Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. Oh, hello.
Alfred. Um, hi.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. It’s been a while. I haven’t seen you all summer.
Alfred. Yeah well, I’ve been meaning to. You know, I could relax and read a magazine or a book.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. But you haven’t. The summer’s just about done, you know.
Alfred. I know. I guess it’s because it didn’t seem natural to come up here anymore.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. But it was so natural three months ago.
Alfred. Yeah, I know. You were the place for me to concentrate. I guess I have nothing to concentrate on anymore.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. Then what do you do, since you haven’t been coming here anymore?
Alfred. I don’t know. I’m just doing things that people need me to do. Someone wants something moved, I’ll help out. Another person needs me to read over an essay, I’ll do it. I’m just helping people out. It’s been something I’ve been doing for years now. I’m flowing to places where I am needed. I don’t try to force my direction. I am an empty vessel.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. You’re probably studying in Carlson. It’s the hours, isn’t it. I’m not open long enough for you.
Alfred. No, not at all. I haven’t even been hanging out at cafes to drink tea or lemonade.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. Really? Not even Welles-Brown?
Alfred. Not even Welles-Brown.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. But you’re leaving soon. Won’t you miss me?
Alfred. Sure, I will. Only you have copies of Sight and Sound.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. Why don’t you come in, sit down, and check out the latest issue?
Alfred. Well, I actually have to go now. I just wanted to say good-bye.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. Oh.
Alfred. Good-bye.
Martin E. Messinger Periodical Reading Room. Good-bye.

Answering Machine. Beep.
Marty. Um hi, Alina? Yeah, it’s Marty. It’s what? Five minutes past ten in the morning and I just got off the Greyhound at the Port Authority. I guess there’s not much traffic in New York on Easter Sunday, so I’m a bit early. Oh so, I’m here, but you’re not there. I have your address so I’ll take a cab over and hopefully by then, you’ll be there. If not, then I guess I’ll just keep myself busy watching people pass. I know you discourage me watching people, but I can’t help myself. People’s actions are so interesting. You know, the way they look at the ground to pick up a quarter. Maybe I should plant a nickel in the middle of the sidewalk and see what happens. What kind of person would pick up a nickel? A kid would do that for sure, but who else? How weird would it be to ask the person to give the nickel back to me? But I don’t think I could do that. I’m not that manipulative, am I? I hope not. I guess we’ll find out. Oh, maybe you’re in the shower or yelling at someone out the window, I don’t know. Hum, well let’s see, the weather’s kind of grey. It’ll be a good day to get some soup and visit a museum. Something with paintings would be nice. I could watch more people there; how they observe paintings and their reactions. People are so different and interesting. Remember how I told you how I am jealous of God? You know, God has the ability to get to know everyone in a deep way, while I can only do it with a hand full of people. I mean, I know lots of people, but I just don’t know them say, as well as I know you. I kind of want that. There are so many interesting people, and I want to get to know them. But I guess God has the problem of having lots of people shun Him. I guess it all evens out though; people love Him, people hate Him, or people just don’t care. I don’t think I could handle so many people hating me or ignoring me like people do with God. I guess I could handle people not caring about me, but for someone to hate me ... I don’t know. Oh okay, well, I’m going to get a cab now. I’ll see you soon, Alina. It’s been a long time since I last saw you. All right, bye...

Kurt. Did you just eat two hoagies by yourself?
Bruno. Yes.
Kurt. Is that one for me?
Bruno. Well, I was going to eat it, but you can have it if you want.
Kurt. Are you serious? You were going to eat another one?
Bruno. Yeah, but here. You can have it.
Kurt. I don’t know, what kind is it?
Bruno. It’s an Italian with everything.
Kurt. Eh, I don’t know.
Bruno. What is it?
Kurt. I’m not hungry. You can eat it.
Bruno. Are you sure?
Kurt. Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve lost my appetite. I have to wait till I’m starving. Then I can eat.
Bruno. Really? What you need to learn is how to gorge.
Kurt. Gorge?
Bruno. Yeah, I mean, I don’t really need to eat that third hoagie, but I can. Mind over matter.
Kurt. But doesn’t it make you vomit?
Bruno. At first yeah, but now I can gorge without vomiting.
Kurt. I don’t know. It sounds like you have an eating disorder.
Bruno. Maybe, but I love these hoagies.
Kurt. Yeah, I do too, but I just don’t want to eat them now.
Bruno. You want mac salad instead, or how about a drink?
Kurt. What do you have?
Bruno. I have an extra bottle of lemonade.
Kurt. Can I have the lemonade?
Bruno. Here you go.

Nigel. It’s a beautiful piece of furniture.
Marco. It should go well with the hard floors.
Nigel. Your wife should enjoy it.
Marco. I’m divorced.
Nigel. Oh, I’m sorry.
Marco. That’s all right. I’m free now. I bought myself a farm, and this is my first piece of furniture.
Nigel. A farm, really?
Marco. My grandfather was a farmer. I feel like going back to it.
Nigel. What about your previous home? Did your ex-wife get that?
Marco. Nah, we both let it go, but the hardest thing to let go of were my trees. I had eleven Norwegian Spruces lined up in my back yard. I took care of them when they were only up to my waist. Now they’re three times as big as me. I would get up in the middle of the night to water those damn things. I watched them grow every year. They were mine. Well ... it’s time to move on.
Nigel. Here’s your receipt. Do you need help carrying that?
Marco. Nah, I can manage myself.

Massimo. What is that you’re building?
Lemmy. It’s the USS Carrier Yorktown.
Massimo. What kind of planes are these?
Lemmy. These are Douglas TBD-1 Devastator torpedo planes, and these are Douglas sbd-3 Dauntless scout bombers.
Massimo. Are they from World War Two?
Lemmy. Before the war, the Yorktown helped patrol the Atlantic until the attack on Pearl Harbor. Then it was sent to the Pacific to reinforce the Navy there.
Massimo. They must have gone through the Panama Canal to get to the Pacific.
Lemmy. Yeah, probably.
Massimo. I’ve always wanted to go through the locks of Panama.
Lemmy. Why?
Massimo. Crossing from one body of water to another is not very common. One moment you’re in the Atlantic, then the next you’re in the Pacific. Of course it takes some time before you completely cross the canal, but it’s during that transition that makes it interesting.
Lemmy. What do you mean? It’s like going through the Lincoln Tunnel. One moment, you’re in New Jersey, and the next, you’re in New York. I think of nothing when my mom drives through it. I just stare at the lights.
Massimo. Maybe you’re right, Lemmy, but I still wonder what happens while waiting to go from the Atlantic to the Pacific.
Lemmy. Um, Mr. Doro?
Massimo. Yes, Lemmy?
Lemmy. Can you give me back the torpedo plane?
Massimo. Sure, Lemmy.

Astrud. So, Natayna has a stalker stalking her.
Umberto. Another one?
Astrud. I know. I don’t know what it is. Her life is to be stalked.
Umberto. You sound jealous.
Astrud. I’ve never had anyone stalk me.
Umberto. Why not? I think you’re very stalkable.
Astrud. I know. I follow a simple routine everyday. One could stalk me with ease.
Umberto. They’ll find out that you love cherry ice cream and leave a pint of it in your kitchen.
Astrud. Ooh, really?
Umberto. That’s what I would do. It’s freaky, but romantic.
Astrud. You would be a great stalker.
Umberto. You think so?
Astrud. Yeah, I can imagine you taking photos of yourself in my apartment and leaving them in the room you took them in.
Umberto. But I wouldn’t do that until I thought you would be ready for something like that. That’s something you need to be eased into. I could start you off with photos of the places that you go to, then incorporate you into the photos, then photos of outside your apartment, then finally me inside your apartment.
Astrud. You could take a photo of you eating cherry ice cream.
Umberto. Yeah, I like that. It would confuse and amuse you at the same time.
Astrud. I wonder if Natanya’s stalker does anything like that.
Umberto. Nah, he probably just calls her up and hangs up.
Astrud. Or collects the hair that falls from her head. How boring is that?
Umberto. Hum, I need to learn how to pick locks.
Astrud. No, no, don’t tell me ... !

Driving the Ryder moving truck while towing a car from Rochester, NY to Fort Lee, NJ wasn't so bad until the last two hours of the seven-hour drive. I could not go faster than 70 mph going downhill and I could only go 50 mph uphill. We left at eight in the evening. We got into Fort Lee at four the next morning.

I wrote a song called "Cross Country Driving" with Jeremy Couey. I felt I could write when I first read an English translation of Haruki Murakami. I felt I could play the guitar when I heard Jeremy Couey play the guitar. I like to think I can write, but I know I cannot play the guitar. The first lines of "Cross Country Driving" are:

Cross country driving
Fifteen miles -
Below -
The limit

Why are people
Going -
so fast?

START.
“Why don’t you pass that car in front of us?”
“It’s a double line. I’m not supposed to.”
“It’s three o’clock in the morning. No one’s going to come the other way.”
“How do you know?”
“No one is up this early.”
“This guy is.”
“Yeah, but nobody else is.”
“Here comes a passing lane. I’ll pass him now.”
END.

“Alfred?”
“Yes?”
“Could you sing Cross Country Driving for us?”
“No.”

Jeremy and I made up these sort of songs on the island of Rapu Rapu of the Philippines. We didn’t know anything about Rapu Rapu so we made things up like on Rapu Rapu, the mosquitoes are as big as small birds and their mouths are six-inch needles that suck the blood out of your arm. When we got there we found out that we should not step onto mounds of fire ants.

An excerpt from Everyone Wants to Go ٥ Alfred Lee:
ﶈ
I never had a cockroach problem in my apartment until I saw two in my kitchen - one on the white kitchen counter and one on the tiled floor. Their antennae waved through the air, living and conscious. I found the day’s newspaper on the kitchen table, rolled it up, and repeatedly struck the cockroach on my floor. It panicked and scuttled along the floor looking for a corner to hide. With the paper edge of my newspaper club, I swept the cockroach away from the counter’s base then bludgeoned it until the life left its crunchy-firm red body. Only its antenna swayed unhinged in the air.
“Run, he’s going to get you! Good bye ...”
I looked for the second cockroach on the countertop, but it was not there. I checked behind the toaster, the potted plants, the stack of recipe books - nothing.
I bent over to clean up the first cockroach, but the ants stopped me. From a crack in the wall, a group of red ants came and surrounded the cockroach. All I could to was watch them take its limbs apart and carry them into the crack. A second group of ants carried the body. The dead cockroach turned under the cushion of ants along my kitchen floor.
“What have they done to you? There’s nothing I can do.”
The second cockroach returned to the edge of the kitchen counter. I crushed it with the rolled newspaper still in my hand, then swept the remains onto the floor for the ants to take away.
“Look there’s another.”
“This one’s bigger, we need more men.”
ﶈ

One. So how long have you had a boyfriend?
Two. Hmmm ... about two years now.
One. That’s interesting because to me, it seems like you’ve known each other for a month or so.
Two. Because you just met him?
One. Yeah. Would you call that narrow minded?
Two. Actually, it might have been partially my fault since I never told you I had a boyfriend until a couple of weeks ago.
One. So, when you did tell me, it felt like you just met him.
Two. And the reason why I didn’t tell you was because really, I didn’t know you very well.
One. Well, you can’t just come up to me and say, “Hello, it’s nice to meet you. I have a boyfriend.”
Two. Right, but.
One. But?
Two. Normally, I wouldn’t need to say, “I have a boyfriend” if the boyfriend was around me. You should be able to tell when we’re together that we’re boyfriend/girlfriend ... Ugh.
One. What?
Two. I hate those words: boyfriend, girlfriend. I feel like I’m in high school.
One. I have a friend who would refer to her boyfriend as Hon.
Two. Short for Honey?
One. I try not to let it affect me. I have this other friend who refers to her boyfriend as Cheesecake.
Two. You seem to know a lot of girls with boyfriends.
One. Yeah. Keeps me single.
Two. Having a boyfriend or a cheesecake is not a big deal. At first it’s fun, but after two years, I just got used to him. I feel nothing now.
One. Really? That’s kind of sad.
Two. Well, we’re past fighting and yelling and all that nonsense, we’re just together now.
One. You should do something to shake things up.
Two. I’ve tried everything. There’s nothing for me to do.
One. Have you tried wrecking his car?
Two. What?
One. Nothing’s more passionate than crashing your boyfriend’s car.
Two. That’s a bit extreme and weird, but eh. Whatever. I’ll do it.
One. You will?
Two. Sure. I’ll crash his car and tell him that I did it because I love him.
One. How do you think he’ll react?
Two. He’ll be confused, but then he’ll be glad.
One. Glad? Why?
Two. Because he hates his car. He got it for fifteen hundred dollars.
One. Perfect.
Two. In a way, it is.

Umberto. Oh, hi.
Astrud. Hello.
Umberto. Did you just get here?
Astrud. Yes, but I’m not really settled in yet. By September twenty-third you can tell the others that I’m here.
Umberto. But you’ll be leaving again.
Astrud. Of course.
Umberto. When?
Astrud. Already, you want to know when I’ll be leaving when I haven’t even settled down yet?
Umberto. I’m sorry. You’re just here for such a short time. Everything’s so rushed.
Astrud. I’ll be leaving on the twenty-second of December. I believe it’s a good ninety days that I’ll be here.
Umberto. You could stay longer.
Astrud. Then everyone will be tired of me. They’ll ask, “When will Astrud finally leave? She’s been here much too long.”
Umberto. I can’t imagine anyone saying that.
Astrud. I’m getting hungry. A hearty soup with warm bread would be nice.
Umberto. I know a place. Would you like to go?
Astrud. Of course.
Umberto. Where will you go when you leave us?
Astrud. Again, asking about my leaving. You should enjoy the time I’m here until I go to South America, Australia. Somewhere there.
Umberto. I wonder what autumn is like in Australia?
Astrud. You should come and visit.
Umberto. I should.

Cloud. You don’t know Korean.

Alfred. It’s a good thing I know English or else I would be completely useless.

Cloud into Fish. How are you supposed to live in Korea if you don’t know Korean?

Alfred. How am I supposed to live in India, the Philippines, French Polynesia, Nepal, and China without knowing their respective languages? You’d be surprised with my Korean. If I am able to speak as much as I can comprehend, then I’ll be off to North Korea.

Fish into Pig. North Korea? What are you talking about? You’re going to fail, you won’t even find a job.

Alfred. I’ve failed many times in my life, it’s not a new thing, but for some reason I still keep going. I tried with purpose to ruin my life repeatedly, but I’ve failed at that too. I don’t blame you for doubting me. Hey, even I doubt myself, but I know that God is in control.

Pig into Horse. No, it’s because you are stupid and lucky.

Alfred. For six years? Well, then when will it stop?

Horse into Pair of Lips. When you go to Korea. I’ll then smile and kiss you good bye.

Alfred into Haruki Murakami. If your concern for my life is only to bring me down, then your words are like the clouds in the sky. They have nothing to do with me. I’m not sure what would happen if I were to blow smoke from a cigarette into a jar and close the lid, but it does sound like an interesting thing to do.

In the mountains of Korea, I watched a cable car ascend on a single black cable curling into the mountains. The cable car with its passengers looking out the windows disappeared into the haze of clouds. I found a pool of fresh water within several boulders. I decided to swim in my boxers.

One. Hey what’s wrong?
Two. I don’t like it that you can read me like a book.
One. What do you mean?
Two. How did you know that something’s wrong?
One. You have this certain look to you. I know.
Two. I can’t hide anything from you.
One. Why would you want to hide anything from me?
Two. Well, it doesn’t make sense that you can read into my emotions so well.
One. Why not, we’re friends. We’ve known each other for years.
Two. Yeah, I guess.
One. So what’s wrong?
Two. I have no appetite.
One. Really?
Two. Yeah, I think I want to eat something, but I don’t know what I want.
One. That reminds me of a Northern Exposure episode.
Two. What happened in it?
One. It was actually the final episode. Michelle was having problems deciding what to eat, but went deeper than that. She had difficulties deciding anything, where to go, what to do.
Two. Sounds like me.
One. She finally could decide on things after dreaming of a Rabbi parachuting down from a World War 2 airplane. The Rabbi gave her advice that spoke to her.
Two. I wonder where my parachuting Rabbi is.
One. He’s in the sky in his World War 2 airplane, waiting for the red light to turn green.
Two. You and Northern Exposure.
One. I cried at the end of that show.

One. I want to steal that clock.
Two. Which one? That? It’s so ...
One. So what?
Two. I don’t know. It’s kind of plain.
One. No, no. Look at the numbers, and the red sweeping hand. I have to have it.
Two. Well, why don’t you buy something like it legitimately?
One. You have to understand. This clock above the chalkboard is the clock that I want. I don’t want something like it all nice and wrapped up in a store for me to purchase. Anyone can do that. By physically stealing this clock, I make it mine. It’s a much bigger sacrifice than tossing twenty dollars at some clerk.
Two. You would pay twenty dollars for this clock?
One. No. I refuse to pay anything for this clock. Money minimized the importance of gain. It is a greater gain if you plowed the fields, sowed the seeds, and harvested the crops with you bare hands then paying ninety-nine cents per pound of tomatoes.
Two. But there is a difference between harvesting and stealing. Do you really believe stealing the clock with your hands will be a greater gain than paying for it?
One. Yes.
Two. Why don’t you leave twenty dollars, take the clock, and leave a note explaining your greater gain theory?
One. That’s a reasonable compromise.
Two. Yeah, I think so. What...?
One. Do you have twenty dollars?
Two. Here.
One. Thanks.

Eating an apple while knitting mittens for your grandchildren who need it before it’s too late is complicated.
Riding a bicycle while mixing a non-alcoholic drink for a friend trying to stay dry is complicated.
Telling time while running from bees chasing you after you’ve thrown a heavy log into their home is complicated.
Clapping to polka while dancing to reggae is complicated.
Pouring cereal into a bowl while pumping gas is complicated.
Sealing an envelope is simple.
Cutting paper is simple.
Blowing bubbles is simple.
Tying a knot is simple.
Putting sugar in tea is simple.

One. I love you.
Two. How is that possible?
One. What do you mean? I just do.
Two. Really?
One. Really.
Two. No, really. Think about it. Do you really love me?
One. Yes. Why?
Two. Well, I don’t love you, so it’s impossible for you to love me.
One. Because love should be mutual?
Two. Yes. So, what you’re feeling now is not love.
One. Then what is it?
Two. An infatuation?
One. I don’t know.
Two. But how can you love me when I don’t love you. If anything, you should hate me.
One. I could never hate you.
Two. But you should. I don’t love you, so doesn’t that frustrate you; make you question why I don’t love you till you want to hate me?
One. No, because I love you.
Two. You may think your feelings you have for me is love, but eventually they’ll change.
One. Because you don’t love me?
Two. Right. Okay, do you like any actresses?
One. Um, I like Olivia Williams.
Two. Who’s that?
One. She’s the teacher in Rushmore and the wife in the Sixth Sense. She was also in The Postman, but I didn’t see it.
Two. I don’t think anyone saw it. Okay, so you like Olivia Williams. You think she’s pretty don’t you? And her personality, from what you can tell in her roles seems to be decent, right?
One. Yeah?
Two. So why don’t you love her?
One. Because she’s just an actress. I have no real interaction with her, but I interaction with you, and because of that I am able to love you.
Two. What about other girls that you interact with. Why don’t you fall in love with them? Why am I so special?
One. Because I want to know you deeper, become more intimate with you. I thought we fit. That we understood each other, but apparently, after this conversation, it’s not the case.
Two. No. So, now you do not love me?
One. I can’t just stop loving you, but I understand that you don’t love me, so I won’t go any further. I’ll stop here.
Two. Thank you for understanding.
One. Your welcome.

A tap of the cigarette sent two orange glowing bits down to the bottom of the black plastic ashtray. I was surprised to see her smoke, but when she did, she exhaled smoke up into the air, up towards the ceiling. Instead, smoke from smoking cloves blew through one corner of another girl’s lips from Colorado I met in Hawaii five years ago.

I taught a Sunday School in Honolulu for about a year and because of that experience, I decided to teach a Sunday School in Rochester. My Sunday School is a social club where the member don’t like each other. John wasn’t one of my students since he was in elementary school while I taught high school students, but we’ve become familiar with each other where he would do high kicks at my face and I would square dance with him.

Riding in the car with John reminded me of the time my father let me drive at around John’s age.

Alfred. Hey John, has you dad ever let you drive?
John. The car? No?
Alfred. When I was around your age, my dad called me from the back seat to climb over and sit on his lap. When I did, he let me take the steering wheel while he controlled the gas.
John. Really?
Alfred. Yeah, I remember it being a long straight road, and that it was dark. I could feel the road through the wheel.

John and I stumbled onto Le Trou, a French film from 1960 shot in a beautifully restored black and white medium.

Alfred. Look at that shot. See how the men go down the tunnel with their light? The director wants to show how long the tunnel is, and how long they have to walk from their prison for their escape.
John. Yeah, it’s pretty far.
Alfred. It’s such a great shot. Look at how beautiful that is; how the men and their light walk away from the camera down the dark tunnel.
John. That’s really cool.

John’s little sister running up to me in her diapers reminded me about how as a kid, I loved how electric box fans distorted your voice when you talked into them.
Alfred. Look Katse. Ah-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.
Katse. *Laughs
Alfred. H-e-l-l-o-K-a-t-s-e.
Katse. Do it again*. *In Korean.
Alfred. H-e-l-l-o-K-a-t-s-e.
Katse. Again*.
Alfred. Ah-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.
Katse. Ah-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h. *Laughs

Thomas: Who’s that? Is that you, Ray?
Ray: Who’s saying that?
Thomas: Up here, Ray.
Ray: Who? Is that you Thomas? I didn’t know you lived here.
Thomas: Yeah, been here for years. What time is it? It’s two thirty? What are you doing up now?
Ray: Can’t sleep, can’t sleep. It’s too hot in the building. Fans just pumping hot air like a hair dryer. It’s just no good.
Thomas: I hear ya. It’s a hot one today. Gotta stick my head out to feel the breeze.
Ray: Lots a people out tonight, it’s so hot. Saw Frank out here too.
Thomas: You saw Frank? How is he? Still cooking at the diner?
Ray: You know Frank. He’ll never leave there, making fun of people’s orders, they love it.
Thomas: We’ll he needs his sleep if he’s out now. He’ll be yelling at the customers, he’ll be so tired.
Ray: I know it. I know it. I told him he better get some sleep or else he’ll put ketchup on the pancakes.
Thomas: Good word. Man, it is hot. So tired, but can’t sleep. It’s not right.
Ray: Well come on down. It’s much nicer out here. Heck, I’m even thinking of sleeping out here.
Thomas: Where you gonna sleep at?
Ray: The park’s nice. You got trees and long benches.
Thomas: Kinda like camping.
Ray: Yeah, something like that.

Driver: Look over there.
Passenger: Should I get them?
Driver: Yeah yeah. Open the window.
Passenger: Okay.
*Passenger tosses water balloon at boy and girl*
Driver: Did you get them?
Passenger: Yeah. I can’t believe it. We are so cool.
Driver: Yes. Yes we are. We are cool.
Passenger: I think I love you.

Girl: What was that?
Boy: I guess someone threw a water balloon at us. Are you wet?
Girl: Just my pants. How about you?
Boy: I think I’m bleeding.

Will you please stop seeking out innocent girls? Stop obtaining their phone numbers and email addresses in an indirect manner. Stop calling them everyday so that only you can talk while she listens. Stop trying to change them into the girl you want them to be. Stop giving them generic thoughtless gifts such as flowers, chocolate, and jewelry. Stop treating them like little girls. You’re only going to develop a Father – Daughter relationship which is not so healthy if you’re looking for an intimate relationship. Girls are not the same, especially not like the ones you want them to be. You just make it hard for them to say no. Give them the option to say no. Realize that your aggressiveness to have a relationship only repels. Stop these one sided relationships. I’ll give you one word to think about: mutual. What does it mean to be mutual and how can you apply it to your relationships? If you don’t know what they are thinking then you should not go further until you do.

Consider depression as a separate personality who is out to convince you to hate and hurt yourself. It’s not as severe as having multiple personalities, but it is very similar. We are can be easily deceived by all the reasons our depressive personality gives us to hate and hurt ourselves, and we consider it very logical, but when taking a step back, the logic is not there. Somehow, we need to separate ourselves from this depressive personality, and recognize that that personality is not our true selves. If this was the case, then I would have been dead a long time ago. What a waste that would have been. Do not let that depressive personality lead your life, but it will probably be difficult to do so alone. This is why there are friends and God. God’s pretty strong and He is able to lend his strength in us, but why should he lend His strength to those who refuse Him?

Lemonade: Alfred?
Alfred: Yes?
Lemonade: Do you like me?
Alfred: Of course I do. You know you’re my favorite.
Lemonade: Really? But you’ve tried other drinks haven’t you?
Alfred: Well, um. Sure, but you know. You’re my favorite during the summer.
Lemonade: Only the summer?
Alfred: Well, yeah. You during the summer and Apple Cider during the colder days. Orange Juice all year round with the occasional Grape Fruit Juice to remind me of the bitterness of life.
Lemonade: We all need to be reminded of that, don’t we?
Alfred: It keeps me from being delusional.
Lemonade: I’m not sure how I feel about you drinking all these drinks.
Alfred: Well, it’s Summer now. Let’s enjoy ourselves while the days last rhyming past nine o’clock in the evening.
Lemonade: Do you like the subway?
Alfred: Yes, I do. They’re like showers. I sit in them and think.
Lemonade: What do you think about?
Alfred: I think about all the people I’ve met and how it’s most likely that I won’t be seeing them in this lifetime.
Lemonade: That’s sad.
Alfred: Yeah, but I think I’ve developed this sort of immunity to saying good bye. I imagine myself meeting people then in the end, I’ll just disappear.
Lemonade: Will you disappear from me?
Alfred: Come Autumn I am afraid I will, but life goes in spirals. I could be back. I don’t know. Who knows what I’ll be doing?
Lemonade: I guess God does.
Alfred: I’m counting on it.

Harry Kalas ٥ Alfred Lee

The voice of Harry Kalas
A subsiding dull
Lulls me to sleep during another
Motionless Sunday afternoon.

A cicada vibrates oscillates outside in the trees.
The wind rustles through
Like the deep blue ocean my body sinks into
As a blanket covers me
Leaving my bare feet exposed.

The one two pitch.
Swing, and a miss.

My head digs deeper into the sofa cushions as his deep subdue approaches,
Hovering
Over me like a weight hanging from a string

Slowly swinging constantly
Back
And forth.

Bat and ball meet with a quick, hollow
Clack.

Line drive
Down the third base line.

My eyes slow sideways towards the artificial green surface of the Vet inside the television screen.

The screen windows breathe in
Allowing the wind to find its way to my toes
And out
To where the cicadas are.

That’s the end of the fourth inning
One run two hits no errors no one left one base
Phillies two
Dodgers Nothing

His voice moors into me.
I’m not going anywhere.

Before we returned to the camp site, I had to skip a few stones across Mongaup Pond. I think the last time I skipped stones was at another camp site in Cape Cod with my Chinese friends. My shoulder became sore.

Take your video recorder and record rocks skipping across a lake. Take your video recorder and record lines of orange construction barrels as they pass your car. Take your video recorder and record the rain pelting against plastic materials. Take your video recorder and record a marshmallow catch a flame in the fingers of crackling campfire while the roasting stick leads out of frame. Take your video recorder and record silently waving bars of light back and forth from flashlights into the night sky, onto the concrete path, into the trees sifting in the air.

Elizabeth has never seen a flat stone picked up from an unkempt beach of a pond and tossed into it as the stone skims the surface of water; skipping several times until the stone settles down with others at the pond’s bottom. She tried to skip a small stone herself. The stone stumbled into the pond without skipping. It won’t be her last time to try.

Looking down, Elizabeth kept her feet off the ground by placing her feet cautiously on large and partially buried rocks. She would occasionally slip, but this did not stop her.

While others had their Styrofoam cup people’s arms wave in wild positions, Elizabeth’s Styrofoam cup person had one of its hands in one of its orange paper pockets.

Support ٥ Alfred Lee

A dense pattern of
Light green dark green flowers
Printed on an open umbrella
Shading from the June sun
Resting on Mother Yun’s shoulder.
Her elbow gently closed,
Hand above the handle
Of clear plastic amber.
The early summer sun
Dusting, sifting below
Her small eyes, head inclined,
Lips quiet.
The wind slides soothes silently
Across her burgundy dress.
Rectangle pipes to frame
Another rectangle design inside.
She leans against this fence
The color of the sky that day.
Her dress folds into waves
Of fabric leading down
The dress to the firm held hand,
Her daughter.
Mother’s fingers touching
Her own daughter’s shoulder,
Her precious head heavy from the day
Fast by her mother’s side.

Father feels the flat gloss finish
A photo taken years ago
Wishing for a granddaughter.

Walmart Employee: Hello…
Customer: Will you look at this?
Walmart Employee: Um, what? The Coke can?
Customer: Look at it.
Walmart Employee: Yes, sir. Um, what am I looking at exactly?
Customer: This can of Coke is wrong.
Walmart Employee: Oh, would you like to return it, then? Customer Service is right …
Customer: No, no. I’m not going to return it. It’s mine. I paid for it. This Coke. This precious can of Cocacola will grant me three wishes, but I have to choose carefully. The Genie will try to twist my words and ruin my wishes, but I’m smarter than that. I’m going to wish right.
Walmart Employee: Genie?
Customer: You know why I’m telling you this? This secret? It’s cause I can tell, you’re a truthful good man. Aren’t you?
Walmart Employee: Um, yes?
Customer: I knew it. So, I want you to take this can of Coke and make the first wish.
Walmart Employee: No, I couldn’t.
Customer: No, please. It’ll show the Genie that I’m a unselfish person, and he’ll then want to grant my wishes the right way. You see, you have to impress the Genie. So, go ahead. Make a wish. Do you know what you want to wish for?
Walmart Employee: Actually yes.
Customer: Wonderful, go ahead and wish it.
Walmart Employee: Do I have to rub the can?
Customer: Yes, you do. See, you already know what to do. Make that wish. The Genie is waiting.
Walmart Employee: I wish, oh Coke can Genie, that this man would find his long road back to reality.
Customer: Thank you.

Boy: Bang! What are you doing? I shot you.
Boy: No you didn’t. It went past my shoulder. I moved just in time.
Boy: No. My bullet went right into your shoulder. The force of the bullet should have knocked you back to the floor.
Boy: No way! Your bullets are like needles. I can barely feel them. See, I can pull them out and flick them back at you.
Boy: No, you need a crowbar to get out my bullets. My bullets were designed with spikes that come out when the bullet comes in contact with human flesh. The bullet in your shoulder is clutching the muscle fibers around it. If you try to take it out, you’ll be ripping out part of your shoulder.
Boy: I am not human, so the spikes did not come out of the bullet. I am a robot from the future. We knew of your bullet technology so our organization sent me instead of our regular agents.
Boy: Ah, but you did not know about the explosives in the bullet. I came from another time line that you are not familiar with so you could not foresee the bullet ripping you into shreds in five seconds, four, three …
Boy: Then I will simply take off my arm and throw it at you!
Boy: Ha ha, stupid robot! I lied about the explosives and now I am in possession of your robotic arm. With this piece of technology, we will be able to create little robot toys that are able to transform into modern day automoblies. Now I can go into retirement and buy the island I’ve always wanted, and you won’t be invited.
Boy: I don’t care. Your island will be stupid anyways. We’ve foreseen it in the future. Some little man will climb a tower and scream at airplanes, “de plane! De plane!”
Boy: No way. My island will be a giant arcade with games like spy hunter and after burn and double dragon.
Boy: Well, my island will be better. Mine will have a bowling alley, go carts, and putt putt.
Boy: Your island will have Wendy on it too so you can kiss her all day long.
Boy: No it won’t. I don’t like her.
Boy: Yes you do. I saw you walking with her after school.
Boy: So? We live near each other. Why do you care? Do you like her?
Boy: No, you do.
Boy: I know who you like. You like Michael Jackson.
Boy: No I don’t. His hair caught on fire.
Boy: Pepsi cola burned him up!
Boy: Now he’s drinking 7 up!
Boy: Hahahahahaha!
Boy: Hahahahahaha!

Man: Here.
Girl: What’s this?
Man: It’s cereal.
Girl: I know it’s cereal. Duh. What kind is it?
Man: Product 19.
Girl: What is that?
Man: What. You never heard of Product 19?
Girl: I like Golden Grahams. Only lame people eat this stuff.
Man: Well, what the hell do you want for breakfast?
Girl: I’m not hungry.
Man: Here, have some juice.
Girl: I don’t want your poisoned juice!
Man: *Throws glass against refrigerator while magnets holding papers and coupons slowly slide down* It’s not poisoned! *Girl screams* I’m not trying to poison you! Damn it! *Goes to cabinet for another glass a pours juice into it* It’s not poisoned. Look. *Drinks from glass* See? It’s not poisoned. Just drink your juice. I’m not trying to poison you.
Girl: Why did you kidnap me? What do you want?
Man: At four o’clock, I have an appointment with your mother. I’ll tell her that I have you at my house, and then she’ll ask me questions, then probably call the police.
Girl: She won’t call the police.
Man: Why not?
Girl: She doesn’t love me.
Man: No. She does love you. You’ll see.
Girl: She doesn’t love me, *starts to cry* she won’t call the police. She hates me.
Man: She does love you. She’ll call the police. Do you know how I know your mother loves you?
Girl: How?
Man: Cause sometimes when I talk about how lonely I am, I can tell that she’s feeling the same emptiness I’m feeling, but then she looks at the photo of you on her desk and it gives her a peace.

Seeing my counselor ٥ Alfred Lee

For several months, I have seen a counselor once a week.
She would lead me into her room with a two-cushion sofa, blue
As the sky carrying clouds on the verge
Of disappearing.
Together, we discussed the on going hatred I have
For myself.

Today, her secretary who I would greet
With eye contact and a genuine smile
Telephones me and explains that
My counselor needs to cancel all of her appointments including mine.
It strikes me that she is seeing others.
I wonder where I fit in.

Looking down onto the white tiles of my kitchen,
I thought quickly
And told the secretary
The reason why she had to cancel her appointments
was that I kidnapped her daughter.

Is it my mommy?

No, it’s your mommy’s secretary.

I told you she didn’t love me.

No, she does love you.
She just doesn’t know where you are.
Now, she’ll know, so she’ll call,
Because she loves you.

I let Jane pick up when the phone rang again.
Hello? Hi, mommy …
I’m fine …
No …
Yes, he’s right here.
She wants to talk to you.

With a voice as calm s the mirror like surfaces of lakes found in Colorado,
I reassure Jane’s mother.
“Jane’s not hurt, and she’s not going to be harmed by my hands.

I’ve never heard my counselor cry before.
Listening to her trying to control her voice through her tears made her words different,
More distinct.
She truly loved her daughter.

“There is nothing to worry about. I’ve already called the police. I told them I’ve kidnapped your daughter.”

Forgetting our sessions together, she asked me why I was doing this.

I hung up the phone at a knock on the door.
It’s the police to take me out of my life.
Perhaps I should resist.

To know that my father is proud of me wants to make me let him know that I’m not done yet.

My Father: I don’t know anyone like you. You know that?
Alfred: Good. I don’t want to be like anyone.

Then I went off to India. I’ve been to so many countries, but it’s only because my father let go of me.

I am free because of my father. I am also free because of my Father.

I did not realize you were an actual person, Mr. Rush Rhees. Hello. How does it feel lying under six feet of earth for all this time? You’re dead, and in a lot of ways, I feel like I’m dead too. Since we have that in common, I find it that much easier to talk to you. But it’s not only that. It’s because of the library those money grubbing political heads decided to name after you: Rush Rhees Library. There is nothing magical about the library. It just so happened the lighting was perfect, the desks were spacious, chairs cushy, and if appropriate, I would have played with the feet of girls sitting across from me. Hats off to you, Mr. Rush Rhees. Maybe they named the library after you because of your wealth and that you had owned the most slaves in town.

Generic Rochesterian 1: See that there Rush Rhees? He’s a good man. Look at the number of slaves he has.
Generic Rochesterian 2: Yup yup, but when through this little scam I’m developing, I’ll have twice as many slaves then that there Rush Rhees. Look at him standing tall like that. Hey, Rush! You don’t got that many slaves! You a puny man, Rush Rhees! You’ll be my slave! You’ll see! I love this town!
-Both 1 and 2 laugh-

Well, thanks Rush. The library they named after you kept me sane, but sometimes I wish it didn’t.

It has come to a point where I no longer have the curiosity of what will come in the future. I simply do not care anymore. People attempt to control me; others hinder me. I am no longer myself, but I ask myself, “what will make me happy?” Unfortunately, nothing makes me happy. I’ve attained a similar negativity towards my life as Akira Kurosawa has in his film, Ran. I’ve constantly kept convincing myself that my state of mind is only temporary, but now I feel like I will always be like this. I refuse to be a prisoner of my own emotions and the only way I can escape is to fade from this life. I’ve made a conscious effort to go to hell, and I will see you with spear in hand ripping out your innards because I’ve been here that much longer than you have.

I think the reason why I dreamt about taking a peek into Cartic’s apartment with binoculars is because I had a partial viewing of Alfred Hitchcock’s “Rear Window” a previous night. Partial, meaning that I started the movie while eating dinner with Yvonnes, but then her friend Charlotte came to visit so we stopped the movie.

Yvonnes (a extended nick name I gave her, pronounced yuh-von-NES) just flew to China on American Airlines. I would guess she would be coming back to America on China Airlines.

It struck me that the Beijing International Airport was quietly empty. It struck me that the Korean International Airport was quietly empty, but then again, I was not there during the World Cup.

European Traveler to Korea speaking in his or her native tongue: Oh look. He must be Korean. “Anyounghasehyo!”
Alfred: Um, hello.

Looking from behind and over a blue couch facing the window, There was no one in Cartic’s apartment, but sitting in front of me was a bald man with a gun. In both instances, I did not see Cartic, nor am I familiar with his belongings to know that it was his apartment, but I knew it was his apartment, and I did not see the gun the man was holding, but I knew he was carrying one. Call it dream sixth sense.

One time in India, Rachel (six years old) came up to me and asked me a question.

Rachel: Hey, Alfred. I bet you don’t know what’s on top of our building.
Alfred: I don’t know. Is it a bird?
Rachel: How did you know?

I didn’t know there was a dead bird up on the ceiling where we lived. Call it dumb luck sixth sense.

During nights at the Doctor’s quarters where we stayed in Pune, India, the cows would come out. Peering through the second floor window, I could see three cows roaming about. The next day, we found mounds of cow dung loosely piled in casual places around the hospital.

I took a black telephone from a side table by the blue couch and brought it back with me through the hallway behind me, then into the bathroom. My first instinct was to dial 0 for the dream operator, but the operator asked me to hold on the line while she connected me to someone else. Illogically, I hung up and called 911 next. Reality: When watching “Panic Room” with my kids (I don’t really have kids, but I like to call my church youth group my kids) and Tinna.

Jodie Foster pulls out existing telephone wire and connects it to the dead panic room telephone. Once she acquires a dial tone, she calls 911 when an operator also tell her to hold. She hangs up and calls her ex-husband. I guess I would have called my ex-wife, but since I do not have an ex-wife, I did not call her in my dream.

Following the path of the sun, the sunflower

Following the path of the sun, from the morning east

From the rising morning east to the setting dusk west, the sunflower moves its entirety, following the path of the sun as we should move to follow the light of God.

From the rising east to the setting west, the sunflower moves its entirety to follow the path of the sun as we should move to follow the light of God.

Am I expecting an impossible perfection when it comes to watching the US not deserve their tie versus the 2002 South Korean World Cup Team? My first reaction is to stop watching US “Soccer,” because I find it too frustrating to watch them kick to no one in particular, to lose control of the ball, to simply play at an embarrassingly amateur level. I put soccer in quotes because US “Soccer” is not real Football. They are lucky to have tied the South Koreans. They are lucky to have beaten Portugal. I do expect too much from Team USA and I apologize for my frustrated fervor. I will only reserve it for first, my beloved Philadelphia Seventy-Sixers, Philadelphia Eagles, Philadelphia Flyers, and Philadelphia Phillies.

The night I ate an Original Grand Slam Breakfast from Dennys, I dreamt that I was married to Korrine Clark. Reality: Korrine is married to Aaron Larson, both of whom just had their first baby. In the dream, Aaron passed away, so I in turn and strangely enough married Korrine. Together we lived in an apartment that had an extended hallway leading into a living room that looked onto other apartments through a large movie screen of a window. With a pair of binoculars, I was able to look across into Cartic’s apartment.

I first met Cartic when Huyen drove me back to Rochester at the end of Thanksgiving weekend. Cartic rode up front with Huyen while I shifted in the back seat from right to left to right taking color photos of Western New York’s golden red autumn sun setting sky. Somewhere along the way from Quakertown, Pennsylvania to Rochester, New York, I learned that Cartic is from India.

One of the things I miss about India is their domestic sodas. There is of course Miranda in flavors of artificial orange, lime soda, and mango juice; Thumbs up cola and the occasional club soda.

I fantasize being a guest on Late Night with Conan O’Brian and as I sit down on the sofa to talk to Conan, I reveal two bottles of Duke’s Lemon from a paper bag that I’ve carried onto the set

Conan: Oh, I see you brought us some drinks. -Laughs nervously- What are these? Wine coolers?
Alfred: No, Conan. This is Duke’s Lemon. Try it.
Conan: Duke’s eh? -looks into the camera- Duke’s, the official drink of the Ku Klux Klan. -drinks Duke’s Lemon- Hey, this is not that bad. I feel like putting bed sheets on my horse.

I had a vivid dream the night we went to the carnival because I ate so late at night. It’s a myth I’m going to share with my children: if you eat late at night, you will have nightmares. I was still slightly nauseous (out of my mental lucidity) after coming home from Dennys. I had two pancakes, two sausages, two bacon strips, and two eggs over easy. They called it the Original Grand Slam Breakfast. It would have been nice if they provided toast to complement the eggs.

I got over most of my fears concerning roller coasters by understanding that I would not die by riding them. In the same fashion, I’ve become fond of vivid dreams and nightmares. Vivid dreams and nightmares are just like roller coasters. You are chased by crazy people with machine guns, and you’re hiding from them in cabinets, drawers, on the ceiling, but they will find you, and utilize their machine guns on you, but in the end, you wake up, trying to go back to the vivid dream.

I will be rooting for Team USA when they play South Korea in the World Cup. Why? Wasn’t I born of two Korean parents, thus making me physically Korean? Shouldn’t I then be rooting for South Korea? Well simply, I just know the American team. The South Korean team are strangers to me. They would be football players with different numbers on their backs. How crazy would it be if they all had the same number? I know and admire the defensive skills of US defenseman, Eddie Pope. I can’t say I admire anyone on the South Korean team only because I’ve never seen this World Cup team play. I think that’s fair. When I saw South Korea play Bolivia in the stands of Foxboro Stadium where the New England Patriots play, I was rooting for South Korea. Please, I don’t hate South Korea, nor do I hate Bolivia, I just know the United States much better.

I saw the fear in Andrew’s face when normally one would describe him as an energetic monster. It was his first time to go to a carnival, only eight years old. His fear subdued him into a quieter child. When talking to him, I noticed his eyes looking elsewhere, almost sleepy. He also took the fact that he was not tall enough for many of the rides very well.

Andrew: I saw you on Spin Out.
Alfred: Really?
Andrew: Yup, and your hair went like this:

Andrew stepped on the bench next to us then raised my hair within his hands.

I have the same feeling of dread when someone asks me to go drinking with them at some party as I do when someone asks me to go to the amusement park. I’ve thought it out, and I believe the correlation lies within the fact the both drinking alcohol and amusement park rides takes me out of my mental lucidity. Both make me nauseous, and if the alcohol or ride is particularly bad, I will suffer from headaches. So I could say that I do not like to be outside of my comfort zone. I like to be tucked away, and safe. This is not true either. I’ve done many a crazy stunt in my life, which has lead to my near death on one occasion, and to the hospital on other occasions. I believe a more accurate analysis of my neurosis is that when I’m tussling with the Rochester Police or falling of cliffs, I am extremely lucid. Lucidity seems to be everything to me. I hate to be blocked in the head. I keeps me from writing. It’s as simple as that, thus I could never be a beatnik writer. Give me a choice between a block in my head or constipation and I will easily choose constipation. Give me a choice between alcohol or a amusement park ride and I would answer, “I’m waiting for an alcohol ride to come out so I don’t need to make a choice, or wait. I could drink alcohol while riding an amusement park ride.” Does anyone want to sit next to me?

The combination of funnel cake, onion rings, pop corn, cotton candy, black concrete, rumbling steel, old vinyl, pop music, blinking lights, screaming, laughing, crying, all make up the heavy air of the carnival. It’s cheap, nauseating, and American. Break two plates with a baseball and win Scooby Doo. Flip a plastic frog into the center of the lily pad and win a frog. Toss a ping pong ball into a fish bowl and win a fish.

Why do I love the bumper car? Is it because the bumper car is one of the few rides where the riders interact with each other? In line - waiting for the bumper cars to stop dead - watching electric blue lines spark from the grated metal ceiling to the curled strips of metal held by poles attached to the back of each bumper car - the cars stop - the people get out and walk to the back - to the exit - the attendant lets the next wave of drivers through the gate - we seek our own car - red, blue, green, yellow – jump inside - the large vinyl cushion turns along with the steering wheel back and forth - waiting for the electricity to be switched back on so we can crash into each other for another five minutes.

I can easily see that Y Girl is still in love with J Boy. Even though he’s treated her with indifferent disregard, she finds it illogical to stop loving the person she’s loved for the last three years. I'm afraid that if Y Girl never discovered J Boy cheating on her with another woman, J Boy would continue to hide his secret from Y Girl; (He’s has been hiding it for two months before) then their relationship would deteriorate in a cruel and ugly fashion. J Boy would have continued to mistreat Y Girl, thus confusing her and deepening her depression (also caused by school). I can imagine her sitting in a dark room, staring at a computer screen, asking me on her cell phone, “I don’t understand, Alfred. Why is he treating me like this?” Thankfully, I did not have to answer, “I have no idea,” said in a helpless manner.

I try to drink lemonade to cleanse my palate but the heavy sesame oil remains in the air.

The drain to my kitchen sink is defective. Water refuses to go down it.

I heard thunder rumbling across the sky from outside my apartment. Reflections of yellow-orange from the streetlights above created a light hovering mist while the rain, black as the glossy streets outside continued to fall. Occasional cars swish-slid past through the window where I have raised my Venetian blinds up halfway. This time the thunder came in waves of deep knocking. Boom – boom – boom. Who’s there? God.

A couple of weeks ago, I encountered the perfect rain. It was the type of rain that comes during the slight warmth of early spring. It's a sad nostalgic rain that creates quiet drops falling on a windshield before you start the car. Breathe deep enough and you can breathe in the rain, the sadness.

I look forward to the early humid evenings when the grey sky slowly rumbles with thunder. When the rain comes, it comes down in lines of water hitting the ground, creating quick circles within puddles. The heavy humid air breaks and the smell of wet grass and trees take its place.

I want to express the joy I have when studying in the periodical reading room on the second floor of the University of Rochester’s Rush Rhees Library. I considered working in the library, but I believe working in the library would make me despise it, so I've decided not to.

Library: What, I'm not good enough for you?
Alfred: No, it's not that. I just ...
Library: What?
Alfred: Please, let me try to finish what I was going to say.
Library: Fine.
Alfred: Thank you. Now what was I saying? Mmmm. Ack, I can't remember. Oh, oh yes, look, we're good friends right?
Library: Right...?
Alfred: I don't know. It's just that by working in you would, well, change what we have together. I have these great memories of studying, walking up stairs, taking the elevator, looking up books, all inside of you. All of these actions I've done on my own volition. What would happen to our relationship if I were forced to resort your books, or look for a book, or even check out strange books for complete strangers? I would be in a way working inside you for someone else that will come in between our relationship.
Library: You're such a purist. But if you worked inside of me, our relationship will become more intimate. You'll learn secrets about me, discover rooms, levels you've never thought existed. You'll have access to every room to me. Don't you want to know what more there is inside me?
Alfred: I don’t know. I'm so content with what we have now. I'm not sure I want go deeper.
Library: You bastard. I hate you.
Alfred: No, don't say that. You don't hate me.
Library: Don't talk to me ever again.
Alfred: You're getting too emotional. Are you willing to throw away our friendship?
Library: Just go. Get out. I don't want to see you now. You didn’t even see me during your graduation.
Alfred: I thought I explained this. Graduation means nothing to me. Seriously, if anything, graduating has put a my life on hold.
Library: What do you mean?
Alfred: I mean that at least I had a defined goal in during college: finish my degree. Now what? I’m in the same predicament as Dustin Hoffman was in The Graduate. I’m standing on a moving walkway in an airport looking blankly forward with Simon and Garfunkle singing in the background.
Library: Come on. Work here.
Alfred: I’m sorry. I really can’t. I’m done with this University, at least for the time being. Who knows? I might be back for graduate school to further delay facing the real world.
Library: I hope you do. Then you’ll come to study.
Alfred: Of course.

While packing what was inside my dorm room desk, I came across this penny that had the tail side worn down smooth as if was the perfected skipping stone washed by the constant wearing of the ocean. Some machine minted this penny in 1945 during the start of the Second World War. Tilting the smooth side of the penny against the light reveals an apparition of letters that once boldly said:
One
Cent
Fortunately, I have no memories of World War Two. I wonder how quickly I would have died with a rifle in my hand.

There are not many more things more pathetic than two DJs playing music for nobody. They stood there with expressions on their faces that asked and whined at the same time, “Why are we here? This is stupid. Why are we here? This is stupid. Why are we here? This is stupid.” It may be disconcerting to a DJ have people ignore a his and of course her performance. There is no call and response, especially when people are there to eat free hamburgers, hot dogs, and cubes of cheese. But perhaps there will be that college girl who will shout out, “Ooh, I love this song!” then try to grab some guy's hand, but the guy’s too embarrassed to dance at a picnic. But maybe that DJ will notice the joy he or she is providing during the picnic, then will try to match the song that’s he’s spinning with another similarly nostalgic song. Say he and again she plays “Under Pressure” by Queen and David Bowie then plays “Walk on the Wild Side” by Lou Reed. That, in my opinion would be a nice nostalgic one-two punch. Pow, pow.

I want to kill myself to get this frustration out of my head. It would be so easy, but no. I’m supposed to be patient carry some self control, and wait it out. Let the frustration take it’s course while I sit, watching it subside. I can hear whispers ebb back into the green ocean swirl. I often imagine running a knife through my skinny stomach. One point in, then running the knife across, through the side of me. Then I would be out of my comfort zone, I would realize what real pain is. I was ready for death the day I fell off a cliff on a little island of Rapu Rapu in the Philippines, but I did not die. “This is it. I’m going to die. I’m ready,” were my thoughts while I was falling. I then collapsed onto rocky floor.

Nervousness rose in Melody’s voice, “We’ve been hiking for about two hours. Where is this village? There’s no sign of it.”
“I’m sure we’ll approach it soon. All we have to do is hug the coast. I said it’ll be the next village along the coast.”
“It’s going to get dark soon. Maybe we should turn back, and start again early the next morning.”
My watch had ten minutes until four o’clock. The sun would set a little over three more hours.
“I don’t think we should worry, but let’s keep going until four thirty. If there is no sign of the village, then we’ll turn back so we can return to the other village before the sun sets.”
After a few minutes, the trail we’ve been following forked into two paths. One path went down onto a beach, and the other led into the island.
“Which path are we going to take?”
“Well, the village is on the coast, so it’ll probably be surer to take the trail down to the beach. We’ll be sure to hit the village.”
The beach was a small white sanded beach. Every step revealed tiny flies that would jump and bury themselves into another portion of the sand. I felt the Philippino sun through my soaked tee shirt. The beach then turned into small boulders, which we had to climb and jump from boulder to boulder until we had to rest on the edge of a cliff ten meters above the rocks ocean below.
“This can’t be right. This can’t be the right trail.”
“It’ll be okay. Look, there’s a trail past the cliff.”
I checked my watch: ten minutes past four o’clock. The edge of the cliff was narrow with a patch of long grass before the wider trail began on the other side. I took a step with my right foot on the patch and made sure my foot was secure. I went head first over the cliff as I swung my other leg past the patch.
Rachel and Melody screamed my name, “Alfred!”
My chest hit the face of the rock as my arms wildly searched for something, a root, a notch in the face, anything to grab onto. My desperate clawing into the rock flipped me upright with my back to the rock face. I looked down and waited to die in the rocks below. I held a ready peace over my imminent death.
My knees buckled at the impact of a large boulder I crashed onto. I realized I had my eyes closed, and when I opened them, I saw the sky, distant from where my body lie. I sat up, and looked around. Rachel and Melody were still on the cliff above me.
“Alfred! Are you okay?”
“I think so. I can’t believe I just fell of a cliff.”
There was blood seeping from lesions on my ankles and back. I checked my body. I was sore all over, but nothing was broken.
Rachel called from the cliff, “I’m coming down.”
Melody kneeled down in shock. I checked the time, but my watch broke off my wrist.
“Are you hurt?”
“I can’t tell. I think the adrenaline’s masking the pain. I think I can get up.”
Rachel stopped the bleeding on most of my wounds, and I found that I could continue to the village.
Melody was adamant, “We have to go back.”
“What time is it?”
“A quarter till five. We have about two more hours of daylight.”
I paused to think, “Let’s keep on going until five o’five. If there’s no sign of a village then we’ll turn back. We have flashlights so we can afford an hour or so in the dark. The village has to be near.”
“Alfred, you just fell off a cliff. We have to turn back.”
“I feel fine for now. What if the village turns out to be only a few minutes away? That’ll be much better than turning back and hiking for two or three hours. I don’t know if I could handle it.”
Melody was quiet as we continued down the trail, but Rachel was in wonder to my falling off the cliff.
“I can’t believe you fell off a cliff.”
“I know, I can’t either.”
“What are you going to tell Jeremy?”
“I’ll tell him I fell off a cliff.”
After a few minutes, we met a man standing in the middle of the trail.
“Excuse me sir, where is the next village?”
“It is very near.”
“Can you tell us how far is it?”
“Five minutes walking.”
“Thank you.”

I normally counter act my loneliness with the company of women.

Susanna: You know too many girls.
Alfred: I can’t help it, I find myself attracted to them.

And to deflect, I’m trying to remember if Susanna was the first Swedish girl I knew. I think so, but she had red hair and wore tinted contacts to make her eyes look green or blue, again, I cannot remember. One of the reasons why I cannot remember very well is because I met Susanna on the big island of Hawaii in 1997.

Alfred: Have you ever been to Trollhattan?
Susanna: What?

Trollhattan, Sweden is where the Saab headquarters are. I’ve dreamed of going to Trollhattan, to set foot on the soil where those crazy ingenious automobile designers decide what is beautiful.

Saab 9-3 convertible: Do you think I’m fat?
Saab automobile designer: What are you talking about? You’re not fat.
Saab 9-3 convertible: Yes I am. I’m not pretty at all.
Saab automobile designer: Have you been reading those magazines again?
Saab 9-3 convertible: They say I’m expensive to maintain.
Saab automobile designer: Don’t listen to them. They don’t know you. I know you.
Saab 9-3 convertible: I don’t know ...
Saab automobile designer: What kind of engine do you have?
Saab 9-3 convertible: 2.3 High-Output Turbo putting out 230 horses.
Saab automobile designer: 230 horses? Do you know how sexy that is?
Saab 9-3 convertible: I guess.
Saab automobile designer: You guess, you know.
Saab 9-3 convertible: Stop lying. I know you’ve been eyeing that Cooper Mini.
Saab automobile designer: Uh ... what?
Saab 9-3 convertible: You know that little hussy. Cute isn’t she? You want her, don’t you? You used to love me, but now, I’m old and tired. They shouldn’t have redesigned me. You loved it when my top came off, with the wind whipping through you hair.
Saab automobile designer: No, it’s not true. I have no feelings for the Cooper Mini.
Saab 9-3 convertible: Stop it, stop lying to me. Why don’t you just admit you’ve driven in that Cooper Mini. I caught you the other day.
Saab automobile designer: Yes, it’s true. I’m so ashamed. She didn’t have the same feel I get from driving you baby. I never want drive that floozy Cooper Mini ever again. Come here, baby.
Saab 9-3 convertible: Don’t touch me. Leave me alone.
Saab automobile designer: Come on baby.
Saab 9-3 convertible: I’m leaving you. Your no good for me. I’m going to find a job and make a living.
Saab automobile designer: Job? What can you do?
Saab 9-3 convertible: I’ll deliver cakes.
Saab automobile designer: Cakes? Okay, you go ahead and deliver cakes. You’ll be back, and I’ll be here waiting.
Saab 9-3 convertible: Good bye.
Saab automobile designer: Oh, you’ll be back.

I do not love my mother to the extent that she loves me. When she has a dream about me, she calls me to see if I’m alright. Whenever she senses there’s something wrong in the tone of my voice, she asks who’s bothering me as if she were an Italian boss ready to give the order for a hit. Somewhere in our conversations, my mother needs to know my predictions on when I will be married.

*in Korean
My Mother: When are you going to find a girl for yourself?
Alfred: Tomorrow.
My Mother: Aw, you...
Alfred: [laughs]
My Mother: Are you eating?
Alfred: Yes.
My Mother: You have to eat fruit.
Alfred: I know, Mom. I am. Don’t worry.
My Mother: I have to stop worrying, don’t I?
Alfred: Yes.
My Mother: I won’t. I’m your mother.
Alfred: [laughs]

If she calls me and finds out that I have been unusually violent by slamming my head against a heavy oak door and breaking two windows with a rocking chair, my mother will hang up the phone, climb into the car, and drive six hours in the middle of the night from Cherry Hill, New Jersey to Rochester, New York without a hint of hesitation. I’m afraid I will be the same with my own children.

One of the reasons why Fargo is a good film (as opposed to bad) is the loneliness all the characters portray with the exception of Francis Macdonald’s character. What offsets her potential loneliness is the baby she carries in her womb. This loneliness drives each character to a point of desperation where William H. Macy is willing to have her wife kidnapped so he can share the ransom with Steve Buscemi and his partner Peter Stormare. Even Steve Park is desperately lonely as he explains to Frances MacDonald that that his wife died of a disease I can’t remember at the moment. There’s this delicately awkward moment when he moves from his seat opposite of Frances MacDonald to sit on her side of the restaurant booth. Steve wants his hole of loneliness to be filled with Frances’ love, but Frances becomes offset by Steve’s approach and asks him to sit on the other side. Thinking about it, Steve is so lonely that he would not know how Frances’ love could fill his void even if Frances responded to Steve. What does Steve want more: love or Frances MacDonald? Perhaps I need to watch this scene again. Anyways, we later find out through another source that Steve Park’s character has been lonely all his life, which makes the previous scene in the restaurant more poignant. Good job, Coen brothers.

I thought Rochester was a lonely tundra and it literally was for many a semester, but man, for me to live in the world of Fargo is to admit there is no God and will eventually be tortured by my own loneliness for the remaining worthless days of my life. Thank God there is a God or else I would have been bleeding somewhere with a concussion after failed attempts to destroy myself.

The Coen Brother’s latest, The Man Who Wasn’t There, is also about a lonely man – Billy Bob Thornton’s Ed Crane. He searches for something to fill his void such as investing in a new technology called dry cleaning and providing piano lessons for Scarlett Johansson’s character, Birdy. Like Steve Park, Billy Bob Thornton tries to fill his void, but remains lonely. Like with my depression, Billy Bob Thornton has given up and has accepted his loneliness (whereas I accept my depression), and is able to objectively recall the events in a film noir style leading to his execution. I am able to objectively explain to other depressed people that I know what it means to be depressed, but unfortunately, I can give them no easy solution.

Roger Deakins’ cinematography in The Man Who Wasn’t There is so beautifully forced and stylized, it dangerously dominates the entire film. The shots become an element separate to the action and the actors and in the process, I’m wishing for even longer shots of the black and white world Deakins’ has created. Black and white photography removes extraneously confusing color, leaving a purified textured image of the subject in its surroundings.

So some lady calls me from the English department and asks if I can come in so whomever can take photos of me for commencement.

"I'm sorry, I won't be participating in commencement."
"Oh, why not?"
"It's a long story ..."

In some strange way, I had my little graduation ceremony through that phone conversation.

"Well, congratulations.¨
"Thank you.¨

My personal commencement will continue when I find the time to walk to Academic Support and ask for my diploma. If you want to witness this event, let me know ahead of time so I can have time to wonder why you would waste your time by watching me go up to a counter and ask the University for my diploma. Maybe if you're lucky, you'll see me get mace in my rhyming face. I will focus on the bitterness of life in each sip of grapefruit juice from my mug purchased from a teashop in Seoul's Insadong.

For many people, graduation has become a necessity. Once you finish college, you must go to graduation. I guess for me, graduation is not even close to the pinnacle to what I've done and seen and will be doing. Pause and build up to: why should I perform a ceremony that celebrates something so unimportant in my life with all these other strangers who (if I may quote Haruki Murakami) are like the clouds in the sky? They have nothing to do with me. I shouldn't even be writing about this on a pure sense, but I've been getting calls and letters inviting me to gather with my fellow graduating class and eat a hamburger with them.

"Um, hi. Are you graduating as well?"
"Me? Sure, that's why I'm here. Aren't these hamburgers great?"
"These are hamburgers!?"

I cannot remember how many times I have been to Hooters. It's not a big deal really. The waitresses seem tired, but I can't really say why they are tired. Could they be tired of being looked at? I don't know, I know a lot of girls who would love the attention of groups of men, especially if they were being paid. I wonder if I could work at Hooters. I could wear a suit and tie (because I know Hannah likes that sort of thing) and serve those men who actually bring their dates to Hooters. When I used to work for the Swedish pharmaceutical company, Astra Arcus USA, the rest of the IT Department would go to Hooters, Fridays for lunch. I'm not about to be the one that refuses the invitation.

"Hey, Alfred. We're going to Hooters for lunch."
"Um, well the thing is, I can't eat and stare at the same time, so well, I can't go."

So, I've gone to Hooters a couple of times, and after driving past Hooters of Rochester with Justin, I had the urge to be nostalgic in a strange way.

"Let's go to Hooters."
"What? Okay."

I made the mistake of ordering my hamburger medium rare. What I meant was medium well, or just plain medium. You could still see the shreds of raw hamburger twisted moist against each other. What made me eat it? Partially it was because by nature, I do not complain about the food that I am being served, and partially I was intrigued. There must be a reason people order their steaks and hamburgers rare, but after having diarrhea from my medium rare hamburger from Hooters, I could not think of a good reason.

I've always had diarrhea after eating raw ahi fish in Tahiti, but I didn't care. This was the best fish I've ever had. Their cheese covered steak wasn't bad either. I don't think I've ever ate so well anywhere. On so many occasions, I tried to fit that last piece of apple crepe into my fat firm stomach.


Floating Underneath ٥ Alfred Lee

I stole from work to meet her
In the long hallways of a
High school five blocks away.
The sunlight through the window
At one end barely reached
Our toes under our shoes.
At the hall's end she explained
She wanted to fly east, across
The United States,
Stop in Los Angeles, then
Fly past the equator to
French Polynesia.
"Think I'll meet Marlon Brando?
He'll take me aboard his sea
Plane to his private island."
Only her eyes looked up at me
While her face shadowed down.
Her teeth under her smile.
"Who knows what'll happen?"
Determined to go, she
Pulled down on my sleeve, begging,
But what would my wife say?
I could not leave Manhattan.
My legs were anchored into
The cement, the streets.
Outside the window, she noticed
A red balloon caught
In between the crooked arms
Of an oak tree below.
The wind carelessly rocked as it
Slightly sprung between
Two branches of the tree.
Taking my hand, we ran out
The building to the oak tree.
The string dangled far from
Her finger tips on tiptoes.
She pleaded for me to reach
The red balloon for her.
I told her I could
Only by levitating.
Both of her eyebrows rose,
But her eyes narrowed.
She stood behind me as
I took off my shoes.
My toes under my socks.
I explained that my shoes were
Too heavy, weighing
Me down to the ground.
I levitated a foot
Off the ground, took the string
Then slowly landed.
"How did you do that?" She asked.
"Magic," I answered, but she
Did not believe me.
I smiled as her face looked up
Into the sun through the leaves
Creating shadows waving
Across her face.
When I gave her the balloon
She simply let the string go.
I followed its assent into
The clouds like her disappearance -
Last seen sunbathing
On a white sand beach
Wearing a two-piece bathing suit.
Her eyes under her shades.
She went to Bora Bora,
But I imagined her in
A dark deep forest
Bending over
Pulling carrots from the earth.

My friend ignored her dresses
And blouses in my closet
When he helped me move
Out of my apartment to
Leave my wife, to live in the
Wilderness, in the trees.