faloathing

I am out of options so I am seeking my guidance from the back of cereal boxs. Today’s words of wisdom were “contains 40% more fiber.” Perhaps tomorrows will contain the meaning of life. I just hope it’s not “surprise inside.” I am getting all too sick of digging for the prize at the bottom of the cereal box. It takes too long and you don’t ever enjoy the cereal unless you have found the toy. I’d rather enjoy my fiber chunks. The “surprise” for me is that I can still make it off my toilet after eating this cereal. 

If I am searching for my soul does that mean I can be heartless and cruel until I find it? Maybe I could trudge through life kicking a puppy on a leash, and telling people it was ok because I was “soul searching.” I wonder if anyone would believe me. I would probably start a religion. People all over the world kicking puppies, and the next thing you know we would have a Waco Texas on our hands.  Did anyone else ever notice how Waco is really only one letter away from wacko? I wonder if that was intentional, or if Wacko Texas has a whole different breed of crazy.

I once saw a girl in a beautiful red dress,  her image forever tattooed on my soul, that I have been hunting for all this time, so rather than kick a dog on a leash I seek more guidance from my cereal box. Perhaps it will finally tell me the right words to say, the right thing to do, perhaps it will finally make you smile…. 

“Malt-O-Meal means more!”

Did that do anything for you?

Is there anybody going to listen to my story
All about the girl who came to stay?
She's the kind of girl you want so much
It makes you sorry
Still you don't regret a single day.

For my Father.

“CHECK!” Jim screamed as the room fell to silence. Like Bobby Fisher vs. Boris Spassky the matches between my brother and Jim were always a battle between the East and the West. A battle between U.S., CIA trained forces, and the Russian KGB.  

We had arrived in the U.S. in 1989, 8 of us living in one small apartment, but the apartment was just perfect for early Saturday games of chess between my 11 year old brother Leon, and his opponent. Originally named Jesus by his father, Jim was a small pudgy child of roughly 12. All of the Spectators would sit on metal chairs we had gotten from “Goodwill” stores at least 4 feet away from the table, while the fathers, like vultures, would circle the table looking at all the possible moves.

October 6^th of 1990 was the first game my brother lost, and the same day my dad began to train me. The Rules of the Game were always the same “Always smile at your opponent…. Never let them see you nervous… Only hesitate when you have to, or before a trap.”

To a 5 year old chess is like a magical land where nothing makes sense. For the first year of my lessons it was nearly impossible to get through a game without bursting into to tears. But I kept at it for months studying the board staring at it, in hopes that maybe there was some sort of a hidden secret I wasn’t seeing. Maybe somewhere there was a button that my dad pushed, and all of a sudden his moves were mapped out for him. I kept looking for that button, the easy way to win, for years. 

I gave up chess forever when I was 9. It was right before New Years and my dad wanted to play chess but he wanted a challenge, so he played without his queen. She was neatly tucked away to the left side of the board as we began our game, but the psychological stress of playing a game I “had to win” was too much, and I lost quicker than ever. My dad had won the game before we even began by putting his queen to the side, so as to remind me that it would not be a true victory.

That day I swore I would never play chess again, but something in the early years of college enticed me back, I began to play against friends, and slowly I got better, I never learned the strategy but I could see several moves ahead and last February just prior to the super bowl I challenged my father to a “final game.” 

We both pulled up a chair and a beer and sat down. He glanced at me and with a smile said “should I remove my queen?” I simply shook my head and continued setting up the pieces. I wasn’t going to let him phase me, not this time. The game lasted for little over an hour, and ended with a magnificent collapse of the white defense and a crushing blow by my black army. I had beaten him.

“Checkmate!” I announced triumphantly
“Play again? He asked, with a huge smile
“Sure,” I said smiling back, as “I closed my eyes and pondered my next move.”

Chaos through orders,
Disorders are borders
A big game of chess
Every move mapped out
Every possibility out there
But I can’t see them
Can’t find them
Can’t be them
Can’t….win
Then what
Checkmate?.

Two many rhyming schemes
Or perhaps three many
Or maybe it won’t rhyme
Unless time
Stands still
For just a moment
For one breathe
And everything is
Not possible but…
Probable
A parabola
Two points Co-existing on the same axis

However
The probability
Of parabolic
Paralysis
Is
Inevitable

Give me your ideas
For both of mine
Are
Too scary
Too scarring
Too scornful
Too sadistic?

Or perhaps
I’m
Too young
Too inarticulate
Too indirect
Too vague?

In that case
Logic stands to misuse my miscues
And
If “I” = 1 then <end>

Cliché and overused?
Disgusted and abused?
Or maybe
Just maybe
Unequivocally
Undermining
The Understanding
Of simple math,
One plus one equals two
Two minus one equals two

Then what?
Another Dual?
A brand new rule?
Mathematically transitive
Interchangeable parts
If A equals B
And B equals C
Then A equals C
But what happened to B?

It wants to Be
What it can Be
and so mayBe
So close to Free.
Or mathematically
Sin