For Manuel

A lifetime ago, in early 21st-century Seattle, my then partner and I began working at our favorite restaurant.

We were beloved by the family that owned it and well-liked by the Sikh cooks. It was far from the worst job I ever had.

My partner and I were particularly close to the middle-aged Salvadoran dishwasher Manuel. Both the cooks and Manuel worked from before opening till close. 

Manuel tried to teach me Spanish, but I was a poor student. My partner translated what I couldn't understand, and between that and body language, he and I understood each other fairly well.

One day, Manuel walked up to me and gestured to my hands.  He then raised his own hands. They were horrendously misshapen, swollen, and rough beyond words; transfigured from decades of hard labor. The knuckles were like large lugnuts, the fingers stretched too far inwardly, and his nails looked like they were drawn on by smeared marker. They barely looked human. I felt guilty for not having noticed before.

Several months later, Manuel asked the owner and chef if he could get one day off a week. It made sense, even the three cooks got one day off a week, reducing their hours by 10 or 11 hours weekly.

Manuel was quickly fired after that request. I guess the owner felt he had no use for a dishwasher who didn't work 7 days a week. He was quickly replaced by a young Latino man. Manuel came back the next week with a translator to ask for his job back, but the owner refused to talk to him.

When I think about why I'm passionate about socialism, it's for Manuel, and how our predatory civilization completely failed him.

It's for the planet.

It's for all of us.

Manuel, I hope you're doing ok, buddy.

ol' bobby stalwart

These days I get high on sitting with pain.

Sitting with fear, sitting with shame.

Shitting the same: not all that great.

To do a good deed, it's not too late.

This is for those who became their own monsters.

This is for my second Narcotics Anonymous sponsor.

This is for Marian, this is for Bill, this is for those that I almost killed.

This is for real, I ain't fronting no more.

I left my spit bubble armor on eternity's shore.

I swim naked with mosasaurs, mystery abounds; so I could care less when I sink to the ground.

I'll always wake up again, just like Azathoth our lord, and we don't do it just cuz we're bored.

YOU-NIK

YOU-NIK

The only Eyedea that I cared about died.

Y unsheath the proboscis when we're all empty inside.

Our will to survive is maladaptive and snide.

So I don't mind that in 22 years I will die.

unvitaled

Mirroring death,

weary as hell,

I climb back onto my razor's edge.

flopper

Amygdala overactivated, flutters of terror.

No appetite to speak of.

More depressed and anxious than I would be otherwise.

Ineffective.

Highly problematic.

And everything else.

Time to back out of this familiar murder scene.

Musings from the fiery diary of Donna Pinchy-Hottie

 Starbööks just isn't the same anymore. I mean, I still like working here, and I'm REALLY digging the opaque, rounded-corner-rectangle, pastel vibes we've got going on these days. Still it seems to be a little much. Maybe that's why I like it LOL.... I certainly am a star!!! 💥💥💥

The aesthetics do make it kind of hard to thinkwrite/read my work on my cup here, though. I guess it makes sense, though, as I edit my work experience and drink flavor, my verbiage shimmers and changes. It's tasting pretty good now! Purple is the best flavor. If I enjoy my drink journal enough, more people will try a sip and try to make something similar!

Technically speaking, I don't really work here, I service the corporate clients in the office building behind and below here... the type that probably won't even notice this drink journal I'm working on. Oh whell, just another starcross to bear for thot Donna! Eearregardless(lol), everything spans out from this epic-center, even those insatiable little corpy thistles.

The proplem with these middle ages is that everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) is trying to grow up fast, get a life, make a life, and then find a boyfriend.... though not necessarily in that order. To my knowledge, no one's ever found a boyfriend yet. If they did, we'd probably all tear him apart.😍😍😍

I like work, but I can't wait for it to end so I can go to a circle-kiss party or two tonight. Ms plastifroggy gave me some leads on a couple good ones! Oh, I dearly hope to see her tonight; we usually share a few kisses between ourselves before the synchronized group kissing begins in earnest.

At last night's event, one of those dirty hollering monkeys harassed me during the outdoor kissing portion!! I am SURE you know the type, a greasy, fleshy, half-aware thing that hasn't even learned how to talk by looking yet. I'm not trying to be rude, but personally speaking, I don't think they everwill. 

The pompous speck motioned me over to the fence that separated their domicile with that of my hosts, and when I graciously got over there to looklisten to what the horrid little thing had to say.... it PUNCHED me in my tiny little beautiful face. 

Dear drink-readers, I'm sure it will suprise you not at all to hear that everyone at the circle party was a little shook up. I'm still miffed and I think I'll go back there and eat its children tomorrow; my boss won't mind if I take a half-day, given the circumstances.

To entice you further for tonight's festivities, my shiny dearlings, I want to let you know that my hobblewobble bum has 18 pairs of pretty purple reverse-lips on it. When you press down on my head, I squirt out word-drink and monkey sinew from them like the playdö factory fun set I'm probably descended from. Gray goo indeed, or in my case, probably PURPLE!!!!

See you tonight, starlings! Muah! XXXOOO

Just

JUST

You are just here to have a life.

Mission accomplished.

Nothing to attain.

Nothing to protect, except life itself.

To do that be kind, be just, share fairly.

Think before you act, deliberate with compassion in mind, and realize that the first voice that speaks up in your head doesn't always have the best intentions.

It is the "me", we have moved on to we.

It's a best effort sort of universe, and not being a jerk is really all that's asked of you.

You were lucky to be.

We were lucky to have you.

Everything will be ok.

It already is.

You are just here to have a life.

I hope you enjoy it.