All Traffic Keep Right

Issue 41 - December 1998 It's been quite a year... Eleven issues were released in 1998, more than in any other year ( Ibn Qirtaiba is officially still an irregular publication, despite its recent monthly regularity). Last month the third SCIFI.CON coincided with the third special issue of IQ released for the event. And most dramatically of all, Ibn Qirtaiba's USA Internet provider went

out of business in August, leading to an unscheduled period of downtime for the publication. Now we are back on-line, hopefully to stay: any input from readers or potential sponsors as to how the costs of the relocation should best be covered would be welcomed. Issue 41 opens with the second part of Fred Noweck's entertaining account of his adventure gaming experiences - the conclusion will appear next issue. Next is a letter from a NASA consultant who has a request I'm sure many of you will be interested in! New contributor H Turnip Smith follows up with an excellent speculative short story All Traffic Keep Right, and Keith Allen Daniels wraps up the issue with another of his well-loved poems. Issue 41 is illustrated by Uptoantix, a self-described digital tinkerer, whose Digital Igloo you can visit by clicking on any of his 3D compositions in this issue.

Merry Christmas to you all, and I look forward to presenting more Ibn Qirtaiba in 1999!

Contents The Compleat Adventurer, part 2 by Fred Noweck Letter Short story: All Traffic Keep Right by H Turnip Smith

Poem: Porifera by Keith Allen Daniels

Adventurer,, part 2 © 1998 The Compleat Adventurer Fred Noweck Now for my experience at MJ: I arrived at 8:30 p.m. Friday evening after driving all day and taking the wrong turn a couple of times (note: having a navigator along is very helpful). That was when I discovered that my character profile had not arrived. (The game-master, Eric, said that they had tried to get in touch with me but had been unable to.) So, with the help of one of the game proctors, we rebuilt my character. Since nothing else was working right, I became a half-elven thief. Fortisven Half-elven by name. It's real easy to come up with an Elven name: just pick a long word and add and/or subtract vowels until it's unrecognizable. As I

had no Elven ears (all Elven characters have to wear Spock ears), I wore a head-band covering my ears. (Sort of like Spock did in the Star Trek movie, The Voyage Home).

With the 110 points I was allowed, I chose: One-handed weapon, poison craft (the ability to work with poisons), apply poison (this lets me make a poison blade), waylay (useful for a thief), and avoid traps (self explanatory). My sword was then inspected to make sure it was safe. After a minor alteration, it passed inspection. I did everything wrong that weekend but still had fun - I'll know better next time what to do and what to avoid. I, Fortisven Half-elven, came into Lowtown for lodging (the prices were lower than Hightown). I had heard rumors that I might find somewhere here the Amulet of Change that would allow me to control my were-wolf side. Fortunately, the moon was at new, so I needn't worry about changing yet. My money was almost gone, so I must needs 'liberate' a few pouches to increase my ready coin for bribes and information. A pity that I haven't had much practice what with living in the wildwood. I hid three of my coppers and took two with me as I had forgotten to bring a pouch for money. When I left my room, I was set upon by a pair of green-faced monsters, the like of which I had never seen. After defeating me (it didn't take long) they threw my battered and bleeding body into the bushes and went off in search of more prey. When I awoke, a Necromancer was lifting his hands from my body. He had raised my dead body as an Undead! I must obey my master, the Necromancer, and search out others to kill. He later met with a Succubus to complain about the dearth of bodies for his army. In disgust, perhaps because his army wasn't big enough for his purposes, he then slew me. As a spirit (and nothing that happens as a spirit is remembered by a character), I went to Fate. Fate was annoyed because of all the spirits he (it?) was having to process. I was briefly instructed in how to approach Fate, told to choose four cards (face down - the first time I pulled it face up), and then told to choose one of the cards to settle my fate. (I am told other places do it differently.) My fate was to loose half of my armor - I wasn't wearing any - my Mana and life points were restored completely and no memory of events just prior to my "death". I was then dismissed to return to the living. I found that I had missed a battle in which the Necromancer was killed and the Succubus returned to the Void (both Non-player characters). So I went to the Silvermane Inn for an ale. No one had bothered to search my body and so I still had my two coppers with me. Nothing appeared to be going on so I wandered around exploring. In Hightown, I found a Seer. I consulted with her about the Amulet but she knew nothing of it. She then read my future. She told me that, while I would confront many difficulties and

trials, I would in the end achieve my goals. She didn't tell me everything she saw in the cards though. She appeared to be disturbed by something she saw there. After I left her, I went to the Temple of Baku but the priest wasn't there. I didn't attempt to rob the Temple. Something told me that it would be a very bad thing. I went over to the Mage's Guild Hall to look around. Several chests invitingly on the tale roused my suspicions. Using my (admittedly slight) talents, I opened one chest and narrowly avoided the poison needle that sprang out. The chest was empty. Not wishing to push my luck, I reset the trap, closed the chest, and quietly left. On the way back to Lowtown, I decided to try my skills at waylay. I picked a likely looking Ra'Kash and attempted to knock him out. Unfortunately, he sensed the blow coming and dodged. Good thing he didn't get a good look at me. Continuing on to Lowtown, I decided to get a bite to eat. I saw movement in the shadows... the next thing I know, I'm leaving Fate again. I'm still hungry so I return to Lowtown. A Guardsman that I meet tells me to beware, there are strange lights in the wood. That's fine by me. About now, I'm getting angry enough to fight anything. I go down the path slowly, letting my eyes get accustomed to the dark. But I find nothing. For now, I eat and go to bed. Morning and I get up and take a trip to the communal showers. I was surprised at the level of the amenities. I was told that there were none! (While in the showers and until I got my costume on, I was out-of-game so that, officially, I didn't see the monsters creeping up on Lowtown - talk about a rude awakening. If you are in bed, you are fair game for monsters... you shouldn't be in bed that late anyway. They still hadn't attacked by the time I got back to the cabin, so all I could do was dress and urge my cabin-mates to get up. Alas, I finished dressing before anyone got up.) As I started out the door, I noticed movement out the window. Drawing my sword, I yelled a warning to my cabin-mates. I, of course, fell beneath the first rush, but as there were several Healers in the cabin, I wasn't too worried. Sure enough, after a brief fight in which the monsters were driven off, I regained consciousness to see a Cleric's glowing hands leaving my (now healed) body. Taking two coppers from my fast diminishing stash, I headed for the Silvermane Inn. There I found, to my delight, a supply of Black Potion (coffee) and sweetcakes (muffins). I noticed a game of chess in progress and wandered over to observe. The game was ending. I was asked if I played by the priest of Baku. (I never learned his name. Pity, that) As we played, one of the Inn's servitors came by, singing badly in a strange language. It was most annoying. It put my game right off! So I excused myself for a moment to get my sword from where I had left it by the pot of Black Potion, went over to the servitor, and slipped my poisoned blade into his gut! He screeched rather well, and fell over. I apologized

to the priest of Baku for the disturbance and continued our game. Some people, though, just won't leave well enough alone! A Healer was called in and cleansed the fool and a Mage came in and turned my right leg to stone. As if I would leave a good game of chess! However, all the commotion threw my game completely off. So I was hauled off to jail. This annoyed me, too, so I pig-snorted at the guard-private that was taking me. Big mistake! Now, I'm a trouble- maker in addition to being a poisoner. Once in the jailcell, I was beaten severely by the guard, fitted with a ball and chain on my ankle and another on my wrist! The idiot put it on my right wrist, apparently not noticing that my sword was set for a left-hand draw. I was searched but the guard didn't find my money. To amuse himself while waiting for Corporal Mudd to arrive (Mudd is the Lord Sheriff's right hand), the guard had me do laps around a puddle, dragging my ball and chain. The indignity of it! I, who was raised for better things, forced to perform for a guard! I had a brief conversation with an Oriental gentleman who thought that I was training my arm and leg to greater strength. I went along with this, hoping to convince him to help me out of the weight while the guard wasn't looking. I claimed to have lost the key and wished to change legs and arms so that I wouldn't develop lop-sided. He wished to help but had no way of opening the locks... Grrrr! But I kept a pleasant smile on my face. Fools must be suffered until time to fleece them. Soon Corporal Mudd arrived to hear my case. I freely admitted to killing... well... stabbing, anyway ... the servitor at the Inn, and gave my reason. The priest of Baku backed up my story (always smile at priests and donate to their god and you can get away with a lot), but it didn't do much good. Fortunately, Mudd didn't want to spend the day watching me in jail, so he let me go. But he took my sword! I pleaded with him to let me keep my sword. It's dangerous out there for an unarmed man! He was adamant. I strode off, seething. After I calmed down, I went back to the town scribe and asked nicely to talk to the Captain (getting Mudd's rank wrong - so I was sent to someone else). The scribe sent me to the Lord Sheriff! Oh well. I tried convincing the sheriff to give me my sword back but he checked my story against Mudd's first. He then fined me one silver and gave me my sword on condition that I return by noon the following day and pay the fine, or have the fine increased and be branded. Where am I going to get a silver by tomorrow?

Nothing for it but to waylay someone. And that's not easy in broad daylight! I finally saw someone trailing a little behind another group but my dagger got stuck in my robe. I had already made up my mind to take her, so I used my sword - I swear I didn't realize that there was still some poison on my blade! Her scream brought the others running, so I couldn't search her for some coin. Blast - my luck is running foul today.

I managed to evade the chase and then took off my hood to change my appearance. Once I got back to my cabin in Lowtown, I changed all my clothes to alter my description further. As I left my room, I noticed that there had been a fight outside. Two bodies were in the road. I checked one and he had no pulse. Quickly searching him, I came across two coppers. Going to the other, I saw that it was the Ra'Kash gypsy from my cabin. Searching quickly, I took a pouch containing one silver and nine coppers! A fortune! Also, enough to pay my fine! I left quickly as there were other people about. But as later events show, not quickly enough. I divided my take, taking the silver and three coppers and hiding the rest. As a courtesy, I left my roommate's money pouch (now empty) on his bed. Still having no pouch of my own, I stuffed the money into my cheek to hide it. Then, off I went to pay my fine. I no sooner got to the Inn to celebrate my new wealth, when I was arrested! It seems that I was seen after all as I was searching those two bodies. I was again beaten but now I was searched extensively. In frustration at finding nothing, the private took a practice sword and beat me bloody. After one such blow, the money flew from my mouth. I was then beaten senseless and the money taken. But the Ra'Kash could not identify me so I was released, protesting my innocence. Well, I still had my stash. Going back to my room, I checked my stash. Empty! I've been robbed! I hurried to the town scribe to ask the sheriff for an extension but the scribe told me that the matter had been given to Corporal Mudd to dispose of. Ouch! Nothing for it but to bite the swordhilt and go see him. I found him in the Inn. I explained my situation, offered services, even volunteered (gulp) for the guard (shudder). To no avail. Mudd wants the money. He must be getting part of it for himself. I looked up the scribe again and asked his advice about making some money. He suggested that I become a bounty hunter. Now that sounded interesting! However, I soon learned that to be a legal bounty hunter, I must register and pay a fee of two coppers! Me, with no money! I was considering my (short) future when the Famori mage, Psyche, made me an offer: if I could obtain the ingredients for a potion of Mana, she would pay me two silvers. Saved! I checked with an apprentice alchemist and found that I needed powdered ruby and Tantalos berries. Surely I could find the berries and I was sure that I could find a citizen with an extra ruby to 'share'. I set off with high hopes. I found out what to look for and searched far and wide but found nothing but a two-headed bear. Very friendly. Rub his stomach and feed him and he goes to sleep. I finally gave up the search and headed back to Lowtown. When I got there, red-faced monsters were running amok but seemed to be confined by the running water at the bridge. Here was my chance to make a difference! I called my intentions to the others so that the

knowledge would not be lost if I died. I taunted the monster who was by the bridge to see if it could cross. It hesitated, then stepped onto the bridge. Running water, then, does not stop them. I called out this information and prepared to delay the monster so that the others could escape. It ripped me limb from limb. Back to Contents Back to Index

Letter I visited your website and I hope your readers can help me out. NASA is in the process of developing a conceptual "Error Proof Flight Deck" (EPFD). The intent of the EPFD is to trap flight crew errors before they occur or to mitigate the error consequences after they occur. The concept is focused on making the flight deck 'human centered'; that is, assuring that the flight crew is the center of flight operations rather than acting as system managers. As we all know, humans naturally err. Some NASA experts believe that current flight deck design does not take into account the natural tendency of humans to commit errors. In addition, NASA believes that flight deck design must reduce the impact of human limitations and weaknesses and capitalize on human strengths. NASA believes that appropriate engineering design can achieve these goals resulting in a flight deck which is highly resistant to error. NASA uses what they term the 'body metaphor' to explain the role of the flight crew in their EPFD. They point out that (physically) the human brain cannot actually 'do' anything. Instead, the brain receives an array of sensory input. Based on that input the brain makes decisions and sends instructions to the body. Based on further sensory input, the brain modifies its instructions to the body. NASA intends that the flight crew should be to the flight deck/flight systems as the human brain is to the human body. They believe that this model will have a dramatic impact on error reduction. In addition to the human centered aspect (for error reduction) of the flight deck, NASA intends that the EPFD become the primary flight crew training location and training device. Instead of spending large amounts of time in the classroom or in flight simulators, crew trainees will spend most of their time in the EPFD. NASA believes that this approach will result in a dramatic reduction in the time to train as well as identifying and extinguishing error prone behavior before actually flying the aircraft. NASA selected my company, Carley Corporation, to identify existing, emerging and on-the-horizon training technologies/methodologies that can be engineered into the EPFD. Thus, we are engaged in what could be termed a 'technology scan.' That is, we are looking at any and all

training concepts that may have application to the EPFD. NASA has been clear in stating they do not want us to confine our scan to what exists; they desire that we expand our investigations to training technologies/methodologies which will likely exist in the future. I am interested in contacting people with "cutting edge" training ideas related to the EPFD. I believe that you and your readers, since they are interested in futuristic topics, can provide significant and important input to the effort. I envision that your readers are, by and large, heavily into computers and theoretical/futuristic thinking - probably more than the general public and more than the normal range of educational researchers. Thus, I am interested in hearing from anyone with ideas related to our training effort. Ideas could be in the areas of programming, software, hardware, mathematics, pure and applied sciences, humanities, etc. The sky is the limit although technical feasibility within the next 10-20 years would probably be more helpful and useful. Our effort is primarily concerned with training ideas, but we understand that in order for your readers to contribute their ideas, they may be couched in terms of certain hardware ideas they have in mind. As such, it would be very proper to have them submit their hardware concepts for this new EPFD. Training ideas may focus on a small aspect of flight or the overall flight system. I would appreciate it if you would post this letter to your readers who you think would be interested in becoming a part of this NASA effort. I am a futuristic kind of person by nature, so I envision an exchange of ideas. My program manager, Dr. Jay Vaughan will be inputting his ideas and making contacts as well. We think this is an exciting concept and I hope you and your readers will take an active part in the effort. I look forward to that input. If I can provide any additional information please do not hesitate to phone me at 407-894-5575 Ext. 262, or e-mail me at [email protected]. Thank you for your assistance. Dr. Richard A. Dietzel Carley Corporation Back to Contents Back to Index

Short Story: All Traffic Keep Right © 1998 H Turnip Smith You want to know the truth after Marge and I turned 40 it was once a month, nudge-nudge in the night, then two upside-down Volkswagens bumping along up hill in low gear, followed by a slow sag into the repair shop for radiator work. Of course,

Marge doesn't like to see me naked. Only the president of a nudist colony could blame her. I've got these blue-veined stork legs and a flabby body the color of baking soda. Most of the time it was, "Charlie, did you remember to change the potting soil in the begonias?" Tell the truth I never did and never remembered to put Rover's used Kibbles in the trash or clean the little brown ring out of the toilet either. Except for you couldn't get me to a rock concert at gun point, I guess you could say I was a standard issue 1974 husband give or take a bald spot or two. So anyway I was secretly thinking about divorce. A guy thing. You know how that is; a guy always fantasizes about some slinky aerobics instructor in a red sundress and white sandals, never bothering to deal with the part about whether she'd be attracted to a shiny-domed number-cruncher in size 44 pants. So I said to Marge, "Betsy's married now and our love life is pretty much on a par with sea anemones, so why don't we think about starting all over again." "Charlie, if you're talking about divorce you'd better shut up, Mister," Marge said, twirling her sewing scissors. "You leave me for a younger woman and I'll drag you through every divorce court between here and Las Vegas." "But, Marge," I said, "Let's be reasonable here. You know how it is between us in bed now." "Charlie," she said. "A marriage is not about sex!" Well she had that right! So anyway there I was driving to work my head full of stay or go or make a lawyer rich via alimony when I get backed up in traffic in one of those freeway construction deals - ALL TRAFFIC KEEP RIGHT. I must have poked along for fifteen minutes hardly moving ten car lengths when something snapped and I swung past some orange barrels and took a left. It was just like sliding through a revolving door. I came rolling out the other side smooth as whipped cream at a custom's inspection booth - ALL VEHICLES MUST STOP HERE! Was I carrying concealed firearms or any fresh fruit etc.? No, but did having my grandson's broken potty chair in the trunk by mistake count? OK, no problem. The custom's inspector, an officious-looking bastard with a bow tie and a clipped mustache, ordered me out of the car for a briefing, so I ducked inside where it was air-conditioned. His little office was plastered with gigantic pink wall maps and lists of Do's and Don'ts that I pretty much ignored. "You understand you're here voluntarily for exactly six months? After that time period elapses you'll have to fill out paperwork and register an intention to become a permanent citizen. In the meantime you'll be able to do whatever you choose within the parameters of our bio/social makeup."

I wasn't quite sure what exactly the hell he was talking about; I was just damn glad to be out of the traffic jam, so I nodded my head yeah, yeah like I was right on top of things. "Occupational choice and body build?" he asked. "Choose carefully. Decision irreversible." Well sure I was going to spend a new life being a bookkeeper and umpiring softball games all over again. "Pro basketball player -- large," I said. "Done!" he said, handing me a card where to report and an instructional manual which I promptly managed to misplace somewhere in the clutter of my Cavalier. So away I drove. Everything there (wherever the hell there was )was tinted electrical blue with a nice moderate temperature and no traffic lights. The custom's guru had mentioned something about this place being the refracted mirror image of my native society, but frankly it didn't register. I'd never been much on science. Well anyway the team was over-joyed to have me. Why not? I was 7 feet 6 inches tall, could run like a gazelle, shoot like a rifle, dunk with either hand, dribble behind my back at full speed, and sell a little beer during timeouts if necessary. With me leading the way we were rolling through opponents like a nuclear bowling ball on a hundred pin alley. On the other hand, I wasn't getting that friendly with my new teammates. After the games I'd say, "Hey let's go catch a beer, Vladimir." "Nope. Hitting the pool." I'd try Jimbo. "Hey, Jimbo, let's go suck up some suds." He'd wink. "Nah, going for a swim." Swimming sure! I'd flunked dog paddling and stopped laying out at the pool when I was sixteen and some wise teenage girl wanted to know if I was really that skinny or did my momma put me through the clothes' wringer. Anyway I'm whiling away my evenings in this brew pub when I spot this gorgeous redhead. You know what she reminded me of? She was a dead mirror image of Marge before she turned into a bag of flour and got the sixteen extra rhinoceros bulges on her abdomen. I don't know why, but the redhead and I hit it off from git go. Two weeks later she was up in my room. Wrong ! Sorry Charlie! Somehow I'd failed to notice that the new slam-dunking me was lacking the appropriate instrumentation for an earth-type hookup. Hell, all I could do was laugh. "Seemed like a great idea at the time," I said, "That's ok, Charlie," Margel (that was her name) said. "I'm missing an appropriate part too. Anyway we don't have to have sex to enjoy each other's company."

"Damn right," I lied, thinking "but it sure would be nice." Well it wasn't that long after the debacle at my hotel room that Margel invited me to go swimming. "Hey, what do we want to go swimming for?" I said. "Well we're both new here and that seems to be the thing to do in this country," she said. "Sounds pretty ignorant to go do something we both can't just because every creep in this country thinks he's Mark Spitz." Of course I lost the debate and so we're down at this triple Olympic-size pool that looks like its filled with grape jello that hasn't quite set yet and we're splashing around and we see six gazillion teenagers holding these little blue five-dollar radios up to their ear. "Wonder what's the big deal with the radios?" I said to Margel. "Beats me," she said, "Let's borrow one and find out." Whoa ride 'em cowboy! Turned out to be the greatest thing since Elvis in leather pants and chocolate-covered graham crackers. Margel had the radio up to her ear and I was close by holding her hand and gangbusters! My eyes bulged out of my head, my hair stood on end, a silent scream went shooting through my left brain and rattled the window in my right brain. From the looks of Margel it hit her too except she stormed out of the pool with murder in her eyes. "What the hell's going on here?" I kept asking myself on the drive to the game. "Why'd Margel have to go and get pissed off? I guess I better get a hold of one of those instruction manuals the custom's inspector was dishing out when I got here." That evening after the game I rummaged around in my dit bag and scrounged up the guide book the custom's agent gave me when I came through the check point. "Let the reader be warned that ignorance of the rules does not constitute forgiveness from the rules and blah, blah, blah." Then there it was on page 61 under POOL RULES - "Be it understood that each sexual stimulation during natatation will result in forfeiture of two years of one's life expectancy; therefore, swimmers are advised to use discretion upon using battery-charged devices during pool experience." "Hey two years no problem," I said to myself. "Better call Margel, though, and let her know the deal." "Oh, Charlie, you're nasty," Margel said when I read her the lowdown, "What happened in the pool was not nice!" "Not nice? It was dynamite times six." "For you maybe, Charlie, but I thought it was a disgusting

violation of my privacy. And two years off one's life is a horrible price." "C'mon, Margel; who's going to miss two years of sitting in the rocking chair looking for false teeth and reading prescription warnings." "Oh, Charlie, no! Life is a precious thing. What about an old person's wife, and children, and grandchildren?" "Hey, they're happy to see you gone. No more listening to stale stories over and over." "Oh no, Charlie, that's not right. People have feelings." "Oh oh. So much for the swimming pool," I thought, but I said, "You know what, kid, maybe you and I should go bowling tonight instead of the pool." "Well that would be OK." No sooner than I hung up with Margel I got a call from a familiar-sounding voice. "Charlie Fullavet? This is the Bureau of Customs. You have completed five months and 22 days of your trial period. This is a reminder that you must report to our offices in one week and inform us of your intentions as to whether or not you plan to seek full-time residency status here. Thank you." Whoa six months had fast-forwarded and just when I'm getting to know the ropes of the place, whammo one week left and I'm faced with the toughest decision of my life. Count on it I didn't spend the first day of my last week practicing my free throws. Carrying my own little battery-powered radio, I was down at the pool when it opened. Bingo bug eyes at 7:02. Hair erect at 7:14. Screaming out loud at 7:21, and flat on my back under water with a mega at 7:33. That's when this huge blond lifeguard dragged me out. "Hey, buddy, you realize you just zonked eight years off your life?" "So?" "So you're committing suicide, man. I can't let you do it. Page 303 of the rules." Disappointed in one way, but glad the jerk stopped me in another, I got my clothes on and headed out to a pub. I was sitting there nursing a pint, thinking about Rover, Betsy, the grandson, and even Marge and feeling the blues when in walked Margel. There was a storm cloud distorting her face and it looked like we were headed for a red tornado. "Charlie, the more I think about it the more disgusted I am with you."

"Disgusted with me. What'd I do?" "You should have known the rules. You took advantage of me in that swimming pool and we're not even married. In fact for all I know you might even be married yourself." "It was an accident, Margel, and besides nobody's married here." "Well I'm not from here and neither are you, and where I come from people get married before they climb into swimming pools together." "We hardly even touched each other, Margel!" "That's the Love should morning you Don't think

point, Charlie. It's so impersonal. It's just sex. be more than just a buzzer going off. And this down there in the pool six times all by yourself. I didn't hear about it."

"What did it hurt? It didn't mean anything." "That's what's wrong with it, Charlie. It's got about as much meaning as eating as running a vacuum cleaner. And you slowly committing suicide over it. And besides you looked awful in a swimming suit. So the bottom line is I just don't want to see you anymore. You understand?" The lecherous, blond hunk that Margel took up with looked like he'd been carved out of stone. I swear if they'd gone near the swimming pool I'd have done something stupid. I couldn't even stand to see them stare into one another's eyes. It was down right erotic - without a doubt the worst week of my life. On Monday the customs inspector looked at me like I'd grown an extra nose. "You're going back? Nobody goes back," he said. "Back to headaches and heartaches and hassles; back to plumbing and peeing and monthly payments?" "You got it, buddy," I said. "You see I've got a loyal wife and family and a dog back in the states." "If you just want a wife and a dog, we can supply you with several of each. You're making a stupid mistake. You do understand your decision is irrevocable? You realize we have an extensive waiting list of malcontents?" "Hey, I understand perfectly." "Well then there's one other thing," he said. "The telegram." "What telegram?" "This one." I opened the little green envelope with a feeling of dread and tried to absorb the words, but they just wouldn't sink in. "Please return immediately for funeral. Mom died unexpectedly on 28 June, 1999. Believed cause - broken heart. Betsy. Daddy,

come home." I guess I was still sitting there with wet eyes when the driver in the cars behind me started honking like I was parked on his foot. When I looked up, the construction bottleneck had started to unclog. The flagman at the side of the road was grinning like an idiot, waving us through like he hadn't noticed we'd been frying in the sun for a half-hour. Even though my eyes were blurry with tears and I felt a little dizzy with the sun, I tromped on the gas, determined to turn around at the next exit and head for home. Sad part was, however - now I realized it was already too late. Back to Contents Back to Index

Poem: Porifera © 1996 Keith Allen Daniels "Sponges grow in the ocean. That kills me. Imagine how much deeper the oceans would be if that didn't happen." - Steven Wright Looking for all the world (and beyond) like giant desiccated morels with long and spindly, Daliesque legs ludicrous legs that never quite reach the ground the sponge-things appear out of nowhere (which is to say, the periphery of everywhere) and very cleverly up-end themselves into every pond and lake, ocean, sea and sinkhole on this beautiful blue planet, headstanding like baobab trees and waving their pointless legs in the air. And they swell to the size of Brobdingnagian beachballs as every drop of available water is absorbed by their absurdly poriferous bodies. Destroyed: nearly all aquatic and pelagic life forms. Altered irrevocably: global climatic patterns. Definitely pissed off: environmentalists everywhere. And they do this, not for petty xenophobic reasons, or for spite - we could understand those things - or for any nefandous purpose known only to themselves, but purely and simply because they suck.

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