Storytime With Auntie CJ

I work in the library of a rather large university in New York. Part of my job involves going through the stacks periodically to pull volumes to bring down to the archives. I was rolling my little cart down the aisle when a man, a priest by the look of him, stepped into the other end of the aisle. He had a small brown book in his hands. He looked at me, then casually strolled back around the corner. When he passed across the end of the aisle again, I noticed the book was missing.   I wondered if he had just been reading it and was putting it back. Curious, I went into the next aisle and found it. I pulled the book from the shelf. It looked ancient, the edges of the soft leather cover worn and the pages thin from being paged through. It was written in Latin; I knew a little of the language. Knowing the book likely did not belong in the library, as there was no label on it, I decided on a whim to take it home and try to translate it. One of the first things I found out was that...

I am but a single, small voice In a chaotic ocean of noise. I click out my little missives About justice and meaning And fling my words out into the Universe Cold, empty, and uncaring. And yet there is power here The power of words in the right place And the ones unafraid to speak. We mock those in control Who have no control over themselves. I offer the truth as I see it And suggest you seek Enlightenment. Nothing more. I am but a single, small voice.    

 Being peripherally involved with but not a part of a different tribe sometimes offers the opportunity to learn about it and gain a greater understanding of what it is all about. As one who appreciates the music and message of the Insane Clown Posse without identifying myself as a Juggalo, I wanted to find out more about the unique tribe of ICP…fans? Is that the right word? It’s good enough for our purposes. My interview subject is my twin brother, Tim, a self-avowed Juggalo who doesn’t mind talking about his favorite musicians. He is not quoted verbatim; I took some liberties with the wording, but I ran it all by him and he agrees that I captured what he wanted to say. Q. Tim, when did you start identifying as a Juggalo? A. Since the age of 15. While I enjoy all kinds of music, my go-to for any occasion is one ICP album or another. I am deep into the ICP culture, having listened to their music for over half of my life and living the ICP message. Q. Who is ICP? A. The rap d...

 When did you first start to realize that you were a boy? Answer: It was kinda odd to think of the first time it sorta...clicked? The earliest thing I remember was being in gym class in middle school and I remember I wanted to show off to the other girls. I dont think I really understood what trans was until high school and had a friend who was nonbinary tell me about it. Who was the first person you came out to, and how did they react? Answer: Mom. It was… kinda difficult to find the words to tell her and it was scary. She was supportive of course but it was such a big step for me that it ended up being the cascade effect that led to so many people in my life today. How has your family reacted to your truth? Answer: My siblings accept and love me. Mom has always been kickass so no trouble there. I think there are some that still don't fully grasp it but the postive side has far out weighed the negative. What has been the biggest challenge so far? Answer: Honestly? Be...

 As a minister, I have counseled many a tearful, heartbroken soul. Those to whom I gave advice usually took it and wound up in a better situation. My favorite of such encounters, though, took place in a Nordstrom’s changing room. I had picked out three cute little numbers and took them to the back to try them on. I had just slinked my way into a silk sheath when I heard somebody else come in and take the booth beside mine. A few minutes later, I heard her break down crying. Maybe the dress didn’t fit or something, I thought, but started wondering what was really going on when she didn’t stop. I try to be a compassionate person, so I tapped on the thin wall between us. “Hey. Are you okay?” There was a sniffle. Then: “No. No, I’m not okay. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again.” And she resumed sobbing. “What’s wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?” “I’d rather not talk about it,” she said in a voice choked with tears. “And I’m pretty sure you can’t help.” I sat ...

 When they started mass-producing and marketing lab-grown meat, it was promised to be better than the old way of slaughtering animals. A lot of animal rights groups came out in favor of it, so it didn’t become the culinary boogeyman that GMO products did. Vegetarians debated as to whether or not it qualified as meat if no animal died to produce it. Vegans wouldn’t touch it, but nobody really cared. One thing that was strictly forbidden was the creation or consumption of meat generated from human cells. To do so was to be tried for cannibalism and face a life sentence. But just as everything explicitly prohibited, there were the perverse among us who would dare to try it. My division was formed to crack down on the creation and consumption of human meat. We were formally designated the Anti-Cannibalism Task Force, but everyone at the station called us the Snack Pack. The restaurant was called The Best Pork and, just as their name implied, they specialized in pork-based dishes....

This story can be found in my collection Reflections: Reflections: 15 Twisted Tales by Cj Carlin, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®  There was a single left shoe sitting stranded by the side of the two-lane highway, just a few feet from the asphalt. It was a sneaker, white with day-glow green laces. It could have belonged to anyone. Mace drove past it without much thought, focusing on the road in front of him. It was twilight. The old Nevada highway that would take him to Vegas stretched endlessly into the distance. He could feel the wind, a constant pressure on the side of his truck and the trailer he towed behind him, which was filled with those complimentary hygiene product packets you get at high-end hotels. He had the stereo on, playing some electronic jazz to keep himself awake. Another left shoe, this one a lady’s red pump. It lay on its side like a dead animal, the color starting to fade. He glanced at it, then turned his attention once again to the highway. This was a dang...

This story is in my collection Curiosities:    Curiosities: An Eclectic Collection by CJ Carlin, Paperback | Barnes & Noble® “Okay, everybody, so we got to talk to pop icon Marisa about her upcoming album entitled All Me, and we heard from actor Gery White about the allegations of insider trading. Now I want you all to welcome our special guest this evening, Overyxx from the planet Estor, who comes to us with a message of doom for all mankind! Overyxx, can you tell us more about your people and your plans for our planet?” “My race is descended from the creatures you call ‘dinosaurs.’ Before the mass extinction, some of us were taken aboard a starship and transported to a safer planet, where we have been evolving for the last sixty-five million years. We are now millennia ahead of you in all respects, both as a civilization and the technological marvels we have created.” “How fascinating! So, what brings you here? Is it our tacos?” “It is not your tacos. We have retur...

This story can be found in my collection Curiosities:  Curiosities: An Eclectic Collection by CJ Carlin, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®  Nobody ever asked what happened to Tommy. The official story was that he had gone to military school, but nobody saw him, even during the holidays, when surely he would have a break? But none of them, even the local sheriff, would dare ask James Montgomery Wainwright III what the real story of his unseen son might be. Part of it was that they sincerely did not want to know, but mostly it was because he was the landlord for half the residents in Williamsburg and terrified the other half. Then Bobbie Peterson came to town. She was the new journalist at the local paper, brought on to work in whatever department needed help. She was 26, and easily the nosiest person alive. This had served her well after her last assignment, as a reporter for a larger newspaper. She came to Williamsburg, Oregon from New York City because she wanted a taste of s...

This story can be found in my collection Curiosities: Curiosities: An Eclectic Collection by CJ Carlin, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®  “Good morning! I’ve been told it’s your day to meet the boss. I’m here to take you upstairs and give you the spiel.” “This is one of the weirdest places I have ever worked. I expected to meet the boss on my first day.” “You don’t know weird yet, my friend. But you will. Don’t grab anything, especially a notepad. The boss doesn’t like people writing down what she says. But put on your jacket; she keeps it cold up there.” “You said something about a spiel?” “Yeah, we found out through trial and error that it is best to prepare you for your first meeting with her. Our boss is…unique.” “I read that she has one of the highest IQs in the country.” “Oh, she’s brilliant. Personally, I have a theory that it’s her intelligence that led to…everything else. She’s just too smart to deal with humanity; we’re a bunch of chimps compared to her. She sp...

This story can be found in my collection Reflections:   Reflections: 15 Twisted Tales by Cj Carlin, Paperback | Barnes & Noble® Five days. My friends Cass, Alex, Jordan, Dana, and I were eating at the Third Eye, which served Cantonese, Indian, and Mediterranean food. I had ordered the almond-pressed chicken, which came with a fortune cookie. We were all taking our time, chatting in between bites and enjoying one another’s company. When I finally pushed my plate away, I cracked open my fortune cookie. It was my habit to read the fortune while I ate the first half of the cookie. This one gave me a nasty shock: “You will die in 5 days,” the little slip of paper said. There was nothing else. I showed it around to my friends, and we summoned the waiter. He apologized profusely and proffered a new fortune cookie. He made to take the offending slip, but I told him I wanted to hang onto it. The new fortune just read “You may learn some good news soon,” and the lucky number...

This story can be found in my collection Curiosities: Curiosities: An Eclectic Collection by CJ Carlin, Paperback | Barnes & Noble® “I picked up another Hitler work at an auction yesterday, honey.” “Oh, really? An early piece, or one of his later works?” “This one is from his Green Period. A lovely wooded landscape in oils. Cost a bit more than I was hoping for, but I just couldn’t pass it up.” “It’s such a shame that he died so young. The world lost a great artist because the poor man was in so much pain that he took his own life.” “Well, nobody knew how bad things were behind the scenes. They only saw one side of him. That Helen woman he married didn’t seem to help much, either. But the best artists also seem to be the ones who are suffering the most.” “I’ve noticed the same thing. Think of Van Gogh, just as gifted and just as tortured as poor young Hitler.” “Anyway, I thought this one would look nice in the den, just opposite that other piece he did of the cottage in...