Monday, October 16, 2017

Berlin 5

This City we live in is nothing of what Berlin was. My illustrator and I are simply posers, in love with the idea of Entartete Kunst and what it can show and tell.

When did it all start? 25 years ago.

The comparison is somewhat absurd. We know what came after the Weimar Republic, and fortunately the Bad Guys lost the War.

That time.

They don’t always, you know.

25 years ago we moved here, not knowing what would happen. Not knowing the City would outgrow its need of us, and others like us.

I suppose a lot of relationships end this way. Don't worry, Seattle. We're getting out of your way.

Monday, October 9, 2017

Berlin 4

You know her. She lives in this affluent city.

She’s yelled herself horse on the steps of City hall. The police killed her son and raped her with a nightstick. Maybe. She’s yelling it at the top of her lungs in January wearing only a contractor bag and a Patagonia vest she got at the group home before it closed.

Does it really matter at that point whether it ‘really happened’ or not? Who are you to ask at that point? You cannot look her in the face. What is it there that terrifies you? You look down, or away and tell yourself she chose this path.

If she just tried harder. If she stayed off the drugs I take in acceptable, purified pharmaceutical form. She must want to be like this, right?

I can’t wait until she grows to 500 feet tall and comes uptown to point her long brown finger nail at you before she turns you into stone.

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

Another Farewell to Summer

I am fond of ferries, for they have no bow or stern—they challenge our faith in linearity. But sailing on one away from Summer is a little different than commuting. Within the confines of a daily trip to work, it’s the minutia I must cherish. But here, upon the Lopez Sound sailing to Anacortes and away from the San Juans, the world of my consideration is larger.

It’s time again to say goodbye to unconditionally sunny days.

It’s time again to say farewell to wearing shorts and not bringing a closet full of layers.

But it’s also time to sail further into wisdom, and one gets that here, on the end of the ferry that faces the wake, the Island, the past. I don’t live in the past, although many have accused me of that act. How much of the past is me? That would be difficult to measure and out here beneath the sun and the clouds, I marvel at these universes I’m constantly moving through.

Maybe that’s why I like this end of the boat. I’m solitary by nature, and I usually have it to myself. Here I don’t have the enormity of others and their worlds weighing down on me. Those worlds are beautiful and ugly and I am thankful I no longer feel the need to possess them as my own in some selfish, youthful way.

The woman who was going to be the professor? I don’t know where that Ada went exactly. I used to search for her. The permutations of possibility are limited by only our minds and considering most of mine resides below this surface, I have no idea how many they are, so I learned that the subjunctive past is one I must be careful of.

I may be a little sad at leaving my vacation, or holiday, or retreat, or whatever you wish to call it. But then I remember that is because I am weighing in the scales of what I expect the quotidian to be and that is an unfair comparison. There may not be much that is fair in this world—save for what we make it—but fairness includes the lives we are constantly sailing into. It's our responsibility to make it better.

I thank the sun and the water for their beauty. I thank the elegance of the sailboat and the steadfast hum of the ferry’s engines. I thank the Summer for her time and look forward to the introspection of the Fall. I am grateful for this gift of a day, and shall keep it as the world grows darker.

Monday, October 2, 2017

The Deerwhere Awakening

Hagengard Studio is proud to present a new title for Fall of 2017!

The Deerwhere Awakening: by J.W. Capek

Exploring the possibilities of being human, across three sexes and beyond The Deerwhere Awakening is a timely story for our present.

Deerwhere is the culmination of humanity’s search for Utopia. After centuries of wars, overpopulation, political disruption, and global pandemics, there followed a New Confederation of Peace: of work, of service to others, and of recreation. Together in Deerwhere, survivors were male, female, and uniale. The colony quarantine kept three genders safe.

Uniales embody all the maleness and femaleness of the human genome. With epigenetics, they have the best qualities of both sexes and all the races.

The Deerwhere Awakening follows Noral: the uniale of a family unit, a trio of adults. Their idyllic lives in Deerwhere have all needs addressed by the Keeper, the Deerwhere Quantum Computer. All needs, but one. Confronted with the Confederation’s Third Option, Noral can no longer tolerate the dictates of a “perfect society.” The Deerwhere uniales must test their own loyalty towards the culture that is Deerwhere—a culture they must define for themselves.

Visit the Author Page at:

Available: September 27th, 2017

Print ISBN: 978-0-9909783-2-9

Kindle: 978-0-9909783-4-3

Sunday, October 1, 2017

Across the Bridge of October

I parked across the river and am going to the University library. Not because I have to do research, but because I want to. The oddity of this condition is the first thing that skews my perspective. The second is the fact that I am here during class, so I have the bridge to myself.

The students who are half my age swarmed around me on their way to class or exercise or whatever else it is I used to do here. Most did not notice me. Diffused by rain, age and my coat, I am no longer even some stupid acronym of desire for them.

The rains come and with the angle of the sun, their clouds render a world without shadows. I am greying now, the outward compromise between the rich sable in my soul and body and the sun that wears down everything.

I feel heavy and ponderous around them because they traipse and flirt and fiercely move ahead to career without the freight of time and memory. Yet I feel elegant in my architecture.

Ambition was a form I lost upon a time, and my style is antiquated. I am content because I am still learning in all this rain.

Thursday, September 28, 2017

Berlin 3

They are the measure of man. Man, specifically. Those who do not think as they do are stupid and wrong. They do not understand how anyone could be so stupid as to pray. Or who doesn’t want to live forever. These people are not really people then, in their estimation.

They pulled the wings off dragon flies because they could.

They built model rockets and killed the rodent-passengers because they could.

They drugged Cindy all those years ago in college and raped her. They weren’t sure which one. Neither paid for the abortion.

One of them is a genetic engineer now. The other writes AI code.

They can’t wait for the future.

Thursday, September 21, 2017

Berlin 2

His skin is moist. This is because it is drawn tight, and he is exerting what is left of his pulmonary system to breathe. So he sweats a lot. His eyes fog up his glasses on most days. He habitually licks his lips, but he likes this humid weather because he takes a lot of blood thinners now.

People like to come to his parties. He usually has two girls, both dark brown and brought to this country. They change like the rotating taps in his brew pubs. The only time he wept was when he shot the last rhinoceros, because there would be no more to shoot.

Of course, his fingers are thick and like sausages. They know all the assholes. You can hear something like a snore when he is considering his next move. Don’t think he’s asleep, that’s how you get lured in, as though there is a sac full of bio-luminescent bacteria on a tendril hanging in front of his fat face.