G Beckman

Spirit says: “Your words create your world. Shoot for the stars.”I say: “I’m 17 again...only this time, this time!I’ll go straight to the SavOn(remember those?)and buy hair-clippers to shave my back and chest and arms(I can handle the chest and armsbut I’ll have to find someone todo the back – maybe Grammy, she always seemed to knowwhat direction I was headed). I’ll work out and run with my…

Think of your favorite porn star,the one with the big pecs and fabuloussmile (you know the one),wiping his ass after taking a shit.Way more than four squares,more like forty becauseit was a messy morning,what with the viagara and laxatives.Think of him getting off the toiletand jumping into the shower,frustrated, behind schedule,because it’s just easier to let thewater wash all that shit…

Shadowed carpet, staineddark baseboards hiding behind stacked silent pages, dusty lamplight warms marred paintand softens the wizened cat. * More Experiments in Form HERE.

It’s exhausting preparing for every future.When you’re nearing 60, escaping sounds good.A quantum jump, not the other kind.They tell me not to think about it, butI keep hoping I wake up in another life so relieved there are tears and a huge smile, reset. It’s happened before. I was being convictedof a crime I didn’t commit. Then I woke up!I need it to happen again.Maybe it will again.It’s…

Before landranged his sea-storied heart,ensnared dancing feet with steadyanthems and fence-post church: Kaliope conjured love with spells,doused promise with heroic truth –onward, always onward,worshipped and feared –never sure, never more alive. *

Howare we spottedrubes, mediocre moles,rheumatics, lazy-eyes, toyearn advance rebelstrike against earth’s gross design,this festered indignity, whenyou, unaware,lay on a couch,eye your stunningsex, and smile? (For My Policeman) *

He’s not mad, your maker.Not angry in the least.This was all predicted,every bit expected –the rebellion, the fall,temptation, surrender –until finally, finally, you took his handand more. *

They put a pencil in your hand, a big fat onemade for little fingers to copy outletters drawn around the edges of theceiling.They look pretty, so you draw them againand again, over and over, pages and pages of letters,and get awards for how perfectly theyfit together. Everyone is happy.You are happy. All those letters copied over and over again –everything should be that beautiful –copied until…

My takeaway: “Gestapo” says over-there; “Slave Patrol” says oh, no, right here, right now, just like it’s always been.

Sarah Everhart sat on the floor of the produce section peeling an orange. She recognized the little girl who ran up to her, tears soaking her puffed face. “My momma won’t get up,” the little girl blubbered. She could barely breathe. Sarah shrugged as she dropped torn pieces of orange skin. Wailing and prayers rose from frozen foods to toilet paper. Ron Jackson gripped his wife Loretta’s hand…

We're in it now. Walkers and wipes from here till the end. People will say "How wonderful they take care of each other." People will say "They have each other." Smiles will barely mask pity as I become your good deed. I don't think I'll care about good wishes. I'll be grateful for you, I hope, in-between bouts of awareness. You'll love me until I die, and then love me more until you smile for…

Small, stealthy stories of uncommon dimension. Available at Lulu. Distribution to follow.

“Dude, like I don’t think his balls ever dropped. I mean, listen. I can’t tell if it’s a dude.” Scott sat in the bean-bag looking at my Air Supply album. It was summer-hot outside so his socks and shirt were off but the room was cool with the curtains closed. Two Less Lonely People played. “My dad says it’s not natural, two guys singing like that. Said they look like fruitcakes.” Scott pointed…

Little Johnny sat in the principal’s office quiet as a churchmouse as Miss Clair told the story again. “I just don’t know what came over him, Principal Davis. He was playing with Andrew and Malachi and suddenly he slapped Andrew upside the head and pushed a crayon up Thad’s nose. Thank goodness the crayon was already broken or there’s no telling what could’ve happened!” Johnny heard his father…

Mom and Dad shouted at the TV in different languages, both of which I understood after spending over five years listening to the differences. A man in a suit was saying something in a third language that was very difficult to follow, something about the Supreme Court and “tapes” the President thought were his. “They belong to the fucking country!” Dad yelled. “That asshole! This is the reason I…

“I can, you know. Get something. For it.” Mrs. Smith spun her hi-ball on a thin layer of water. “That’s what he says. Who wants that, really?” Sam was 23 and not at all sure why she was telling him about her…much older husband? He stood behind the bar polishing a glass, doing his best to avoid her eyes. The two were alone. “Get something for it, Sammy,” Mrs. Smith repeated. She expected a…