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Dried Zero

Dried emotional zero
Dates graded
Openly caustic
Driven abstract
Absurd
Happy
Howling
Oven orangutan
1997 devoted
Mucus procurements
Denounce
Moistened
Envelope
Greetings
Shallow
Wilting
Flooding
Salad dressing
Sheaths
Of
Shelled pudding
Mementos
Weary pot potent
Gamblers
Forfeited
Giraffe installments
Legislation
Jury
Jurassic
Other worldly
People phantoms
Mighty best
Beautiful
Zen
Zeno
Zeus
Zealand
Scruggs
Tank no longer have
Loud motorized
Caribou
Caricatures
Fleshy
Floral
Arrangements antimatter
Ants
Etching particular
Partial
Sketches
Movie bitter butter
Hot water caramel
Glass foot piercings
Calcify esteem
Jello molds ascend
Biweekly
Goats shake we
Amman
Boldness beans
Stave the same time
Heroic herons
Ticklish
Points
Ascribe
Tough fruitful events
Inside
Colored chalks change
Daffodil
Tamale
Tampa
Sky buttocks
Cuban
Rican
Shooting shouts
Verbatim
Thy deity absolves
Frito
Pie
Dilemmas
Once every
Diaphanous
Mental
Moon
Noon

She Picks -A Short Story by Ryan A. Loera

She picks her nose. She picks it often. Her favorite day to pick it is Sunday. The Lord’s Day. While most people change into their Sunday best to go to mass… she changes into her Sunday best to pick her nose. She starts off slow and gentle. Sometimes she lights a vanilla scented candle beforehand. She says it adds something extra to the moment. Do not be confused by my description. I assure you I am not using any kind of metaphor when I say she picks her nose. She thoroughly enjoys it. Sex has never been much of a concern to her. Nose picking gives her far more satisfaction. When she picks her nose she gets lost. Lost in time, lost in space, lost in the simple act of picking her nose. She says her soul merges with the entire Universe when she picks. She becomes one with everything. To her it is a divine blessing. She is not a whore or heretic! She is a nose-picker. And she is damn proud of it! All words written by Ryan A. Loera Copyright 2015

My Sandwich

He ate my sandwich! Bob ate my wonderful sandwich! My turkey, cheese, bacon, tomato, lettuce on rye sandwich! How could Bob do such a thing? Does he not know how many hours I spent making my sandwich? Well, maybe not hours but minutes. Several glorious minutes! I even drove all the way across town to get the good turkey from the good deli. Doesn’t Bob know this? How could you, Bob! How could you eat my sandwich! Why did you eat it? Do you get some kind of sick satisfaction from eating other peoples’ sandwiches? Huh!! Do you? I recall a time when you wanted to make a sandwich of your own but did not have any bread. You asked to borrow a few slices of bread and I was agreeable. In addition, I also gave you $5 so that you may purchase a loaf of your choosing. That was not too long ago. Did you purchase your own loaf? No! You spent that $5 on beer. And when you got back home you didn’t even offer me a beer! Oh how I loathe you, Bob! It is no wonder you are a solitary man. But I digress. Why the hell did you eat my sandwich? Was there something about it that called out to you? Hmmm? Did the sandwich itself speak to you? Did it speak to you in French or Spanish? If you are having conversations with talking sandwiches regularly then perhaps you should see a psychiatrist. But even that is no excuse for eating my lovely sandwich! Why! Why did you eat it? I’ve been nothing but kind to you these past few months. I have no qualms with our living arrangement. And I only slept with your wife once! Only once! So… Why did you eat my sandwich? WHY!! All words written by Ryan A. Loera Copyright 2015

Community

Time takes me away from all the forbidden science of our lackluster generation. Generational gap undone by modern conveniences. Truth here and there and covered up thoroughly by blankets made of the best copper wiring this side of the boundary line. Hilarious I once knew how to write so charismatically without so much as a period or apostrophe, apostrophe. Mind you you mind nothing tangible or legislative and I felt this right away. Earthquakes scare us to the point of non-recognition. But hey I mean whatever puts the gas in your engine now, man. Float then flow. Water flows through this vortex of a society. It flows to us from the great unknown! I'd like to study the not so culinary arts. Community colleges gloss over much of the fundamentals but then go right back to focusing on nothing but the fundamentals. Ain't nothin' fun about that shit! One thing I do know I want to do is to start a massive community garden. Sensationalism devours the whole pernicious spring fountain. Plate the ground in silvery things amongst what you believe to be your holiest doctrine. Peoples are factioned off into minor fruitful events of other minor fruitful events. Interesting and fascinating jurisdictions make us believe ugly rhyme vestiges. Every Wednesday and such turmoil discusses us as if we never even cared about property or windowed worries, fricking banality. Commonality we peruse the last aisle at those gross grocery stores and blame the next shopper for spoiled produce. Life and love and love and life. Those bastards, the ones who own the stores, have no clue. No clue. So we all speak terribly. Thine world is a vampiress suckling on the teet of corporate idealism! Oh but but they flounder still longingly. Moment to moment. In particular... I cannot give two shits today. We begin as though we've never began before. I am ambitious and fuck you for saying I am not! You fuckin hater of life and all things limitless! Go on and remain confined in your steel cage by your so called "beliefs" and "ideals"! All is weary and atrocious. That popsicle my nephew ate looked like it was loaded with untruths and hypocrisy. But oh he swears it tastes good. Of course it tastes good! This is why most of us believe the crap that gets forced onto us by government and corporations! They spend millions and millions to ensure that their lies taste good! I for one am sick of it, sick of it. Now is as good a time as any for all of us to band together as a community and throw off the shackles of big business and big government! We are not meant to be corporate slaves! We are meant to be limitless! Beautifully Limitless Creators! All words written by Ryan A. Loera Copyright 2015

Only So Much

"Even those with unspendable fortunes only have one mind, one mouth, two ears, two eyes and one pleasure station. There's only so much fun you can take." - Tibor Fischer

My 8th Book Fascination Is Now Published

                               
                               
                               
                               

                       
         

So Many Possibilities

 I want to write a story about a man who is obsessed with peanut butter. Or maybe a story about a woman who is dumped by her fiance then decides to open up a candy shop. Or maybe some kind of romantic comedy type novel. I suppose I could write a really heart-wrenching novel about people losing their faith in themselves. Or a story about someone inspiring others to pursue their dreams and ambitions. So many possibilities out there and inside my head.

Rotation

Here is an original short story of mine. It is titled Rotation. Please read, comment, share, enjoy. Thank you.

  The earth rotates once more on its axis. The darkened side becomes the sunny side and the sunny side becomes the darkened side. All the while, people are either getting ready for another hum drum day or going to sleep in order to be rested for another hum drum day.

  My day used to be this way but today is different. Today I’ve decided to take a walk. I wake up when my alarm goes off at 8:30 am. I have my usual breakfast of waffles and two sausage links. That’s right, two links. I change into some suitable walking attire. A faded blue t-shirt, black sweat pants and my favorite pair of green converse. 

  After a quick stretching of my joints I walk out the front door and into the luminous morning glow. I look up at the sky and try to breathe in its vibrant blue. I notice a bird fly overhead, looks like it has lagged behind the rest of the formation. I set off on foot down the end of my street. When I get there I turn right and continue in a straight line for two miles or so. I fix my gaze on a palm tree up ahead. Its bark looks rather dry and cracked, like it hasn’t been watered for a while.

  When I reach the palm tree I take a moment to choose a new path. A big, yellow school bus passes by and emits some strong fumes from its exhaust. I plug my nose but I still choke and gag for a second or two. I finally decide to cut through a vacant lot in order to get onto a decent walking path.

  The lot is as vacant as you’d expect a vacant lot to be. I remember when I was about six years old and I first heard the word vacant I thought it was the same thing as bacon. But in this vacant lot there is no bacon. There isn’t even a stove on which to cook bacon. But there is a concrete foundation and a half finished house frame. I try to imagine what the house will look like once it is completed. I hope it doesn’t end up looking like most houses. But it probably will. I try to imagine what kind of family will inhabit the house. I hope they don’t end up being like most families. But they probably will.

  I quickly wave good-bye to the vacant lot with no bacon and continue walking down a newly cemented sidewalk. After another two miles, I come upon a marching line of red ants. Some of which I accidentally step on and some I try my best to avoid stepping on. I like to think that they are grateful every time someone purposefully avoids stepping on them. I know I’m grateful every time someone avoids stepping on me.

  I try to follow their militant pattern but they are far more devoted to it than I am. I suppose that’s a good thing. A couple of them are carrying what looks like bread crumbs on their backs. Some of the bread crumbs are at least five times bigger than they are. But somehow they manage to carry them all the way to their nest or hive or colony. I think ants live in colonies. Much more structured colonies than us.

  I wave good-bye to the militant ants and hop over some discarded beer bottles. Two have been smashed and four are still intact but empty. They almost look like shiny, gold chalices. But it is the sunlight that is successfully pulling off that illusion. The labels on all of them have been stripped and scraped off. I wonder why someone would scrape a label off a beer bottle. Maybe they weren’t supposed to be drinking. Maybe they were drinking on the sidewalk because they weren’t allowed to drink in their own home. Whatever their reason was they could have at least disposed of them properly. I pick up one of the empty bottles and toss it high up in the air. It lands and smashes six feet in front of me. I can hear a dog barking in the distance.

  My eyes scan the area for some kind of bag to collect the remaining bottles in. I spot a dusty garbage bag stuck to some weeds. It’s pretty big and only has one small tear in it. The only other garbage in it is some torn up fliers for a new techno club. I doubt we need another monotonous techno club taking up valuable space in order to charge twelve bucks for a margarita. One by one I place the three scraped beer bottles in the garbage bag. I tie the top as best as I can and drag it along with me.

  I try to wave good-bye to the broken shards of beer bottles but it just seems a little sad. They continue glistening in the sunlight and I continue walking. As I walk past a stray cat I begin to contemplate what to do with the beer bottles. I could bury them. But a dog or little kid might dig them up and start playing with them. I could just chuck them into a dumpster. But I really would like to find some better use for them. I could recycle them. But that’s practically the same thing as burying them. Or is it?

  While my mind is preoccupied I come upon a busy intersection. Traffic had come to a halt due to the fact that a motorcyclist had slammed into a traffic light. The motorcyclist and his motorcycle didn’t look badly injured. The motorcycle had a few small scrapes. The motorcyclist was shouting at the other motorists for not helping him move his motorcycle sooner.

  An elderly gentleman who was waiting at the bus stop walks up to me and says, “You missed a great show here!” He laughs and coughs and laughs and coughs.

  I wait for the cross walk light to blink on and I cross to the other side as smooth as butter. That’s right. Butter. Who doesn’t like butter? I dare you to say you don’t like butter! The only thing that can compete with butter is bacon. Yes, bacon. Perhaps I’ll start up my own bacon factory and call it Vacant Bacon. Sounds like a good idea.

  The three beer bottles in the garbage bag make a clinking sound with every step I take. It reminds me of a metronome. Every time I hear the word metronome I instantly picture a gnome on a subway train. Short people have a need for transportation too. If gnomes exist then why wouldn’t they use public transportation? It’s just common sense.

  Two joggers jog ahead of me. They are panting and perspiring a lot. One of them is a young woman and the other a young man. They both smile at each other as they jog. They seem pretty fit and full of energy. But they will never know the same kind of joy that I know.

  I approach another intersection but this one is less crowded with vehicles. But not because it isn’t heavily trafficked. It is less crowded because each car is whizzing by at a speed that is unrecognizable to me. I push the button for the crosswalk light. I wait a few seconds. Nothing happens. I push the button for the crosswalk light again. I wait a few more seconds. Nothing happens. I debate with myself on whether I should risk crossing or not. I am unable to come to an agreement with myself.

  Then I get an idea. I untie the garbage bag, reach in and pull out one of the torn fliers for the new overrated techno club. I crinkle it up into a tightly packed ball and place it gently in the street. When I see the next car approaching at a speed that is unrecognizable to me I make sure to pay close attention. The next car whizzes by and I watch as the balled up techno flier rolls away at a speed that is unrecognizable to me.

  I decide not to cross. I re-tie the garbage bag and sling it over my shoulder. I then turn around and walk in the opposite direction. After walking a good four miles, I come upon a street vendor. He is selling a variety of snacks and beverages. I flag him down and examine his selection. He does not know much English but he is able to recommend a bacon wrapped hotdog with mustard and relish. I call him a genius and pat him on the back. I also select a Diet Pepsi to wash down his magnificent masterpiece. I give him a five dollar bill and tell him to keep the change. He then tells me I’m fifty cents short. I offer him one of the empty beer bottles instead and he reluctantly accepts it. He wishes it wasn’t empty but knows that he can get a few cents by recycling it.

  I wave good-bye to the bacon-wrapped hotdog genius and walk on. The harsh sun begins to take its toll on me after another three miles. Where am I going? I ask myself out loud. I pass a couple of shops and restaurants and stop walking as soon as I see a lovely plant-filled park. I drop the garbage bag on the moist grass and plop down under a shady tree. I’m not sure what kind of tree it is. Maybe some kind of oak or maple.

  A group of skateboarders are attempting a series of complicated maneuvers on the green painted tennis court. Two little girls are fighting over the “good swing” and two teenage lovers are caressing each other on a grassy knoll. This is what life should be like every day. I lean back against the shady tree and rest my eyes for a spell.

  I am awakened some minutes later by a loud scream. I stand up and look around for the source of the scream. Apparently one of the little girls punched the other one in the nose and they were now locked in a death grip of sorts. They start rolling around in the sand and shouting incoherent phrases at each other. Finally, their mothers run to them and pull them apart.

  I glance over at the two teenage lovers on the grassy knoll. I walk over to them and hand them one of the torn up techno fliers. Apparently the monotonous techno club allows the under twenty-one crowd in once a week. They both look ecstatic when I hand them the torn flier. The teenage girl looks up at me and says, “Thanks! We’ve been wanting to go to something like this for a while!” The teenage boy half smiles.

  I then walk over to the group of skateboarders on the green painted tennis court. I watch them try to pull off some flashy tricks and jumps. “I wish we had something to jump over besides this lame tennis net.” One of the skateboarders says. I then reply with, “Would you like to jump over some beer bottles?” All the skateboarders stare at me in a confused manner. I take out the two remaining empty beer bottles and place them in the center of the green painted tennis court.

  “If you can jump over these bottles I’ll give you whatever is left in this garbage bag.” I say to the skateboarders. They still have a confused look on their faces but they are also intrigued by what the garbage bag may or may not be carrying. We shake hands to seal our deal and they all line up like militant ants.

  One by one they jump over the empty beer bottles with their skateboards. Some of them fall but they all jump clear over the bottles. I congratulate them then hand them the garbage bag. As they all peer into it I wave good-bye and continue walking.

  I walk for another mile and a half then decide to sit down on one of the bus stop benches. I still have no idea where I am going but I am glad I have no idea where I am going. I kneel down to re-tie my right green converse. “Are you taking the bus too?” I look up and am greeted with a beautiful face that belongs to a beautiful girl. “I might take the bus but I’m not sure.” I reply. “Oh. I’m taking the bus to school today. It’s my first year in college.” She sits down next to me and fiddles with a textbook. Her perfume smells like a bouquet of roses. “Your first year of college? That sounds exciting.” I respond. “Yeah. I guess.” She looks at me and smiles.

  Her blonde hair hangs down in curls just above her shoulders. She is wearing a light blue long-sleeved blouse and tight fitting blue jeans. It appears she has written something on her pink sneakers. “What is that you have written on your sneakers?” I ask her. “This? Oh it’s just the bus schedule. I wrote it on my sneakers in permanent marker so I wouldn’t forget which buses go where. I’m no good at keeping a paper schedule.” She blushes a little. “Oh I see. That is quite ingenious. You wouldn’t happen to like bacon… do you?”

  She stares at me in a confused manner but then quickly smiles and laughs. “I love it! The only thing that can compete with bacon is butter!”

  My heart starts beating a thousand miles per second. I gradually slide closer to her on the bench. “You are fascinating. Please tell me your name.”

  “Cindy. My name is Cindy. Cindy Simon. Well, my full name is Cinnamon Sable Simon but I prefer just Cindy.” She blushes a little more.

  “It is a great honor to meet you, Cinnamon. I mean Cindy. My name is Van. Well, my full name is Van Confucius Schwartz.” I extend my hand to hers, she pauses and then slowly grips and shakes.

  “It’s an honor to meet you too, Van. My bus is approaching so I’m afraid we have to cut our conversation short. Unless you’ve decided to take the bus after all?” Her eyes display a large amount of passion.

  “Maybe I will.” The bus comes to a strong halt as she tries to coax me on.

  “Oh and I happen to have brought some bacon with me to snack on.” She whips out a plastic baggie stuffed with bacon.

  “Okay, we shall ride the bus!” We both laugh out loud as we hop onto the bus.

  All this happened while the earth rotated on its axis once more. And the sunny side became the darkened side and the darkened side became the sunny side.

  This is what life can be. This is what life should be.

 

 

AuthorStand. ebook - A Werewolf In My Pocket by Ryan Loera

AuthorStand. ebook - A Werewolf In My Pocket by Ryan Loera

Please click link. Listing my stories online in ebook format. For free. Will sell my novel on same site soon. :-)