While I am trying to write more positive essays, this one turned into an attack on Marie Kondo!
In keeping with my scatological theme, here is another silly poem:
Donald Trump Sits for his Official Portrait
The portrait sitter
Sits on his sphincter,
Trying to hold it in.
Outside, the lightening flashes
But nobody hears
The thunder roar under his skin.
Here’s a silly little poem:
The Booger and the Turd
The Booger once said to the Turd:
“You’re disgusting in ways that I’m not.”
To which Turd did retort:
“I’ve heard people say,
‘That’s really good shit’,
But never ‘that’s really nice snot’.”
Here is a new short story. The story itself is only 7 1/2–pages long, but it is prefaced by an 11 1/2–page-long section on the history of suicides, in which I go off on some screeds about Job and Hamlet that I used to make back when I taught those works for two dozen years at BU, The Key School, and at River Valley Community College.
Psychologists say that uncertainty is one of the greatest stressors on mental health that we face in our lives. This certainly seems to be borne out with what we have all faced in this past pandemic year. And, although it is certain that we all will die some day, none of us knows when that day will come. But, if given the chance, would you want to know how much longer you have to live? In pondering this question, I have written this little short story.