Identity Theft

Smoke my weed. Pet my dog. Destroy my toilet. Drink my liquor. Hide my homework. Have my fun. Fling my stones. Like my Instagram. Red my blues. Fly my kites. Prime my parties. Right my lefts. Promote my cause. Pad my ego. Rep my vibe. Chip my wood. Be my friend. Light my cig.

Hold my drink.

Light my cig. Fight my fights. Love my parents. Take my naps. Lick my wounds. Salt my steak. Use my jokes. Hurt my feelings. Crave my chocolate. Hate my Mondays. Breathe my oxygen. Stalk my Facebook. Swat my bugs. Find my iPhone. Scold my help. Sip my tea. Kick my cat. Defend my arguments. Dampen my spirits. Smile my smile. Mind my manners.

Call my number.

Mind my manners. Run my business. Lose my girlfriend. Steal my passwords. Delete my emails. Stock my cupboard. Comfort my peers. Piss my pants. Feel my skin. Spite my elders. Board my flights. Throw my fits. Cut my communications.

Scout my property.

Cut my communications. Plot my murder. Distract my dog. Say my name. Bruise my knees. Shoot my gun. Congeal my blood. Wipe my mess. Wash my face. Close my eyelids. Bump my fist. Frisk my corpse. Pocket my ID. Burn my body. Bribe my police.

Completes my blog posts.

Flatland

Precisely one year ago, scientists came to a new conclusion: that the Earth wasn’t round. It never had been. We had been wrong and 17th century Catholics had been right from the start.

All of a sudden, as if awaiting this realization, freighters and airplanes began to lose their bearings and slip into space, tumbling into a dark abyss that humanity had previously thought to have found meaning in. Satellites drifted away.

Mountains suddenly became thousands of miles tall, dwarfing everything around them. Water from the oceans began exponentially trickling off the edges.

Globes were smashed and maps were hailed.

Environmentalists began constructing boundaries to keep the water on Earth, and construction businesses boomed. Rich people started buying property near the middle of the vast expanse, where the temperatures were hot and constant, and the real estate industry boomed.

Global citizens at the edges threw out their scales, claiming that the scales were over-reporting their weight, and the fitness industry went bankrupt. Miners drilled through the crust and plummeted into nothingness, and mining companies went bankrupt.

The moon was an illusion too. After all, how could a flatland facilitate the orbit of a sphere? The revelation of these facts affected the tides, and more importantly, the Earth’s pathway around the Sun. We were hors d’oeuvres, waiting to be gobbled up. Still, in the chaos, petty arguments prevailed.

Conspiracy theories began to emerge; some claimed the Earth was round, and were thrown off the edge. Some claimed that math and kinetic theories were still valid, and were thrown off the edge. A silly man who nagged too much was thrown off the edge. Clowns, wasps, tomatoes, detritus, all off the edge.

The underside of the Earth, though, was dark, cold and inhospitable. It was widely feared; freezing temperatures and the lack of vegetation made it inhabitable for the overwhelming majority of life. Yet some stubborn and repulsive creatures still crawled out of the void. Enter Donald Trump.

First Impressions

I met Jane on a clear Saturday night, weighed down by a combination of blended scotch and homegrown marijuana. She sat on top of a stone ledge that overlooked a fire pit in the patio, legs tightly crossed. It wasn’t her beauty that got my attention, but her expression; a hybrid of sullen and calm. Almost as if she knew she was being watched, she kept her eyes discreet and focused on the flames. When I eventually made my way towards her general direction, she looked up instinctively and readjusted the hem of her silk dress, her freshly polished nails gleaming in the firelight. We locked eyes for a fraction of a second, and just as her face lightened up I stopped in my tracks. I drew out a cigarette from my pack. Turning to face the other direction after lighting my smoke, I pretended that I was just people watching.

Chance Encounters

In what felt like eternity, Rick wooed Julie that night in his stupor, making her promise to come back to see him. She too, not fully aware of the otherworldliness that whiskey is known to bring with it, took his hand, soul and mind, forever stealing his thoughts and desires for herself. They teased and tittered into the night, and he stayed by her side till the morning under a Eucalyptus tree that couldn’t mask her scent at all. If it wasn’t for the rotation of the Earth, they would have been lost in their dark seclusion for a moment yet again. But the sun rose, the world resumed its state of nature and Julie’s bus left ten minutes before eight.