Mice In A Fish Tank

Few people actually like me, and one of them keeps mice in a fish tank. It’s my vocabulary. Gulls squawk. Sirens whoop. I use large words. It comes naturally to me. But others just think I’m full of myself, a showoff. My wife’s friend’s husband said he should’ve brought a dictionary along to dinner. He laughed as he said it, but everyone at the table knew. I felt I was back in high school. The adults were thugs in suits and dresses, and the girls covered their mouths when they giggled. There are tumors no mix of chemicals can shrink.From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is a professor emeritus at SUNY New Paltz whose newest poetry books, The Dark and Akimbo, are available from Sacred Parasite, a Berlin-based publisher.

A Parasite By Any Other Name

Simon believed he was losing his vocabulary. Growing up, he'd dabbled in poetry and read the dictionary for fun. Yes, he was pretentious, but at least he knew the meaning of...well he couldn't think of a good example right now. Further proof of his decline.

Fiona insisted he see the doctor. More than just forgetful, Simon's skin had yellowed, his eyes were bloodshot, and he grew more irritable by the day. He finally acqui...capitul...gave in.

The doctor immediately sent Simon into surgery. He was showing all the signs of a language-devouring parasite.

They were quite common ever since the invasion.

Spelling Bee

The third grade spelling bee at Crispus Attucks Elementary was an annual event that attracted international attention. Students trained strenuously for the competition in hopes of being crowned champion. Thanks to corporate sponsorship, the prize had surpassed one million dollars. Just making it past the first round was considered an exceptional feat.

"Fugacious."

"Legerdemain."

"Pusillanimous."

Parents complained about the difficulty of the vocabulary. Officials ignored them, claiming it was the whining of losers. You never heard the winner complain.

"Oneiromancy."

I.A.N. was the winner again this year. It marked the 13th straight year the artificial intelligence device had emerged victorious.

Too Old To Cry

Jason prided himself on always trying his best. His approach to the SAT was no different. Every night, he memorized 500 vocabulary words. Instead of comic books, he read test prep books in his spare time. He employed a tutor for $100 per hour.

When his latest test scores were returned, he cried to learn that he had scored in the bottom thirtieth percentile. It was the 17th time he'd taken the test. He was 37 years old.

Jason had a hard time accepting that no matter how hard you try at something, sometimes you'll never be good.

Fabrication

Everything is desolation.

The more involved the enterprise, the more bustling and productive society becomes, the greater the emptiness.

Activity creates a void.

There is an inherent meaninglessness in fabrication. The greater the heights of the accomplishments--both metaphorically and literally, if one was talking about the mammoth skyscraping towers--the more devoid of meaning they become.

Even religion has become transparent in its vacancy. Enforced attendance and ritualistic devotion do not make for fulfillment. It just seems something fundamental is missing. It's like memorizing a list of vocabulary without understanding what the words mean.

Everything was different before the robot apocalypse

The Dictionary Of Forgotten Words

He found it long ago, in his grandfather’s attic. The cover said Dictionary, but it looked more like an old journal: yellowed, desiccated, stained and crumpled. It contained a list of words, one to each page, words he had never seen before.

Every time he discovered an unfamiliar word, he wrote it down on a clean page. The next time he opened it, the definition had magically appeared, in his own handwriting even.

Once the word was scribed into the book, however, it escaped from the language, never to be uttered, written, thought of again. His dictionary that consumed words.