Brooks’ Recent Posts

 

  • Me and Clouds

    I don’t drive a car. Nor ride a bike. I walk but not often. Mostly what I do to get around is ride a cloud. Not one particular cloud. But clouds.

    Clouds are pretty much traveling by every day. When I need to get somewhere I look up and a cloud notices my gaze and swoops down and says, “Where do you need to go?”

    I give my destination, hop on, and take the soft ride. The clouds never say much. Things like, “How’s it going back there?” “Can I get you anything?”

    Clouds know where everything is so they don’t need directions. It makes sense since they spend so much time in the sky and love to look down.

    When they get to where I asked, they lower down gently. I step off. They say along the lines of, “I hope whatever you’re going to do goes well.” I say thanks.

    When I’m done with what I did, I go outside, look up, and the same thing happens again.

    Why me? What makes the clouds so generous to my travel needs? I don’t know.

  • On the Fritz

    I was sitting on the couch in my living room, reading Bickford’s Things to Forget, when I heard the time-travel machine turn on. I looked up across the room to see it disappear. Where could it have gone on its own?

    There was nothing I could do. I went back to reading about a man named Mitch who used to sit in his back yard in a reclining chaise lounge and now and then combed his hair with his fingers.

    The time-travel machine reappeared. I set the book down. I got up to take a closer look. As I got near it went away again.

    I felt the air where the time-machine had been. There was a slight suction like space minus time.

    I called Burt who repairs time-machines. I told him what happened. He’d never heard of that before. I asked what to do. He said there’s nothing I could do. I asked about when it returns. He said if it returns. I said yeah. He said he didn’t know.

    I waited next to the spot where the time-machine disappeared. It returned. I opened the door and got in. I sat in the seat.

    There was a vibration and my living room disappeared. The time-machine was afloat in an ocean. It bobbed. I was nauseous, unrolling the window, leaning out, throwing up. I typed in the time I had left in the time-destination panel, touched the red button, and was back in my living room.

    A moth landed on the hood. There was a hum from the time-machine and the living room disappeared.

    The time-machine was packed in snow and ice, the moth frozen stiff on the other side of the glass. The glass began to crack. I typed in the previous time. Then I was back in the living room. Wind from the ceiling fan blew the dead moth onto the floor.

    I felt the vibration again and swiftly whacked the console panel with my palm. The time-machine remained where it was. The vibration returned, followed by a whack, and the same surroundings. A minute went by.

    I got up and returned to my book on the couch. I read about a woman named Beth who went outside.

  • We’ll see!

    I was visited by my future self today. He arrived via time-machine from the year 3352. I asked how I could still be alive after so long. He said robot parts. I asked him to show me. He undid a screw and showed me all the wires and pulleys. They made whirring sounds.

    I asked about the energy source. He showed me two AAA batteries. I asked him what happens when he’s out and about and the batteries wear out. He took a spare pair out of his pocket.

    I asked him/me why the visit. He said that he wanted to visit me the day before something really really really good happens. I asked him what was the really really really good thing. He wouldn’t say because surprises are the spice of life.

    I asked him why he didn’t visit me on the day of the really really really good thing. He said to create suspense.

  • Frogs

    I decided to time-travel to seven-and-a-half years into the future. The amount of time was a feeling on my part. Time-travel is not something you bring exactness into. Time is hazy, creamy and diluted. You got to go with your gut.

    I was catapulted into the Sebastopol, California of January 3, 2027. My home was gone. In its place was a small box. I opened the box. Within was a frog. The frog said, “Yeah, what?” I asked what happened to my home. The frog said, “I don’t know. And would you please close back the lid of the box, I prefer privacy.”

    I closed the box. I looked around. All the homes in my neighborhood were gone, in their place were similar looking boxes. The air had a green mist that smelled like limes.

    The street was no longer asphalt, but was covered with what looked like whipped butter. I stuck a finger in and took a taste. It was the said butter. I took off my shoes and walked in the creamy substance. It was warm and soft due to the strong mid-day sun.

    I walked till I got to the end of the street. The perpendicular street was filled with people that appeared to be standing in a stagnant line. I asked a person what they were standing in line for. The person said, “I’m not standing in line. This is where I live.” I said I was confused due to time-travel. The person said, “It’s a long story, but frogs have taken over.”

    I walked back in the butter street to my time-machine, got in, and came back to today.

    I sat on the couch in my home and looked out the window. I noticed a whip-poor-will on the birch tree branch. The bird looked at me. I looked back. I thought that we must be having a supernatural moment of connection. But then I realized that the bird was staring at its own reflection.

  • Today’s time-travel trip!

    I took my time-machine back to April of 1775 and landed on a ship sailing the Atlantic Ocean. It was exciting like a roller coaster because the waves were choppy and the ship would sail high up on a wave and then come crashing back down. I yelled, “Weeeeeeeh” as I slide all the way to the back of the ship. I would have flipped off and landed in the ocean if I hadn’t been caught and saved by the famous Captain John Paul Jones. He yelled, “Gotcha!”

    He asked how I got on the ship. I told him I’d time-traveled. He was curious and wanted to know more. I gave him a copy of my New York Times bestseller, “Time-Travelin’: A Fun Thing to Do in Your Free Time.” He asked me to sign it, which I did. He started to read it. I said he didn’t need to keep me company. He nodded and went back to his cabin to read my book.

    I stayed on the deck. I looked out at the water. I love water. Water is the main ingredient in my self-made time-travel machine. I added it because water’s flexible. Anything that can change from ice to water to steam and essentially still be the same thing is the grease that allows me to slip through the time portals.

  • Thanks to Bickles

    I went on stage. I said, “I’m sorry I’m late. I forgot I was supposed to be speaking tonight.” The audience laughed.

    I said, “I’m not joking. What happened was earlier in the day I was looking out the window at a tree. Next thing I knew it was dark and I was still looking at the tree.”

    “I remembered I had this talk to give. I asked my pet condor Bickles to give me a lift to the show. Bickles has a nine foot wing-span and once lifted a car out of a ditch. Bickles gripped the back of my collar and flew me here.”

  • Ralph the water

    I’m working on a book about the history of water. It starts four and a half billion years ago. There wasn’t water. And then suddenly water appeared. Its name was Ralph. Ralph had traveled all the way from Pluto, a planet made of ice. He was looking for a change of scenery. He found a very dry Earth and thought, “This seems like the place.”

    Ralph the water spread out on the dry Earth bed. He kept spreading. He spread some more. Eventually Ralph spread out across the entire planet. Earth basically became the biggest pool in the galaxy.

    It wasn’t long before Ralph got restless and and changed things up, seeping into the ground and forming underground rivers, and evaporating into the air and sky, and occasionally raining. This pleased Ralph because on Pluto, there was only one choice for all water, be frozen. But now he got to innovate and be himself.

  • Another day goes by

    I looked up at the sky. The sky said, “What?” I said, “I like to look at you.” The sky said, “Will you stop it? You’re bothering me.” I stopped looking at the sky.

    I looked at the ground. The ground said, “What do you want?” I said, “Nothing. I’m just noticing you.” The ground said, Well, it’s bothering me, so cut it out!”

    I looked at a tree. The tree didn’t say anything. I kept looking at the tree. Still the tree was silent. A hawk flew down and landed on a branch of the tree. After a moment, the hawk said, “Why are you looking at me?” I said, “I’m not, I’m looking at the tree.” The hawk, “It seems like you’re looking at me.” I said I wasn’t. The hawk said, “Please stop. You’re making me uncomfortable.”

    I closed my eyes. I felt the sun and breeze on my skin. I thought about the time I sat on top of a hill and threw rocks down at a rusty tin can. I was able to hit the can a lot. It gave me a feeling of confidence.

  • The elephant and the mouse

    The elephant was tired and sat down. There was a yelling sound from the elephant’s behind. The elephant looked back and saw a mouse. The elephant was sitting on the mouse’s tail.

    The elephant stood and said, “I’m so sorry.” The mouse said, “Why don’t you look where you’re sitting?” The elephant said, “You’re right. I was tired and not thinking well. Is your tail okay?” The mouse held its tail and said, “It hurts a lot.”

    The elephant said, “I’m so sorry. Can I kiss and make it better?”

    The mouse nodded. The elephant bent down to the ground and kissed the mouse’s tail.

    The mouse said, “Thanks, that feels better.”

  • How I like to do things

    Sometimes I like to sit. Sometimes I prefer to stand. I vary. Sometimes I’ll only sit for a few seconds, and then I’ll stand up. I may stand for an hour or more, and suddenly I sit. I never schedule how long for either. I like it spontaneous.

    But I schedule out my thoughts. As planned ahead of time, at 10:30 this morning I thought about the time I was seven and my family and I went apple picking in the Shenandoah mountains. Those apples were so juicy.

    I’m scheduled to think about how well this writing is going in five, four, three, two, one second…I thought about how this is most revealing.

Older Entries