The Origami Bird

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The Origami Bird

There once was a bird who lived inside a paper house. The walls were so thin that he could hear everything from the other side. Afraid to make a sound, he sat by himself, stiff in an armchair.

On the days that he would fly from his window into the deep blue sky, he could not be there fully. Instead his mind was trapped inside the origami house, wondering what his neighbors were doing.

He wondered if they would be fighting about who would do the dishes. He wondered if he could smell their worm casserole through the walls. He wondered if he could hear them laughing and talking with friends late at night.

So consumed was he by these neighbors that he forgot where he was going. He forgot about the sky and its magical feeling of infinity. He forgot about his hunger for worms and mice. Instead, he stayed inside and listened to the lives around him.

His neighbors had children together and raised them to be strong. They had birthdays and wedding celebrations and dinners with guests. His neighbors would sometimes listen to loud music or shriek over the phone. There never seemed to be an end to their stories of excitement.

One day, when the neighbors were unusually quiet, the bird got an itch to find an adventure of his own.  When he got up to go to the window there was a sharpness in his side. He lifted his wing, but could no longer remember how to fly.  He hoped for the sky.  He hoped for the best. But when he looked down, his wings had turned to paper.

 

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The Office Plant

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Missed Connection

To: Plastic Mini Plant

Location: The Office

 

You: Firmly planted on the windowsill. Smooth as a Las Vegas card shark on a Tuesday afternoon.

I pass by your window every day on my way to the library. I love your low maintenance style.   I feel like you could fit in at a Walmart as well as an upscale boutique. Nothing gets you down because you are straight up chill. Doesn’t matter if it’s spring or winter, you always light up my day.

Don’t listen to people who say you’re cold. Being sterile and clean is a good thing. You’re not like some kind of clingy fungus. You’re the most independent beauty I’ve ever seen.

I know people call you fake, but you are as real to me as my love for you.

– Always Phresh

The Answering Machine

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“Hey, you got me, but you didn’t really get me. Leave a message at the beep.”

You can get back home through the telephone wires. From city to suburb, follow the skinny black lines until your voice is my voice and our voice is here.

 

“Hey, you got me, but you didn’t really get me. Leave a message at the beep.”

Pick up. Where do you live now? Do you like your job? Who are you with?

Every now and again, your machine is full. Too many voices trying to get in. They push and they shove, but they stand just to wait.

I know, you’ll call me when you can.

 

“Hey, you got me, but you didn’t really get me. Leave a message at the beep.”

Do power lines still map the way if only cell phones are used? Invisible pathways going in a million different directions scatter the world apart.

Misplaced conversations. Lost words looking for a sentence.

Face focused on the front of the phone.

 

“This number is no longer in service.”

 

 

 

 

Redesigning Voice Mail :  The UX of the Missed Call

The Dress

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Soft colors of a thin fabric always hide first.

Do they bleed through to the back? Or do they stick stuck to the middle?

Inked on the inside of an empty dress, printed patterns collide.

They struggle against the wrinkles. They relax against the formed.

Curled into coarseness, they gently fold backward.

 

 

Adbusters Magazine

Hi readers,

A political object piece of mine is going to be published in the next issue of Adbusters Magazine!   If you would like to purchase a copy, the magazine can be found at newsstands in all English-speaking countries, Barnes and Noble or Borders. You can also purchase a digital copy on the magazine website.

 

The Phone

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 Disconnected

 

1:23 PM Cute Teacher: Hi Peter – I hope this is the right number. I wanted to say again, how nice it was to speak with you at the PTA meeting. I think, however, I’m going to pass on dinner until your daughter is no longer in my class.

 

 

1:23 PM: I understand completely. I hope I wasn’t too forward.

 

 

1:24 PM Cute Teacher: No, not at all. I’m concerned about your daughter though.

 

 

1:25 PM: What’s wrong?

 

 

1:25 PM Cute Teacher: She has been picking at her nails.

 

 

1:26 PM: LOL Most little kids pick at their nails.

 

 

1:26 PM Cute Teacher: No – She picks at them until all her fingers are bloody.

 

 

1:30 PM Cute Teacher: I know you’re going through a tough divorce, does she have anyone to talk to?

 

 

1:32 PM: There’s nothing to talk about.

 

_

 

2:46 PM 1-434-896-3389: Mom! I can’t believe it! I’m about to get on the plane, but I wanted to tell you before it hit Facebook: Jason proposed to me!!!

 

 

2:47 PM 1-434-896-3389: Ooops, I’m sorry! I think I texted the wrong #.

 

 

2:49 PM: You did, but congratulations!

 

 

2:50 PM 1-434-896-3389: Thanks!!!

 

 

2:51 PM: Don’t listen to what they tell you.  I’ve been married to my college sweetheart for 24 years. Best decision I ever made.

 

 

2:51 PM 1-434-896-3389: That’s so sweet!!! How do you guys do it?

 

 

3:04 PM: A lot of  divorced couples will tell you that marriage is just a lot of work. It ‘s always wonderful between my wife and I though. When you love someone that much, you never contemplate splitting up.

 

 

3:05PM 1-434-896-3389: Did you ever fight about the future?

 

 

3:10PM: Never. Love grows with family.

 

 

3:11PM 1-434-896-3389: I know what you mean. Our family will never be broken.

 

 

The Pace Maker

Hi guys,

Today I got a piece accepted into a medical journal!  It’s called The Pace Maker.  If you’re interested in reading it, just email me.

The Journal is by the American College of Chest Physicians.

The Earrings

 

 

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One silver tear drop earring, as elegant as any sadness could be, sat dangling off the edge of an antique sink.

Another silver tear drop earring, as elegant as any sadness could be, sat misplaced between couch cushions, wondering what had gone wrong.

They each remembered when they first met.   “We’re one in the same!” They had exclaimed at almost exactly the same moment. Together they draped themselves proudly below a woman’s heavy earlobes.

The woman loved them. She wore them all the time. She wore them to dinner parties, work, and even gardening. She loved them so much, she refused to take them off. She wore them in the shower. She wore them to bed. She wore them everywhere until one day, when she wasn’t paying attention, one of the earrings slipped.

Where had it gone? She tried retracing her steps. How could this have happened? She looked through her garden.   What will I do without the other?  Her loss hung heavy upon her head.

 

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-3410378/Formerly-conjoined-twin-Conner-Mirabal-goes-home-time-13-months-separation-surgery-doctors-continue-monitor-brother-Carter-hospital.html

The Paper

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I like to think of my paper, my notebook sheets, as having texture. I want the lines to stick like staples punched through to the other side. Their long, skinny forms, plucked up from the page in an effort to rise above. I want the page to feel rough and gritty. Hard and torn through in spaces just empty enough to fill with small rips of imperfection. Lines like ridges would guide my pen in a steady cadence. Trotting through a white desert, my landscape would guide me in the right direction.

Instead my page is one long ice rink. Its smoothness leaves no gaps big enough to see through. The torn spots and crinkled edges are invisible. My paper has flat lined.

My instant reaction is to pump it back to life. Electricity in the shape of a fat black marker needs to run down the center. Cutting up sections of white plains with inked out projections. Just so there’s something. Just so there is a pattern that is slightly out of shape.

I will not get a rise from my paper. Instead, I will continue to run my fingernail across the surface. I wait for the bite of a smooth edge sharpened.

http://www.greenfieldreporter.com/view/story/4c49cedbb5254f849d4bef937361673a/AS–Thailand-Media