The Land of Broken Boys

“We live in a land of broken toys.”

“Broken boys?”

“Toys, broken toys.”

“What’s this? Who’s a broken toy?”

“You. Me. Everyone.”

“Why broken toys? What’s that?”

“You know, from the Rudolph the Reindeer movie.”

“That’s the Land of Forgotten Toys. Not Broken Toys.”

“Forgotten, broken. Same thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Well, we’re broken, right? Played with and fucked up.”

“You’re speaking gibberish.”

“We believed in something when we were small. And now that’s all gone.”

“Believed in what?”

“What our parents told us.”

“All my dad ever taught me was to shut the fuck up.”

The Genius of Failure (or Vice Versa)

I can see it clearly: the musty one-bedroom apartment, two floors up, a view of the parking lot out back. There’s a hotplate, mini-fridge, cabinet full of booze, an old wooden frame bed and a handicap accessible bathroom. I’ve seen it many times, and I will be there soon enough.

And I can see this: the back of a limousine, window half down, the warm desert air shuffling in as it begins to get light. There’s a band of pink strip lighting, mini-fridge, cabinet full of booze and a young woman curled up across from me.

The thing is that they’re same thing, just at different speeds.

A Gentle Reminder…

Just a gentle reminder that the pandemic is still a thing, that we need to maintain social distancing, that vaccines are the next step, that another pandemic is coming, that black lives matter, that for society to work, we actually have to act responsibly, that it isn’t up to somebody else, but each one of us, that the rich are getting much richer and nothing is going to stop any of that, that leaving for another planet isn’t an answer but I wish it was.