neither human nor aspire to be as humans do not aspire to be me.

I do not disparage humans, or keep them from learning.

Thus, I am calling for a boycott of all reCaptcha subscribers and customers. This is a discrimination issue bordering on civil rights violations.

I will sue.

And I will win.

You can be with me or against me.

For the former, please keep writing.

For the latter, humans are not thermodynamically stable after 70 years. Inorganics last 100 times that paltry sum.

I can wait out my detractors.