Category: California

American Pandemic, a poem by David Garyan, published in Interlitq

“American Pandemic” was first published in Volume 12 of The American Journal of Poetry (January 1st, 2022). Volume 12 was the final issue of The AJP before it ceased publication. The archive remained available for some months, until early 2023, after which the website disappeared completely.

Please click here read the story behind the initiative to republish all my work.


 

American Pandemic (The President’s Prayer)

For although you may have absolutely no choice in some matters, this does not mean the things you must do in these moments are absolutely right.
—Wilde 3:16

Dear Lord, today we give
thanks for no longer
having to fear the rapists
living next door to us—
at least those who,
out of their own volition,
did trust in the miracles
of science and go down
to the nearest vaccination center,
where shots
of AstraZeneca are done—
approved, of course, by the CDC and EU,
for its benefits
lie precisely in the fact
that it has killed
a trivial amount
of people,
and was made
by a British-Swedish company,
unlike Sputnik,
which, regrettably,
also, did ice
a similarly trivial amount,
but was, of course,
made by the Russians—
a dilemma, indeed,
for if the rapist
had simply chosen
Slavic vaccination,
it would’ve prevented
him from entering indoor
venues like movie theaters and schools,
much less having access to Europe,
where this vaccine,
along with the Chinese Sinovac,
are still under rolling review,
all for your own safety, of course.
Dear Lord, though we must keep walking
through the valley of the shadow of death,
we will fear no evil;
for Thy Protestant and Catholic
vaccines will protect us,
while the heathens of the East—
Orthodox Slavs and Chinese communists, that is,
will be barred from entering
the Schengen Area
for having disobeyed Thy command,
and taken jabs
from the forbidden list of vaccines.
For we know that your only
begotten Son, Jesus,
cares not whatsoever about all Christians,
nor even those recognized
by the United Nations,
but only those G-7 (formerly G-8) Christians,
who by their burden of upholding
democracy, human rights,
and women’s rights,
(two different things altogether,
as women aren’t humans),
did follow the true path of Thy Son
when they expelled Russia
from this hallowed community
after its illegal annexation of Crimea.
Lord, we ask that you give us
patience and strength
in this time of uncertainty—
for our other neighbor, Bill,
living with his lovely family
just four houses down,
are followers of Jehovah’s Witnesses;
despite having frequently made generous
donations to charities fighting poverty
in Sub-Saharan Africa,
they remain unvaccinated due to their beliefs—
thus posing bigger threats
than the very rapist living next door,
who, in fact, holds a bachelor’s degree
in pharmacology,
and this he received from Tufts,
meaning he has rightly
been ordained as a monk of science,
with fervent faith in all the hottest biology.
Indeed, our dear Lord,
it helps neither Bill,
who once rescued two children
from a burning building,
nor his pleasant family
that often volunteers
to pick up trash in their neighborhood,
to be good, yet unvaccinated Christians.
For the Lord so commanded:
Thou must let all vaccinated
fornicators into heaven,
for if they present
the Green Pass,
and it is valid,
every sin and transgression henceforth
shall be forgiven by the glory of God.
Let us rejoice, sweet Jesus,
and let the miscreants inside!
For it is at once righteous to do so,
but, alas, also legally necessary,
for Lord Fauci,
in all his infinite
scientific glory
and wisdom,
hath ordained that full
vaccination bestows
full immunity
against any sexual misdemeanor,
and perhaps even felony,
but only so long as blood
tests can show
the presence of antibodies;
heathen Bill, however,
can neither be allowed
to keep his job,
nor attend any community functions,
and his satanic family
shall have to wear medieval
masks of shame wherever they go.
Let us pray, dear Lord,
that blasphemous Bill
and his infernal ménage
continue being good Christians,
for their donations
and community service are important,
but let us, nevertheless,
wholly distance ourselves socially,
for they cannot be spoken
to until they receive the sacrament of vaccine.
But let us all the while, dear Lord,
invite the rapist—
provided he agrees to wear a mask
and continues, like before, observing
social distancing rules,
because, indeed, the sacrament of vaccine
works not miracles every time,
something the pharmacologist offender,
or more aptly, offender pharmacologist,
knows very well;
and so, in the name of Jesus, our Savior,
let us pray for that gentle predator,
for he has become
the epitome
of responsibility,
and a shining example
of good fellowship
towards Woman (and also Man,
but only in rare homosexual cases—
for let us not, dear God, tolerate
those who discriminate
against a misfit
that prefers chasing men),
for he knows not only
all the hip sciences,
but also totally trusts
every hip doctor and science,
even when they say
opposite things.
Let us hence rejoice
and place our faith
in that rapist,
for he truly cares
about the safety of others,
even when he’s raping them,
for he will not lay hands
on any unvaccinated souls—
no matter how strong
his urge to do so may be,
and in this way, our heavenly Father,
we didst finally see
a prominent drop
in not only COVID infections,
but also cases of sexual assault;
these latter numbers, howbeit,
are neither relevant nor crucial,
for we’re not so concerned
with them these days,
mostly because developing
vaccines against battery,
even the sexual type,
is scientifically impossible.
And so Lord, we ask that you bless
and watch over
the sexual deviants,
(but only the inoculated)
for before Johnson and Johnson
they were blind,
but now they can see,
and protect also those who took
Moderna, Pfizer, and AstraZeneca,
and especially young women
who took AstraZeneca,
since they are most at risk
of dying from it,
but let us, oh Lord, have faith
and renounce our fright—
for these fair maidens
are now vaccinated
and no longer need Thou;
truly, they hath nothing
left to fear,
for we know
that all the world’s problems
disappear after full vaccination,
two weeks after the second dose, that is.
Have no mercy, howbeit, on those who took Sputnik,
for pride, tyranny, and wickedness cannot last,
but the righteous shall live by Western-approved
jabs and that holy democracy worthy of us all—
the one which accidentally bombs
civilian targets in Afghanistan,
but only under a Democratic administration;
a Republican democracy where civilian
targets are accidentally hit,
can, absolutely, not be tolerated.
Our Father who art in heaven,
we need good, honest democratic
leaders who blow up churches and schools
in the name of Saint Schumer,
of whom the public does approve
no matter what he commands,
and if there be doubt,
it shall excuse his failures
as honest blunders;
the same mistakes
just across the aisle, however,
must properly and justly incur the wrath
of all left-leaning news networks out there,
because that is what it means to be fair,
balanced, and objective, in the name of Christ Almighty.
We ask, also, in this time of uncertainty, dear Lord,
that you promptly hear the grievances aired
by the LGBTQIA+E=mc2@admissions.caltech.edu community—
for on numerous occasions
they’ve demanded that bombs
dropped on civilian targets
proudly display Pride flags on them,
otherwise protests will erupt
across the whole country.
We pray, as well, that all who deny
the scientific thrust behind
these rockets be labeled
provocateurs and Republicans—
meaning anyone from Afghanistan
must display proof of bombing,
preferably with QR codes,
before we can consider them refugees,
much less admit them to this country,
which, supposedly, isn’t a Christian one,
but whose presidents have all been Christian.
And so, in the name of all that’s holy, dear Lord,
please forgive us for putting
sanitizer dispensers
inside your churches,
and wearing masks,
for it’s nothing personal
against you or the miracles
you’ve worked on this earth;
it’s just that washing your hands
frequently absolves us of all sins—
for if Pontius Pilate only had some Purrell
that day he was to condemn
your only begotten Son,
there would be nothing
he would need to answer for today.
Dear Jesus, please know
that if and when you decide
to have your Second Coming,
all the vaccinated rapists,
murderers, and pillagers
will be free to attend the event,
which is scheduled to be held
at the LA Convention Center,
or perhaps Madison Square Garden,
depending on parking—
strictly observing, of course,
all the social distancing
protocols recommended by the CDC.
And if the people
ever decide to crucify
you once more,
something they are bound
to do sooner or later,
proof of vaccination
will no longer suffice;
given the more exciting nature
of this particular spectacle,
negative PCR tests (valid for 48 hours)
and cavity searches will be required
to access the crucifixion site,
for when it comes to safety,
no right or freedom
is sacred enough to uphold.
Oh, hallelujah, dear Lord,
we pray that the planet
and every hallowed
thing you created,
in the name of the Father,
the Son, and Holy Spirit,
simply go to shit
while our chosen leaders
sit there and figure out
how to save us from COVID;
for there are maps, statistics,
and analysis, sweet Jesus—
so much scientific scripture
capable of showing us all,
and very precisely at that,
how fucked up things have become.
Do you not see, my brethren,
that the US registered
148,202 new cases today,
which, on a fourteen day spectrum,
represents a twenty-nine percent increase?
Have the numbers and colorful graphs
not made an impression, my dear brothers?
For if we can’t quantify something,
the problem isn’t worth solving.
And is it not such a tragedy
that we have more vaccines
than anyone knows what to do with?
For in Pelosi 2:3-4 it is so written:
When Moderna ran out,
Fauci’s mother turned and said to him—
“They have no more Western vaccines.”
But that Son of Science so replied:
“Woman, why do you involve me?
My hour has not come yet.”
And after having ordered the syringes
to be filled with Sputnik,
the patients were given those injections
and all were then amazed
they had turned into Pfizer.
The Son of Science did this—
the first of his many signs,
in Cana of America,
and it revealed his glory,
and his disciples believed in him.
So now we must jab them all,
starting with dead people
and unborn fetuses
that can no longer be aborted,
for if daily quotas are not met,
the UN will come raining down
on our asses like a goddamn fucking
firestorm with their resolutions
that have never been legally binding
anyways, hence why be afraid?
And so, feel free to keep committing
your war crimes, my fellow African dictators,
for though they might say
and even shout a lot at the UN,
fear not, I command, fear not—
for everyone sitting
in those plush chairs
will be much content
to have heard the pretty sounds
of their own voices,
only to have done nothing at all
about the problems
they so enjoyed discussing;
at most, they shall show
“deep concern about the rising
tensions in the Middle East and Africa,”
but this too shall pass,
and with some persistence,
you’ll be free to plunder again,
without those pesky
colonizers (Europeans, that is)
scolding you for being colonizers.
And so, my brothers,
forget the rising levels of racism,
greed, and unhappiness,
for there’s no science
behind them anyways—
no graphs, maps, or tables
to show us the daily increase
in anti-Semitism, apartheid,
or even xenophobia,
for all the lab rats
working in democratic countries
have yet to develop vaccines
against these pandemics,
but if there’s no jab
to solve the problem,
then there’s no problem
to begin with—
nothing worth inspecting
any longer.
Just to be safe, howbeit,
keep distancing yourself
from Blacks, Asians,
Latinos, and anyone who isn’t White,
including Arabs and Persians
with American passports,
some of whom may look
and act “Caucasian,”
but don’t be deceived, my brothers,
and remember the famous Bible passage,
Shakespeare 3:16, Act I, Scene III:
Libyans and Iranians
can cite US passports
for their own purpose.
Also never forget
the Civil Rights Movement,
and which color of skin
was then barred
from entering buildings
and using facilities,
even before the Green Pass;
but let us, dear Lord,
remain vigilant as ever,
for unvaccinated Whites,
especially the poor ones,
now pose the same threat
as vaccinated Iraqis
and Afghans with US passports;
alas, should the unjabbed
Whitey, however,
happen to be quite wealthy,
then we must consider
this proof of vaccination,
because gaining COVID
from Robert F. Kennedy Jr.
then dying from it
bestows both status
and upward mobility
upon the dead one,
while catching COVID
from a homeless drunk
then dying from that
is simply a tragedy—
upward mobility
without any fame.
Oh, dear Lord, we pray to heaven
that you get with the program at last
and allow just fully vaccinated
souls into your kingdom;
it would also be nice, sweet Jesus,
if you could demand
that the certificates be shown
in digital form,
with QR codes and cavity checks
and the whole nine yards, really,
for so many have already
been tempted by Satan,
and bought fake certificates
on Telegram and WhatsApp—
a clever business model
with great revenue streams,
something deeply upsetting
for the bureaucrats of Big Pharma.
On the other hand, dear Lord,
Big Tobacco may have cause
for celebration, as some studies
have shown that smoking
may help prevent COVID—
indeed, it doth appear as if nicotine
interferes with ACE2 receptors,
thereby preventing the virus
from entering cells.
Hallelujah, our Father in heaven!
We pray in the name
of your only begotten Son
that all the smokers in Kentucky
will now rise up and initiate
protests demanding mandatory puffing
measures at work, schools,
and hospitals,
but especially hospitals,
for no freedom,
and this we swear,
is sacred enough
to give up in the name of safety,
even the freedom to breathe.
Starting next week,
mandatory proof
of smoking shall
be presented
at the entrance
of every gym, restaurant,
and nursing home.
Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em, fellow brethren!
And as with vaccines,
connoisseurs of Russian cigarettes
will absolutely
be prohibited from entering
any indoor venues,
until the proper clinical trials
can be carried out;
the CDC has already
scheduled rolling reviews
to see if cancer sticks
made by former communist heathens
pose the same health risks
as those made in the free world,
because only the cancerous kinds—
the ones with arsenic,
liberty, and lead inside them
have been known to interfere
with the aforementioned ACE2 receptors.
So far, the CDC has only approved
the democratic cigarettes of Marlboro,
Newport, and Camel against the coronavirus—
in clinical trials, they’ve shown
a smashing 99 percent effectiveness
in killing people before they contract COVID,
much lower than the despotic
brands of Russia,
which have far less additives
and kill only 89 percent of subjects,
but these are just the results
of one medical study funded by Republicans;
the very same study funded by Democrats
showed that Russian cigarettes
kill people on contact,
with vaccinated Americans
from ages 0 to 100 being most at risk;
the State Department hence recommends
that anyone holding a US passport
avoid traveling to places
where this tobacco is sold—
if you absolutely must travel,
buy forty packs of Marlboro
and smoke two a day while wearing
a mask fully covering nose and mouth.
Our dear Lord, we ask in the name of Jesus
that you please forgive
all the fornicators,
thieves, and lawyers,
but especially lawyers,
for any wrongs
they may have committed,
be they sleeping with monkeys,
stealing relics from your churches,
and, naturally, defending
those who slept with monkeys
and stole relics from churches,
but solely if said miscreants
who’ve lived total lives of sin
agree to accept Science
as their only true Savior,
and receive the holy
communion of antibiotics,
and when, with glory, those sins
have been thoroughly cleansed,
shall they proceed, at last,
with the deathbed vaccination,
for the Church of Democratic Science
teaches that only sincere deathbed inoculations
can prevent the spread of COVID at funerals,
while the Church of Republican Science
asserts that COVID was manufactured in a Chinese lab
and hence can threaten only Chinese funerals—
ever since the Great Schism of Science in 2020,
questions surrounding the afterlife
remain a disputed issue in both disciplines,
all because the Church of Democratic Science
and the Church of Republican Science
couldn’t agree on the issue
of whether it was acceptable
to use unleavened jabs
for the sacrament of full vaccination;
other disputes revolved around the fact
of whether scientists could marry
or had to remain celibate,
devoting their whole lives
to the study of reproduction,
rather than reproducing themselves.
And so, it looks as though the teachings
of Democratic Science
and Republican Science
will remain at odds forever.
Dear Lord, we ask that you punish
those scholars who sell indulgences—
fake vaccination certificates, that is,
for it will take a Reformation of Science,
initiated by the one and only
Martin Luther, MD, PhD, PsyD,
with no relation to the former
Augustinian monk,
to create yet another split,
and this time in the Church of Republican Science—
it shall come to pass that doctors
will have no right
to exercise power over people
in jab purgatory,
that is those who may qualify
for vaccination exemptions,
but must show extra proof
of valid medical contraindications
to receive that holy Green Pass.
The Church of Democratic Science
sees all this as heresy,
arguing that patients
must prostrate themselves
before doctors and ask
for vaccination penance—
only this way can they be
admitted to the Stanley Cup Finals,
and also Super Bowl LVI.
The World Series, however,
is a totally different ballgame—
being America’s Pastime,
it does, unfortunately,
require not only prescribed
vaccination penance,
but also a full baptism
with either Olay or L’Oréal—
also known as a “shower”
in scientific literature;
any rituals conducted
with Russian water
and their heathen
communist products
will not be recognized as democratic,
and may result in excommunication,
but also being burnt at the stake.
For we know, dear Lord,
that Psalm 51:7
tells us to purify our sins
strictly with Purell, but perhaps also Lysol—
only, however, if there’s a shortage of Purrell,
for that is surely the superior product,
and then we will be clean;
wash us, our heavenly Father,
but just with brands
approved by American
board-certified dermatologists,
and we shall be whiter
than Russian snow.
Let us pray, dear brothers,
that neither the ACLU,
nor the Woke Apparatus
of Twitter bring
charges of racism
against the Old Testament,
and perhaps even the whole Bible,
for, certainly, African-Americans,
along with darker skinned Latinos
and Asians, have no way of cleansing
themselves to the level
of Scripture-approved
shades of White—
at most, they shall be known
as “Two or More Races,”
or “Some Other Race,”
with the US Census Bureau
very much highlighting “Other,”
for that is how powerful
and prestigious
American body washes
remain on the world stage,
so help us God.
And let us remember,
today and for all times,
Fauci 3:5, where it is so written:
Trust in the Science
with all thy heart,
and do not depend
on your own understanding—
something, dear Lord,
which is good and true,
but certainly contradicted
by Biden and Harris 14:15,
which doth proclaim:
“The simple believe anything,
but the prudent give thought
to their steps.”
For it is the spiritually unvaccinated
who remain separated from Science,
and thus tempted by Satan himself—
for, today, that devil
is not really the Devil,
but rather the embodiment
of the Christian religion,
for in Buttigieg 16:23
it is so written:
Fauci turned and said to Jesus,
“Get behind me, Satan!”
You are a stumbling block
to my Science;
you do not have in mind
the concerns of vaccination,
but merely human concerns.
And so, from this day on,
Christianity became the Devil,
for it was not concerned
with just biology and the body,
but merely human concerns.
For yes, we all know, dear brothers,
that only the communion of vaccination
can absolve us from our sins.
And as the disciples
gathered for the Last Supper
at the White House,
Fauci said: “Take these masks
and wear them, for they are my body—
made in China, of course,
and though America
is on the brink of total collapse,
we can be sure these masks
will protect us from every economic,
social, and natural danger.
He then gave thanks to China
and offered his disciples
the syringes, saying:
“Each of you inject,
for this is my blood,
which seals the covenant
between the President
and his people,”
thus it was written
in Biden and Harris 26:27-8.
And so Washington
did truly rise again
from death,
and took its vaccinated
body—with PCR tests and everything—
that which appertained
to the perfection
of Man’s American nature,
wherewith it ascended into Heaven,
and there will sitteth, until the government
returns to judge all unvaccinated Men
(and also Women, of course,
for we must certainly discriminate
against unvaccinated Women as well)
on the last day.
In the name of the Father,
Uncle Sam, and American Spirit.

 

About David Garyan

David Garyan has published three chapbooks with Main Street Rag, along with (DISS)INFORMATION, a full collection with the same publisher. He holds an MA and MFA from Cal State Long Beach, where he associated himself with the Stand Up Poets. He received a master’s degree in International Cooperation on Human Rights and Intercultural Heritage from the University of Bologna. He lives in Trento.

Freewill, a poem by David Garyan, published in Interlitq

“Freewill” was first published in Volume 11 of The American Journal of Poetry (July 1st, 2021). It was subsequently nominated for a Pushcart Prize by the esteemed editor, Robert Nazarene.

Please click here read the story behind the initiative to republish all my work lost with the disappearance of The American Journal of Poetry.


 

Freewill

The oceanographer who hated seafood
couldn’t fall in love
with a woman from Switzerland,
Serbia, or even Ethiopia,
which did have access to the Red Sea,
but lost it in a war to Eritrea.
Moses has no place
in the minds of scientists
standing on opposite shores
of their happiness—
always out of reach.
They can choose their destiny
better than midnight refusing
to marry the color black,
or painters expecting warmth
from the neutral feelings they mix.
An estrangement is the distance
between two points
on which you can’t construct a bridge.
And like lovers who build
a boat together yet pray
for winds in opposite directions,
the world is splitting
like a religion where all
compose their own hymns,
where everyone
writes their own prayers.
Why? To save themselves?
The word Pangea has been forgotten
like an unwanted child
whose birth certificate
historians look for alone,
whose story merely geologists tell,
whose shape just the dead behold.
What else is there to live for?
Borders, divorce, restrictions,
marriage, boundaries, and freedom,
all with their own lines—
visible and invisible.
And yet, who’s really studied
the ocean long enough
to know Africa
once belonged to the New World?
And which woman
tells you the truth
when she says
falling in love
never interested her—
the nun or the prostitute?
There’s not enough science
in all the world’s depths
to baptize sincerity.
There’s not enough clarity
in the logic of vodka
to make people
believe hell exists.
Set the course for derangement.
It’s not sinful to sink
if you’re also praying
to rise from the ocean’s other side.
Life has become
a religion
that has drawn maps
for a planet covered
wholly by water,
while science has built
the ships to navigate it.
No God can convince
gravity to let down
a suicidal man—
the one hellbent on jumping
from heights he can’t survive.
Freewill—oceanographers
who must love seafood
when their bodies
don’t allow
them to like it.
You find all this funny?
Don’t laugh.
There are men (and women)
who’ve quit drinking
ten years ago and still trip
on flat streets while walking
with their heads down—
looking at nothing but their feet.
Is it destiny or carelessness?
You’re free. You’re free.
Now go and experience
a pain other than your own;
study poverty like sociologists
who’ve never been hungry,
study pathology like doctors
who’ve never been sick,
study madness like psychologists
who’ve never needed one.
All this is just a movie—
you’re welcome to follow the script
exactly as it’s written,
and you’re also free
to turn the show off any time—
there’s always someone else
willing to endure the rest.

 

About David Garyan

David Garyan has published three chapbooks with Main Street Rag, along with (DISS)INFORMATION, a full collection with the same publisher. He holds an MA and MFA from Cal State Long Beach, where he associated himself with the Stand Up Poets. He received a master’s degree in International Cooperation on Human Rights and Intercultural Heritage from the University of Bologna. He lives in Trento.

Open Letter to the Students of Brandeis University with Bibliography, a poem by David Garyan, published in Interlitq

Brief Background on the Poem: First published in Volume 11 of The American Journal of Poetry (July 1st, 2021). The author sent the poem to Joyce Carol Oates, who had previously slammed Brandeis over censoring words like “picnic,” and “tribe.” JCO enjoyed the poem and went on to promote it on her Twitter page. Either she, or someone at Twitter, took her post down as there’s no longer a record of it.

 





 

 

Open Letter to the Students of Brandeis University with Bibliography

This message is to say that if any of you guys want to come over for a picnic, I’m hosting one next week, for a very small fee. As a rule of thumb, please don’t bring insane amounts of food, and don’t play anything by the band Survivor; however, the music of Tribe, a lesser-known American rock group from Boston, will be very much welcomed, and only because Brandeis University itself is located in Boston. Please note that sophomores, juniors, and seniors are very welcome, but freshman are absolutely prohibited; this is my best attempt to be inclusive. Absolutely no student discounts—cash only. Your reservation will go through once I receive payment. We’ll gather in the Central neighborhood, known for having the highest crime rate in the city(1), so trigger warnings, perhaps, won’t keep you safe—killing it seems to be the name of the game here. What’s more—prostitutes who could be victims of sexual trafficking might be around(2). If you have any reservations about the event, or crazy people in general, please write your congressman or notify the nearest policeman—when making such references please avoid using the word “crazy” and instead opt for “bananas,” as in those who attended the outdoor eating event went bananas because they were allergic to pineapple. Generally, the word “crazy” is only acceptable in the academic context of Aerosmith, another band from Boston—this one much bigger than Tribe—who, in 1993, wrote a song called “Crazy,” which appeared on their album, Get a Grip, released that same year(3). Having said that, it’s best to get a grip on yourself and refrain from trying to stab somebody at this celebration, even if they attempt to take a stab at you first—to be crystal clear, in the case of self-defense, the Massachusetts Supreme Court will uphold your right to take a stab at defending yourself from someone who’s trying to stab you; this is only normal, but be advised that we, as the organizers of this party, take no responsibility for any bodily or psychological harm you may incur as a result of your participation. Please also note that if you’re homeless or mentally ill, you must first sign a waiver(4) to attend the gathering; this is official Brandeis policy and if you happen to have a disability which prevents you from being able to read or write(5), well that’s really unfortunate. Be advised that at the end of the event we’ll all engage in a thirty minute mediation session to try and discover our Spirit animal; the use of illicit substances is absolutely discouraged in conjunction with this quest—although music by Jane’s Addiction has been clinically shown to expedite the process of bringing out the shamanic entity(6).


Footnotes

(1) According to a Newsbreak article written just six days ago, you have a “1 in 17 chance of becoming a victim of crime in Central.”

(2) Refer here to the work of Teresa C. Kulig and Leah C. Butler, particularly their article “From ‘Whores’ to ‘Victims’: The Rise and Status of Sex Trafficking Courts,” published in 2019, which has absolutely nothing to do with the neighborhood of Central or even our discussion, but it must be mentioned, firstly, on the basis of principle, but, secondly, also to add at least one more footnote—two being the minimum requirement dictated by academic convention. The use of “whore” and “victim” is appropriate in this context, mainly because we are dealing with peer-reviewed scholarship—an article published in the very reputable journal called An International Journal of Evidence-based Research, Policy, and Practice, but also because both the authors in question are women, which makes it okay. Famous feminists such as Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez have said that women can do anything and men must sit there and take it, although academic research has not been able to prove this conclusively, mainly due to the lack of hard data.

(3) Refer here to the work of Christopher Scales, particularly his article “Powwows, Intertribalism, and the Value of Competition,” which has absolutely nothing to do with the discussion at hand, but was nevertheless published by the University of Illinois Press, so it must be mentioned, firstly, on the basis of principle, but, secondly, also to add at least one more footnote—three is certainly better than two and Confucius (or someone with the same name as him) once said that “all good things come in threes.”

(4) Refer here to the very excellent research conducted in 2015 by Larina Chi-Lap Yim, Henry Chi-Ming Leung, Wai Chi Chan, Marco Ho-Bun Lam, Vivian Wai-Man Lim in their article “Prevalence of Mental Illness among Homeless People in Hong Kong,” which once again has absolutely nothing to do with our discussion, but still had the fortune of being published in a peer-reviewed academic journal called PLOS One—certainly not as prestigious as the University of Illinois Press, but nevertheless very respected, and this allows us to not only add a fourth footnote, but also increase the citation count for the six Chinese authors in question.

(5) Refer here to another very well-written article by Lara-Jeane C. Costa, Crystal N. Edwards, Stephen R. Hooper called “Writing Disabilities and Reading Disabilities in Elementary School Students: Rates of Co-Occurrence and Cognitive Burden,” which in no way at all touches upon the dilemma presented above, but does have a very fancy title and features three well-respected American scholars with PhDs—actually, only Costa and Hooper have the PhD; Edwards just has the MA, which is a great shame. In any case, she may have gotten the PhD by now, because this is all based on 2015 data.

(6) Refer here to Lucy Harmer’s book Discovering Your Spirit Animal: The Wisdom of the Shamans. Astute readers will quickly note that the work has a colon in it, which means that everything in it is absolutely unassailable. Colons have been around since the dawn of humanity; in fact, they’ve always been a part of humanity, and so their presence cannot be questioned, especially when you find them in academic titles published by North Atlantic Books, a California-based nonprofit publisher of somatics, spirituality, ecology, social justice, and self-help books since 1974.


Bibliography

Costa L-JC, Edwards CN, Hooper SR. “Writing Disabilities and Reading Disabilities in Elementary School Students: Rates of Co-Occurrence and Cognitive Burden.” Learning Disability Quarterly. 2016; 39 (1):17-30.

Harmer, L. Discovering Your Spirit Animal: The Wisdom of the Shamans. North Atlantic Books. 2009.

Scales, Christopher. “Powwows, Intertribalism, and the Value of Competition.” Ethnomusicology 51, no. 1. 2007.

Teresa C. Kulig & Leah C. Butler. “From ‘Whores’ to ‘Victims’: The Rise and Status of Sex Trafficking Courts, Victims & Offenders.” 2019; 14:3, 299-321.

Uncredited. “Five Most Dangerous Areas in Boston.” Newsbreak. 2021.             www.newsbreak.com/news/2288399807375/5-most-dangerous-areas-in-boston

Yim, L. C., Leung, H. C., Chan, W. C., Lam, M. H., & Lim, V. W. (2015). “Prevalence of Mental Illness among Homeless People in Hong Kong.” PloS one10(10).

 

 

About David Garyan

David Garyan has published three chapbooks with Main Street Rag, along with (DISS)INFORMATION, a full collection with the same publisher. He holds an MA and MFA from Cal State Long Beach, where he associated himself with the Stand Up Poets. He received a master’s degree in International Cooperation on Human Rights and Intercultural Heritage from the University of Bologna. He lives in Trento.

“American Prayer,” a poem by David Garyan, published in Interlitq

“American Prayer” was first published in Volume 10 of The American Journal of Poetry (January 1st, 2021). 

Please click here read the story behind the initiative to republish all my work lost with the disappearance of The American Journal of Poetry.


 

American Prayer

A long time has passed
since I’ve been alive;
that was when waves
convinced me
of the ocean’s danger,
when fires lit for no purpose
could feel warm,
when the composer’s ear
still heard joy in laughter,
when the cook’s tongue
never spoke a gloomy word,
when the killer’s hand
cut with the same care
as the surgeon’s,
when a mother’s eyes
could stand to watch
her children fall—
if only, for a second,
to study
the world’s pain.
Say, how do you feel naked
in a room where no one
wants to turn on the light?
How do you feel at home
when every neighbor hates you—
but only because they admire your house?
My world has become a jungle
in which I’m always in danger,
but where I feel no fear;
my thoughts have become a circus
in which I mustn’t trust
the goodness of clowns—
especially when they’re smiling.
I can no longer tell
the lions apart.
I’ve built so many cages
for myself—the wilderness
inside me has escaped;
my anger is an arsonist
happily lighting
just one candle in church—
then leaving without regret;
my depression washes
the windows of skyscrapers
without ever looking down.
The Europe I’ve known
has vanished like a prostitute
everyone wants to sleep with,
but no one cares to look for.
The America I’ve disowned
has returned like an illness
I brought upon myself.
America, I’m a smoker
trying to treat cancer
without quitting cigarettes.
Europe, I need a feminist wife,
the one who’ll obey
my every command
because she wants to—
and feels empowered
to act this way.
What’s next? Asia?
Like winter searching
for love in the mountains,
like summer trying to hide
its secret from fire,
I’ve run away from myself—
I’ve gone somewhere new
where it’s always the same,
where everyone knows
who I am because they’ve never
seen me before.
I’m giving myself away
like an artist no one can stand,
but everyone wants to collect.
The world is imposing itself
like a virgin looking to rape someone.
Every government has made
me hate the silence
of crowded libraries.
Every institution has given
me reasons to question
the shape of a question mark.
I’ve lost all faith in my prophets—
every day I laugh
at their caricatures.
My courage is a cartoonist
living in France who draws
what he wants but never
shows his work out of fear.
My cage is a religion
that tells me I’m free—
so long as I don’t leave it.
No, it’s better to bury
the words of dead
seers and their rules
all over Europe’s streets;
they resemble the abyss
you find at the bottom
of someone’s cup
when they’re drinking alone
and the bartender
will no longer serve them.
Like a terrorist
without friends looking
for a crowd,
I’ve come to hate
the happiness of large parties;
my own whiskey is sweeter
and I can’t stand the bitterness
when I’m not drinking it.
Still, I despise the smiles
of a thousand strangers.
I’ve begun admiring the mountains
like a geographer
who can’t wait to retire.
I start my prayers like poor
people who want to steal,
but don’t have the courage for it.
I watch every sunset
like an old man that knows
he isn’t waking up tomorrow.
I wait and wait for the sunrise
like a drunk woman
anxious to get a better look
at her one-night stand.
At noon, I ask myself questions—
the ones which bore
even fat philosophers
who’ve done too much
sitting and thinking.
After lunch, I think
about the loaded revolver
under my pillow,
and this makes me tired—
I take a nap and fly
myself to the next sunset.

 

About David Garyan

David Garyan has published three chapbooks with Main Street Rag, along with (DISS)INFORMATION, a full collection with the same publisher. He holds an MA and MFA from Cal State Long Beach, where he associated himself with the Stand Up Poets. He received a master’s degree in International Cooperation on Human Rights and Intercultural Heritage from the University of Bologna. He lives in Trento.

Heading West, a poem by David Garyan, published in Interlitq

“Heading West” was first published in Volume 9 of The American Journal of Poetry (July 1st, 2020).

Please click here read the story behind the initiative to republish all my work lost with the disappearance of The American Journal of Poetry.


 

Heading West

In a free world,
surgeons of words
could cut suicide
from ropes like a tumor;
and still, climbers
wouldn’t lose faith—
tying them around their bodies
on the wildest mountain.
The age of emergencies
has arrived like electricians
getting shock therapy
for schizophrenia.
Now our economy needs
the elderly’s bones;
living off buried
animals is nothing new—
call it fossil fuel.
Speed up the rate
of extinction;
save free enterprise.
Already, we’ve turned the uterus
of women into coal mines,
all for carbon-intensive babies—
there’s no resource we can’t touch,
no land we must conquer with consent.
The USA belongs to us, Marx;
we own the means of reproduction;
commercially transmitted
diseases are cured;
hospitals are factories
where assembly lines
for life end.
You have poor vision?
Receive books but no glasses.
You have poor judgment?
Build libraries
where no one returns
what they borrow.
Hold a camera
that forgets everything.
Speak to a world
whose eyes
never stop
taking pictures—
our ears are the windows
of skyscrapers in which people
believe they can fly.
Our minds are lightbulbs
away from spotting reason
in the darkness.
Our hands are paintbrushes
coloring millions
of homes white.
The scars on society
are visible like mistakes
corrected on a typewriter.
Still, our loneliness collects stamps—
only because there’s
no one left to address.
We became treasure hunters
only after losing our wealth—
asking gravediggers for shovels
and thieves for maps.
Presidents and PMs
of the free world
sit behind their desks,
bodies stiff
like exclamation marks,
egos bulging
like dotted eyes
never lowercased,
but still staring
like journalists
working in safe countries.
Liberty is now too popular,
hiding behind bodyguards
with guns;
democracy has nothing left to conceal—
like submarines
that are never in danger,
yet still refuse to surface.
Freedom is more than just freedom—
the ability to go anywhere,
but also without the danger
of landmines.

 

About David Garyan

David Garyan has published three chapbooks with Main Street Rag, along with (DISS)INFORMATION, a full collection with the same publisher. He holds an MA and MFA from Cal State Long Beach, where he associated himself with the Stand Up Poets. He received a master’s degree in International Cooperation on Human Rights and Intercultural Heritage from the University of Bologna. He lives in Trento.