Jesse Fett Called Me a Clown

Jesse Fett Called Me a Clown

by | Feb 17, 2025 | Writing

Jesse Fett Called Me a Clown

Social media was lighting up all over America—ignorance, misinformation, and accusations landing like bombs in comment sections and posts.

Clara, a sensitive woman with deep empathy for all people, felt overwhelmed. She was particularly disturbed by the military planes deporting immigrants and asylum seekers, knowing the new government wasn’t distinguishing between citizens, legal residents, tax-paying workers, and the so-called violent criminals. She doubted the rhetoric but found herself drowning in the sheer volume of terrible news. She only wanted to express sympathy.

Then, a reply to her comment caught her eye.

“They are criminals, you 🤡”

Jesse Fett. A stranger.

Clara had never been called a clown before. She tilted her head, confused. A clown? All she had done was offer a few kind words. How did that make her a clown?

She always thought clowns wore oversized shoes—but her shoes were a size 6 narrow. The idea made her chuckle. She imagined herself in a clown suit, entertaining crowds. She was shy by nature, but perhaps dressing as a clown would give her the freedom to be silly, even bold. Maybe it could even be a platform—a way to talk about things that mattered to her: equal rights, the harm caused by phobias, the need for compassion.

But whiteface? No, that wouldn’t work. It could be misconstrued. And a big red nose? Not her style.

She never realized clowns were liberals. Was there a group for progressive clowns? Could she follow a more contemporary commedia dell’arte-style clowning without the old, harmful tropes?

She walked to her closet, searching for anything remotely clown-like.

She knew Jesse Fett had meant to insult her, but she didn’t care. If anything, his words sparked something unexpected—a transformation, a shift in identity.

A warrior.

“A clown warrior,” Clara mused.

Then she smiled.

“Clara the Clarrior.”

Matters of Great Concern

Matters of Great Concern

by | Feb 16, 2025 | Writing

Matters of Great Concern

“I matter,” says Suzi proudly.

Geri smiles sympathetically, her red lips pressed tight, holding the truth, not knowing how to break the news. Just do it, her mind urges.

Geri’s lips part. “Oh, Suzi, I’m sorry to tell you—you’re wrong. You don’t matter.”

Suzi blinks.

“I believe you used to,” Geri continues, earnestly. “I truly do. But there’s a New World Order now, and I have a list of who matters and who doesn’t. I don’t see your name on it.”

She holds up a clipboard, tapping the paper with her manicured nail.

“It’s true,” she says. “The only people who matter now don’t have nicknames as legal names. We only recognize proper names—Suzanne, Jennifer, Michael, Anthony. You get it, right? People who don’t matter are the ones whose birth certificates list their names as Suzi, Jenny, Mike, and Tony. People went too far with their liberties.”

She shrugs. “Don’t worry—you can still exist here. You can still live freely. It’s just that… you won’t matter.”

Suzi stares at her, then sinks into the cold metal folding chair at the unemployment office on Main Street.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” she says. “Why would that matter?”

“I’m afraid everything matters now,” Geri replies. “Except for you, of course.”

Suzi folds her arms. “That sounds so arbitrary. I mean, we didn’t have a choice in how our parents named us.”

“I realize this may come as a surprise,” Geri says smoothly. “Obviously, your parents were free thinkers and, well… people can’t think for themselves anymore.”

She smiles with her lips but squeezes her eyes shut.

Suzi glances down, then back at her. “If we can’t think for ourselves… do any of us matter?”

Geri hesitates. “Perhaps you’re right. I haven’t read through the entire manual yet.”

Suzi leans forward. “But isn’t Geri short for Geraldine?”

Before Geri can answer, a man appears in the doorway. He wears a gray three-button suit and brown loafers, as if he stepped straight out of 1982. His graying hair is combed neatly over his balding head.

“Hello, ladies,” he says.

Suzi eyes him warily, distrusting this blast from the past.

Geri straightens. “Hello, sir.”

“I’ll need the two of you to come with me,” he says, tucking his clipboard under his arm.

Geri smiles, lifting her manual. “There’s been some mistake. I have a copy of the rules. That means I still matter.”

The man shakes his head. “We’ve made some adjustments. You’ll need to come with us too.”

His voice is calm but firm.

A pause.

Then—”Hurry up, ladies. The bus is waiting.”

Melissa Changes Everything

Melissa Changes Everything

by | Feb 7, 2025 | Writing

Melissa Changes Everything

Melissa always thought she didn’t matter, just a speck of dust in the universe. She tried to convince herself otherwise, repeating the mantra: “I am important, I am loved, I matter, and I have fun!” She set an alarm on her teal blue iPhone 14 for 9:00 AM every morning. The “Dollop” ringtone had an upbeat tempo she thought would help.

Melissa tried not to feel sorry for herself. She tried therapy, journaling, meditation, and even cocaine—anything to lift her spirits. Despite having moments of fun and joy in her life, she could never fully silence the nagging thought that she didn’t matter.

When Melissa turned fifty—a milestone she had dreaded more than most things—everything truly began to fall apart. She was diagnosed with a devastating, terminal disease. Her genetic report came back showing several pathological mutations, prompting her doctors to run even more tests.

The results were grim: she was at high risk for pneumothorax and renal cancer, with cysts riddled throughout her body. Her strength was whittling away like a ship lost in the fog. To make matters worse, her follow-up MRI flagged a suspicion of cancer.

How could this all happen at once? And why now, in her fiftieth year?

Melissa was despondent. Tears came and went without warning. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the universe’s way of telling her there wasn’t enough room for her anymore. She sat with the weight of it all, trying to make sense of the chaos.

Melissa didn’t want to be a sob story. She didn’t want others to feel sorry for her. So, she distracted herself by turning on the TV.

It was the news. Ronald Drumf and Felon Tusk had rigged the recent election, and democracy was crumbling.

She stared in disbelief as the United States, now barely united, fell into the grip of fascism and oligarchy—a pattern repeating across the globe. Terror washed over her. What could she possibly do?

Then, a wry smile crept across her face. She mattered! She was falling apart, and so was democracy.

“Thank you, universe!” she shouted.

The world wasn’t able to function without her, so it fell into the hands of evil. She realized, in that moment, she was responsible for saving the world—saving democracy itself.

Melissa was determined to heal, to get better. She immersed herself in therapies and self-help classes, convinced that saving herself would save the U.S. and the Earth. The power of the mind, she decided, was a valuable weapon.

Weeks of relentless positivity began to yield results. She started seeing glimmers of hope. An underground coalition of more than 100,000 federal workers, lawmakers, judges, and citizens was fighting back.

Her doctors were astounded. Her body was healing. Melissa knew she mattered, and she made every moment count.

“I’ve heard of miracles, but I’ve never really seen one,” her doctor said, studying the computer screen in front of them. “Not that I’m calling this a miracle. I am, after all, aware of the placebo effect. Look here—your nerves have revived, and your cysts have disappeared. But how are you feeling, Melissa?”

Melissa smiled and lifted herself slightly, pressing her hands against the chair. “I am important, I am loved, I matter, and I have fun!” she declared.

Then she looked at the doctor for approval—but quickly looked away. She didn’t need his approval. She already had the answers within her.

The doctor smiled back. “That’s great, Melissa. Well, we should still keep a close eye on things. I’ll order some labs, and we’ll follow up in eight weeks.”

“Great, thanks, Dr. Kevorkian,” Melissa replied, her voice light. She couldn’t wait to get home for her 4:00 PM alarm: “People love me, people learn from me, people love helping me.”

As she left the small office, the television in the lobby blared with breaking news.

“Breaking news!” the newscaster announced. “Countries worldwide have been working together and have finally arrested the authoritarian leaders. They are being tried at The Hague for war crimes and treason.”

Ballad of a Dying Dream

Ballad of a Dying Dream

by | Dec 2, 2024 | Writing

Ballad of a Dying Dream

As I watch the world go by, I cry. What has the world become? What is the future for our children? How could I have been so gullible and naïve, 19 and 12 years ago, when I became pregnant, yearning for family and offspring?

How could my instinct to procreate possibly know of the future? 2015, 2016, 2020, 2021, 2024, 2025. Sure, we can get on with our lives. We can fight the system. But that system is already dead, taken over by the greedy rich. We’ve seen this before in history.

I was a pawn, a believer in dreams, a believer in the country I live in. Yet, I’ve never uttered the words, “Proud to be an American.”

Why not have faith in our country? How could Americans become so brainwashed, so dead to the truth, to the facts, to the hopes and dreams, to our environment, and to our citizens and humanity across the world?

Americans are angry at the two-party system, so they look for other leaders, such as Jill Stein—a hypocrite and Russian asset—or Robert Kennedy Jr.—a privileged conspiracy theorist, hypocrite, womanizer, and heroin addict.

How can we move on with our lives when our history is steeped in lies? Only the lucky among us have learned to unlearn the history we were taught—a history told from a colonizing, white perspective.

A country raised on racism and women as second-class citizens. A country denying more than two genders. A country with politicians criminalizing reproductive and LGBTQ+ rights while targeting drag queens reading to children—ignoring, all the while, the children dying from gun violence and touting the Second Amendment as justification.

How can we move on with our lives when we say, “Everything has to change—the people are suffering,” and yet now everything will change, but only for the worse, oh, the absolute worst!

Still, we have each other—our communities and people like us—so maybe, just maybe, we’ll muddle through the future years, even as the changes we face will likely bring only more suffering, despair, and inequity.