Wednesday, June 29, 2011


On any given day school-children are not expected to hang themselves from light-poles. Should the time come, the closing of one's coffin is not uninviting, yet does not necessarily smell of roses, or camphor, or salt-treated lumber. We have codified laws, ratified through the blood of labor, demonstrated by logic without chasm. Here, we press our feet to the ground to feel the future, something to behold!

Your patronage is essential. In spring, baby elk wander the mountain-side caressing eager faces, soliciting donations. Let that face be yours! Let our baby elk caress you!

Our gods, they have names. Know them through your hard work, through unwavering patience in light of collective disaster—reticence and stoicism! They have ample room in their many hearts for your burdens. Availability dependent upon perceived group interest.

There are poets who have burned at the stake. Fear not such punitive action! Though we no longer allow the purveyance of verse, naturally immolation as deterrent is frowned upon.

Our national language is truth-telling. Our national sport is nameless—a distant cousin of modern whale hunting. Imports have long ceased their stronghold on the economy; citizens generate income through the deceptive employment of guilt. In fact, many families live indulgently, and most are able to provide progeny with false organs, often brand-new, so as to stave death's encroachment. Health is a budgetary concern here, and we pride ourselves on the ability to scale its pertinence to the biological level. All newborn infants are covered in protective liquid latex, head-to-toe, and carried home from the birthing-place in steel crates.

Our citizens are frequently thought to be the happiest among similar-range cohorts. Rarely do housewives aged twenty-eight through forty-nine stick their heads in ovens. We count our blissful moments with specially calibrated instruments hanging from carabiners. No one is overlooked. Our suns are brighter here. There is a joy in this place. We watch reruns and expect them to love us back.

--Nathan Blake is an elementary school teacher and recent college graduate. He has a penchant for night sailing and his fiction has been published in some boring and not-so-boring places.

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