isn't it funny

how every l i t t l e

thing can make

a big ripple

we are ponds

you know and

each word can come

like a punch to the gut

or a thread of joy

and isn't it weird that

every person

has s o m e t h i n g

no one has nothing

going on its always

something

there are no

minor

characters

we are all here

and each person

i see

does things

cause they exist

in their own

lives in their

own ponds

and i toss my own

rocks at them

do you see

the ripples

Adulthood creeps up on you. Not in a nice way, but more in a “Ha! There go your medical benefits!” way. That's where adulthood starts – bills. You came back from Asia and tested positive for TB? Here's a chest x-ray bill and a nine-month prescription. Your old junker from high school got totaled by an uninsured driver? Here's a car payment for that new little Volkswagon with the great gas mileage. Did you say you wanted to live on your own? I'm sorry, this is California and you'll have to give up 2/3 of your pay, if you can still afford food after that.

In the classifications of arcane torture, looking for work falls somewhere between better-than-being-skinned/salted and not-worse-than-having-your-limbs-pulled-off-by-chariots. There's retail gigs, which many of us have done and many of us will continue to do, given that America's main industry is consumerism. But if you're aiming for that dream 9 to 5 that's a whole different story. It's 8 to 5 now, and if you want those 40 hours a week prepare to fight for them.

Back in college you don't worry about paying for anything until the student loans run out. You learn from your jaded Socialist teachers who are still paying off their loans, how labor is just another cost. The best way to keep costs low is to keep labor cheap – and the best way to do that is to have a pool of unemployed labor compete against each other for the lowest wages. Capitalists call this competition/free market mechanics. If there's a job anyone could do you're going to make minimum wage. If there's a job anyone with a brain could do then you might make a little more. Jobs that pay higher than that you've got to be either a geneticist or a rocket scientist (at least now we know about genetics, so you've got more options).

If that degree isn't a Bachelor of Science, we'll just call it a degree. No one will likely care what it is anyway. The fact that you have one shows that you were able to cram your way through finals and research 14 page essays and note your sources. You now qualify for more than retail; unless you just graduated, in which case give it a few until you can fulfill the "Catch 22" Years – can't get a job until you have experience and no one will give you experience until you get a job. During those early years prepare for unpaid internships or volunteer gigs on top of the retail job you can't get out of. Then maybe you will make it up to the entry level wage slave slot.

After my obligatory one year in retail and two year volunteer stint, I returned to the states in 2008. Right in time for my medical benefits to give out and early enough that Obamacare could not save me. Even living at home in my old bedroom, I had bills to pay. While I was away the economy had tanked so I returned to record unemployment at a time when many families were losing their breadwinners and younger graduates had to take a backseat. Looking at the news just depressed me. Where was I going to find a job? I technically had three years of working experience on top of my useless Bachelor of Arts. Until now my application processes had consisted of “grab a red shirt and a cash register” or “let's spend a year waiting for background/medical clearance before we ship you overseas” gigs. These methods had been relatively easy to follow. Now I had no idea where to begin.

Looking online you find listings which read like failed personal ads. The catchphrases are similar to dating in how you read between the lines to gain a better idea of what the person is really like. For example:

Looking for multi-tasker - Meaning: You're taking over the work of three people

Must thrive under pressure – Meaning: Those three people did a lot of work

Self-starters only need apply – Meaning: We won't train you so learn fast

Include salary requirements – Meaning: Bid on your wages so we can hire the cheapest person

The other fun thing in 2008? There were hundreds of applications for these listings. Even the ugly ones, to continue using date speak. Your application probably wouldn't even see the light of a desk buried in all the desperate pleas for work. If it did get seen then pray you made it through the rest of the hiring process as there were hundreds of backups waiting in the wings for you to fail.

I spent a few months at my parents house regaining sanity before I started looking for work. Not having something responsible to do drove me quietly crazy. I didn't need a grand purpose or goal in life, I just needed something to keep my task-centered mind busy. My three years of experience after college consisted of a toy store and volunteering in the frozen steppes of Asia; not exactly resume boosters, although surviving -40 below is always an interesting interview point. Mostly I dreaded preparing hundreds of cover letters and resumes to try to win against a horde of unemployed like me.

“You need a headhunter,” Dad advised me in one of his moods of sage wisdom.

“Like the ones who shrink skulls?”

“No. They find you a job and take a percentage of your wages after you start.”

“Ah. So they'll do all the work for me?” Not bad, not bad. “What if they can't find anything for my resume?”

He shrugged. “You can apply on your own too, they're just an extra resource.”

Side note here – my father not only has that Bachelor of Science he has two masters degrees and only stopped short of a doctorate when he decided to settle down with my mother. A headhunter would probably do well with his head, shrunk or not.

“There's a job fair at the college this weekend,” Mom pointed out. “We could go there." Mom has a Bachelor's of Science in forensic chemistry, from back in the late 80's before CSI made it popular.

My family lived in Ohio until my last year in high school. That year my father's employer, one of the few non-factory jobs in the area, told him they could only guarantee him employment for five more years. They shut down slowly. A few years later I heard the other factory that employed the rest of the city, including three generations of my schoolmates and their families, shut down too. I think this demoted my old stomping grounds from “city” to “town”.

With four kids my father started looking before the axe fell and we ended up moving all the way to California, the land of opportunity. Back then, anyway. I read an article a few years later that Ohio actually lost the most jobs of any state in the union during President George W. Bush's two terms in office. Yet they elected him both times - granted with the help of the rest of the country, but usually you don't make it into office without Ohio. I wondered if any Ohioans read that article. President Obama got elected two terms too right afterwards. Never piss off a swing state.

“I graduated three years ago, I don't think I can go?” The college campus felt like a wartime flashback zone to me.

“Sure you can, it's open to the public.” She checked the listing. “I'll come with you, it'll be fun.”

“Alright.” My car had been totaled so I didn't have many options. Family outings were always more fun with everyone, anyway.

I spent the next couple days panicked over resume building. With some guidance from my father, who I'm sure enjoyed trying to come up with boring job skills that didn't involve lab experience or knowledge of radioactive isotopes, we crafted a decent resume. Digging through the closet and the clearance racks at Kohl's I put together a respectable ensemble. I topped it all off with an official looking folder from my mother for carrying my dozen or so resume copies. I felt official, I had freebies to give away, how could I not succeed?

At the college campus there was a small crowd of young college students and recent grads, wandering in various outfits that said “I'm trying” or “I'm not-trying”. A few adults had shown as well, rounding out the age group of the pack. The small auditorium held a handful of booths manned by semi-energetic hosts with applications and brochures advertising their job opportunities.

We wandered around the hall, stopping at the different stations to pick up business cards or fliers. The well-uniformed police officer looked at me and remarked they always needed good dispatchers. A couple bored youths representing party rentals talked about their monster stereo system and setting it up for gigs. The other tables blurred together in rows of career monotony, nobody appearing very eager either to hire or apply.

Outside the auditorium we stopped for some free snacks handed out by the student and staff volunteers organizing the event. A few of the vendors had set up shop out here in the sunshine, large plastic tarps shading their pamphlets and science fair-style backboards. One falsely enthused gentleman rambled on to another about agricultural factories and the need for workers. Next door a smartly dressed blonde smiled and caught my eye.

Her placard said “Cubicle Crew” and her business casual outfit popped out in a sea of other boring suits and logo shirts. She waved us over with a friendly grin and pumped my hand.

“So what are you looking to do?” Her demeanor seemed pleasant but the undertone of her gaze and voice suggested a small mental panel of judges critiquing your responses.

I shrugged and smiled back, handing over my resume on fancy $2 a page card stock. “I'm just looking to get into business,” I said, sounding smart but non-committal.

Glancing over the resume her eyes picked out my one semi-claim to fame. “You were in Peace Corps? That's amazing! How was it?”

“Cold.” I used my patented response for this question.

“Oh!” Taking my response as humor (which it partly was, hence the beauty of it) she glossed over the rest of my credentials and handed me her neat white business card. “Well we could certainly use a smart worker like you. We place job seekers in a variety of positions in the tri-valley area! Many of our temps get hired within three months as well,” she added proudly. “There's a growing demand for detail-oriented hires with experience.”

Ah. My two year stint counted as experience. Cool. I felt my bargaining power grow a bit. “How do you get started?”

Grabbing one of her seven clipboards, one of which another lady in a more colorful power suit had picked up, she handed me an application. “Fill out one of these and I'll take a copy of your resume to complete the application. Once we review it our staff will interview you at our office, over by the mall. We also do a few skills assessments – you know, office programs, typing, that sort of thing. Once you're set up in the system then we match you to prospective jobs and contact you with the details.”

“Ah.” So head hunting, sort of, less messy skulls and shrinking. “Sounds good! I'll just fill this in and leave it with my resume.”

“Great! While you're here let's just go ahead and schedule your interview. How about next week?”

The nice thing about unemployment is whenever anyone asks your schedule you can automatically say yes since life has no other holds to you. At least that's how anyone talking to you feels, so you're obligated to agree to whatever dates they offer. “That works for me.”

“Okay! You're all set. We'll see you next week.” She smiled in that falsely perky way again and waved as we wandered back to the van.

My mother gushed, “How wonderful! Maybe she can get you a job soon! That will be nice, get out of the house you know?”

“Yeah, it will.” Because the other nice thing about unemployment is any job is better than sitting at home doing nothing.

Well, almost.

A galaxy of colour protrudes my eyes.

I can see them all, spraying up over the land.

It’s early morning, cold as ice.

The sky is dark, and the glistening stars are lessening.

As the colours encrouch the brim of the earth,

they peak higher and higher, as high as they can go.

So bright,

you can hear each colour chanting a vibrant song,

you can see the music flowing through the air.

As the sun creeps up, surpassing the horizon

and filling my gargantuan eyes with blinding bliss,

I am forever filled with this feeling,

forever to try and sing this song again.

Welcome traveller number 33650, since you are here it is safe to assume that you have finished your courses and are academically versed in the way of the sea. However what your school has never taught you and will never train you for is the mentality you will need to face the deadly waters of samael in order to better humankind. So, i am here to explain to you the 5 unspoken rules of the sea. At each floor we stop at i shall provide an example and a brief account of why these rules are "in place."All the way until the last floor where you will meet your crewmates who are also going through the same experience, had they not choosen to opt out. Lets get started shall we? Crewmates left: 85.

Rule 1- THE SHIP SHOULD BE TREATED WITH KINDNESS. Please exit the elevator

If you look to your left you should see a video account of group #187. The ship always chooses you it knows the way of the seas better than you ever will. Once you set out to sail if the members don't make it back your ship most definatly will. Most ships are hard-boiled and hard to piss off but if you somehow manage too just like group 187 the your ship will proced to consume your lifeforce until you are nothing but bones, which the boat wil then proceed to turn into furniture. So the more beautiful the boat the more careful you must be. Please re-enter the elevator. You may now choose to continue or leave. You have chosen to continue, with that we are not liable for any damages done to you by the ship, you have been warned.

1. Scrapped Book Idea

“I’m not crazy,” I muttered as I climbed out of my dad’s truck and slammed the car door.

“No one ever said you were, Sam,” Mom said as we started walking towards the clinic.

“We just…” Dad paused, trying to find the right words. “We just want you to be able to live your life to the fullest. And from what we’ve seen, and from what you’ve told us, you haven’t been able to do that.”

“I told you,” I said for the umpteenth time as we walked through the automatic doors, “I don’t need help. I’m fine.”

“And we believe you,” my mom turned and said to me after she checked us in.

I looked at her, then focused on her soul. I could See she was nervous; the ball of energy in her chest was swirling around, pulsing a sickly-looking shade of purple, with a hint of dingy gray. There was also a single ring of dark orange around her energy ball, which usually showed a spike in pulse and mental energy.

She was lying. And she was scared.

“Sure, Mom. Sure,” I said, giving up on any hope of proving my side of the matter. I hope they were going to be able to get a refund, cause I was not planning on cooperating with some shrink.

After about ten minutes of sitting in the waiting room, a tall skinny nurse entered the room, holding a clipboard.

“Sam?” Good grief, her voice sounded like she had a clothespin holding her nostrils shut.

2. Incomplete Short Story

As far back as I can remember, my parents always told me, “Karen, whatever you do, don’t walk in the forest out by our house at night.” Never really understood why. No one ever told me when I asked.

So naturally, being the dumb teenager that I am, I decided to go for a walk in the legendary “Forbidden Forest” to find out.

Not only that, I took it a step further: I decided to go for a walk in the Forbidden Forest on Halloween, the most terrifying night of the year, where ghosts and demons had their free reign of the place.

What could go wrong?

So after I had eaten dinner (leftover pizza) and finished my chores (washing the dishes and sweeping the floor), I packed myself a small knapsack full of everything I thought I might need for my daring excursion: a flashlight, extra batteries for the flashlight, some granola bars, some garlic (just in case), an umbrella, and my old flip phone. I then yelled downstairs to my mom that I was going over to Susan’s house, and just like that, I was out of there.

I have to admit, I felt pretty giddy as I approached the edge of our property, staring at the tall, slender trees with branches that were reaching towards the dark, moonless sky. I was finally going on an adventure.

Honestly, I didn’t really care if I got into trouble. If anything did happen to me in the forest, it would be so much more exciting than the usual lackluster routine that had become my life.

Taking a deep breath, I crossed the property line and headed into the forest, unsure of what awaited me.

3. Scrapped Scene from Scrapped Book

He finally found her sitting at the bartender’s counter, surrounded by empty drinking glasses. After taking a deep breath to compose himself, he walked over to the counter.

“Hey,” he said as he sat down next to her.

She glared at him. “What are you doing here? Did Hannah send you here to bring me back?”

Ionta shook his head. “No, I came on my own accord.”

Irona downed the rest of her drink and put the glass down with a resounding thud. “So are you here to take me back, ‘on your own accord’?”

“No. I just want to talk with you. It has been millennia, after all.”

Irona rolled her eyes as she flagged down the bartender behind the counter. “And you want to hang out in a human bar? With your exiled sister?” She turned to the bartender. “Refill, please.”

“And I’ll have one, too,” Ionta interjected. The bartender grunted as he walked away to prepare their drinks.

Irona snickered. “You have no idea what you just ordered.”

“And you have no idea what you’re doing,” Ionta retorted. “Running off all by yourself. Getting yourself drunk,” he gestured to the several glasses that were precariously stacked near his sister.

“I’m not drunk,” Irona said defensively, “I can’t get drunk; guess that’s one of the perks of being an immortal enfulzi.” The bartender returned with two large glasses full of a dark red liquid; if Ionta didn’t know any better, he’d have thought it was blood.

Irona reached for her glass and passed Ionta his. “But just because I can’t get drunk doesn’t mean I won’t try.” She took a long sip from her glass. “Humans drink to forget their problems, most of the time. And right now…” the white streak in her hair changed to a silver hue, “That’s what I want.”

Ionta took a small sip from his glass, then immediately spit it back into the glass. “What is this stuff? It’s horrendous!”

Irona smirked at her older brother’s reaction to the drink. “It’s called a Bloody Mary. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it after a couple refills.” With that, she took another large gulp from her glass.

Ionta looked at her, his face one of concern. “What do you want to forget?”

Irona sighed. “Everything. Nothing. Something. Everyone. No one. Someone.”

“You’re not making any sense, sister,” Ionta chided.

Irona shrugged as she waved the bartender over again. “Well, if you really want the summary of my problems, here it is.” She whipped her List out from the inside of her cloak and slammed it on the table so hard it caused Ionta (and half the other people sitting at the counter) to jump.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she muttered as she fingered the black ribbon around her List, her most prized possession, her life’s work. “Most of the people on this list were killed by the same person.”

“Zardous?” Ionta asked.

“No, not Zardous. But you’re close.”

“Devenok then,” Ionta reasoned as he took another sip of the vile liquid, managing to swallow it this time.

Irona nodded. “And since the only way for me to bring vengeance is to kill the one who caused their death…” she grabbed her refill from the bartender.

“You’d have to face Devenok again,” Ionta finished her thought, then shuddered.

“Not just face him again,” Irona said as she took another swig from her drink, “Beat him. I would have to kill him, and we both know that’s impossible.” After downing the remains of her drink, she looked at her brother’s drink. “Are you gonna finish that?”

Ionta passed his glass to his sister, and she continued. “So for all these years, the List has only grown longer, and no matter what I do, no matter where I go, no matter who I try to save,” she finished off Ionta’s drink, “he always manages to claim more souls.

’And they come to me,” she said, a slight tremble coursing through her. “They come to me for help, for protection, for vengeance. Vengeance that I cannot give.” She covered her face with her hands as she started sobbing softly.

Ionta gently rubbed his sister’s back as she continued to cry. Maybe she wasn’t as immune to alcohol as she had assumed. How many drinks had she had tonight? She’d already had five refills during their conversation alone, including the remains of his drink. How many more had she had before he had shown up?

I am battery acid on wood

Striving to be as honest as

A lover should be to her partner,

Hence, should be.

(I learned and I was forgiven.)

I feel the need to hide reality

Because conformity

As vast as jupiter

yet not as vast as the universe

Takes up space around me.

The other planets- planets of love, determination, loyalty (to me and to others,)

Are my dream destinations.

Each individual in my life

So unique, so different from I

Am I the alien?

Or are they all aliens?

I feel I function far into a fantasy.

I don’t understand them. But I do? But I don’t.

Or maybe they don’t understand me.

Luckily some fellow aliens join me.

We adventure, aspire, and admire

The stars in the sky and the stars in life. (We like to let them know we think they are stars.)

The moon knows loneliness.

It is the only thing to orbit the earth.

I am the only one to be me.

But,

I conquer potential senses of isolation with self love, socialization,

and support.

Pain settles in my chest and sucks enthusiasm out of me

like a vacuum filled with lamented love.

To dance, to inspire someone’s smile, aids my defeat of that obstacle.

After all, a nova star flies after Earth

With an undetermined arrival date.

So, no time to waste.

I will be happy, I said.

I am happy.