Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

Four years since I
Celebrated the fourth
Even with this year’s
Reprieve I still look
At the skybursts with
A mixture of fear and
Self-righteous anger
In every explosion
The self-satisfied
Grins of people who
Do not realize they
Are burning the flag
As they try to honor it

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“There are three great schools of magic you will need to master, Chosen One,” Opaem intoned, his spidery fingers tented in front of the glittering gold threads of his mage robes.

“And…how long do I have to master them?” Brianna said, putting a hand on her hip.

“Seven days,” Opaem said, confidently. Before his charge could utter more than a surprised yelp, he went on: “The first school is that of the natural world at its most base, which we represent with a stone. The second school is that of the living or formerly living, which we represent with vellum. The final, and perhaps most difficult school is that of the manufactured, which we represent with these tempered steel shears.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Brianna. “A rock, a piece of paper, and a pair of scissors?”

“They are merely symbols,” said Opaem, though his long pointed ears clearly quivered with annoyance. “Now, the great cycle that is the magic of the Beyond is thus: the natural defeats the manufactured, the manufactured defeats the living, and the living defeats the natural.”

“That is literally just rock-paper-scissors!” Brianna cried.

“I suppose you could use that mnemonic to describe it,” Opaem said. “A great boulder may smash a finely-wrought blade, but that same blade will cleave parchment in Twain, and-“

Brianna tossed up her hands, nearly losing her Fifth Avenue bangle in the process. “Yeah! I know! Rock crushes scissors, scissors cut paper, paper covers rock! This is the dumbest magic system I’ve ever heard!”

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I noticed a post from an old friend
Half forgotten on my media feed
Clicked and looked, catching up
Without words in the digital way
Scrolling backwards I saw they’d had
A baby, and every photograph was of
A new milestone, often with labels
Done up nice on flowery chalkboards
Then there were posts of a tropical
Vacation, spouse in tow, all smiles
The feed went back to how it had been
But I could feel it there, unspoken
In between the images, amid the posts
A loss so near and dear that it could not
Be contained in a digital world, especially
One that demands only happiness

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“IT’S ALL A DREAM” was the title of the first book.

I threw it aside, and took up a magazine. “SCIENTISTS ASK: IS EVERYTHING REALLY REAL?” blared a headline.

Dropping it back in place, I grasped for a candy bar instead. “CLOUD 9: AN IMPOSSIBLY DELICIOUS DREAM BAR.”

“I get the feeling someone’s trying to send me a message,” I said. “If only they’d be a little clearer.”

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I would die for my country
The star-spangled t-shirt asserts
As the wearer curtly refuses
A simple jab in the arm
To protect their neighbor
You should die for my comfort

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The ideologies of all the conquered peoples were declared to be part of the central religion, later known as the Imperial Monomyth but at the time simply known as ‘the rituals and the words.’ Where the various beliefs could be syncretized, they were, and the incompatible portions were declared to be mistranslations, misrememberings, or the work of the Menacer. This had the effect of gradually introducing worship of the Imperial family and Imperial gods into conquered areas, with the result that, to modern laymen, the Imperial Monomyth seems like an imperial monolith, homogeneous and unchanging. This is, of course, a simplification and even at the very height of the Imperial Monomyth’s influence there was a dazzling array of cults, sects, splinter groups, and the like radiating out from the central orthodoxy like spokes on a wheel.

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Q: Why did the other apes find the evolution of bipedalism in humans so funny?

A: To them, it was stand up comedy.

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“Passionate is just another way of saying spoiled,” Robert said. “How bad can it be?”

“Well, right now he is locked in his room with the self-declared goal to starve himself and undergo the process of sokushinbutsu or self-mummification.”

“And what, ah, brought that on?”

“They stopped making his favorite coffee drink at Starbucks.”

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I can feel the pressure changing
Before the thunderstorms arrive
I can tell if they’ll be bad or not
By the number of nostrils that work

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“I’m afraid that we have a diagnosis on your son’s condition,” the doctor said. “Attention deficit hypnoactive disorder.”

“It’s hyperactivity?” Timmy’s mother said, clutching her purse. “Oh, I just knew that’s what it was.”

“No, no,” the doctor said. “You misunderstand. Hypnoactivity. Your son can hypnotize others and cloud their minds into doing his bidding.”

Timmy’s mother looked out through the one-way glass into the play area, where a gaggle of other children, slack-jawed and drooling, were following Timmy around and obeying his every command.

“Now that you mention it, that diagnosis makes a lot of sense,” she said. “Is there a medication or something we can put him on?”

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