write a concept album of songs inspired by disgraced governors. "rod's [expletive deleted] theme", "hiking the appalachian trail", "emperors club VIP"

producing a nation of employees

"The Self-Thinking Thought"

Limits of Oceans and Seas

The man standing on the edge of the beach said he was there to change the sea. He was standing and staring into the distance when he said it—alone, watching the sunrise, dressed in overalls and a hard hat. The thin and foamy edge of the ocean lapped at the tips of his black sneakers.

“Sure,” we said. “You’re here to change the sea.” We laughed and shook our heads, walking further up the beach. It was empty this early, the sand stretching out, deserted in all directions, curving and arching and hugging the water like a child. The sky seemed sprinkled with blush and powder with wispy clouds strung out like crepe paper. You said it was your favorite time to be at the beach, before the crowds. We spread out our towel, put up our umbrella, and got to work on having fun.

As the day got hotter, the crowds caught up to us—children clutching inner tubes and laughing and crying, parents spreading sun-tan lotion, teenagers with kites and volleyballs, all staking their claim on a tiny piece of beachfront property that used to be ours. I cut up strawberries and skinned kiwis that you had packed for our lunch, and we read and laughed and splashed and tanned.

I packed up our stuff a few hours later while the beach was emptying out. I was watching the ground, trying to avoid stepping on any of the soda cans and cigarette butts that lay scattered, half-buried in the sand. You nudged me and pointed. He was still standing there, the man who came to change the sea, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses that reflected the sun reflecting off the waves.

We stopped for a second, you looking at me, me looking at him, him watching the horizon. He noticed us, turned and waved.

“That’s creepy,” you said. “I hope he’s not here again tomorrow.”

He was there again the next day waving to us, only now he had 14 friends standing in a line, all dressed in overalls, hardhats and sunglasses. They all waved. Some of them had on clipboards, one used a theodolite on a tripod. They turned back to look out at the horizon. The beach was empty for miles in either direction—except for them and us.

“If any of them comes near us, use the knife,” you whispered as we walked up the beach. There was a slight chill in the air.

“You brought a knife?” I said.

“The one we brought for the fruit. To skin the kiwis.” You dug in the basket and held it up.

“You mean the table knife?” I said. Its dull edge and round tip gleamed in the sun.

“If it can skin a kiwi, it can skin a man,” you said and waved it at me menacingly.

“It’s like a Polaroid picture,” Mr. Lindsey said of his rough, spontaneous process. “I’m just trying to get the idea out before the inspiration is gone. Everything I do is motivated by the fear of running out of time.”

desperate and yearning to be anyone who has done anything, and to do everything that has been done.

climb into a forest canopy
build a ladder for the fire

You can’t hear it, but the Earth is constantly humming. And some parts of the world sing louder than others.

-Hello?

-Quick, tell me what to do with my life.

-Join the circus.

-Hate elephants. Hate them. Wanna punch clowns in the face.

-Ok, get married, have some kids, work a job you hate for 20 years to put them through school and hope one them eventually says ‘I love you.’

-Those kids will wind up drug addicts dying together in a ditch filled with dog shit. Next option.

-You sound like you’re freaking out.

-That’s because I’m freaking out, sweetie.

-I’m not your sweetie. We broke up, remember?

-I’m freaking out, stranger. I’m about to start throwing punches at work.

-Don’t do that. It’s a bad idea. What happened?

-Bad day. Filled with idiots. The usual, you know.

-Find a new job?

-Ok, there’s option #1. Already trying. Option #1 is to just keeping working here, going slowly insane while I apply for newer and better editorial jobs preferably at a university press, reading something interesting. I have been pursuing Option #1 for several months. From the moment I started. Ok, so that’s Option #1. Option #2 is sell all my possessions and move to India.

-Don’t go to India. The Ganges is filled with AIDS.

-Ok, so sell all my possessions and move to Prague. Maybe teach English.

-But then what do you do when you come back? Won’t you just be in the same position?

-Yes. That is the flaw in Option #2. I have a wonderful, life-affirming adventure but if and when I come back I need to figure this all out again.

-Can you do that? Teach English? You have no teaching experience.

-Don’t need any. There are companies that train you. I’ve got a cousin that did it in Thailand for two years. All need is a BA and American citizenship. Honey, I got both.

-Don’t call me honey.

-Option #3, honey. I go back to school for an MFA in creative writing.

-Why wouldn’t you go for a PhD in something? Seems like more of a career path.

-Which is Option #4. You’re jumping ahead now. The problem with Option #3 is that I am already 30 grand in the hole for loans for a master’s degree I don’t use and which I can not afford to pay back. The pros: I like to write. I want to write. I want to publish.

-You can do that on your own.

-Can I? I haven’t published anything yet, have I?

-I think you should get a PhD.

-And the problems with Option #4 are: what if I don’t get in anywhere; what if I only get in to bumfuck Nebraska University; what if there is no funding for what I want to study; what if I can’t find a job in my field afterwards, its very competitive you know, what if I can only find a job at bumfuck Nebraska University? I lived in a sleepy college town already. I did that already. For six years. That is over for me. I am on to other things. And if I really want to write shouldn’t I devote myself to that? To make a go of it while I still have the time and desire and talent and very little bitterness?

-You can take writing classes while you take PhD classes. I vote Option #4.

-Option #5 is I become a hobo.

-I vote Option #5.

-Are you fucking anyone?

-Ugh! Goodbye.

-I love you.

click

-Tell me what to do with all this life.