Brian Eckert

I’d nearly forgotten the world was going to end. If not for Facebook, it probably would have slipped my mind altogether. I would have bungled through another morning of coffee and copywriting, completely unaware of the devastation that was to grip the Earth in the coming hours. Only a jerk spends his final day of existence writing about garage renovation costs and faulty Johnson & Johnson metal-on-metal hips.

But while I may skip work, I still need coffee. I reach for the Tupperware container full of Dazbog KBG Blend in the cupboard. Not even enough for a full cup. One of my ski condo mates has a container of Folgers in the refrigerator. I’d just assume the world end right now if I’m going to be drinking goddamned horse-piss Folgers. Read the rest of this entry »

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 »