(          )

     

     .

     .

     ...

     '...'

     ...

     "..."

     'Thank you."

     ...

     "..."

     "Yea"

     "..."

     "Excuse me."

     "Yes."

     'So.'

     'Yes.'

     "One moment."

     "..."

     (Yea, okay bye?)

     '...'

     '...'

     '...'

     "So."

     "Yes."

     "What's your impression of writing?"

     "Angst."

     "You put it here as a hobby?"

     "I believe I did."

     "And, any good?"

     "..."

     "..."

     "Would I apply here?"

     "Well…"

     "..."

     "..."

     "..."

     - oh, by the way, my name's Jeff."

     -Mark."

     "..."

     "..."

     "Anyway, right here, yea, right here, you have Place of Residence as earth."

     "Yes."

     -Where?"

     -I'm moving"

     -

     -

     -

     -I have no location right now. May I sit?"

     -Yea."

     -Thank you."

     "So, Mark, what this job is is basic-

     -Sure-

     -We had a kid quit because of health issues in the position of fabrics.  How do you

feel about that?"

     "?"

     "Yea"

     ...

     "A, for Wage you put a sideways eight.  What, a?"

     "I'm dyslexic."

     -Sorry, I..."

     -It's quite alright."

     -I thought they wrote backwards?"

     -I had to improvise."

     -Oh...the starting wage here is minimum, fifty-cent increase after six months,

and 5% of sales.  So if you're okay with that we'll move on."

     "Yes."

     -And you left the phone number blank....  No phone?"

     -No phone number."

     -Yea, but how will we get a hold of you."

     -Write?"

     "..."

     "I'm moving.  The phone is another two weeks."

     "I'll need it as soon as you get it."

     "Yes."

     "..."

     "..."

     "You put here under references:  Parents."

     -Yes."

     -And?"

     -I figured they make excellent references.  I really don't know that many people who

are willing to give me slight views of reality.

     '...'

     "..."

     "..."

     "Aside from my agent."

     "You've been published."

     "Yes."

     -And?"

     -I'm filling out an application."

     "You get paid to write?"

     -Depends."

     -On what?"

     -Who I write for."

     -And who else would you write for besides yourself?"

     -Depends."

     -On?"

     -Who I am."

     -You put here on your application you have a bachelors in english.  You want to work

here?"

     -Yes."

     -You have a degree.  Why don't you put it to good use?"

     -It's not a Doctrine."

     -What does it matter...

     ...

     ...It's not that - I just don't think you'll make a good employee."

     -What are you worried about?"

     -If I told you to do something you'd do it, right?"

     -Yes.  I'm getting paid."

     -But it's not english."

     -What?"

     -I don't...I'm looking for someone to fill a position?"

     "Everybody is."

     "But I don't want that position filled with the wrong-

     -Mind?"

     -Employee."

     "Yes.  I just want the job.  I moved into a new place."

     "You do have money?"

     "It's new to me."

     "..."

     "..."

     "Car?"

     "Yes."

     "Is it in good condition."

     -Yes."

     -The reason I'm asking is the to-and-from-work-thing."

     -Yes."

     -Not that I…"

     "I know.  I've always been asked that question.  No need to apologize."

     "You've applied other places?"

     "Yes."

     "How many?"

     "3"

     "How's it look?"

     "Same."

     -Same as?"

     -Same as my chances here."

     -It's nothing personal.  It's just I'm trying to run a business and the smoother things

run, well, the easier it is for me."

     -True, but how do you know my destiny, which may be to cashier at this store.  A

photographer or a computer programmer."

     -Why do you say computer programmer - hey can you hand me that, no the the other,

there, yes…"

     "..."

     "Thanks...You're interested?"

     -Yes."

     -Really."

     -You missed the fly."

     -Yea...I'm working on this program...that has, well, it's    a    three-dimensional

game with new pieces.  It tried to catch on in Europe but couldn't catch.  It's different.

Too much change but I figured it'd be perfect for the computer.  I want to try and build a

small networking community that plays it over the Internet.  Call up.  Can hold tournaments.

Maybe three sides instead of just two players, but I don't (reach) know.  I'm stuck.  I'm

having problems moving along X (swat) Y (swat) Z.  I have to learn code on the fly.  I

don't know, anyway, you program?"

     "Some, but just psueduocode.  To limited a vocabulary...May I?"

     "How so?  Code is capable of...when I started using it I found you can manipulate

expressions - use the other one, the swimsuit issue - I started making the game."

     "On second thought, maybe I'll watch."

     "What's that?"

     "I said 'That's how it works'."

     "..."

     '...'

     "     "

     '     '

     '     '

     "     "

     "What's 'that'?"

     "Writing."

     "I suppose it does.  I'll have to remember that."

     "It flew out the window."

     "And what are you working on now - excuse me."

     "It."

     -Yea."

     -It deals with religion.  It makes me laugh but condescends the world.". . ."It's a linear

process."

     "So you're writing for yourself.  That's great.  That's what matters."

     "The world doesn't agree."

     So?

     "The world believes in proper ways.  As does writing:  The Literary World.  The

reader, civility, respect, can't see the humor in their own humility and it's in humility

that I believe respect is found.  Why should they understand."

     "The Europeans hated 3-d chess, but I've found its niche."

     "If it was that easy-

     -Well-

     -The Europeans    nobody will kill for the games content.  Discussed maybe, but

far little will go to extreme of stabbing Body for Mind creation."

     -Yea."

     -It's not as if I'm rewriting Beowulf"

     -Yea."

     "..."

     "..."

     "Are those your parents?"

     "What, oh, yea, in Spain I think."

     "That's the Coliseum."

     "Really, I thought it was where they had bull fights."

     "No     gladiators, chariot races ...according to references... And that picture.  The

one on the monitor?"

     "That's a, well   out of a magazine."

     "She's pretty.  Your parents would be proud."

     -Yea, I need your parents address."

     -They live on the coast.  In Monterey."

     -Rich?"

     "One waits tables and the other co-manager at a hotel.  The Starfish, I believe.  I

haven't spoken to either in some time."

     "Phone number?"

     -Phone book under Starfish.  Ask for Jody who will be easiest to reach.  My agent,

well, we're discussing it next week.  I'll get her cell phone number so you may call

her any time."

     "Do you want her down as a reference?"

     "Put her in the 'Emergency' area if I get the job, but application, no, I don't want her

as a reference."

     "Alright, no on the reference... parents write."

     "Reservations and orders, but..."

     "Not writers."

     -No."

     -What do they think?'

     -About it?"

     -Yes"

     -What ever is best for me, I suppose."

     "That's great.  It's, a, something you don't find.   Parents can be so...how many books

have you had published?"

     "One."

     "How'd it turn out?"

     -The book?"

     -Yea."

     -It's an enigma."

     "..."

     "Continuous."

     "Yea."

     "It was done right but who I was writing for didn't understand, and those who did

understand condemned it."

     "How do you know this?  This...that's just not a positive way of thinking.  I'm looking

for the right position."

     "It's facts.  What else am I supposed to think-

     -I don't know-

     -When I write it's a struggle to push it out and when work is done I can't see it any

other way, it's right, so what am I supposed to think?"

     "Who were you writing f-

     -Myself"

     "…"

     "…"

     "Will it get in the way."

     "It is the way, but of work, no."

     "So this is the whole book-death-thing?"

     "Sort of-

     -And what else is there."

     "Maybe it's being understood by those who it was written for and condemned by

those who didn't understand or maybe it's about disturbed and cluttered images that evokes

reader to turn next page regardless of Disgust."

     "…"

     "..."

     "Excuse the mess"

     -Yes"

     -Here on Nationality you put 'other'"

     -Yes."

     -Caucasian."

     "..."

     "..."

     "Isn't a nationality."

     "But you are?"

     "Caucasian, by definition, yes."

     "So why not put it down."

     "It's not a black and white issue."

     Jeff leans back.  "Not that I'm racist.   This is for research."

     "I never said anything about racism."  Mark said with smile.

     "Oh, metaphoric."

     "Metaphorically speaking, yes."

     Pen armed.  "Oh, well, okay, but I need to mark this."

     Mark clears throat.  "Yes."

     Pen scrawling, lips moving.  "What, what do you expect from me.  You come in here

and set this paper down half-filled and ask me to hire you.  It's incomplete."

     "I guess I don't want the job and would make a horrible employee to hire."

     Jeff swivels chair, opens window.

     Mark's posture affirmed, hair straight, a Crow's caw.  "Don't misunderstand.  I want

the job.  I'll keep it for a while but someday I hope to write pulp."

     Jeff taps desk, turns on computer, half blind says, "So?" mumbles, 'Energy Star,'

on boot up.

     Mark straightens spine.  'Then I'll have money.  Wouldn't need a job.'

     Hands staid.  Eyes blue fuzz, Jeff talking more to the monitor.  'From pulp?'

     -I can't quite explain pulp.  But quality writing, I can, I believe, which is material that

leaves you guessing who the author is inside the story.'   Echoes Mark's voice.

     Jeff opens window, waving dust away.  'What?'

     -Or 'good writing' is one constant shrouded by description leaving the reader to search

for that one constant.  If you want it too, but you may not want it too."

     -But-

     -No it's not difficult, but…you may also try to build the reader up to the-all-Known

and leave them at the-all-Known knowing nothing with characters composed of solid

bases, which are juxtaposed absolutes of who you believe you are inside.  I doesn't

matter, whatever works, you just do it and try not to compose pulp in the process…unless

you want to compose pulp then you avoid every thing Literary and just type."

     -Angst.'

     -Not in so many words I could describe, but where would we be...Litany?"

     -Yea.'

     -Know the word."

     -Pulp?"

     -Pulp.  I can't even rite pulp."

     -Yea, but-

     -Fictitious stories laced thick with abstract terms and two sided characters set-in-scape

to ease the mind and please the senses."

     ...

     "But there are other cases, such as I, who can't even write it.  One word, even that

eludes me."

     "Your, well, yes.'  Thumb clicking pin.  'Your Social Security Number?'

     'AB7-FE-12B9.'

     'Year of?'

     'B1.'

     He turned away from computer.  "Really?"

     "Yes.  That's pulp."

     "…"

     "Such is the theory:    If time travel will exist then it has already taken place."

     Oh.  Jeff said (one of those languid "oh's") and placed pin tangent to copper apple.

The desk amok with papers, one pin aside another:    cap on, cap off.  Post-it notes

labeled <END>, UNTIL.  <And the geometric anomalous, a gray sheet of

construction paper (shears atop) Pin angled to strike> "Where'd you go to school?"

     Mark leans forward and traces shapes on oak, "A place outside of here by town and

park."

     Jeff peels post-it, covers:     Picture of a child in suit-and-tie, balloon in hand, "Yea I

had friend, Jean Valdrik, know ...

     Mark traced (No).

     "Why would you?"

     'Yes.'

     Jeff's parted hair fought a light blue breeze.  '…Had hated the professors.  I took a

couple of classes there.'

     'Computer science?' Mark curved in velvet chair.

     'Yea…

     …It's the New Wake Inn.'

     -What?'

     -My parents.'

     "Oh, okay."  Pin scratches and reprints.

     Window open.  Crow caught in paranoid jerks of head.  Mark, in absent-mind-speech,

runs cheek, says, 'Where do your parents live?'

     "The city."

     -Specifically.'

     -30th."

     -Money.'  Said Mark, caught in Crow's stare, black orbs aimed everywhere.  Head

staid. Wings flap...perched the widow seal, paint chips to floor.

     Jeff tried to catch Mark's stare.  'Own the store.'

     The writer blinked, pointed to... 'So, you run this store for both your parents.'

     'Yea, it's a small chain.'

     -Really.'

     His eyes crossed, brow's V'd, 'Yes.'

     Smile wide, teeth apparent.  'The chain is a Co-op.'

     "You don't have a problem,' Jeff over shoulder to conspire about bird's tweet.

     "With what?"

     "Corporate structure."

     Mark, legs aristocratic, props elbows    at rest.  'No, I plan to write a book about

corporate on a Bias Stand, so I'm keeping an open mind.  Besides corporations give

the artists something to preach upon.'

     "…"

     'The ones you never hear or see or read...it's where the artists-of-popular-culture

find their inspiration.  Artists are competent, but like that program you're writing:    Good idea,

Bad code.  So sell it or shelve it.  Maybe you wanted to be a manager.'

     "You're saying I should stop writing the game."

     'No.  Just approach the game in a different manner.  Say...crawl instead of strafe

or...hire a software guy, tell him your ideas.  Sell it out right or collect royalties.'

     Jeff pushed back glasses and sniffs.  'But I won't make as much money.'

     'Work here until you do.  In fact the affluent backing of your parents will allow you to

do it this way.'

     'Affluent backing?'

     'It's a constant to build on.'

     ...

     'Sickening isn't it.'

     'Yea, yea, I suppose it is.  I'll have to think about that.'

     'But you won't.'

     Another languid, "Oh, come on."  Jeff picks up pin, twirls like a baton, clicks

every tenth rotation.

     Mark relines, twirls frayed yarn.  Speaks as if to self, "Sickening isn't It."

     Pin strikes application in cadence to Jeff's mumbling mouth...New...Wake...Inn.

Says.  "I like that name."

     'Thanks.'

     'You name it?'

     'Sort of, not really.  I gave the guy motivation but I wasn't the one to motate.'

     Oh. (Not languid, but lucid).

     -Sort of like the artist behind the artist.  In this situation I was second instead of first

artist.  Similar to your parents wanting You to choose between First or Sixth Artist.

Because, after all, so many people are programmers these days...what classes."

     Jeff hypnotized by blue fuzz and white text said. "Classes?"

     "Yes.  Your classes at the university, what were they?'

     'Microbiology and-

     -Any good-

     -Yea, he-

     -I had Calvine O'Youliptic.  Retired, as a Virus Classification Tech for a bio firm

based in Colorado.  Or Boulder.  You guess.  He taught night classes.  He was pretty

good teaching the class intermediate microbiology.  Classifications and cell structure.

He'd delve deep into his own knowledge    draw simple shapes        speak Latin

and child like text and mix it by dictating his job            shake head, say 'You don't

need to know that for the test.'  And his notes:    arranged according to outline standard.

Parenthesis, semi-colons, colons and abbreviations were abused drawing the class from

the actual Hard Science definition.  His problem'

     -I don't understand?'

     -It helped if you read it aloud."

     'Then why aren't you a biologist.'

     'I already wash hands ten times a day.'

     'Obsessive Complusive.'

     'I only marked Dyslexia.'

     '...'

     'Call it: Clean.'

     'I'll have to think about that.'

     'You won't.'  Said Jeff snapping thread.

     'How do you know I won't.'  Pen scrawling on post-it.

     'The minute you spoke, is the moment you forgot."

     -I wrote it down."

     -Which helps.  But it'll get lost in these papers.'

     -Not if I put it on my monitor.'  Said Jeff, note on screen.  The Crow puffed its

feathers.

     "Yes."

     "You have a problem?"

     The Crow perked, swiveled head, beak toward Mark, who held eyes dry, irritated,

said, "With you?"

     Jeff peeked up, shook head, "Yes."

     "I just want a job.  Having a problem during the interview is a bad precursor.  I'm still

here, so no, I don't have a problem."

     "Can you hold on a sec (for the phone):    Yes, yes, yes."

     "Father?"...Last summer's renovation, left little notes in sack lunch, lid of prozac,

Valium.  Father went so far as to write oil reminder on the bathroom mirror found

after Jeff washed hands.  The next day Jeff replaced mirror and coated red the window

seal...Mark removed a piece of paper from shirt pocket.  'Mother?'

     "Both."  Said Jeff turning blue screen.

     "Really."

     "Yea."

     'Now you're starting to understand.'  Said Mark.  The Crow gawk.

     'What?'  Over shoulder, glasses back.

     Paper in pocket.  'Which one?'

     'Which one, what?"

     'Which one expresses motivation.'

     "..."

     Mark clears throat.  "My mother taught art while my father Discipline."

     'I'd say my mom.'

     'I'd say mother, but why her?'

     'Some Freudian thing?'

     The Crow in a stuffed pose.  'Take psychology?'  Said Mark, hand masks face, red

streaks on descent.

     Jeff turns to computer.  'Yea. Had Mr. Peck.  Worked part time for somebody doing

Human Development."

     'What was his inspiration.'

     'What.'

     '...'

     '...'

     'He obviously didn't have a problem with co-operations.'  Said Mark, spine in proper

order.

     Jeff smiles, kicks back, eyes blue.  'I guess not.'

     'But that's aside from my point.  The target is what do you think of your parents

after class analyzation.'

     'We didn't study psychoanalysis.'

     "Oh."  Said Mark:    The Crow spread wings in mock descent, took

shape of defiant dive.

     'You know.  I just thought of something.  You mind?'

     Mark clenched jaw, bit tongue and word, but let slip.  "No."

     ...

     ...'

     '...'

     'Your chess game?'

     'Yea, I've been having this problem with it.  There's this bug and when I compile I

keep getting this error.  I can't seem to find it but...I think the line right here needs a

splat.'

     'A splat'

     'A question mark.'

     'How much time spent on your program'

     'What is it  April    Two months.'

     'Are you reading books or taking classes'

     'Both.'  Voice trails, 'but more books than classes.'

     'Yes.  When I was at the university I read books and used the professors as an

after thought.'

     ...Well,"

     ...

     lets get back to the résumé.  It says here,' papers in hand, finger indexing, 'here you

worked at Book 'em Dan's.'

     'Yes.'

     'Why did you quit'

     'To cliché.'

     'What did you do'

     'I gave people ideas I didn't want to fulfill.'

     'Lazy.'

     'In a sense, but I made the effort.'

     'That's still lazy:    effort or not'

     'Even if I fulfilled other things.'

     'In directly'

     'Yes.'

     'What about...what about this right here'

     ...Leans over, "A scribble."

     'Looks like two birds flying sideways.'

     'Then maybe it's art.'

     'Why not  Some of that art stuff-

     -Is worthy of certain respect. Art is in knowing why you do something."

     Jeff points to the Sideways Flying Birds.  Said, "Accidentally"

     "Yes.'

     'Yea, I guess, but that's...I don't know.'

     Mark clears throat.  'To cliché'

     'Yes' Jeff clears throat, sneers 'And working here isn't cliché.'

     'No.  It's crafts.

     '...'

     '…'

     ...

     But who knows, maybe I'm destine to be a sculptor.  It's not out of the question.

     '...'

     'I do enjoy looking at different artists.  Especially Camille Claudel.'

     "   "

     '   '

     '   '

     "   "

     'Why her'

     -She was the epitome of troubled artist without realizing she was the epitome of a

troubled artist.  And her sculptors are intricate and soundly abstract that you get

caught up in emotional comprehension and visual perception.'

     "Envy?"

     Kind of, just like, receiving a complement, "Yes…

     -Yea...How was your manager at the book store.'

     'He did his job.  He managed.'

     'Find something funny."

     "Yes, the image of the managing manager.  I'll have to write a short story about that

idea.'

     'So it is that easy.'

     'Why not'

     'If it was that easy everybody would be doing It.'

     'It's fulfilling the image of the managing manger and avoiding the land of pulp in the

process, which we discussed earlier, where the difficulty in writing lies...   For me.

Others have skills but no story.  Others need a reason why.  Just like that chess game

you're working on.'

     'Just because.'

     'Yes.'

     '...'

     'But it should appear flawless.'

     'Yea, great.  I need your new address.'

     'Just outside of here near the Parc."

     '...and...Where did you grow up'

     'Just outside of here near the boarder.'

     Oh really, I spent many a night with my buddies stumbling back over hoping boarder

guards or the local police wouldn't arrest us, but man you could get drunk.  Did you

ever go...no, oh man you missed out.  Some these places would have something

called a liquor stand where you sit in this chair and the bar tender pours liquor down

you throat until you can't drink any more and you're just swallowing and swallowing

because, man, until you couldn't swallow any more.

     'Sounds fun.'

     It was.  This one night my friend, oh,  who was that, Paul, yea it was Paul.  He was a

cool guy, but this one night my friend Paul hooked me up with a liquor stand like right

when we got to this bar (I had a few in from home so I was feeling good and I didn't eat

anything all day) So we get to this place, that had these flashing lights, and full naked

women.  Even some of the girls that were customers started dancing in their bras. We

didn't come with any so me and Paul are psyched...this one chick, holy shit she was fine.

Could have taught her a thing or two back at the pad.  She, she was wearing this small

shirt that was white and had no bra on so you could see her through her shirt and

they... but we get there and Paul orders the waiter named Jesus to get me a stand but I

didn't know this at the time.  I was just looking at his girl and she was looking back,' Jeff

brushes T-shirt, hides coffee-stain, sooths facial hair, leans back 'So I'm sitting close.

Close enough to see up her mini shirt when she kicks up and she's looking at me.  Then

the waiter Jesus comes over, taps me on the shoulder, and I just wave my hand and

nothing happens, so I lean my head back and down comes Tequila like there's no

tomorrow.  Just a constant stream pouring into my mouth.  Finally, after minutes of

swallowing and searching for air, I left my head up and the world is blurred,  the Girl

looks at me and stares,  But, but, I got so drunk.

     "..."

     'You're smiling.'

     'Sorry, it happens.'

     'Oh no, no need.'  Jeff-says-between-caw-of-quail.  "A...I guess I should tell you about

the people you'll be working with if you're hired.  We here kinda do our own thing and

have a different, how-shall-I-put-this, that people here are themselves.  They don't follow

code."

     "differences."

     "Differences."

     "..."

     "Yea-

     -like the color of one's clothing-

     -yea-

     -red and orange-

     -yea-

     -on the equator, sun and fun-

     -but that's.

     ...

     ...

     "Style."

     "But I mean Differences."

     "Sexually, you mean?"

     'I don't want to give you the wrong impression,' eyes out widow, over quail, blind to

its still posture.  'I don't care what they do in their spare time it's up to them as long as

it doesn't interfere with their job but for working closely their code can, well, it's just

something I think you should know.'

     The crow whips head and tail, lets lose a regurgitated tweet-and-dust.  Mark, hand

over mouth, says: Yes

     'I don't understand it-

     -Either do I-