Eternal Resolve

The pleasant pairing of space & time. Originally titled Passion Patrol.

Eternal Resolve

By Tyler Lucas Mobley 

Pleasure running out my toes 

greed blown from thy nose 

sung in manor of mountain temple 

obscuring boundaries when able

to coax frequency with command 

returns oneself to cradling hand 

of a world all for you. 

Stand Up Steve

In baseball it’s called your summer family, in surfing it’s your winter family, when the ocean awakens sleeping giants. This was early in November.

Stand Up Steve  

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

Paddles up mirroring messiah,

been awhile since we caught up,

as an aging surfer, he’s apprenticing 

under a wave guru up north, one of 

the salty till senile types. “My pop up

is good for a few waves, then I’m just

blowing it. I’ll do anything to stay on a 

shortboard”, motioning his paddle at the

monstrosity of buoyancy under foot.

Being able to set that line and go, with 

this, making moch jump as though he

had cinder block feet. A crystalizing

thought, “less resistance, all response.” 

Announced in the manner of mention, 

they let the words hang for a moment

grappling with how minutia of honest

pursuits mirror life at their core. Being

in the world, a deepening of self.  

Clicking Reel

Clicking Reel 

By Tyler Mobley

Letting out line, mind a clicking reel, wonky

film projector tempting realities to

sprout from skull and politely ask the present 

for a dance, only to ruin her and take her place.  

Sea surface storms about how the heart wants 

if skin would show it, left with throwing rocks 

to ripple the calm, trusting it will return when 

our minds are ready. 

Marble monks on city hall contain all things and 

none with how they hold themselves,

conversing behind our backs, you’d swear on

their rolling eyes, unmoved movers of sacred bust.

Falling as a precious drop onto vacant dune, 

giving life to dust in a flood of visions, that

may last the next rain. 

Absence Eternal

Started from a thought jotted down while driving to work, like those shoulder advisors we’ve seen repeated.

Absence Eternal 

By Tyler Lucas Mobley 

“You’re here again?” 

A demon of ember skin sits gargoyle on the lunch table cover watching Timmy Schwartz walk to chemistry class. 

“What do you want?” 

Sparks fly off the grin that displays a set of charcoal teeth, “I’m here to show you your future.” 

Timmy stops and looks up at the domon, “why don’t you just go away my future is fine without you,” stomping off backpack bouncing. 

“When will one turn out? They don’t know the privilege they’re missing, somehow I’m only visible to the shy ones. 

“The chemical chain of atoms is made up from a series of bonds; the placement of these bonds determine the type of the element,” says the teacher. Timmy looks around, did he hear her right, did she just say bomb? 

“Boo!” 

Timmy jumps in his seat knocking his binder to the floor, he can hear the crackle and pop of the demon behind him, but all the eyes in the classroom are on him. 

“Is everything alright Mr. Schwartz?” asked the teacher, seeing a distraught little Timmy. 

“Tell her nothing is alright, it’s all going to hell.”

The class became more confused when Timmy “shhh’d” the air behind him.

“I’m alright,” said Timmy, “actually could I step out for some air?” 

“That would be fine Timmothy.”  

His chest tightened, air seemed to be pressed out of him as though the Empire State Building were on his chest. The ground around him turned into a molten rock shaking with steam. Timmy tried to jump free though every leap landed him in a thermal glow, and the ground grows more brittle with each lingering second. 

“Had enough?” says the demon, startling Timmy who was planning his next move, “stay away,” Timmy cries and attempts to jump. The cement crumbles under Timmy unloading his springs, a fail characteristic of when people slip while jumping off boat railings, or flimsy outdoor furniture. A static extension causing an off balance landing, Timmy stumbles, trips himself and falls head first into a nearby planter. He pulls his head out of a cherimoya and pats dirt from his shirt, eyeing around he sees no sign of the demon. 

“Brother, it is I, creator of all that is and will be.” 

Timmy looked at the janitor with his bucket on wheels and mop stick in both hands. 

“Yeah, would you mind telling me what is going on here, Mr. … umm ahh Creator.” 

The janitor throws back his head in laughter, a crack of thunder, echoes run between the buildings.  “What did you do to him?” asked the janitor of the demon, who was crouched above Timmy, embers sprinkling down. 

“He did it to himself, the kid is a box of tissues, you’re choosing him,” the demon asked then snapped his fingers and a cigar appeared in them, “audacious is all.” Biting off one end of the wrap and spitting it out, and then lit the other on himself and blew smoke in God’s face. 

“Do you mind stepping aside, Crusty and I need to have a talk,” the janitor said to Timmy. 

“Alright? You can wait back in class, Timmy?” 

Timmy began to redden. 

“Ohh release him would you!” 

The demon unclenches a fist that wasn’t around Timmy’s neck, but inflicting force all the same. 

“I think I will go back to class, I’ll just be here if…” 

“Hey knock that off.” 

The demon puts Timmy back on the ground. 

“Ask me, the boy can hear, he’s going to have to learn eventually, right?” 

The janitor looks at Timmy. 

“Right, then how do you expect me to believe your party will end when you won’t even let me have my witness?” 

“Witness,” the demon said with a laugh. “Is that what we’re calling it now, and we agree unangeled? 

“That’s why we’re here aren’t we?” 

Timmy fell into glazed bewilderment not sure if he believed any of this. What would he witness? Angels? 

“Timmy,” the Creator said with a sigh. “The world, Earth, goes through phases.”  

The demon chuckles, the Creator shoots him a look. 

“See the things that bring life also require death.” 

“My department,” the demon interrupts with a puff of smoke. 

Timmy gulps. 

“And you know what the source of all life is, don’t you?” 

Timmy looks directly at the sun, not quite at noon. The janitor quickly covers Timmy’s eyes with his hand, and bites a smile over his shoulder. 

“That’s right Timmy, the sun is the provider of all life and thus, can take it away.” 

“Take away all life? Could it be true? 

“Our demon angels descend in hell fire to clean house, just wait and see kid.”  

Timmy took another gulp. 

“We’re meeting with you so you may ready yourself for the task humanity requires of you. Have you heard of Herodotus? Like him for the next age.” 

“A new age?” 

“Even the Earth must be reborn, my son.” 

“You come with us now and in 30 years time, Earth will go a-rockin, as I’ll be a knocking,” said the demon.

“Ok let me get my bookbag and I’ll be ready to go.”

“That won’t be necessary, just follow us and you’ll have everything you need to know.” 

Timmy watched the janitor and demon banter through campus, his pride swelled as he felt his life’s calling agree with every step. Timmy glanced at the sun, and thought how precious a star it was. Timmy steps off the curb.

 His shoes landed on the ceramics and woodshop buildings respectively. Since the bus was on the smaller side, it had a normal car hood which Timmy rolled onto up the windshield, and received an extra kick from the raised roof leaving his limp body with considerable amplitude to fall in a fit of acrobatic twist and tumbles, that would’ve been the envy of Biles and Lee until landing face first on the pavement. 

The creator and the demon stop and turn to look at what’s the matter. The janitor shakes his head in his hands. The demon says, “guess you should’ve started with how to look both ways.” 

Kendall McClellan’s Lesson Plan: A Pandemic Miracle

CSUCI Spring 2020

Kendall McClellan’s Lesson Plan: A Pandemic Miracle  

By Tyler Lucas Mobley

We’d emerged from Baldwin and Hughes to “Let America

Be America Again” she took a brave stance behind the 

lectern and said “when I made this lesson plan back in

Christmas break, I never would’ve guessed that the day

I planned to talk about the stock market crash of 1929, 

the market would fall by a percentage that exceeds the 

record set the week that began the Great Depression.” 

The students just shift in their seats already convinced

their future is moot. This is what an education buys, 

informing you of the irony over head like a bucket of

icy water ready to drench, who’s recording?

The Diamond Princess hung on the horizon as an 

appetizer for things to come, while most were 

fenced on how Buttigeig gave suspicion that if you 

peaked inside his suit there would be dozens of 

mice pulling levers. Then it happened, the world

held it’s breath, some became deciders of 

essentiality while others never picked up their 

heads from the task at hand. 

Never more definitive uncertainty in the air 

her head recoils as if hit with a whiff of awful,

dispelling a reality she’d rather not accept. 

And then class went on, because that’s what 

we did back then. If I’d known it’d be my last 

day with her I might’ve made more of a goodbye. 

Notes to Generation Fortunate Son

Spawned from a memory of Eli’s 4runner.

Notes to Generation Fortunate Son 

By Tyler Lucas Mobley 

Fuzzy flags carried off planes

no one needs to ask about. 

Spare my eyes the sight

society says to itself. 

Protest read aloud the writing on the wall, 

a cousin, a brother, a father ties a nation 

in a knot no one is sure they should be in. 

Growing pains diagnosed from the comfort 

of their sacrifice, 40 years later teenagers 

returning from a high school lunch at Chipotle 

hang out car windows, hands managing the recoil 

of machine guns mounted to the chopper they’re 

clipped to, because Creedence is playing on max,

Lieutenant Dan taught us to walk again. 

Covered by the freedom those died providing

colors fade with the fog of endless war.

Not that anyone notice when times grew slack,

media removed vulnerable to reality’s attack.