the way of life, as sailing ships

everything enroute...

cumulous, and sands of beach

our vitrification, of porcelain

and imported teas

the winding pattern

of current and thinking

surely, in this we are skilled

I asked the CEO of a very successful, growing company if she would trade her life with anyone else. Without hesitation, she talked about the poor coffee farmer she observed while on a mission trip to Guatemala last week. “I would love to experience the joy that man expressed when talking about his life.” He was surrounded by his six kids and wife who needed daily care for her medical situation which is worsening. He invited me to come for a glass of water to his house, which was mainly built of sticks and cardboard and could not withstand the gentlest storm.

So what did he say that would make a billionaire want to trade places with him? Something about the love that consumes him from morning ’til night and the belief that eternal bliss is waiting for all of them.

Sally seems nice. Maybe I should see if she wants to hang out sometime? She might say yes, and wouldn’t it be cool to have someone nice to sit with at the park; someone to feed the squirrels with, and to watch the mallards bob?

Of course she might say no, which would sting. Could be she’s not so nice. Could be that she’s simply being polite and doesn’t like me at all? Rejection sucks. She might even laugh, or call me a creep. Then she would tell Anne I’m a creep, and Anne would tell Cindy, and Cindy would post it on the internet. Soon everyone would think I’m a creep and I’d be cancelled, so that no one would want to hang out.

But she might like the park; listening to the kids play, and laughing as the lucky dogs run past, tugging their humans with their leads? And there’s that one bench by the water that’s just perfect when the sun is setting, when the geese decide to cackle off towards it, their sprinting feet rippling it’s reflection across the still water. Who wouldn’t like that?

She’d probably just think I’m cheap though, that I’m asking her to the park because I can’t afford to take her out to dinner or something?

And maybe I am cheap. I mean, who wants to spend a hundred bucks to find out if someone is cool to hang around with?

But then, what if she really is nice? What if it’s worth a hundred bucks to get to know her? Wouldn’t that be awesome?

But then again, what if she wants to hang out again tomorrow, and expects another dinner? Another hundred bucks? I’d quickly go broke!

”Sigh.”

Maybe I should ask her if she wants to hang out, and then let her decide on dinner or the park? That would leave us the other activity for the next time, if there was to be a next time?

But then she might think I’m weak and indecisive, that I’m not putting in enough effort. A guy should at least be capable of planning a date, shouldn’t he?

But does it have to be a date? Can’t it be just hanging out?

“Sigh,” again.

Sally seems nice, but I think I’ll pass.

It’s easier and cheaper to hook up with some nameless chick on Tinder while enjoying the park alone.

What would you trade your soul for?

Or do you believe the soul is sacred?

Like the moon

Like the river

Like the very stars above

No price for soul

No price

Did you trade it for money?

sex

drugs

No price for soul

Have you traded it already?

No you have not

It is untradable

It is yours

Always will be.

"Papi, why do they call it trade or trades?"

"Are you picturing, mi Hijo, the action of handiwork passed from hand to hand for another artifact?"

"Yes. But we are not trading our woodwork for pots and pans, or bread, or linen, or machines. People pay. Not trade."

"We used to exchange work for work, but that is not it, Hijo. Perhaps it is like Chinese Telephone."

"Is that different from our phone, Papi?"

"No, haha, Hijo. I thought you knew. It's a game."

"Oh."

"Someone tells someone something somewhat familiar. That person tells another who knows a little what they are talking about, who tells another who doesn't, who tells someone else, who has no idea what they are talking about. And finally, we end up with something vaguely reminiscent but totally different."

"What happened to trades?"

"Mi Hijo, it started with something like treads. The steps you took to get the skills needed to create within any craft. The treads were not education, so much as a way of life. A trek."

"A track?"

"Kind of, but see? How your tongue is twisting."

"Why Chinese?"

"I don't know, Hijo. I guess we are always apt to blame the foreigner for our own domestic issues."

2025 MAR 18

Awaiting ambulance to transport assailant (victim?) from Albertsons parking lot to county morgue.

According to witnesses, Subject A was walking from the store, carrying a bag of groceries, when Subject B approached him. The situation quickly escalated when both subjects began trading barbs.

According to Subject A, Subject B claimed to have a concealed weapon and demanded money.

Witnesses did not corroborate Subject A's statement.

According to witnesses, Subject A set his bag of groceries on the ground. When he rose, he grabbed from the bag a head of celery by the stalks and swung it at subject B's head. The force of the blow knocked Subject B to the ground. After Subject B fell, Subject A continued to beat Subject B's head with the celery.

Subject A corroborates the witness statements.

When we arrived on the scene, Subject A was still standing above Subject B with the bloodied remains of a head of celery in his right hand. Subject B's head was beaten beyond recognition. We confirmed that Subject B is deceased. No weapons were found on Subject B, but he had a carrot in each front pocket of his jacket.

We are taking Subject A into custody and charging him with battery, murder, and illicit and disproportional use of a head of celery as a weapon of defense (offense?). Subject A does not have a concealed celery license.

3/18/2025

The deals we make when we're under pressure.push comes,push shoves.

Elbow room,next to leg room.Missing body pieces,in an anatomical museum.

Used joints and limbs.Choose your member.

Do you like sports?We have a great deal on a used tennis Elbow.

Do you like music?

We have a brand new hip hop disc.

I did hurt myself on the dance floor.

Well I recommend this disc so you can let your back bone slide.

I like music and sports.

Do you have any southpaws available?

Who's your favourite musician?

Michael Jackson.

Whose your favourite athlete?

Billie Jean King.

That's very interesting,this might work.

What might work?

Do you see the connection?

Billie Jean and Billie Jean King.

This can be doable.

How would you like two different parts,a new part and an older part?

A new part and an old part!?

What part of Michael Jackson would you like?

I would like his left hand.

I'm not sure if he has a left hand,he always wore a glove.

How about Billie Jean kings left hand?

I think she's still alive,that wouldn't be a good idea.

What about a different body part?

As you can see,I only need a left hand.

I like to write with background noise. In summer, the play-by-play of a baseball game emanates from a television set behind me and my computer.

The volume is always soft and low. Barely audible.

But there is one aggravating phrase that always pierces my ears, stops my writing, and makes me want to throw something at the TV. It is when a baseball announcer says, “He is an outfielder by trade.” Or “an infielder by trade.” Or “a pitcher by trade.”

No, no, and no!

A trade refers to an occupation that requires certain skills. A young adult would not say, “I would like to pursue a trade like carpentry, nursing, or outfielding.”

At this point, I turn the TV off and write without background noise.

You were right,

Who are we to take hold of the veil and part it as we like.

Like curtains, between the mass of black and white.

We are purveyors, when we believe ourselves to be so.

But in the reverse, we are more like onlookers, riding the storm.

There is no twist and turn we can articulate accurately upon extended years.

We are not the seers of futures long left to be bore.

For when we stop selling the convictions of life,

we must traverse the harder storms.

Become the payer of tolls, of feet long worn.

But fickle as man may be, attempting to be sellers of after time,

in the reverse, we have no idea of what kind of life takes on our dying end.

So trade with me, like we might make something more of ourselves,

like we might find the true meaning in life.

Become the god in which righteous living is besought by my word,

buy my wares, then sell my goods.

When you come of age too,

I can turn my wares. Trade off my beseechment,

and let you turn theirs-onlookers, believers, and non-believers alike,

I do not care, for neither here nor there

Will I be anywhere.

For in death, I trade nothing.

Nothing but the final end to my curiosity.

Where the time for me stops,

and I know the secret of humanity.