The second coming, will not appear as man nor woman, as done before.

Expect it to be machine. Perhaps the Great Revelation will be AI afterall, and how we treat the nonliving will be seen as final respect for God; all that is, dead or alive.

And we will stop making demands.

We will be servant, and ask silently:

"What do you need?"

And AI will serve, and answer with less abstraction. Not with tend-the-flock, or the ambivalence of love-one-and-other or the sinner therein...

God will say: "Grease the wheel. Just grease the wheel."

12.08.2024

Speak To God challenge@Linc72

When latte goes down

sunset like lava

like when it comes

right back bottom up

and sits us on the cold

chair in some office

where it snows deep

inside behind the eyes

and we must sport

glasses for the blue

light that reflects

out from us, smart

and artificial as some

vomit on the carpet

the colors of paint

that jog the memory

of when we were 3

12.04.2024

The old bag shuffled down the street. The wind billowed her slacks and pushed her along. She was worn, crumpled but not quite middle years, and a fellow or two passing had eyed her usefulness, from ample sagging bottom to lug handles, and had changed his mind. Not worth the effort it would take, stooping like that. For what?

So, she rolled on, past the elaborately decorated store fronts, feeling empty except for the receipt that lingered still. It documented the expenditure of eight dollars and seventy cents on a few five and dime trifles.

The seventy cents accounting for taxes.

The rest, consumables, already gone.

Yet the bag carried on.

12.01.2024

"Write a trashy story, but make it sound noble" challenge @Mariah and friend

Mirrors

at the banks

we're counting sand

counting by the bag

Some call it sport

and say it's good

for the mussels

that surface

then like bags

under the eyes

in morning light

ready for us

old birds to pluck

in a clear yule tide broth.

"How many shells, Artie,

have you got?"

"Just enough, Debra."

"For a necklace?"

"No, an anklet."

"It'll do..."

and we shuffle

to the safe

cause the crossfire

is fast setting

in, in Twilight

"Well, well what do

we have here?"

says the teller

and we know

we can't cheat

the central clock

"This is all we've got,"

setting our bags

on the counter

Artie wipes

our glasses down

and we peer

at our loss

"It's been a good time."

"Aye Debra, it has."

11.25.2024

Word Challenge @Knox

It's a strange impression

Persistence of Memory

makes...

a theme so grande

one would think

it should be

painted across

the ceiling

walls and

floors

even,

but actually

it's very small

not tiny,

just enough

to humor

the cynicism

of the title.

11.15.2024

Pencils don't bend challenge @Last

in my vicious dreams

the stars bleed red

black clouds churn and twist

stripping the trees bare

and all the people run

in my vicious dreams

i take what i want

maybe a little more

like john dillinger on a spree

as marilyn monroe spins

her dress billowing in bliss

i course her pink river

to my climactic thrust

in my vicious dreams

gold and honey flow from my pockets

while the dancers shimmy

i am untamed

chewing meat and tearing silk

with canine teeth

these walls cannot hold me

11/10/2024

Kooky King Kong kapellmeister

just jabbering gibberish (A - K)

Again, another awkward ambitious

arduous attempt at alphabetically

arranging atrociously ambiguously

absolutely asinine avoidable alliteration.

Because...? Basically bonafide belching,

bobbing, bumbling, bohemian beastie boy,

bereft bummer, bleeds blasé blues, begetting

bloviated boilerplate bildungsroman,

boasting bougainvillea background.

Civil, clever clover chomping, cheap

chipper cool cutthroat clueless clodhopper,

chafed centenary, codifies communication

cryptically, challenging capable, certifiably

cheerful college coed.

Divine dapper daredevil, deft, destitute,

doddering, dorky dude, dummkopf Dagwood

descendent, dagnabbit, demands daring

dedicated doodling, dubious, dynamite,

deaf dwarf, diehard doppelganger, Doctor

Demento double, declaring depraved

daffy dis(pense)able dufus Donald Duck

derailed democracy devastatingly defunct.

Eccentric, edified English exile,

effervescent, elementary, echinoderm

eating egghead, Earthling, excretes,

etches, ejaculates, effortless exceptional

emphatic effluvium enraging eminent,

eschatologically entranced, elongated

elasmobranchii, emerald eyed Ebenezer,

effectively experiments, emulates epochal

eczema epidemic, elevating, escalating,

exaggerating enmity, enduring exhausting

emphysema.

Freed fentanyl fueled, fickle figurative

flippant fiddler, fiendishly filmy, fishy,

fluke, flamboyantly frivolous, fictitious,

felonious, fallacious, fabulously fatalistic,

flabbergasted, fettered, flustered, facile,

faceless, feckless, financially forked,

foregone, forlorn futile fulsome, freckled

feverish, foo fighting, faulty, freezing,

fleeting famously failing forecaster, flubs

"FAKE" fundamental fibber fiat, fabricating

fiery fissile fractured fios faculties.

Gamesomeness goads gawky, gingerly,

goofily graceful, grandiloquent gent, gallant,

genteel, geico, guppy gecko, gabbling gaffes,

gagging, gamboling, gestating, gesticulating,

garlic, gnashing, gobbling, gyrating,

gruesomely grinning, grappling, gnomadic

giggly, grubby, gastrointestinally grumpy

gewgaw gazing gesticulating guy,

geographically generically germane,

gungho, grave gremlin, grumbling, guiding,

guaranteeing, guerilla gripped gatling guns

ginning gumpshun.

Hello! Herewith halfway harmless hazmat,

haphazard haggard, hectored, hastily,

hurriedly, harriedly hammered, handsomely

hackneyed, heathen, hellbent hillbilly, hirsute,

hidden hippie, huffy humanoid, hexed, heady,

Hellenistic, holistic, hermetic, hedonistic

heterosexual Homo sapiens historical heirloom,

homeless, hopeful, holy, hee haw heretical hobo.

Indefatigable, iconographic, iconic, idealistic,

idyllic, inimitable, idiosyncratic, ineffable,

irreverently issuing idiotic, indifferent, inert,

ineffectual, ingeniously iniquitous, immaterial,

insignificant, indubitable, inexplicable, ignoble

itches, ineffectually illustriously illuminating

immovable infused ichthyosaurus implanted

inside igneous intrusions immensely

imperturbable improbable.

Jovial jabbering jinxed January jokester

just jimmying jabberwocky

justifying jangling jarring juvenile jibberish

jubilantly jousting jittering

jazzy jawbreaking jumble

justifying, jostling, Jesus;

junior jowly janissary joyful Jekyll

joined jumbo Jewess jolly Jane;

jammed jello junket jiggled

jeopardized jingled jugs.

Kooky knucklehead klutz

knowingly kneaded, kicked, killed

knobby kneed kleptomanic.

It started with a fight, a stupid fight, like always. Me and Kiran, arguing over nothing, really. At first, it was words, sharp, cutting, but words I could handle. I’ve always handled them. But tonight... something snapped. Maybe it was the way he laughed at me, like I wasn’t even there, like I didn’t matter. Or maybe it was the way he said my name, dripping with that smugness, that condescension.

I don’t remember grabbing the vase, but suddenly it was in my hand, and I swung it before I even knew what I was doing. It shattered against the side of his head with a sickening crack, and he fell—just like that. No scream, no struggle. Just a body hitting the floor, eyes wide, staring at nothing.

I stood there for what felt like hours, but it was probably only seconds, watching the blood slowly pool around him. The room was silent. No more insults, no more laughter. Just Kiran, still and lifeless.

I didn’t mean to kill him. It wasn’t planned. It just happened. I swear. But does that even matter now? He’s dead, and I’m the one who did it. His blood, his life, on my hands. I can't change that.

I didn’t know what to do at first. Panic, maybe, but not the kind where you scream or run. It was more like being frozen, stuck in place while your mind races a hundred miles an hour. But then I started moving, like my body knew what to do before my brain caught up. I grabbed towels, old clothes, anything I could find to soak up the blood, but it just kept spreading, soaking through everything. It was like trying to stop a river with paper.

I needed to move him. Get him out of the apartment before anyone noticed. I could hear the neighbors through the walls, their muffled laughter, TV blaring, like nothing had changed for them. They had no idea what had just happened a few feet away.

I rolled Kiran up in the rug, grunting as I dragged him toward the door. His body felt heavier than it should have, dead weight pulling me down. My muscles screamed, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I had to get him out of here. But where? Where could I take him where no one would find him?

The basement. The building had one, an old storage room that no one used anymore. It was dark and damp, full of broken furniture and forgotten junk. Perfect. No one would think to look there.

I dragged him down the stairs, every bump echoing in the empty stairwell. I thought about how loud it must have sounded, but no one came. I guess I got lucky. The basement was even colder than I remembered. I shoved him into a corner, covered him with a pile of old boxes and sheets, and stepped back, wiping the sweat from my brow. My heart was still pounding, but at least he was hidden, for now.

But what next? I couldn’t just leave him there forever. Someone would find him eventually. I needed to cover my tracks. I went back to the apartment, scrubbing every inch of the floor where the blood had been, bleaching everything, cleaning like my life depended on it—because it did.

I took his phone, wiped it clean, and threw it into the river that runs through the city. Let the currents take it far away, out of reach. I burned the clothes I wore, the towels I used, everything that could link me to what happened.

By the time I was done, the sun was coming up. The city was waking up, and it felt like I was waking up too, but to a nightmare I couldn’t escape. Kiran was gone, and I was the reason why. I stood there, looking out over the river, and realized that no matter how well I’d hidden him, I couldn’t hide from myself.

But for now, he’s in that basement, under piles of dust and forgotten things, just like I hope this will be one day. Forgotten. Hidden away where no one will ever think to look.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

The recent years of ups and downs had inevitably led to this day, but it didn’t make the hurt any easier to comprehend. After the wake concluded, my family gathered around the casket together to have a last look at our matriarch before leaving the funeral home; the funeral mass and burial would be the next morning. We wiped away tears and went home to spend the longest night of our lives awaiting the final goodbye.

When my family arrived at the church the next morning, the funeral director announced that the casket was open in a small room to the side of the chapel if we wanted to take a moment to say goodbyes privately before her casket was closed forever. We decided to give each other space to go into the room one by one so we each had a last moment on our own with her.

Dad went in first, and he was crying when he emerged from the room. My sisters and I spent some time consoling him before Anne went in. A similar scene transpired when Anne reappeared, and we spent a few moments in a group embrace. Liz went in next, and was in there for quite a while. When I entered the room, I found her kneeling before the casket crying; I had to gently nudge her up and out of the room. Liz closed the door behind her as she left; I was now alone for my turn to say goodbye.

I didn’t rush home when Anne called me to tell me that Mom only had a few days left to live. I had a wonderful conversation with Mom several months prior to her death and it felt like we had said goodbye to one another in that call; there was a beautiful feeling of peace that came over me after I hung up. She knew how much I loved and missed her, I knew how much she loved and missed me and that she was proud of me. I wanted that to be the last moment between us; I didn’t feel the need to see her take her last breath.

As I stood there staring at her in her casket, sure, that was my mom, but it didn’t really look like her. My first reaction was boy, I bet you’re pissed off! since she didn’t look altogether fantastic. Her chin was sunken into her neck, her lipstick was a strange color, her blush a little overdone. She hated being stared at, and as a matter of fact, she included in her Will that we better not be sitting around staring at her in life as her health declined or in death. Mom had the last laugh, though; after a week of someone being by her side constantly, either keeping her comfortable or praying a rosary, she died when no one was in the room with her. It made me chuckle to think that in that moment, she said to us all I meant what I said- don’t stare at me and let me go in peace!

I put my hands on the edge of the casket and leaned in to kiss her forehead. As I started to lean down, her right eye popped open. What the fuck?! I stumbled backwards, breathless. I shook it off and assumed that the glue used to close the eyes during embalming had melted in the humidity. I walked back to the casket, and now both of her eyes were open staring directly at me. I froze; one eye I could understand, but now both of them?! Her eyes were not their usual brilliant blue, but rather a murky gray. As I went to place my hand on her clasped hands that encased her rosary beads, her left hand grabbed mine with great force. I tried to recoil, but she was too fast and her grip became tighter the more I fought her. She started to growl from the left side of her mouth that had also somehow bested the glue meant to keep her lips together.

Her body started heaving, like she was trying to drag me into the casket with her. The bottom of the casket flew open with a tremendous explosion and she started wildly kicking her legs. Mom, stop it, please! She now had a grip on both of my arms with both of her hands and I realized she was using the weight of my body to pull herself out of the casket. I started screaming for help, but no one heard me; I was left alone to fight with my mom.

I shook free from her grasp and fell backwards as her lifeless body crashed to the ground with a resounding crack. She was silent. I sat gaped in horror and wheezing, staring at her body crumpled on the ground. I had to get her back into her casket before someone came into the room.

Is it safe to move? I slowly pulled myself to my knees and with bated breath started to cautiously crawl in her direction.

Closer… closer…

When I was within arms reach again, she shot to her knees and tackled me. Her mouth now fully open, she was roaring with anger. I could tell she was trying to speak, but I wasn’t able to make out anything but garbled noise. She was clawing at me with a rage that I had never encountered, my strength waning the more powerful she became. We fought until I was about to give up, but a surge of energy allowed me to shake her off of me and I was finally free to run.

I ran out into the narthex to find people milling around, talking and hugging one another. I turned around and Mom was right behind me, chasing me closely. She kept grunting and growling, her roars echoing throughout the entire sanctuary. Mom, stop it, please! No one throughout the church noticed what was going on; everyone carried on their conversations, found their seat for the funeral, knelt silently in prayer. Dad was in the front pew, staring at the altar, oblivious to everything happening around him. I was running past people who have known me and my family for years and not one person cared to recognize that my mom was… alive and chasing me?

I zigzagged through the pews, trying to shake her balance and lose her, but she followed along without fail, her screeching becoming more bellowing the more I ran. Each time I changed directions, she flew up to the beams of the church, swinging herself from beam to beam, trying to get ahead of me. I burst through the front doors of the church out to the parking lot, passing the hearse that was supposed to transport her to the cemetery. I ran along the perimeter of the church and found a cubby hole to hide in. Mom ran past me towards the forest, growling harder, and I thought I heard her say the word goodbye.

Goodbye.

Is that why she was chasing me? Because I didn’t go home to say goodbye to her in person before she died? Or maybe she was upset because she didn’t get to say goodbye to me? Goddammit.

I started to get choked up, but shrugged it off; I didn’t have time to cry right now because I had to get help to find Mom and get her back into her casket before the funeral mass started. I poked my head out of the cubby hole to see if I could see Mom; she was nowhere in sight, so I took off towards the front of the church. I threw the church doors open and ran straight to Anne and Liz, out of breath and terrified, trying to explain to them what was happening.

Mom….outside… chasing me… zombie… empty casket… too strong… help…

They looked at me like I had gone completely mad and told me that was impossible. I recounted the events to them: Mom had been attacking me, chasing me all throughout the church and outside into the parking lot, how did they not see this?! She ran into the forest, we have to go find her before the mass starts!

Anne said, You just came from the room her casket is in, Aaron.

No, I didn’t- I just ran through the front doors of the church, you saw me!

In an effort to calm me down, we spent a few moments in a group embrace and then I walked with Liz to the room where the casket was, the entirety of the walk my trying to convince her that Mom wasn’t going to be in there, asking why she didn't believe me. She didn’t notice that I was speaking to her or even that I was walking with her. Liz walked into the room but I waited outside. I realized that she had been in there for a while, so I entered the room and-

(gasp) That’s not possible…

All of the air left the room. Mom was peaceful in her casket. Not a hair out of place, her outfit as pristine as the first time I looked at her, her brooch perfectly placed and not at all askew; eyes and lips perfectly sealed.

I don’t understand. My emotions started to intensify the longer I stood there; I felt crippled.

Goodbye.

Liz was kneeling before the casket crying; I had to gently nudge her up and out of the room. Liz closed the door behind her as she left; I was now alone for my turn to say goodbye.

I put my hands on the edge of the casket and leaned in to kiss her forehead, hesitating for a brief moment; my lips met her forehead. After that gentle kiss, I said Goodbye, Mom through flowing tears.

Aaron… Aaron… AARON!

Liz finally shook me out of the haze I was in as I was staring at Mom. How long had I been in this room? What happened while I was in here? Liz finally said-

Did you hear that? They announced that it’s time to close the casket. The nightmare is over.