21st Century Problems: Episode 1 (Louis Toliver Jr

21st Century Problems: Episode 1 (Louis Toliver Jr - Swartz, LA)

A man asked me the other day if he could use the internet in my home. I asked him why he had to use the internet and he claimed he was waiting on an important e-mail and that his internet had suddenly crashed and he had no clue what was the cause. He was frantic like a heroin addict. Though, usually, it would have been in good nature to let the man inside my home to use my internet, I, instead decided to lie and tell the man that I was naïve to the internet and the only mail I knew was delivered from the post office. I told him I was old school, which the man had trouble processing because he was nearly twenty years older than me in appearance. Either he was indeed older or life had not been good to him. He asked me how I could not possibly know what the internet was and I asked him why he could not possibly believe that there were other possible ways to receive “important” messages besides the internet. He became frustrated with me and told me that the internet was the quickest way to receive information and I was like “Really?” I told him pulling his e-mail up on his smartphone would be quicker then. He said he didn’t have a smartphone. I asked him, "Who’s smarter: the person without internet or the person without a smartphone?" Clearly, the answer to this question is the person without internet, but if you haven’t caught on yet, because of his short attention span I was able to distract this man from thinking the world was ending because he could not have immediate access to the internet. For a few minutes I ended his addiction. I doubt he will ever appreciate this, because, in the middle our conversation his wife yelled that the internet was back on and he ran off.

Comments

Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

The Peculiar New Room (Nick Perere - Baton Rouge, LA)

A peculiar fourth room has appeared in my three bedroom abode. High ceilings Higher than any ceiling in the house Perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls The largest window one can imagine Stretching from floor to ceiling Wide as an ocean’s horizon Revealing the lushest greenery and the bluest skies. I am meant to show masterpieces here. But in one of the corners o f the perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls i s an ugly patch of dirt. Dirt darker than charred coal. And the dirt is crawling And multiplying. With their spindly legs and dangly antennae Vermin covered in filth and willingly ready to spread their germs Scuffing the perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls. But I have to move on, I have a gallery to exhibit. Smile and act as if nothing is wrong. Come. Enjoy the show. Enjoy the artwork hanging Upon the perfectly pristine whitewashed gallery walls.

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