Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Secret Schemes


The Plan


The plan isn’t foolproof. For it to work, certain things must happen:
—The door to the vault must have accidentally been left open by the cleaning woman.
—The guard must bend over to tie his shoes and somehow he gets all the shoelaces tied together. He can’t get them apart, so he takes out his gun and shoots all his bullets at the knot. But he misses. Then he just lies down on the floor and goes to sleep.
—Most of the customers in the bank must happen to be wearing Nixon masks, so when we come in wearing our Nixon masks it doesn’t alarm anyone.
—There must be an empty parking space right out in front. If it has a meter, there must be time left on it, because our outfits don’t have pockets for change.
—The monkeys must grab the bags of money and not just shriek and go running all over the place, like they did in the practice run.
—The security cameras must be the early, old-timey kind that don’t actually take pictures.
—When the big clock in the lobby strikes two, everyone must stop and stare at it for at least ten minutes.
—The bank alarm must have mistakenly been set to “Quiet.” Or “Ebb tide.”
—The gold bars must be made out of a lighter kind of gold that’s just as valuable but easier to carry.
—If somebody runs out of the bank and yells, “Help! The bank is being robbed!,” he must be a neighborhood crazy person who people just laugh at.
—If the police come, they don’t notice that the historical mural on the wall is actually us, holding still.
—The bank’s lost-and-found department must have a gun that fires a suction cup with a wire attached to it. Also a chainsaw and a hang glider.
—When we spray the lobby with knockout gas, for some reason the gas doesn’t work on us.
—After the suction cup is stuck to the ceiling, it must hold long enough for Leon to pull himself up the wire while carrying the bags of money, the gold bars, and the hang glider. When he reaches the ceiling, he must be able to cut through it with the chainsaw and climb out.
—Any fingerprints we leave must be erased by the monkeys.
—Once on the roof, Leon must be able to hold on to the hang glider with one hand and the money and the gold bars with the other and launch himself off the roof. Then glide the twenty miles to the rendezvous point.
—When we exit the bank, there must be a parade going by, so our getaway car, which is decorated to look like a float, can blend right in.
—During the parade, our car must not win a prize for best float, because then we’ll have to have our picture taken with the award.
—At the rendezvous point, there must be an empty parking space with a meter that takes hundred-dollar bills.
—The robbery is blamed on the monkeys.

Monday, August 13, 2012

Your home


Come home if you can't find yourself
You'll have a friend 
Who is looking for you
And I could make you 
forget you were lost
Come home if you don't know 
where you are going
I will be the hands 
to guide you through 
the uncertainty of a new life
Come home if you need to be saved
It is your home, it is your place to call
And I will wait for you until
You come home

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Maturing.


It was incited with an unpronounceable curiosity I had for oddities in her mannerisms. Before I even knew her, I wondered what she would say if I told her that I fell in love with her? I thought she'd more likely tell me to Fuck Off, than she say, "I love you, too."
She was exotic, she was whimsical with vitality, she was deranged with depression and apprehension. Oh parfait, how perfect! A Me, in female anatomy!
A stranger to admiration and awe with the dissonance of her heart--I fell painfully for romance. She possessed a strictly dedicating pragmatic existence. Like convincing a vegan that meat is good, I fed her my complete self, not caring what it took to make her feel loved; I gave her my skin and bones, unraveled myself to vulnerability and subjugating myself to complete disarmament, I gave her the aphrodisiac of passion and devotion.
Her online publications instigated my initial attraction--she became my impediment for sitting still, I wanted to know more; I read her and caroused through her photos like I were a modern-day Columbus, ready to stake my flag in her. I marveled as if I read into the life of a beautiful goddess. The pixels which drew her face forced my smile and I ached as if she'd secretly intended for it. Sapere aude? Fuck it, I went for it; at least, she's hot. And that was all that would have come from myself if that was it. But then she said, hello--back to me. What a nice surprise.
I gave into all resisting thoughts and thought of something to say. As she freed me from the humdrum of my chair and gave me the opportunity to be brilliant; I waited with childlike-wonder for a responce, fascinated by her oddities to enlighten my own idiosyncrasies. She made me feel so alive with everything she'd say. Unexpected, uninhibited, uncandid debauchery. She was insane, she was a playful raven.
Everything was perfect, I met her the next day of speaking to her on the internet. We clicked, there was no tension, no apprehension, no separation from our bodies spiritually. Our energies were different colours, but we fused with perfect equanimity. As a scientist, I was waiting for us to explode into a dust of petty mote, but I was too hardheaded in letting that happen to such a beautiful and intelligent creature. 
She could fuck up, she would fuck up, and I'd forgive her. I would telll her, 'Well, that's the last time." But it's as if I were her mother, or father, I would have forgiven her an infinite amount of times. That's true love. A stupid love, but for me, an ideal love. Wouldn't it be nice if someone could love you forever, no matter how many times you fucked up?
It was love for the idea of romance and for the idea of answers and the unfortunate circumstances of our lies that we excised our connection from one another. I'll always remember how she plucked my heartstrings from obscurity everytime she smiled and called passerbyers 'cunt' but always said it so respectfully. With, or without her. I am a better person because of this person I met. Someone I was able to love with a greater love than love.