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

In the Beginning -A Short Story by Ryan A. Loera

In the beginning, there were no toilets. People were forced to defecate on sidewalks and near government buildings. Sure, nobody enjoyed taking big long brown dumps in front of each other but there was no alternative. Until a man named Harry Clump had an epiphany one humid afternoon. He turned to his wife Mary and said: "Hey! What if someone created a place where people could defecate in private!" "Whadda' ya' mean? You can't just devote one place entirely to the act of defecation! Besides, people are perfectly happy with defecating anywhere they want to." Mary had just finished taking a pretty big dump on a bush in the local park. "I'm not so sure about that, Mary. I mean... I believe people are yearning to know what it feels like to be able to defecate behind closed doors." Harry took out a notebook and a pencil and began sketching something. "Huh? You mean like pooping in one's own bedroom? Some people already do that, Harry." Mary watched Harry draw something circular. A minute later, Harry finished his sketch and held it up over his head. "Behold! The Defecation Booth!" He exclaimed. "The what?" Asked Mary. "The Defecation Booth! You see, people will enter this cubicle and sit down on a chair-like thing that has a hole in the middle. Then they can defecate all they want in complete privacy! It's genius I tell ya'! We're gonna' be rich, Mary!" Harry jumped up and down with excitement. "Oh I dunno', Harry. It sounds pretty dumb to me." Replied Mary. Two weeks later, Harry died from explosive diarrhea. Mary eventually sold his idea to a scientist/engineer for $100 and a coupon for one free taco at Pancho's Tacos. The scientist/engineer perfected the design ten years later and named it after himself. His name is Dr. John Stall Toilet. Today, he is the fourth richest man in the world. Right behind the guy that invented disposable diapers. So, there you have it. The origins, more or less, of the toilet. The rest, as you know, is... defecation.

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

Prolonged Period

I
Believe
People
Today
Could
Benefit from
A
Prolonged
Period of
Meditation
Celibacy
And
Sobriety.

Sharp Cheddar

How funny could you be without me? Clear adhesive apoxy atop worrisome catacomb endeavors. I am marbled by defeatist attitudes. You?

Need that ant colony to vacate my sleeping mattress. Small ones, medium ones and other sized. Regular insecticide does not work very well. Sure, it's strong and irritates but only temporarily.

Perhaps the infestation is a living metaphor. A metaphor for my need to stop procrastinating and start completing my masterworks. I don't know how many more moments are available but this moment is indeed unique and important. Just like melted caramel lies.

Get the bullet to disown our presidential influence. Money fucks us over as policy manipulates we the people further and further.

Feeling absolute; uncertain. As sure as sure as sure as a turkey meat pot pie with huge chunks of knowledge. Didn't I mention before, ages ago, about how I had once been confused by certain passages in the pathos outlined biblical pretention?

We feed on dementia just as much as ham & cheese sandwiches without mayo. Oh I do know what I'm typing here! It is you, you that has no flipping idea how gravity sticks each individual to every other individual!

It is within fictional romance novels that we begin to plunder the teachings of our predecessors. Identity is another metaphoric derivative.

Discuss the accidental accident that is our nation. We are the (thee) successors of a generation of slave traders and owners. They used to beat 'em with big long dirtied sticks and poles. Some of 'em died, most of 'em cried and begged for mercy. But oh let's not forget how sweet and juicy and delicious the apples, melons and corn turned out.

Thank, thanks. Great, grateful. Abnormalcy, normalcy. Ease, dis-ease.

In the deli I contemplated beat poetry. Welcomed the possibility that I may have been a prophet in another life. Then I purchased a pound of sharp cheddar cheese.

Star Language

We aren't liable to be held accountable for most things done wrong today. That just seems to be the new normal in society. Come to think of it... it's been the norm for quite some time.

If you are going to meet me halfway than by all means meet me halfway, sir. But don't do it on my account. That faithful woman is not your property but she does care a great deal for you. You are blind to it and to her.

I've told you many things before. I've spoken to you about a variety of different topics. The history of the French. The history of the Prussian Empire. Sociological experiments involving multiple participants. Art appreciation and convex theories. It only means something to you if you allow your being to absorb it. Indefinitely.

Modesty often finds us when everything else has begun to shift right before our eyes. Yes. Like cellophane deniability; ruminating over divided dimensional output. Just to translate archaic Latin adjectives back to the original star language.