learntokickflip

[learntokickflip]

I’m getting all the dates wrong. Everyone’s mad at me. They went to the park and it was not the right night. There were no fireworks. They went to the stadium but it was not the right day. The football game was over. They went to the farm but it was not the right season. The crops had not grown yet. I’m getting all the dates wrong, and now they’re coming to me. They say my time has come, but that’s not what my calendar says.

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I carry three phones. The third I don’t know much about. The first is a normal phone. I call my power company with that phone. I email the newspaper. I text in my vote. I don’t like my third phone. It’s heavy and made of a strange mineral.

My second phone is pretty special. I haven’t told the government about it. My girlfriend doesn’t know about it! I only use it to call her. It’s also good for watching the lectures for class. Strong internet. I got it from work.

It almost makes me forget about my third phone. The ‘warm phone’ I sometimes call it even though it’s not always warm. I have to rotate which pocket I carry it in because I start to get a rash near where I keep it. Veiny viney spiderwebby rashes that beat purple.

It’s the only one that talks to me. It’s my favorite phone. I can’t explain what we talk about, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand. I really can’t put it into words. I think it’s causing my hair to fall out.

The phone makes me feel like the rest of my life is merely sensory, and using the third phone is when I’m me. It is the only thing that touches my real self. Its darkness is unfathomable. Also it has a solitaire app.

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Friends are pretty good. But you know what I like? Enemies.

I was talking to my buddy Paulo one day and I told him maybe it was about time we became enemies. I’m trying to grow, as a person, you know, and having an enemy would be the push I needed to really get to that next level.

He wasn’t keen at first. “I like you. We’re friends,” he said.

Being an enemy could be good for you too, I figured. Maybe you could wear an eyepatch or, I don’t know, get really good with wires. I feel like an enemy is always wiring something or doing electricity or something.

And for me it’d be great, because I could compete and we’d thwart each other. I’d have to think on my feet. We’d ‘outwit’ one another. You’d like that. You’re brainy.

I’ve never really ‘broken out of my shell,’ I’ve been told. “Imagine:,” I told Paulo, “Me out of my shell.”

We were sitting eating lunch outside and he was kinda looking at his sandwich. “But we couldn’t hang out,” he said. “You don’t invite your enemies over to hang, right?”

I don’t know. I think that’s usually right. But we would think about each other all the time, I told him. We’d become a mutual obsession, each other. We’d consume each other and leave only ashes. Two unstoppable forces on a collision course.

They’d write songs and movies about us. About me. And you — my enemy.

“I think I just like being friends,” Paulo said.

Well that’s that. I was pretty deflated. I always thought Paulo was my friend. But not enough my friend to be my enemy. Maybe I’m just destined to be lonely, with only people who love me and are my friends surrounding me. This is the kind of pity that people with enemies don’t have for themselves.

“You know,” Paulo said. “What about that guy Freddy.” Freddy sat across the grass also finishing his lunch. “Maybe Freddy could be our enemy. Then we could be friends and have the same enemy.”

I looked closer at Freddy. He liked to wear a jacket that I had seen at the store one time and almost bought. I’m glad I didn’t, he wore it a lot. He talked too loud, but he was smart. Formidable. He had no idea what he was getting into. This wouldn’t be the last time I had the upper hand on him. Paulo and I would crush him. If he didn’t crush us first.

“Yes. Freddy is our enemy.”

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As I sit down to meditate, I am totally serene. Many people take upwards of ten minutes to enter a meditative state, but I am there almost immediately. I burp, serenely.

I am at peace with myself, with the world. We are one. A fucking fly buzzes somewhere near me, but it does not interrupt my peace. Not for one instant.

In a transcendent state like this, I can access spaces far beyond a normal person. I can reach out and touch distant energies, far out places. Galaxies even. In my transcendence I do not even notice my underwear itching me like crazy. Right at the top of the crack where it’s just the worst.

A small adjustment and scratch in the corporeal world doesn’t distance me from my Buddha nature. Many in my situation might wonder, “does my finger now smell?” But I do not. I wipe it on the mat just in case.

When you are a high-level meditation master like myself, your relationship with time is altered. I can sit, stone-still, for hours, days if an assistant doesn’t ring the singing bowl. My mind is also still, exploring the varied intricacies of nothingness. I’m sure it sounds like a paradox to you.

But to me: no. It’s a privilege to have access to such wonders of the mind most will never experience. Like my over 15,000 Twitter followers. I’ve received two buzzes in this time alone. I’d bet it’s two more followers. But I am not prideful.

I end this meditation to check for sure, and I do subtly smell my finger. All clear. Total clarity.

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“Teeth can’t talk because that would mean that teeth have mouths and tongues and teeth of their own! Then would those teeth talk? Then they’d have to have teeth as well. It’d be an infinity of teeth. That’s why teeth don’t talk. “

“But parrots talk and they don’t have teeth. Maybe teeth are like parrots in that they can talk and don’t have teeth. That would make sense. Teeth are pretty small and would have to have small mouths to talk from. They probably also speak quietly.”

“Teeth would speak loudly! Have you ever chomped your teeth? It’s very loud. Teeth have to overcome that and all the mouth sounds that happen in their home. Also there’s so many of them in a tight space. They probably have to be good at talking over one another on account of all the chaos.”

“No they have to speak quietly so you don’t hear them. That’s why you don’t hear them. I heard them once but it was while I was listening very carefully.”

“No it’s because they don’t talk. I visit a dentist and he would tell me. He would have to check them out too.”

“No, dentists keep the secret. They keep the secret. Don’t ask a dentist about it. They are sworn to keep the secret. It’s a wicked pact they’ve struck with the teeth. We should stop talking about this. There might be teeth listening.”

“So you think they have ears too?”

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“What do I look like to you? An idiot?”

She smiled. “You look like a clown.”

“But I’m not a clown.”

“You have a big red nose like a clown and your face is painted.”

My face was hurting. I touched my nose and it was big and round and squished like foam. I yelped.

I looked for a mirror but there weren't any. I rushed over to someone else. “What do I look like to you? A clown?”

She looked at me surprised. “No you look like a dinosaur.”

“Ahgh!” I felt my forehand and there was a big bony horn coming out of it. I spun around and tried to get away. I was running through the street, touching my face. My skin was scaly but it was changing. I was growing fur.

“What do I look like to you?” I yelled at a guy at a crosswalk.

“You look like a big dog!” He crossed the street against the light.

“What do I look like to you?”

“A horse!”

“What do I look like to you?”

“A bush.”

I took off my shirt. I was so hot. Panicked. Running around yelling at people. I had to stop this.

I could feel my chest swelling, my neck getting larger. I turned down an alley and leaned against the cool alley wall.

There was an old man taking out his garbage. “What do I look like to you?” I flapped my freezer door to talk.

“You look like an old refrigerator,” he said. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“No.” A sob escaped and some ice cubes. “I’m not supposed to look like a refrigerator.”

“Well, take it easy maybe you’ll change again soon. Would you like some water?” The old man opened my tummy and got out a seltzer. I cracked it and poured it all over my freezer door.

I thanked him. I was catching my breath. I told the man I was going to be OK and he went back inside. My face hurt. My body hurt. I had legs again but I didn’t leave. I didn’t have legs again, then I had legs. I decided to get back home.

I could feel my body it wasn’t my own. I must have been a snake or something because I was on the ground and my clothes got all dirty.

I managed to stumble into my house. My kid was on the sofa watching TV. “What do I look like to you?” I asked weakly.

He paused the show and considered me in one long scan. “You look like an idiot.”

I sat next to him and closed my eyes. “Yes.”

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I don’t care what the scientists say, I’m going to do the loopty-loop. I know something they don’t know: I believe in myself.

The government insisted I get a team together, but all I ever really needed was Clint. But I got a team together, sure.

The geologists helped me find the best loopty-loop. The meteorologists helped me pick the best day. The PR and events teams did a great job getting the hype ready. But the damn physicists.

I’m on my last nerve with them. They’ve ‘decided’ through physics that this is dangerous. I know it’s dangerous, that’s why I’m doing it. That’s why it’s interesting.

They’ve also ‘figured out’ that it’s impossible. But of course that’s just one opinion.

Everything is impossible until someone does it.

Clint told me that one. He’s the smart one here. We used to do loopty-loops together all over the Eastern Shore until he broke too many of his vertebrae. Now I do the loopty-loops. He is still an important part of the team. He’s like my brother, though he’s my cousin. We’re so close it’s kinda like both of us are doing the loopty-loops. But really I’m doing them.

So the geologists and meteorologists I haven’t talked to over the past few days. They’ve done their jobs. The physicists are trying to ruin this whole thing, so in addition to trying to get in the right head space here I gotta deal with all these guys named ‘Dean’ who think they know all about acceleration.

The PR and events team are pretty quiet. I could use their help here but I think they are secretly cowards. I think they secretly want me to fail. Want us to fail.

But like I said, I have a secret: Believing in myself. I keep telling people this but they just don’t get it.

Clint gets it. He straps me in. I ask him one last time which pedal is the gas. He puts one finger up. I can’t remember if ‘1’ means left or right, but it’s too late now. The light turns green and it’s time to loopty-loop.

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The sky began as grey. Grey skies are strange, they don’t have any variation, just grey. When they change it doesn’t start at the corners of the horizon. It just changes. You look down and the next time you look up the sky’s back. Weak blue smeared with gross, dirty clouds.

So the sky began as grey and in the sky hung a large yellow balloon with green chevrons.

The man in the balloon yelled down at me, “Wouldn’t you rather be floating?”

He had a top hat on like you see on balloon guys. A big smile, waving down.

“Who says I’m not?”

He considered. “What?” he said. “You’re on the ground.”

“Aren’t we all?”

He scanned the ground. It was just he and me from here to the horizon. “No…” He was a dumb balloon guy. “I’m up here.”

“Where? I don’t see you.”

The balloon started descending. I kept walking.

He was a skilled balloonist, I’ll give him that. He managed to land right in my path.

“Hey, what were you saying?” He tried to hop out of the basket but caught his leg and ended up straddling the lip. He struggled to swing his second leg out of the balloon.

“I was saying, ‘aren’t we all grounded?’” We stood in front of his balloon. He held a rope connected to the basket in case it tried to float away.

“I guess so, yeah.” He said, “We are all grounded in a sense.”

“Well I’m literally grounded. I’m not even allowed to leave the house.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“No one can.”

“Yeah.” He looked all around for what to say next. “So, do you like to float?”

I got into his basket and started jamming on the burner. I started to rise. He let go of the rope and watched. “What do you think?” I asked.

“You’re going too fast. The balloon will pop or you’ll hit the outersphere. You should slow down.”

I looked up at the burner. The sky had changed. The sickly blue sky was oozing wan clouds. They approached fast. The balloon guy was trying to keep the conversation going, but I couldn’t hear him anymore. He got into another balloon to catch me, but there was a hesitance in his acceleration. I could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

I drew away from the balloon guy and touched the outersphere. The winds took me south. Below me forest turned to desert then to rainforest.

The sky grew, if it can do that. By the time I hit the Tropic of Capricorn the clouds were pillowy and meaty. Floating through them you got cold and wet. Droplets clung to my arm hairs. I put the extra top hat on from the basket’s emergency bin.

The sky was pink and fuchsia, the sun was setting. I decided to bring her down before it got dark.

Closer to the ground I saw someone puttering around. “Wouldn’t you rather be floating?” I called down.

“Screw you!”

People are different here. I landed the balloon and started to live a life with them. It was different, but nice.

I am still grounded (aren’t we all? ha) but you know I’m making due. The sky has more variation here. Even when it’s grey it’s a dark, moving grey. It means something’s about to happen.

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How many languages can one person learn? Scientists have figured out the answer is four.

A research team at Holy Heart Medical Center in Cunningham, New York recently released results of a two-year study in this month’s Proceedings on Matters of the Tongue.

“We knew people can learn one language,” chief researcher Chef Jansey said. “I’m speaking a language to you right now. But we asked what if we really pushed, and tried for more.”

Languages exist in many cultures, and many countries use language to connect and communicate. “If you look at the world, you’re going to find dozens, maybe fifty or so languages,” Keith Krawford of the Talking Institute said. Krawford made waves in the language community last year when he deciphered words from a nearby country. “It was gibberish to me at first,” he said.

Dr. Jansey grew the number of languages a person could learn through a tiered curriculum of flash cards and neuro-electro shock treatment. Seventy college-aged subjects were administered hourly neuro-electrical shocks and given decks of flash cards of different vocabulary.

“By the end of the first month, two-thirds of the subjects had been eliminated. Either their brain stopped responding to the shocks, or language attainment plateaued,” Dr. Jansey said.

By the end of the study twenty months later, three subjects remained. “We had a small number of subjects reach three languages after a year and a half, and thought that might be as much as we could do. But in those last few weeks, one subject broke through and finalized the fourth language. It was resource intensive both with flash cards and electricity.”

It is thought that this is the first peer-reviewed study showing that learning multiple languages is possible. “We’re eager for other researchers to respond to our results,” Dr. Jansey said. “But for now everyone’s asking, ‘What are the four languages?’”

The first three languages the Holy Heart team were able to teach subjects were the talking and writing language, Dutch, and the hand language. “The breakthrough language was secrets,” Jansey said. “We were as surprised it was possible as anyone.”

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It’s time to reinvent myself. Reinvention is a necessary part of a man’s life, and it’s high time I’m reinvented. Can’t rely on anyone else to do it. I gotta do it myself. You see this hairstyle here? Cut it. Jitteriness, tepidness, we’ll replace that. Along with all these black sneakers. Need some colorful shoes. Skin’s dry — wetten that skin. Get the act together. Reinvention.

We’ll create a theme to focus around. Can’t very well reinvent for reinvention’s sake. Our theme will be something evocative. Something we can point back to and say, “Before: x. After: y.” Let’s go natural with this. Natural is good. But not too natural — needs some mathematics in it too. Something graceful, not crunchy. Something out of human control, but not chaotic. Aspirational. A nautilus, or an elliptic like in the stars. We’ll have to come back to this later.

Let’s get to the reinvention. No time like now. No new teeth, that’s painful. A new habit. A few new habits. Some new podcast gurus. A new passion to talk about when it’s my turn to talk in conversations. And all right before the new year! We’re killing this.

And by we I mean me. “I.”

Image is secondary. A reinvention starts internally. My thoughts and outlook. Actions and reactions.

No reactions! All actions.

My clothes need to fit better, or different. How would reinvented me wear clothes? Effortlessly.

I can feel it. The reinvention is taking hold. People are looking at me differently, or will be, when I’m around people. My eyes are bright. I’m tired, but my eyes will be bright when I sleep and wake up. I read new books now, and I quote them because I remember what I read for a long time after I read it. It’s an amazing feeling.

Better shoes, and my toes are prettier when I’m not wearing shoes. They will be. I’m buying the new shoes now. I’m going to Google a haircut. I am reinvented. It’s happened. I am an elliptic nautilus.

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Hi do you like dogs

Of course! I've been friends with a lot of dogs in my life, and hope to be so in the future. I live with one dog right now.

[learntokickflip]

There are ten alligators hanging out in this classroom. When I came in things were cool. There were only two or three. I took my seat like I always do — not too close to the back, but not like the front row. I don’t want to have to look at my teacher straight the whole time, but I don’t want to look like a slacker, you know? 

Before class had even started two more alligators showed up. Now, I’m all for alligators in the classroom. I get it. But when I counted five alligators in the classroom I was like ‘oh ok this is a lot of alligators.’ 

A few I didn’t even see come in. Is there another door or something? A sewer entrance they’re popping out of? Should I say something here? 

Anyway, there are ten alligators now. 

I am just keeping my mouth shut. I’m not big on school so my rule is to just get through it and get home so I can hang out. 

Our teacher started the lesson a few minutes ago. Just before that an alligator took a bite out of Martin’s leg. The yelling and blood excited a bunch of the other alligators so they all went over to bite on Martin too. He’s been eaten at this point, so the yelling’s stopped. 

He was a football player too, so that’ll suck for the team. I think they have a game this weekend. I don’t really follow a lot of the school sports except for track, which I’m on in spring. 

It makes me glad I didn’t sit all the way in back. Eric and Jemma have blood all over them from the frenzy. They’ll have to wear those clothes for the next two periods. 

“Jemma, eyes up here please,” the teacher says. Jemma’s focused on the ten alligators that’re now all gathered at the back of the classroom. Some of us are turning around to see what’s up too. I don’t blame her that she’s distracted. 

Our teacher continues explaining something about the Industrial Revolution. I think the alligators are eating Jemma now. She’s trying not to disturb the class but we can all hear that there’s a struggle going on in the back of the room. 

She’s yelling now too, like Martin did. I don’t know if she plays any sports. I take a look back and it looks like the alligators are eating her all right. She’s out of her desk and the alligators are rolling around and tearing her up. 

I heard somewhere that alligators don’t actually eat like every day. They can eat once a week or something and then they rest and are pretty good for a bit. I hope that’s the case here, but also there are ten alligators so that might take awhile before they’re all tired. 

I’m having trouble taking notes today. I’m just not feeling it. My friend Steve has the same class first period, so he can tip me off if there’s a pop quiz on any of this and I will cram some studying during homeroom. I wonder if we have any popcorn at home I can make after school.

An office assistant comes in the door and interrupts class. She hands a note to the teacher. The teacher nods OK to the assistant and says something to her I can’t hear. The office assistant goes to the door and gestures for someone to come in. 

It’s the alligator wrangler. Good. He comes when alligators might start to be a problem in the school. Used to be that there was one guy who’d go around to our school and the middle and elementary schools around here, but this year the school hired a wrangler that is just assigned to our school.

He only has one arm, which I think is funny because like why not get a full wrangler? I don’t know how he lost it. Probably something to do with alligators.

He says hello to the teacher. “They’re in the back of the room.” The teacher says. The wrangler looks over and sees the ten alligators, some of whom are still fighting over Jemma’s limbs, and moves toward the back of the class. 

“Excuse me” he says as he brushes past me. He almost hits me with the butt of his rifle. What the hell man, watch where you’re going with that. 

We’re talking about railroads and coal in Great Britain. An alligator, a big one waddles past me. Its tail whips on my foot. I’m always surprised how heavy and big these things are. 

That alligator leaves through the front classroom door. Nine alligators. 

A rifle shot scares the crap out of me, and everyone in the classroom. The wrangler just shot at one of the alligators. I look back and it’s still moving and looks like the wrangler is reloading. Another alligator bites his boot and tries to drag him down. 

“Kick her in the ribs for me, please,” he calls to Eric. Eric stands up and kicks the alligator in the side and it releases the wrangler. “Thanks.” 

“Everyone, let’s focus. Up here please,” the teacher says. Another rifle shot rings off the cinderblock walls of the classroom. Our teacher jumps again. “How’s it going back there?” she asks. I think she’s getting annoyed.

“Almost done.” I peek back again and there are only three or four alligators left. I still don’t know how they’re getting in and out. I only saw that one go out the front door. 

The steam engine was important. Coal plants. Manufacturing. Out the window I have a good view of the parking lot, where I see my friend’s older brother parking and coming back in to the school. I wonder why he was off of school grounds. Was he skipping class? Only five minutes ‘til the bell. 

The wrangler seems like he’s done. He comes back up to the front of the class and nods at the teacher. “Sorry for the disruption,” he says. 

“Thanks for the help!”

The bell finally rings. I get up and glance at the back of the classroom. Only one alligator still around, but looks like that’s the one that got shot. It’s laying there not moving. One of Martin’s big shoes. He must have had like size 14 feet or something. 

As I leave class see the alligator that left out the front door slowly making its way down the hall. It hangs a left right into my bio class. I hope it’s tired. I am. Only one more period then we can go home.

[learntokickflip]