imagine

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

imagine a world without injustice imagine a world without oppression imagine a world without exploitation imagine a world without alienation imagine a world where everybody is equal imagine a world where every time somebody says something bad all the other people in the world tell them to stop imagine a world where everybody is nice imagine a world where nobody says anything mean imagine a world where nobody says anything at all because there is nothing more to say imagine a world where everybody has exactly ten billion dollars to spend however they like or maybe there will not even be any money because nobody will have to buy anything imagine a world where nobody hurts anybody else or threatens anybody else or offends anybody else imagine a world where the word “offend” does not even exist imagine a world where nobody is any better looking than anybody else because everybody looks exactly the same where everybody weighs exactly the same and does the exact same amount of exercise every day imagine a world where everybody eats the same thing every day in exactly the same amount where everybody in the world votes every day on what to eat that day and then they all eat it at the same time before they do their exercise at the same time every day or everybody could vote on a menu for the week it might be tofu on monday, black bean soup on tuesday, granola on wednesday, seaweed in thursday… you get the idea or where there might not even be days of the week because time will be abolished just like money will be abolished imagine a world where everybody watches the same movie every day in their own space and everybody is the star and the director of the movie that everybody watches every day the movie is about a brave prince who rescues a beautiful princess from an evil dragon every day and everybody is both the prince and the princess but nobody is the dragon and everybody is famous, as famous as everybody else and everybody is an artist as much an artist as anybody else and everybody is a work of art the same work of art which everybody will look at forever and be inspired forever and be happy forever imagine!

smoothie: a dream

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

as i was walking down the street a strawberry smoothie i did meet i asked him for the time of day but what it was he could not say he pointed to the moon and stars and asked if folks still smoked cigars i told him that that form of sin had been consigned to history’s bin he asked me if i thought the times were propitious for oracular rhymes i answered that the wisest sages were hiding, if not burning, their pages the smoothie and i parted ways i entered a forgotten maze where demons sing, and gods are slain and no memory is too arcane

me

by corinne delmonico

don’t want to be like my father working for the man for years don’’t want to be like my mother a fountain of tiresome tears don’t want to be like my brother a bum despised by all don’t want to be like my sister a brainless barbie doll i say i just want to be myself but what does that mean? it means i want to rule the world i would make an excellent queen you probably want to be queen yourself emperor, empress, or king it would really be so nice but you can’t have everything i am a big crybaby whining all day long that ’s just who i am and these are the words to my song

history

by horace p aternwall

hitler was a bad person stalin was a family man bismarck was a man of the people and drank his beer from a can mao wore pink pajamas and slept all afternoon churchill ran around naked whistling a happy tune roosevelt liked the ladies and watched them through his pince-nez the kaiser was always a gentleman i don’t care what anyone says ronald reagan studied the stars to determine what to do margaret thatcher sat by the river singing the weary blues richard nixon did crossword puzzles and often fell down drunk boris yeltsin wore funny hats and wished he was a monk they all drank tea with honey and ate croissants with flaky crusts now their memoirs are forgotten and their empires have turned to dust

message in a black and white school notebook, found in a garage sale in arlington tennessee, february 9, 2017

by corinne delmonico

do you believe that anything is real? do you believe that you yourself are real? do you believe that you can be anything you want to be? do you believe that you can live forever if only you want to? do you believe that you will live forever? do you believe that you are real but that nobody else is? do you believe that all the other people in the world should be your slaves? do you believe that all the other people in the world are your slaves? but that they just don’t know it? would you like to learn how to make them realize that they are your slaves? do you think that somewhere in an another universe there might be someone even more beautiful and immortal than yourself? would you like to meet that person? would you like to make that person your slave? would you like to be their slave? and live with them forever? would you like for the two of you to be attended by thousands of slaves? or to be alone in a kingdom on an island? which do you like better, cats or dogs?

treated

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

here is a very common expression you hear it every day maybe you use it yourself treated like a human being but what does it mean? does it mean anything? could you explain what it meant to a martian? or to a time traveler from 500,000 b c? how many of the 8 billion other persons on the planet do you treat like a human being? or ever get a chance to? how many of them treat you like a human being ? or get a chance to? how about the people you see and pass by every day? it is not billions but if you live in a city it might be a few thousand two people are sitting in a subway car facing each other but almost surely not looking at each other one could be old, and one young one could be male, and one female or one black and one white or one well off and the other homeless one a criminal and the other a law-abiding citizen, etc etc or - they could be identical in most particulars they don’t want to talk to each other or know each other or meet each other’s eyes or have anything at all to do with each other or have the other think for one second that they might want anything to do with them are they treating each other like human beings?

poem for today

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

the sun comes out in the morning the moon comes out at night my face is ragged but my heart is right grass grows in the summer leaves drift in the fall i may not be much to look at but i give my all snow falls in the winter flowers bloom in the spring i know i will live forever because i am not just a thing they say the world is a pebble falling into a hole it may disappear some day but not my immortal soul

the conquered city

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

somewhere in a conquered city that no one has ever entered down a street that no one has ever walked there is a door that no one has ever opened into a room with a table that no one has ever sat at on the table is a book that no one has ever read and when you read it you will say of course i should have seen that long ago everyone should have seen that long ago and you get up to go out to tell everybody the news but the door is gone and you can not get out you look out the window down to a street that is so far down that you can not see it or maybe it no longer exists beneath a sky that will never rain

the artist

by emily de villaincourt

illustrated by danny delacroix

my aunt catherine was one of the last of the last generation of middle class women who, if they could not find a job or a husband, lived with and were supported by their families their whole lives. she could never hold a job because she just was not very bright. she had a hard time remembering anything or understanding instructions, and always talked, and seemed to think, slowly. earlier generations would probably have described her as “simple” although the use of the term was mostly obsolete in her lifetime. she never had much to say, almost never initiated conversations, and usually answered, “yes”, “thank you”, “i suppose so,” or “that’s nice,” when spoken to. she watched a lot of television. her father, my grandfather, died when catherine was forty-two years old. my grandmother and catherine continued to live on grandfather’s pension until grandmother died two years later. when grandmother died, her house was sold for a few thousand dollars and the money given to my aunt janet towards the support of catherine, who went to live with janet and her three teenaged children. janet had been divorced for many years and worked as a waitress and sometime hostess at a family restaurant. catherine was given a small space to live in janet’s finished basement. it was a few months after moving in with janet and her children that catherine began speakng of herself as an artist. she would say things like “artists like myself do such and such…” or “artists like myself are the soul of the world”, or “things seem different when you are an artist like me.” she was not, so far as anyone could see, making or attempting to make any type of art. when she talked of being an artist, her listeners would nod, and nobody questioned her as to the nature of her art. the only opinion on the subject was expressed by janet’s son adam, who said, “she probably got the idea from watching oprah or ellen.” janet’s daughter terry replied, “but would she get the idea from oprah or ellen that she was an artist herself?” bob just shrugged, and no one else had any thoughts on the subject. when catherine died, no art of hers of any kind was found in the basement, or anywhere in the house. janet’s three children moved away from home. catherine is never spoken of by her surviving relatives, except occasionally by my mom and janet, who agree that it was a “blessing” that she died before she became more of a burden.