S T R E A M # 1 9

The time has come for all men to eat their cookies after dipping them in milk. This must happen at the same time. All men must do this at the exact same time. We shall define a man as any male having had at least one wet dream. That should do it. Scientists have recently discovered that a build-up of testosterone – combined with the consumption and absorption of milk and cookies (chocolate chip cookies) – will result in a physical and chemical reaction that will, ultimately, decrease global warming. Regrettably, the latest research also shows that when women come together to consume milk and cookies their collective estrogen level has the reverse effect – indeed, global warming increases. Thus, scientists have theorized that the best way to fight global warming is not to attempt to reduce so-called “green-house” gasses, but to round up men and get them to stuff their faces with milk and cookies. Yes. Milk and cookies. How wonderful. Nobody is going to believe it, though; hence, we are all doomed. And, anyway, what about all the men who are lactose intolerant? Eh? More research is necessary, of course. But scientists are fairly confident. This study was funded, in part, by a grant from the Milk & Cookie Foundation of America – formerly the Cookie Monster Addiction Federation – formerly the Sugar Needs Group of Carmel, Indiana. One day, balls will be big enough to bounce off the planet. Yes, balls will be big enough to bounce between the Earth and the moon. This is important because it means astronauts won’t need rockets. They’ll just bounce from one planet to the other. The time is now not necessary to record for posterity. Nor is the weather. Nor is the state of the author’s sanity. The author is doing his best to forget; the fresher the memory, the harder it is to let go. God, for a delete function! If only I could pull my left pinky and erase all those worthless files. I need to free up more space! They’re viruses! They don’t stop running and they serve no useful purpose. They slow the system down, freeze it up. And the rock will remain on the beach until a large enough wave washes it away. And so what? Who will miss this rock? It’s an unremarkable rock. Just a plain, old rock. A solid, grey blob. Well, it’s not a blob, it’s a rock. It would be much more interesting if it were, indeed, a solid blob. After all, blobs are malleable. In some places, my memory feels like a rock, and in others it feels like a blob. But I need it to feel like a blob where it feels more like a rock. All alone. That rock on the beach. Perhaps some old crone will get the lifeguard to carry the rock back to her rock garden. The rock will, at last, feel at home. The rock will feel that it belongs. Finally. After centuries of being surrounded by nothing but sand. Rock bottom reached. 
11 June 2008

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