Note: I wrote this a little over three years ago and never did anything with it. In fact, I don't think I ever showed it to anyone, but I really like it. It is a very short story. Or maybe it is the beginning of a much larger story that will come one day. Either way, it is a small glimpse of a world (or time) that is outwardly very different from ours, though inwardly remains the same. Hope you enjoy it.
The worst part about breaking up is when you have to say hello to the next person you see. That is what he learned in the 11,200 years he had been alive. It was a birthday realization. You could always say good-bye, but the next conversation….the one with the next person…that was the one that decided how everything really went. You may have held yourself together completely, admirably composed, saying all that needed to be said…but then, as soon as your dialogue with the next person began, all of the feelings could come rushing out. They may be contained in only the smallest, the slightest gesture, or sigh, or hesitation. Or they may be signaled by a complete breakdown, as you take your leave of this intruder upon your thoughts to sulk in some dank corner of your mind. It is never predictable how you will react to the end of a relationship, but it is always summed up in your reaction to the next person.
That was what he learned on his 11,200th birthday. This year was the end of his most recent relationship…a 247-year partnership with a wonderful young woman (she was only 2,596 when they started seeing each other and it was a bit of a scandal at first) that now was ended in a flood of tears, grief, remorse and relief. She pleaded that she could never love another. He swore that she would get over him. She screamed that he was callous. He roared that he was merely old. She sobbed that he was her life. He maintained that her life was her own. She flung herself at him in the hope of winning him back. He accepted her with the hope of being rid of her. It was a sad affair and he believed himself to be above all of this, having been through similar scenes a number of times before.
However, when he returned to his flat and tried to engage his roommate in casual conversation he found himself utterly unable to carry on. He was paralyzed by some inexplicable emotion…one that cut to the very quick of his soul. 247 years was a mere pittance in comparison with the great span that he had already seen. When held up against the many years he planned on living…it seemed a barely recognizable wink in time. The cold feeling in his chest told him otherwise, however. It told him that, no matter how long a life may be, none of it might be lived with impunity. No part of a life may be considered a mere trifle and none of it can be considered disposable. It all has meaning that cannot be erased by a willful mind, or cheapened by a hardened heart. With love comes loss, sooner or later. That is unavoidable.
Needless to say, it was a melancholic 11,200th birthday.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
There are times when I just feel like saying...
...that I could rummage through your trash all day, baby. And if you think that was trashy, just wait until you've seen my Cornish friend. He's got swim-trunks written all over him. It's like a disease. A disease that just makes you want to know how they do it even more. It's rhinoplasty, baby.
And as if that wasn't enough, here she comes just talking and swaying and whining like she had four or more cares in the world, winding her way through the market stalls. And if cell phones could talk, we'd all be pretty fucked, wouldn't we? Who'd ever get a word in edgewise? But for now it's just swing and swine as we all jostle along to the muzak. I can barely be heard over the ferocious whispering of the flies in my eyes. They can't read my case or rifle through my files, but they can intrude upon my thoughts and tickle my trickle in ways that should just not be allowed. I think I'll just go cool my waist for a while in the shade of that oaf tree and while away the miles that pass by with Marty McFly.
But, there's just something loose in your drawer, isn't there? Maybe we'll find it someday. Until then you should probably waver more over your soup and try to peer into your sip before it hits your lips. You claim to know that the cricket finds more teeth than the ones he's looking for, but it doesn't bother me, no, because I'm safe in Boeotia. And those Mycenaeans will never find me with their huddled lies, for their torpor knows no bounds. It lacks what it should not, so it discovers more than it could without a push anyway.
Anyway, what happened in the summer with those times that tread lightly in all the wrong places? I feel like I fell without falling, faster than I could frame a response to the far flung freedom fearing idiots that yell and scream with no faces! Why do we wonder where these crude creatures wander? Could we not save them a stool at the sinking shrimp and clam shack and wait for them to turn up with their stupid drunken grins or their sleazy slack-jawed, two-fisted attacks? It might not be worth the trouble, but damn it could be great fun for a while to see them prattle and twist and turn round each other, all while sticking to their sadly miscast and glum looking guns!
Well, now I'm off with a rattle to speak with blue teacups. It could have been a white sheet that made me see red, though I think it more likely that I'll just go to bed. So you may walk with a lime and stop on a nickel, but just remember that greater schemes await those that reach for the pickle. And as I bid you adieu for the night with a flourish, beat back their wigs and have a nice glass of warm milk; it'll help you sleep unless you're lactose intolerant.
And as if that wasn't enough, here she comes just talking and swaying and whining like she had four or more cares in the world, winding her way through the market stalls. And if cell phones could talk, we'd all be pretty fucked, wouldn't we? Who'd ever get a word in edgewise? But for now it's just swing and swine as we all jostle along to the muzak. I can barely be heard over the ferocious whispering of the flies in my eyes. They can't read my case or rifle through my files, but they can intrude upon my thoughts and tickle my trickle in ways that should just not be allowed. I think I'll just go cool my waist for a while in the shade of that oaf tree and while away the miles that pass by with Marty McFly.
But, there's just something loose in your drawer, isn't there? Maybe we'll find it someday. Until then you should probably waver more over your soup and try to peer into your sip before it hits your lips. You claim to know that the cricket finds more teeth than the ones he's looking for, but it doesn't bother me, no, because I'm safe in Boeotia. And those Mycenaeans will never find me with their huddled lies, for their torpor knows no bounds. It lacks what it should not, so it discovers more than it could without a push anyway.
Anyway, what happened in the summer with those times that tread lightly in all the wrong places? I feel like I fell without falling, faster than I could frame a response to the far flung freedom fearing idiots that yell and scream with no faces! Why do we wonder where these crude creatures wander? Could we not save them a stool at the sinking shrimp and clam shack and wait for them to turn up with their stupid drunken grins or their sleazy slack-jawed, two-fisted attacks? It might not be worth the trouble, but damn it could be great fun for a while to see them prattle and twist and turn round each other, all while sticking to their sadly miscast and glum looking guns!
Well, now I'm off with a rattle to speak with blue teacups. It could have been a white sheet that made me see red, though I think it more likely that I'll just go to bed. So you may walk with a lime and stop on a nickel, but just remember that greater schemes await those that reach for the pickle. And as I bid you adieu for the night with a flourish, beat back their wigs and have a nice glass of warm milk; it'll help you sleep unless you're lactose intolerant.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Local Boy Jailed For Theft Of Golden Violin: "I Won It From The Devil"
ATLANTA - Explosive new details have emerged in the curious case of 15 year-old Jonathan "Johnny" Anderson of Pike County, recently convicted of the theft of a golden violin, valued at $2.3 million, from the Atlanta home of tobacco magnate Beezle Mephistopolous. An investigative report by the Atlanta Observer has revealed that Anderson's extraordinary defense in court was that the violin was not stolen at all, but was won by the boy in a bet with the Devil.
The trial, conducted behind tightly closed doors and amid rumors that the wealthy and well connected Mr. Mephistopolous was heavily leaning on prosecutors to obtain the maximum sentence, has been the buzz of Pike County for months, with speculation rife as to how and why a boy with an otherwise clean record would commit such a serious crime. The story has even been picked up by major regional newspapers and television once it was publicly announced that Anderson would be tried as an adult. He was sentenced last week to serve 12-15 years, which critics decried as overly harsh. It has still not been accurately determined how the young Anderson was able to break into the Mephistopolous manor, make off with the heavily guarded violin and return home in time for dinner.
Anonymous attendees of the exclusive court proceedings tell the Observer how, at one point, Anderson had to be dragged from the court in handcuffs by bailiffs after challenging the judge to a 'fiddling duel' and shouting about the Devil. Says a source, "He just kept screaming, 'I told you once you son of a bitch, I'm the best there's ever been!' And, 'It might be a sin, but I won that golden fiddle from the Devil fair and square! That goddamn son of a bitch must have stole it! Get after him about it, not me!' It was awful."
Court officials would only comment that Anderson was seen by a mental health professional and was deemed fit to stand trial.
When reached for comment, Mr. Mephistopolous was reluctant to speak to reporters, though when repeatedly questioned stated, "Look, justice has been served. My property has been returned to me and that dirty, filthy little fiddle player has been properly punished for thinking he can beat me...um, I mean beat the criminal justice system."
When asked about how the high-profile robbery has effected his business, as it is well known that his tobacco company has been in a steep decline in recent years, he related, "Yes, it's true I'm in a bit of a bind. Way behind in fact and I've been willing to make a deal. Not enough people smoking these days with these damn Surgeon General warnings and all. I may be moving into coal next, but we'll have to see how the market plays out."
Meanwhile, the boy's family maintains that he was he was well-behaved and never had any trouble with the law in the past. Described as highly imaginative and a gifted musician, Anderson was a five-time winner of the annual Pike County Fair Fiddle-Off and a member of 4-H and his local church youth group. Police say he was the only suspect in the robbery.
The trial, conducted behind tightly closed doors and amid rumors that the wealthy and well connected Mr. Mephistopolous was heavily leaning on prosecutors to obtain the maximum sentence, has been the buzz of Pike County for months, with speculation rife as to how and why a boy with an otherwise clean record would commit such a serious crime. The story has even been picked up by major regional newspapers and television once it was publicly announced that Anderson would be tried as an adult. He was sentenced last week to serve 12-15 years, which critics decried as overly harsh. It has still not been accurately determined how the young Anderson was able to break into the Mephistopolous manor, make off with the heavily guarded violin and return home in time for dinner.
Anonymous attendees of the exclusive court proceedings tell the Observer how, at one point, Anderson had to be dragged from the court in handcuffs by bailiffs after challenging the judge to a 'fiddling duel' and shouting about the Devil. Says a source, "He just kept screaming, 'I told you once you son of a bitch, I'm the best there's ever been!' And, 'It might be a sin, but I won that golden fiddle from the Devil fair and square! That goddamn son of a bitch must have stole it! Get after him about it, not me!' It was awful."
Court officials would only comment that Anderson was seen by a mental health professional and was deemed fit to stand trial.
When reached for comment, Mr. Mephistopolous was reluctant to speak to reporters, though when repeatedly questioned stated, "Look, justice has been served. My property has been returned to me and that dirty, filthy little fiddle player has been properly punished for thinking he can beat me...um, I mean beat the criminal justice system."
When asked about how the high-profile robbery has effected his business, as it is well known that his tobacco company has been in a steep decline in recent years, he related, "Yes, it's true I'm in a bit of a bind. Way behind in fact and I've been willing to make a deal. Not enough people smoking these days with these damn Surgeon General warnings and all. I may be moving into coal next, but we'll have to see how the market plays out."
Meanwhile, the boy's family maintains that he was he was well-behaved and never had any trouble with the law in the past. Described as highly imaginative and a gifted musician, Anderson was a five-time winner of the annual Pike County Fair Fiddle-Off and a member of 4-H and his local church youth group. Police say he was the only suspect in the robbery.
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