Brian Eckert

Published in The Denver Post.

My latest sojourn to City Park has revealed an irrefutable point: Canada Geese are foul creatures that have defiled the sanctity of one of Denver’s finest commons.

I had to walk with my eyes to the ground, in constant fear of stepping in goose droppings. Even still, by the end of my walk my boots were caked in them. In addition, the birds constant honking is noise pollution. The entire grounds were inundated with their off-beat braying, not allowing me a moment of peace. At times a great flock of them took flight, flapping, calling, and defecating. As the warm, green feces fell waywardly, honest, hard-working citizens like myself were forced to dive for cover.

A sign at the park’s civil rights memorial reads: Quiet respect, please. While obeying the request, my tacit reverence was disturbed  by  honking and the “plat” of droppings on the stone, which just so happened to land square on an imprint of the Liberty Bell. As if these birds weren’t causing enough problems, they’re unpatriotic to boot! Shaking my fist at the assailants I gave chase and watched them fly North, hopefully all the way back to Canada, where such acts against humanity are tolerated.

The birds must be kept from flocking in Denver’s fine green spaces. The city would be wise to address the Canada Goose in forthcoming immigration policy. Not only is it a matter of national security, but these foreign-born birds occupy and squander resources that should rightly go to American species. Stationing small numbers of ground forces at the park will help to keep the problem at bay until a  permanent solution can be reached. A more cost effective fix would be to release a slew of pythons on the city to rid us of the geese. Once that is taken care of, the city can introduce a weasel- type mammal to eat the snakes. Finally, a primate will be used to take care of the weasel problem. The primates will simply die off in the winter.

I admit that I will miss chasing and/or kicking one of the boisterous birds, but it’s a small sacrifice for being able to enjoy an afternoon in the park without obnoxious honking and feces everywhere I step. If I were interested in that, I’d go to a fraternity party.

Best,

Brian J. Eckert

This piece originally appeared in the Autumn 2012 issue of Hobo Camp Review. 

Halloween may have its origins in European pagan tradition, but nowhere today is the holiday celebrated more vigorously than in the United States. I’ve spent Halloween on four continents and can confidently say that America is the unofficial capital of Halloween celebrations—or, at least, those that involve getting wasted and dressed up. Not surprising in a country where most people are desperately trying to be something they’re not. Don’t let the disguises fool you, though. Underneath those elaborate getups are still Americans. With their American beliefs. Their American Outrage. Their American Self-Righteousness. Read the rest of this entry »

This Essay Originally Appeared in The Nervous Breakdown

This summer I sojourned to the Mt. Hood Wilderness Area in Northern Oregon. Over a span of four days I hiked nearly 40 miles and in the process endured soaking rains, too-little food and water, poisonous plants, venomous spiders, blood-sucking flies, and the possibility of an attack from bears, cougars, or perhaps even Bigfoot. At the end of the ordeal my feet were blistered and sore, my legs and back aching. In such a state was I that the meager prospects of a gas station sandwich and a Motel 6 seemed downright epicurean.

For many, this type of willful deprivation from modern comforts amounts to little more than masochism. As far as I’m concerned, such suffering is sheer joy when compared to the pain visited upon man by his fellow man. Concomitant with deprivation from society’s riches is deliverance from its ugliness. Read the rest of this entry »

The call comes from an old friend who’s splitting with his wife. Will I move into the marital home in her stead, he asks.

I agree.

God knows what I’m in for once I get there. But the drive is enough for now.

For the restless, so long as there there are miles to put away, there is a determination to destroy them; to squelch them between the bituminous membrane of tire and tarmac, a place where potentialities rest for a moment then are kicked back up into the air like a piece of roadside trash.

The Road expects nothing except that you keep going. The Road is catharsis; the Road is escape; the Road is motion that justifies itself. The Road expresses perfectly the form of existence that is continual Becoming without ever Being.

Read the rest of this entry »

The morning coffee is
a toast to the new day, a
ceremonial offering to the dawn.

Making the bed is
hope for a fresh start, setting things straight
for the next stage of dreams.

Whiskers in the sink are
a reminder of my animal nature that
each day I must repress if I am to get out,
make a man of myself.

A tie is the noose I wear
as a cross, a
token of my sacrifice, my
daily martyrdom.

My dress shoes are a
shiny black steed that
carry the hero through
the wasteland.

The dinging that indicates the train is approaching
is the bell tolling
for me.

The train ride is lustful, a
great phallus penetrating the damp
flesh of the city.
I daydream that time stops and all aboard
are frozen, except myself, and
I walk through the cars examining their
Disguises,
comparing them to my own.

Each laugh I hear is a battle cry, announcing,
“The world hasn’t broken me yet,”
but on some days laughter isn’t enough, so I
decide to howl instead.
I rear back, begin to bellow like a beast…
…and then they come for me, drag me away kicking
and screaming, a blow to the head and my world goes black…

I wake up in a hospital bed, the surgeons
wearing Halloween masks and telling me,
“Things will be fine, m’boy, now we’ve got
just the thing for what’s ailing you.”
They gouge a long shank through my eye socket, and
there is no pain,
only blood….
It spills out like a
river overflowing its banks. Soon,
the room fills, a drain opens on the floor, spinning us
around, then
down, down down…

I wake up to find myself reading the newspaper. The front page headline reads:
Lobotomies Making a Comeback as a Way to Ease Worker Discontent
The weather is mild and unemployment sits at 8.43679%.
The price of real estate is up, but should soon steady.
I laugh fully, deeply, hysterically,
until a pleasant looking woman comes in with
a steaming cup of coffee that I
slurp down with a gilded straw, then
with one leap vault from the table,
land perfectly in my shiny dress shoes, and
blast through the wall.