Mat Schulze

*Microsoft Copilot. (2024). Old-fashioned telephone on a prestigious writing desk in an administrative office [Generated image].*

I’ll make some calls, he said and waved his hand at me. Or did I make up the last part? Was he waving? In any case, I got it. After – it can have only been – 45 seconds, he asked Me to leave. Do people still say that: I’ll make some calls … He didn’t even have a phone on his desk anymore. All Zoom these days. Was he old enough to remember that offices used to have a phone line? And a fax machine? I didn’t even have time to look around his office. Did he have a fax machine still? Did he have his own printer? If the person was important enough, he used to have a fax machine and a printer and later a three-in-one. Or was that two? I’ll make some calls!?! Had he been more important, the fax and phone would be in the front office. And he would only call them to tell them who they must call to then call him so that he could call them. To call to call, to call to call, to call.

I walked out of his office. The chair in the corridor was no doubt still warm from my waiting. I calculated the rate of waiting time to talking time in my head. I was good at math. Better than the corrupt election machines. One to twenty. I had waited fifteen minutes to talk for less than a minute. What a waste of my taxes. Why did I come here? I’ll make some calls. Oh ya, sure. Make your bloody calls! Did I say this out loud? Was this suit, who just walked by, looking at me? Are you looking at me? I’ll make some calls. I. Will. Make. Some. Calls. My battle cry echoed in the long corridor. I will call. I took out my cell and waved it like a torch. I will make some calls. Does anyone have the number of the boss of this shit hole here? Oh come on, give me the number of your retarded boss. I will call him. Right now. Stop staring at me. Look somewhere else. Don’t you have any work to do? Ach, waste of time. I will make some calls … and start with the President. I will call him. He will pick up. He is like me, he likes to talk. He likes his burgers. And diet coke. So American. I will make some calls. Oh no, I will only call one man. The man. He will make it right again. He will make one call to this jerk. Lock him up. And there will be peace. And respect. And then this Crooked Office John can’t make any calls anymore and can’t have anyone in his office for 45 seconds. For the next 45 years. Enough already …

I have not been posting texts for far too long, I think and hope you agree, but I have been writing. This is from a session this week and the prompt was – you guessed it – I’ll make some calls.

Fear Beer Mere Here Now she is not frightened of beer that smell he spat … Mere defense of her self then and she says: I am more of a wine person Here They are what she stands for Now helping others Mere goodwill toward Earth A peaceful life Here We walk around the lake and she speaks of life’s liberty and Now we've furnished the room in the attic and for years, we stay right Here

In old bookstores and smoke-filled pubs
I find out about things that have been lost
and slowly learn what some still have
and what they miss.

I lie in bed and
stare at naked feet down at the end
they seem like father’s which I never wanna have

I recall the smell of summer rain on needles
from pines in lands behind the curtain
Or I am anxious to travel back

Sometimes I hear again
the neatly crafted song
with lines that hint
Defiance