The Seas are Nothing

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The seas are nothing but exigent provokers of wrath. Immense. Powerful. Suggestive of endlessness. Insanity. Depths invisible. Breadth encompassing. Calm only in the fleeting erasure of the serenity scarce remembered.

It beats back, and there you have waves. Nothing else impressed but the mist, maybe the sky. There’s vengeance somewhere, perhaps in the air, or indwelled within impetuous spirit, soul hollowed.

Its emptiness would only beget the kind of tindering rage better befit for shivering land, not squelched within shower upon shower upon hour upon spittle upon spite.

Conspiring clouds, yes, they’ll cackle too. Mock you, even. Clapping you awake. Fogging over joy. Numbing the vista. Warping the distance.

The seas are nothing.

Your ship is everything.

 

 

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Contending with the Edge of Time

I once walked across an infinite sand, made with the grains of stars at great distance. They shone beneath as I tread lightly, even the slightest footfalls depressing the folds of time.

In confusion I circumnavigated what should have been amorphous. Peering beyond the periphery, I found mutable columns, monuments beyond creation, ephemera of eternity, commingled with the banal gems of life.

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Those diadems and faces shone with facets of the real in a sea of unreal, many fathoms beyond depth or understanding. My voice had long carried into the nothing, beginning from the less than nothing – it was not heard. I may have cried out, or muttered amidst the scape: I couldn’t tell.

And it couldn’t tell me, no reply to any beckoned question. I pried at the edges of this capsuled infinity, worlds within worlds, eras lived and died, the labyrinthine stories written and unwritten with each yes, no, maybe, so. Whatever glimmer most caught my eye would soon shy away, like the passing glint of a monarch’s wing. There were some I would have hoped to chase. All little flashes blinding, many strobing, the rare few alight if but for a languorous second.

I stepped back, welling with some fury. Then I too flashed, catching that sidelong gleam across this edge of time. I, too, was the coursing thread of light, my distance gone and tome completed, being chosen and longed for by many of myself who also traipsed time and space in those alternalities of choice.

Continuing the Craft

I remember my dad’s dad, Pop, watching me cut a steak, shaking his head in dismay. “The hands,” he lamented. “You don’t have the hands.” 

It’s a forgivable sentiment. Pop’s a blacksmith, a craftsman, an artist of the oldest tack. I was born lefty, forcibly converted righty, as dextrous as I was sinister — neither quite great, as my steak cutting showed.

Then I recall my own dad, planning the future. “Well, after mom retires, we’re going to move to Virginia. I think I’ll try my hand at blacksmithing and carrying on Pop’s business.” Didn’t quite end up like that.

I’d have hated to have seen the fires of Pop’s forge die down for good. But instead, it’s continuing on in a new light, with a new flame, one I didn’t quite expect:

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What’s Next After Sriracha?

Do tell: since when did Sriracha become a popular flavor?

In my school days, Sriracha was an uncommon currency. You could only get it from Asian grocers or from one of the many Indonesian students. We had it for dorm room ramen (which was against the rules at our college, I kid you not), chicken tenders, and Hungry Howie’s pizza. It felt like we’d shared a best-kept, lesser-known secret. Hipsters didn’t exist back then, so don’t even start.

Now? Far from the oblique status it once enjoyed, Sriracha is everywhere. In your chips. Your ranch dressings. Your OREOs.

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Pictured: Not hipster Tabasco.


But rather than decry the outing of a great, mid-2000s flavor secret, I think it’s cause for celebration. Every decade brings new flavors to the forefront, and I’m excited for what’s next:

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How David Blaine Saved Me from Slim Goodbody

I have only one “good story.” This is it. Save for embellishments, it’s 110% true.

I’d always heard that you couldn’t see your audience from the stage. But I could hear them, their raucous roars once compelling me there now dying down as Slim Goodbody welcomed me to the platform.

Yes, that Slim Goodbody.

“So, what can you do?” he asked.

I froze. That was not why I was up there.

Not only was I unprepared, I was incapable of doing what he was asking. Big difference. Public speaking is something you can actually do off the cuff, prepared or no. But if you physically cannot dunk a basketball, then there’s no way you’re walking off that stage with your dignity. Incapable.

I was prepared to kiss my dignity goodbye. To a dude wearing a this:

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I needed a miracle. What I got was magic:

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Delete These Things from Your Résumé Right Now — Part 2

In the last round of thrashing the wheat and chaff of résumés, we talked about three things to lop off for maximum hiring potential.

Made those edits yet? Good.

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This job seeker described his work experiences with emoji!” — Résumé Vivisector Mark VII™ by Hammermill


But wait, there’s more! Here’s where to keep on chopping:

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