Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, as if that holds some ages-long answer to the age-old question: What does it mean to be human? No Windows XP background could possibly explain in digitized 1s and 0s formulaic outreach, to even touch the definition of what it means, because despite A.I. and all its glories and faults, it will never quite get…there. And as laughable as it is that some pizzerias take on the namesake of the globe’s most famous Renaissance man, like in addition to inventing, drawing, and painting art here is a man fixing his meals in a brick oven, expert-like, with tomato, basil, and mozzarella cheese. I guess who’s to say though? I haven’t read up on the subject and do not know the timeline in which pizza graced the globe in its first form. Stable mindsets never grant geniuses their ideal work environment; I wonder why everything needs to be chaos sometimes. Something to push against, maybe. Something to entertain as well as enthrall. Mistakes are just opportunities to learn. Leaning back on a radiator for long enough will eventually show you it’s hot. Stand back! Here comes knowledge in a 4:3 frame, a book encircles the globe like a sped up satellite in orbit. It is cartoonish, large, and embarrassing. It opens its pages to the screen, to the camera, breaking the fourth wall.


You reap what you sow – Seeds hit the fertile earth in large fistfuls, tumbling from great heights as they make little depressions in the dirt. These little spaces are their beds. They will sleep well tonight and become wind-blown and damp by morning. Crops are a staple of any agricultural economy. Humans need food. Humans need to eat. Humans need fresh food, fruits and vegetables. Tall stalks of corn on the cob that one can become lost in; A maze on a cool fall afternoon, the entrance and exits marked with haybales. Music reverberates across a dark field. Jack-0-lanterns are carved into horrifying expressions, candle-lit from the inside. The hardened wax of a candle freezes into all sorts of strange shapes. I like to peel it in ribbons, the hard wax smooth and curled. Black and orange plaid shirt hangs on a scarecrow’s body. His eyes, nose, and mouth are roughly sewn patches. He is cartoonish, yet effective. I guess crows don’t watch a lot of Nickelodeon. I guess crows never saw their debut in Dumbo. I guess those crows never heard of Brooklyn. Cement benches chipping away in parks that provide poor comfort, but anything’s better than the dirt. Because humans are not seeds, we just eat their fruit. We grow, change, and die but the comparison stops there. Mushrooms and eggplants.


Abacus beads across a horizontal, wooden rod being counted. A tight frame where we see the eyes behind bars, behind glasses. A lock of hair dangles over the frame, unnecessarily. Cool, but staged. Realizing the elegance of radicalization when it comes to understanding the precepts of mathematics. No time to think, do, or feel. Jeopardizing the big project. Sealed documents cover the table, now illegally unsealed. Waiting for a rainbow, waiting for a room to spin. Saint Patrick’s Day and our protagonist could spit diamonds. Secret bookshelf. Anne Frank. Distant runner. Long shot of a field. Perfect symmetry. Skies that besiege Scandinavia. Rolling rocks down long avalanche mountains, currying favor with Nature. Different energies at stake. Wraiths fly in three-dimensional figure eights in the air. Needing to know what comes next after the ‘Happily Ever After’. Stories never end. The stories just beget new stories. Officers having pipe dreams where they can do no wrong. Lullabies sing to sleep the lilies in a giant garden belonging to no one, where wildflowers run free and everything is safe. Crimson colorings on all the petals; The dominant genes are strong and if there’s anything I remember from biology it’s that. Turning off my mind.


Possession of mind, body, and spirit. A haunted house has maudlin black and grey walls. Antiquated wallpaper, still peeling from 1926. Marshmallow duck, stuck inside Easter bonnet, spooling and spilling through, melted on the floor so we must put on our galoshes to stomp in these sticky Easter puddles. Basket, hardwood floors; The house renewed. Different, but structurally the same. A necessary exorcism at Bobby Mack’s Music Hall in Kentucky. Ghost Adventures episodes. And a millennia of time that seems to have passed between then and now. Possession – As if women and people are objects. As if life is a game of control. I don’t understand how others live that way, guided by these subservient, toxic rules. The jig is up sooner than you think. Not sustainable. Cannot end well. 10 shots to the face for the feeling of being possessed by spirits. Or else, just really tired, fall asleep at the bar, things we still value over time are dumb. New traditions, new religions, new value system. Maybe we wouldn’t need a nuclear family if the bomb wasn’t such a threat. Possessed by conviction, haunted dolls sold on eBay (no thanks). Gumption, nerve, standing toe-to-toe with adversity. Staring down the eyes and mouth, looking at the belly of the beast – whatever beast that may be.


Stale bread, hard as rock. Tooth-breaker and chipper, into the spout to destroy. Makes good breadcrumbs. Authentico eggplant parm, chicken too. I get suspect at shrimp and feel like veal is 2nd place, always. There are two kings in this deck of Sicilian cuisine. And they are both verboten to me due to the inability of my body to produce the lactase enzyme. It’s drag a but I’ll say yes to anything that doesn’t cause me unnecessary pain. Tired, complacent, repetition, insanity. Emotions that are below the fill line. Same behavior drug out and disappointing. A carnival game where the hammer drops, but the ball doesn’t quite hit the bell. You don’t get a prize. There are no serotonin emotional rewards. Seismic shifts upon realization that what is stale no longer serves and needs to let go. Snake shedding its skin again and again and again and will forever, as long as there are nights and rodents to eat and eggs to lay. Hydra has many forms. The message asleep and incomplete. A bread box with an air hole in it. Damaged goods. The beige color of an unsliced loaf of bread, the heels of it pock-marked and uneven. Heavier than a football, cumbersome and difficult to throw.