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Jeff Beezleboss Goes to Space

Jeff Beezleboss Goes to Space!

(QSF – Some Quick Short Fiction I wrote to blow off steam)

Press Release: Super-Billiionaire Jeff Beezleboss (pictured) announced yesterday that he will be flying into space on his shiny new rocketship The Blue Shepard. In an interview he shared his plan:

Q: Jeff, you are clearly the best person on the planet, having made over $75,000,000,000.00 (Bloomberg figures) in the year 2020 alone while the median US income was only $61,937.00 (Motley Fool figures), what amazing things do you plan to do in space?

A: “I will build my Moon Mansion and fire missiles at both poles of the Earth.”

Q: Why?

A: “The core of the planet may be filled with gold and I want it.”

Q: Great! I’m certain that once you own all of that gold you will use it to help the remaining population.

A: “Certainly. The remaining population who survive the mining process will be employed as Mechanical Turks.”

Q: But Jeff, what if it turns out that no gold is inside the planet? How can you justify the $2,600,000.00 (Space dotcom figures) auctioned value of the spaceflight you intend to take yourself?

A: (chuckles) “That “two million dollars” is like spending two bucks to me. Even if I only had the money I made last year alone… while all the stores that weren’t mine were locked and boarded up… it comes out to $2.15 for me to go to space on July 20th.”

Q: Wow, you are clearly worth more than anyone on the planet. Is there anything else you’d like to do for the rest of us human beings who are worth less than you are?

A: “Well, I guess while I’m up there I could spray aerosols over the sun and make a permanent eclipse to solve climate change for you guys.

You’re welcome! Bye!”

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Dents on his own roof

When my son was little he liked to climb on top of my car. It was an old Crown Victoria so I let him put dents on my roof.

Now he is much larger and he can do whatever he wants.

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Loneliness

“Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible.” – CG Jung

When a boy in Indianapolis was very young, his mother wondered why the boy stared at the dictionary. Why did he turn its pages for hours?

He hadn’t taken many steps yet, but his mouth made many sounds. Most began with a pattern that looks like these letters:

“Actually…”

But whenever he said this, the sounds that followed were unexpected and strange to people around him.

The boy’s father was frightened by these sounds even though he was a man who ran into burning buildings when he heard howling sirens.

So the mother drove the boy to the nearest university to find out what might be wrong.

“What’s wrong with my son’s brain?” she asked, hoping for an important explanation.

“Or what’s right with it?” she asked with even more hope.

The men at the University had capitalized letters after their names and everyone could see they understood anything important.

They lifted their clipboards and told her:

“We will find out!”

They asked the little boy questions.

The boy’s mouth moved in answers. “This is to this as that is to that” was the pattern the men seemed to enjoy hearing most, and the boy enjoyed making these sounds. Eventually the clipboards were filled up by letters. The men added the letters and made up a number they said was important.

“We have measured and tested the boy’s brain, and now we will explain him to you,” the men told the mother. She listened carefully.

She asked for a copy of the papers on their clipboards, because some of the patterns were ones she had very much hoped to hear and see.

Staring at the papers many years later, the boy thought of how much his mother had seemed to enjoy the letters, and especially the made up numbers.

But when his brain made them all into a larger pattern it looked like this:

“You’ll look around at a beautiful and terrible world and usually feel unable to communicate the patterns that seem most important.”

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Boundaries of Behavior

I work for a non-profit that helps people.

Over the winter I offered people half-hour showers in the type of portable hygiene stations that construction sites use.

Our site is in one of the best spots in the city for people who needed warm water over the winter. Directly in front of a playground that was closed for over a year.

It’s now open.

My clients are the type of human beings who need help.

One of them has now urinated in front of the playground on multiple occasions. Parents called police.

We were told yesterday by city employees not to allow him to take showers here for a period of 364 days.

This morning, after the man threatened my boss, and many radio calls were made back and forth, we were told by another set of city employees (including police) that we must continue to allow him to come here.

I put his name on the list, because I cannot enforce all boundaries alone.

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Worth

I own only what I can carry.

My country confused economics with morality and told me:

Make money.

Own objects.

And by these things alone you will be judged.

There was a time when people could help one another and contribute to society, and money was at least in some way a measure of that contribution.

Midwesterners remember that time, and continue to confuse money with morality for that reason.

Today, those who are “worth the most” have nothing to contribute, and are only too big to fail.

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Journal 042121

Woke up at a friend’s house and traveled downtown to cash my paycheck with the pretty teller. She speaks Portuguese. She says people think it’s a French accent, but she sounds like she’s from Brazil.

Walked past my favorite pier by the ferris wheel but it fell in the water. The whole pier fell in and went splash one day last year. I do suspect it was suicide (due to 2020-ness)

Sat on new concrete triangle built by the city further down the waterfront. Mourned Pier 58 and Seattle’s soul.

Grabbed water bottles and sat in the sun near Pike’s Place. A girl asked to sit with me and offered to share weed, but it was mixed with tobacco so I declined.

Nearly immediately Timothy Leary showed up and shared a pure and wonderful indica with us. The fact it’s his real name makes me laugh every time I see him or maybe it’s the weed.

The girl was pretty but she began acting strange in ways I’m not interested in on my day off, so I handed them both water and walked alone.

Crossing the field of tents outside city hall, I was struck by warmth. So many smiling faces gleaming in sun, most of them new to North America. “All this village needs is some water,” I thought.

I felt much better after I bought some water and handed out a dozen bottles. All you have to do is watch whose eyes light up and you know who is thirsty. One young man from Africa promised to hand out the rest of the water bottles to his tiny town inside Seattle. “Now we need live music,” we laughed together.

At the bus stop a man was stooped down and digging cigarette butts out of sidewalk cracks.

He was throwing them away and that astonished me. I’ve met very few people who pick up trash so I asked him about it. “If I ever have kids I want the world to be better,” he said. I bought his bus ride.

Back at my place by the lake, I found a lot of garbage but I fished out the beer cans with branches. When I’m gone for a day that happens.

Now that I’m typing this I remember what a Mexican midget named Martin once told me:

Not for money.

For the trees.

The water.

For children…

not born yet.

I caught him picking up bottles out here. I climbed a hill to talk to him. He bagged four full garbage bags that day from other parts of the lake and I asked him why he was doing it.

You don’t forget what a man who stands hip-high and is an angel tells you in broken English far more beautiful than unbroken.

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Clouds

Yesterday I walked the city with a woman from out of town. I wanted to show her Seattle’s waterfront.

The city wasn’t having it. It offered no peaceful expanse of water yesterday.

We confronted inert crowds of people instead. People frozen in lines so they can stay safe from being near each other. She couldn’t see over the heads.

Wherever there wasn’t a crowd, there were fences of gravel and cranes.

We kept walking. I knew the ferry terminal opened up a view.

Last month it had a view. Now it doesn’t.

An acre-wide concrete block has been put up, blocking that peek at open water. Presumably this will be another near-waterfront office building which will sit empty for years like the two concrete boxes near it. They have dusty “for lease” signs posted above the tents on the sidewalk ringing the offices nobody can afford.

As my eyebrows knitted, trying to see past the chainlink fences out to where the real world is, my friend pointed up.

“There’s the clouds,” she said. “Right there.”

She’s part Cherokee. I wonder if that helped remind her what’s real.

In that moment I sure needed the reminder.

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About Me

The homeless man watched from the woods as the world trembled and ranted and cowered while covering itself in shopping carts full of garbage.

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a together poem

all people on earth are wholly human
and therefore worthy of my love,


our seven thousand human languages point to what is meaningful

the energy of our physics,
the angels and demons of our religions,
are the stars in the sky within us

not one finger pointing to the moon

but the wild all energy of starlight

uncontained by human words, unrestrained by our ideas

the energy of physics, force and mass in motion, the angels and demons dancing as they will

they care not even to laugh at our words

dancing instead

the billion stars beyond seven thousand languages

each human word pointing up,

my mind makes constellations to separate us yet

no star was born in a constellation, no tinyhuman pattern of observation and label

made the sky,

the stars of Andromeda were never chained,

she is free outside men’s minds


my heart is warmed by light beyond ideas
shining on us all

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