Author: David M. Rubin

I'm a philosopher and writer living in New England. I enjoy musing over the complexities of human nature, imagining their possibilities, and discovering hope in the darkest of circumstances.

Desert heat

If you believe in Satan, then imagine him as a trickster, silently positioning the potholes of life where you are most likely to trip and fall into them. Watch your step! – David M. Rubin

My love, have you noticed those seemingly perfect specimens of men living at our desert complex? Oh yes, I know that you’ve noticed them, as I’ve noticed you noticing them, with their enormous muscles, cryptic tats, and whatever else that fascinates you about them. They sit around the pool – 24/7 – with cold drinks, smiles, laughs, and the pretense of texting someone; all the while watching you…always watching you…keeping one eye on you, sometimes sneaking snapshots of you wearing THAT BIKINI purchased in 110 degrees of desert heat. Required pool attire, we now call it.

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Enduring footprints

Imagine suffering a complete memory loss, an existential crisis that resonates with your first days on earth, when your mind was still a blank canvas having no knowledge of the inside and outside. Imagine losing any sense of who you are, who others are, and where you are. How would you move through the world and negotiate for support and protection? You would be like a newborn who knows nothing, being at the mercy of strangers to maintain your well being, but without an inkling as to their intentions. Your fear of the unknown manifested in nightmarish proportions.

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Her Smile

Hey Anne,

Found this poem in one of Isaac’s boxes. Do you know anything about this woman? Did she really exist? Doubtful huh? 10,000 miles? Not sure anyone would travel 5 miles to visit a loon, except for social workers. Just being real, not mean. I’ve always loved our little brother, but his issues pushed everyone away.

Our ghost, Mr. Shrink, is back again. Poor Isaac!

Be careful, the paper is dried out. Looks like something chewed on it. Wash your hands afterwards!

Lizzy

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Sleepwalking

I felt “watched” whenever the moonlight streamed into my bedroom window at night, paranoid that God used the moon as his lookout – probing me from there with his powerful flashlight. I didn’t want “him” to see what I daydreamed about in my bedroom. Not that it was anything bad or abnormal for a 12 year old, but I didn’t want my parents finding out and meddling in my private stuff.

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