"Misfitted" by Gary Nelson

“Whoooo, whoooo,” the owl questioningly stated, startling Niel into a sitting position from the crumpled mess of pillows, sheets, dreams, and flesh he had resided as moments before. Uuuugh, it cant be that time already, he wishfully hoped as he slipped out of bed and drug his weary body toward the Owl, snagging a mouse along the way which screamed for it's life in a high pitch voice Niel had convinced himself didn't lie within the audible range of a human.

“I'm sorry lil' buddy, it is what it is; it's only natural.”

The mouse cried “Natural?? Look who's talking!Who are you to judge whats natu---” Niels eye's snapped swiftly shut as wind left it's wake in his face, and the wailing Pandora's Box of guilt was forever stolen from his ears.

“Did someone say... who?” winked the owl, who had somehow appeared back upon his perch from his swift movement, licking his beak after slurping in the last little strand of tail.

“Haha. Thanks for waking me up, Owlie. Thank you for saving my ear drums from bursting from all that high pitched whining.... and thanks for ruining spaghetti for me forever.”

“Anytime,” winked Owlie once more with one beady eye open, glistening with the dreams of the stars, an eyelid drooping heavily in harmonic opposition to the rising sun, whose rays crept across the lawn, climbing up the wall and slipping through the blinds, spilling into the bedroom. “I'll see you and Mama at break... fast.... “

“You mean dinner?” Niel prodded at the now slightly suggestive Owlie, taking advantage of the Owl's transitional stages between reality and the imaginarium of unlimited possibilities.

“Whoo.... ooo... ?” Owl questioningly whistled once again, through a closed beak, now too weak to fight with waking might the queries which now might be imposed upon him.

As each foot took turns pitter-pattering Niel over to his dresser, he chuckled to himself, pondering how abstract it was that Mama Nature had conceived of two Children whose waking life could lay in total chronological opposition of each other... well, if he could even call himself a Child. Should he even go to school today? Niel peered over towards the quote he had sloppily pasted on the wall almost a year ago now, which read: “To be unique, you have to be a little bit weird.” Mmm, alright.. I'll embrace myself, love me excise amounts of weirdness, and go to school today. He copied the quote down on a piece of paper, to remind himself throughout the day, and shoved it into a crumpled state in his pocket. He whisked his Suit out of the drawer, slipping himself into it like a naked banana moving in reverse, guiding his clumsy body with such swiftness that you could safely assume his muscle memory had mastered the move long ago.

Niel cruised through his house, gallantly galloping off every wall and soaring over every obstacle he could, in a hopeful attempt at stumbling into a bout of courage that would allow for him to feel comfortable in his own skin for at least a day. He grabbed his backpack, a muffin, yogurt, and a banana, and glided out the door, across the dewy grass whose every blade sparkled with a microscopic model of the sun, juggling his breakfast items in his arms until they nestled in their final resting places within his tangle of arms. The boy continued this motion onto the very edge of the sidewalk, halting right as his feet reached the cliff of the curb, and he swayed back and forth, attempting to gain his balance and composure yet coming across in reality as more of a bobblehead to the oncoming husky Yellow Rhino and it's occupants, as it slowed it's thunderous trot right before him, grazing Niel's still bobbling body as it whisked past him, and leaving him feeling lucky that balance had worked in his favor today. Make sure to thank Mama for providing me a well balanced breakfast, he noted to himself as his eyes oogled out.

Mr. Oxpecker pulled on White Rhino's reigns, attempting to park the mighty mass next to the curb with the now bewildered boy.

“That'll sure wake you up, better than a cup of coffee, don't ya think!?” shouted Mr. Oxpecker, trying to speak one level above the accumulation of hum-drum rabbling the students were creating.

“I'll take a bit less caffeine next time,” Niel yelled, as he climbed onto White Rhino and looked around for a seat. He was able to scout out quick glances from a few of the other students in his periphreal vision which his eyes would turn to reach out and attempt to capture, embrace, yet their eyes would already have been lured away by something more appealing. Peacock whipped open his tail, drawing away the last tad bits of potential connections Niel could have potentially built, leaving only distant ooos and aaahs in it's place which did nothing for him, with his eyes remaining dancing around nakedly, and him attempting to hide his soul behind something, anything. Should he get off and just go home now? He could. It was definitely the path of least resistance. The Yellow Rhino began to chug forward with it's heavy trot, so now was his chance to “escape”! Niel did the best flop he could, having watched all the different ways the Cheat-Hah's had when they faced one another on the television. He fell and did a barrel roll towards the exit, but as soon as Mr. Oxpecker saw this, he pulled on the reigns, and Niel's plan was ruined; he had lost all momentum back towards the door.

“You alright there, buddy??” he yells.
“Yeah, I must have slipped or something' Niel yells back. Niel brushes himself off, and realizes something.. . Wait. He could hide his self, he could hide his soul; he would simply hide behind his Skin!

As the Yellow Rhino begins to start it's heavy-set acceleration once again towards the school, Niel noticed that something was different; what was it? No ,it wasn't the wind bobbling him around, that was normal.. That's when he realized. It was crawling onto his face. A sly, little smirk had planted itself on his lips, peeling them apart to reveal the white which had previously been hiding underneath. It grew until full maturity, at which point it made the decision to lay in a state of suspended animation. It continued where it lay as he started the locomotion of his feet towards a seat which lay open to him a few rows down, a pearl which he would gently propel himself to and grasp, before the peer pressures could clamp down on him and freeze him once again, like the smirk which now appeared to be permanently framed on his face. In the few meters separating him from the seat, the rhythmic motions of his feet were able to develop//mature into his gallop, squeezing out a sigh of absolute relief as he slipped into the seat--

“Ouchh!” Niel yelled in surprise, as he bounced back up to a standing position.

“Why'd you do that to me, Banana Peel Niel? I just waxed my quills this morning!” Whitney the Whiney Porcupiney squealed.

“We'll both get over it.. After all, I got the worst end of it; the butt-end,” Niel whispered, picking the needle-like pricks from his bottom as he walked towards the back of the bus in search of another diamond in this madhouse of coals. As White Rhino started to pick up some momentum, it hurled it's inertia between other participants on the road, swerving around an Elephant, a Horse, and even gaining on a Cheat-Hah! The wind began to pick up, so Niel began to lean backwards against it, creating an obtuse angle relative to the Rhino's back. He shuffled further toward the back, spotting a vacant spot calling his name. He darted into it before he could acknowledge who was sitting in the spot besides him. He slowly lifts his eyes, spotting ten toes, attached to two feet, straddled wide, with the right further in front than the left. His eyes moved up the hairy, black legs, to the low, hung belt... then he knew.

“H... Hey Monkey Junkey. W.. what's up?” Monkey Junkey keeps his eyes focused on the blur passing by him, yet you could tell his mind was in a vacant place, which made Niel feel like he was seeing everything and nothing at the same time. He shuddered, convincing himself it was the cool wind, but rightfully knowing that it was because the company he had chosen. Time thickened and slowed, and what felt like ages passed before Monkey Junkie smoothly reaches over to pick something up off the back of the Yellow Rhino, leans back, then begins a slow turn towards Niel, focuses deep into Niel's eyes, and says “wuddup. Call me MJ.”

Niel breaks eye contact, then looks straight forward, but his curiosity got the best of him. He wanted to know if MJ was really.. a … well junky! He turns towards MJ to find him gazing right at him.

“Whoa! Geez monk, way to make me feel awkward!” Niel exclaims.

“No problemo, just trying to read your energy.. and you know what? It's black. That mean's you're hiding something,” MJ says, comfortably bathing within the awkwardness of the whole situation, still seated in his relaxed position.

“You know what? I find that kind of weird,” Niel says, turning forward.

“Well to be unique, you've got to be a little bit weird,” MJ winks at him.

Niel quickly spins around towards MJ with excitement that he knew about that as well.

“How... what.. who...” Niel begins.

“Haha dang bud, what's up with the survey?” MJ jokingly replies, letting out a halfway suppressed laugh, the other half of which came out as more of high pitched whine.

Niel look on at MJ, dumbstruck, then faced forward, dumbfounded that there was someone else who felt the same way as the Rhino hurled closer to school, whizzing by an Elephant dressed in red, spewing water out over a burning Beaver's wooden home, the smell of which waifed it's way into the nostrils of Niel's Skin, filling it in.

“You know, you ain't so bad, especially for a monk. You just gotta relax some, embrace your monk weirdness,” MJ winks. “We all have our specialties, you know?”

Niel smiles, and faces forward, with the smile that none could see but him beginning to surface again. It was nice to finally have someone who he felt comfortable with on the way to school. Maybe he could sit next to MJ more often.

Yellow Rhino pulls into the semicircle and slows down to a halt.

As the kids begun to hectically get up in a glob of orderly chaos, Niel gets up as well, stepping out and into the aisle, then – Riiiiip – everyone instantly shuts up and turns his way, as he freezes up, looks down, and sees his tail underneath MJ's foot; he frantically drops his backpack, and tries to pick up his tail, but the damage has been done, and jaws, beaks, and snouts dropped open; Niels red and white checkered boxers shined out at everyone's faces, and MJ slowly removed his foot as Niel rolled up his tail, and scrambled off the bus. He heard talking on the bus as he tried to scurry inside, and find solace in a bathroom, talking that grew into a commotion, a loud commotion at that! They had figured out that he wasn't really a monkey, but rather a human! He ran inside the front door, tripping and stumbling over the front steps, then once inside the main hallway, dropping his tail again, ripping his tail off this time!

Students dropped what they were doing to see him scurry and jump and climb his way to the bathroom down the hallway, still acting like a monkey, even though everyone knew. What would they do him? And when did this hallway get so darn long? He heard the front door's bust open behind him at the front entrance, and the whole mob gushed in thunderous roar, the Cheat-Hah's leading the pack, leg's pumping full speed.

Niel turned the last corner and threw open the door to go lock the stall, and sit on the seat, but the Animals were right on his tail, and he had no option but to hold his ground inside the bathroom, leeeaning his weight against the door, holding off the Animals, when

“Eeeeeeek!” screams a Monkey, as it pushes it's way in, one finger at a time, and finally pushes the door fully open and Niel fall's out of the way!

The crowd comes rushing in and surrounds him, shouting things as they rip off his monkey mask, pulling off his suit, and leaving him no breathing room as he tucked his head into his arms to block out all the madness which was about to happen.

“Heeeeyyyy! Listen up!” MJ screeched, and everyone shut up. “We all know that Niel is a human bean –“

“Being,” Pig corrects from the crowd.

“Yes, bean, that's what I said,” replies MJ, rolling his eyes. Niel lifts his watery eyes slightly towards MJ. “Now, we all know that Niel has been faking being a Monkey all this time,” says Niel, and the crowd beguns a slight murmur again; “Quiet! Well we all know that this is the first human bean we've had at school, and I know you all want autographs,” Niels head looks fully up with a look of bewilderment, so if “you could create a line, starting at Peacock, we can all get our turn, okay? And I expect you will each treat him with the respect and dignity he deserves... even if he did make monkeys look clumsier than we really are.” He winks at Niel. “We each have our own attributes to bring to the table. As a human, he has the ability to make all kinds of tools, tools that can mimick anything that any of us Children were biologically built to do. Heck, look at the camouflage he built!” MJ giggles at the crowd, who joins in.

Niel stands up in utter surprise, almost buckling at the knees from the situation taking a full 180 degree spin from what he originally expected, basking in the warmth of having all eyes set on him.

MJ jumps near the end of the line, with a huge smile on his face at having guided the suggestive mob with a more positive interpretation of the situation. Niel used his ingenuity of tools to pluck a feather from Peacock, dips it in squids ink bag, then starts autographing away.

When it was MJ's turn, he walked up, and Niel grabbed the paper to sign it, then realized that it looked familiar.

“You dropped this on the bus earlier.. I found it while on there, and just wanted to say thank you for opening my eye's,” MJ says.

Niel glances down and sees his quote. He looks back up. “No, thanks for opening everyone else's eyes. And thanks for getting me out of that Skin, monk, that thing was uncomfortable as heck! I don't know how you live with Skin like that.” They put an arm around each other, laughing and having a good time, as they walk out of the bathroom and down the hallway, with a group following close behind, celebrating, truly celebrating, the weirdness within us all.

"Pebbles" by Gary Nelson

when water and a rock crash, collide, then give birth,

they conceive of smaller clones, labeled Pebbles,

Sand, or simply

Earth.

this love making process has manifested throughout all of history 

and Will continue tomorrow, creating a surplus of overf

low beaches just may decide to borrow.

A single piece of 

Sand,

alongside its millions of clone counterpart Sand brethren,

Will accumulate into land,

A single Mass, where one cannot be considered “another.”

 

but when one seas 

Land,

it’s disappointing that they never take the time to see,

the individual pieces of Sand, which go

by “You” and “Me.”

"Make a Wish" by Gary Nelson

Imagine

That there was this path you could take,

A road you could veer on where the street signs call “Fate,”

You haven’t observed this channel of movement before,

You keep pedaling anyway,

flying passed past missed doors.

You could keep mobbing down it 'til that adrenalinicly ambitous intensity dies,

like a coal into ashes, that burns into it's demise.

The ashes crumble from your grasp, unto the ground, *

        _ onto _

       /     \      |       /    \

        /           \    |    /          \

* smooshed |_ _ _ _ _\ | /_ _ _ _ _ _| your

           \          /    |    \           /

         \     /        |     \       /

          \  _ tire, _  /

embedded in the dirt the next revolution around.

Now becoming upcycled, to let new thoughts grow and arise,

blooming from the spot,

on the pavement, a single

Dot.

Looking, behind you, now further away

Goes your old train of thoughts,

Quick reflection → slam on breaks, flip around and try to catch it,

pick it up, plant it right, so seeds'll

drop,

and allows their pods to

fly

into a new crop in the fields of black sky, into the infinite depth of the night, into the vacuous void where you've perceived how light has lost every fight.

You grab them, take a deep breathe, fill them with hope and all the best.

Hold 'em up to the sky, then take a deep breathe.

Exh-

-h-

-h-

-hale,

as the take flight into the night, and charge into the black, ready to impale--

But your head whips beyond, at movement caught in your periphreal net of sight,

a gleam moves across your eyes

one that reflects what the seeds have sown, the nights crop, uproot your prize;

It starts at the top,

then

falls

to plant, itself and reside on the

edge of the skies...

It blooms into an auratic orb, first dropping low then growing high, high, high up into the plentiful air above you.

It smiles at you, this sun-flower, lighting all paths for you in a big display,

which labels itself, as a new day;

"How Thee Can See Poetry Like Me" by Gary Nelson

 

If you want to see poetry like me, 

thats a good thing, I'll lay my secrets on thee,

If you don't want to see poetry like me,

well that's too bad, too late to turn back now, hehe ;]

There's this constant tick of time,

always going on in our head,

what you have to do is get inside that clock,

then stop it in it's tracks, like boots full of lead.

Once time has stopped,

you have to navigate the scene,

Sherlock Holmisize the shit out of every bit 'til its wiped clean,

with a keen eye sweep,

leave no surface visually untouched,

get every nook an cranny,

dust bunnies had better rush.

Once you have explored this scene

and seen all you can see,

step back and see what the visual notes reveal,

to see what themes you can see.. you see?

Take these themes

and tie them together,

Till they're light as a helium balloon,

and will float like a feather.

They'll manifest into a nest, which'll house a bird,

the best part of that is not the bird, but it's turd.

See it goes and picks little seeds of ideas, then takes off into the sky,

Going where it pleases, and letting it's little bird turd-bombs fly.

If these ideas are good, they will SPLAT! – take seed and grow.

And hey guess what? Now there's more scenery to get to know ;]

Interview #2 - "It's All a Matter of Perception" by Gary Nelson

"It's All a Matter of Perception"

by Gary Nelson

He slips between the bride and the groom, unnoticed, and turns around, and backs up toward the chapel, aiming his small Rangefinder Kodak Ekta camera right at them. Snap, snap. He quickly Velcros an accessory onto his flash, as to fully engulf the large group with the perfect lighting, then changes the settings on his camera's strobe with it's round flash from a #2 to a #4. Snap. Snap. “Perfect,” the wedding's photographer Will Hewitt reflects as he thinks about all the knowledge from his mentor, Hal Madson, he'd just applied, and the moments in time he'd just permanently captured within film. Will was 12 at the time.

Will has been a significant and prominent photographer in the Sacramento region for about 35 of his 50 years, doing photography for thousands of citizens ranging from to students to political leaders to actors, having experienced a plethora of rich entertaining experiences to compliment his sophisticated knowledge of photography. He loves doing fine arts photography, but has gargantuan amounts of experience in portraiture. Will has neatly packed up all his philosophy and experiences in his mind, and carried it all over to American River College (ARC), where he offers priceless help as a volunteer with the college's photography program.

“Your gaze moves forward deeper into the picture, falling into the background like a cascading drop of honey, luring your eyes past everything in front, into the background,” says Will as he offers his constructive criticism to the student standing before him. They nod slowly in deep understanding, with their mouth slight agape in awe, ready to weave Will's wisdom in and out of the picture in an effort to smother their picture with a blanket of professionalism.

“Hal always told me that whatever knowledge I get, the most important thing is that I pass it on, and share it with everyone else. So that's exactly what I do.”

Will started photography in the bay area when he was eight, working as a darkroom technician under Madson, who is a respected and successful photographer. “The darkroom was in a room with a slanted roof, so the ceiling was really low. I'm pretty sure the main reason I got hired as a child was because I was the only one that fit inside the darkroom,” Hewitt laughs, though behind his glasses and hidden beneath the crow-feet eyes, wrinkled from one too many smiles, his eyes tell the truth; Madson hired him because he had seen some of Hewitt's work Hewitt had displayed in a gift shop when he was eight, and boy, was he impressed when he saw the child who had created the portraiture, surrounded by it's laminated wood frame. At one point in time, Madson had one of the biggest employee bases at his studio, with 47 photographers on board, Hewitt gleams. He really took care of his employees, and he'd even give them presents... like when they got married, he'd give them a house says Hewitt. Madson even helped me out after the accident.

He rolls his wheelchair over to a student in an elegant manner, and leans over to check out their negatives. “Oh, that's a good one right there,” he points to one of the photos on the contact sheet. He advises a little dodge here, a little burn there.

One day, when Hewitt had been fixing backdrop up for a young man because his crew had left up a lavender and Hewitt felt that a grey-blue would be much more pleasant for him. So jerry-rigged a camera case, stacked some stuff up he’d found around, creating an improvised platform. He hopped up on it, grabbed onto the backdrop and went to yank it down, but as soon as the weight released he knew something was wrong, because he’d done it thousands of times before. The crew had tied multiple of the heavy backdrops together, and he knew his legs were going to buckle out from underneath him from all the weight of the angle bar, hair light, and other light systems, So he glanced down, saw the young man beneath him, and leaned far to the right to push all the weight away from the young man, and dodge him. As he came tumbling down, he back-flipped, and came right down on his head, cracking his head backward. He popped 12 aspirin, got propped up against the wall, wrenched down the camera at F/16, and finished out photographing the other 1500 students at the school that day, repeatedly zoning in and out and of reality from the earlier trauma.

Since his accident has hindered his mobility, Hewitt has been giving all his wisdom along with a helpful mindset to American River College, where he offers it to the students with an open mind and open heart, helping the photography students become more successful photographers, as well as more successful humans, sharing the lessons he’s learned along the way.

“So think about this… most everyone likes fast food… maybe they want a taco, but not a burger,” Hewitt explains. “Photographers are the same way. We all provide a photography services, but not everyone necessarily gets along with a particular photographer. I don't care if you photograph the same exact way. Bottom line is that it's the personality of the photographer that gels the session, it’s personality that matters.'

Interview #1 -- "The Art of Sharing Art" by Gary Nelson

The Art of Sharing Art

by Gary Nelson

      On the Second Saturday of every month, a multitude of shops, restaurants, and galleries open up their doors to the community in a collaborative effort to play their part in a monthly underground celebration of local art and its artists in Midtown Sacramento. This special night awakens to acknowledge Sacramento's diverse and vibrant culture, taking a single day out of the month to offer a brief, yet sensually-stimulating taste of the finer things in life, through fine-dining, wine tasting, music, dancing, and art.

      The art walk offers at least 32 official art galleries to wander through and even more to accidentally stumble upon, so it becomes nearly impossible to attempt to experience them all in a single trip. A visitor could plan ahead and pursue galleries that represent what they would consider art, or rather wander until something catches their eye.

      One gallery that catches a lot of glances uses array of upscale, old-fashioned automobiles as the bait, whose studio-lit bodies fling sharp angles and polished colors towards the passerby's peripherals, the ultimate hook. Once having been reeled in and able to fully appreciate the true work put into these classic automobiles, one will step back, and finally be able to absorb the well-illuminated gallery, housing photography with a dash of painting. Most of the month, the “Cuilla Bro's Auto Body Shop” fronts a shop that fixes up old-school automobiles, but on each Second Saturday, this space transforms into a full-blown gallery.

      Harold Session, the organizer and founding father of this gallery, has been a substantial driving force behind the gallery since its conception almost five years ago. It has taken a lot of work and effort, but “it's a labor of love,” says Session.

      Starting out as a photographer at Sacramento City College, Session knows what it's like for blooming artists to try to grow. Because of this, he attempts to act as a platform for artists to jump onto, to bounce on and leap further into their careers, all the while sharing the artistic element of the artists with the public. “It's interesting the range of reality you can capture with the camera. You can show horror, human interest, skies, tragedy, or beauty in riot. It all depends on what shoot; the camera doesn't lie.”

      One of the artists Session hosts is Jim Hill, a local blooming artist who also hosts his own architectural photography business. He captures his interpretation of photography, saying “a lot of photography is in your head. There are problems, stories, and concepts people are constantly trying to tell. Photography is more than just making pretty pictures. Photography, for me, is communication.”

     From the back of the room, two soulful fellows bellow out the words of Semisonic's "Closing Time" in their now raspy voices. 

     "Closing time, time for you to go back to the places you will be from. Closing time(...) so gather up your jackets, and move it to the exits, I hope you have found a friend."  As the last few people subconsciously process the message, they trickle out into the flux of the night, inspired, cultured, and enlightened by the  transcendental experience created for them.