I’m sitting here, waiting for a long distance call. Or a secret smile maybe…a look…some form of contact…. I’ve been waiting for quite a while.It would be unfair to call myself lonely…unfair because…I have everything…I am lonely, not because I am alone….just dissatisfied I guess….I don’t know why really….I’d rather not delve into too many philosophical thoughts. Okay, forget that I’m lonely. I am not.
You see, sometimes I feel as if I’m this really deep, philosophical person…but I’m not, to be honest with you. I am a cheap materialist…I am happy with “things”, so to speak. I am also…very self-absorbed. I like thinking only about myself. I am not a very interesting person in the eyes of other people though. ‘Boring’, is the word I’m looking for. But I wish they could see more than what they saw…I wish I could let them enter my imaginary world….now that, is interesting…really, it is. I wish I could tell a person, who thought I was really boring, ‘hop aboard…see what it is really like.’ But then I’d hesitate…I’m not too sure….will he really like it? Is it really that good? I’m never too sure about anything. Do something…if you ever meet me….don’t ask me about the weather…’cause I won’t be sure about that either.
Hey, you know what I really like? I like roller coasters. All sorts of roller coasters. I like the way you move so fast, that you don’t know where you’re going to be next….but at the same time, you’re tied up so securely, you know you’ll never fall…it’s the happiest, most exhilarating feeling of all. I wish I owned all the roller coasters in the world, and never had to queue up when I wanted to ride them. I’d feel the wind in my face, that light feeling in my gut, the fast beat of my heart against my rib cage, the adrenaline rush…I swear, I would never tire of it.Know what I don’t like? I don’t like it when people say “Life is like a roller coaster ride”…meaning, life has its ups and downs. And the people who say it, some of them, man, they haven’t even been on a roller coaster ….it just gets me mad. I know there is no sound logic behind my anger…but I just hate phrases like that. As if people know everything about life by the time they are twenty-six. I think, the only time people should talk about life, and huge philosophical theories, is when they are just about to die…when they have seen as much as they could….I mean no-one ever sees everything…even if he lives to be a hundred and twenty six. Why, some people who see me everyday, haven’t seen me at all. See what I’m getting at?
Any-way. I’ll let you in on a secret. My biggest fear. People. If there’s one thing that I’m really, really scared of, its people. It’s not easy being a human being, I tell you. I’d much rather be stuck in Siberia with a hungry polar bear for company. But I know what you’re thinking. Why would I look for any form of contact, if I were scared of people? Umm…I’m not sure. I guess isolation is not good for me. If you noticed, I had a polar bear with me in Siberia. I need someone. Always. Real, or imaginary. I need. I’m a needy, needy being. And I’m human too…a baffling structure of contradictions, lies, arteries and veins. Also, scary. Yeah…I scare me. Did I tell you I hate mirrors? I hate mirrors. Man, I hate them. I also hate cold, dark rooms…cold, dark rooms are also like mirrors….you get to see inside yourself when you’re in a cold dark room. And that can be…scary. But I have to admit…I enjoy the fear once in a while. You didn’t think fear could be enjoyed did you? But it can be. Honestly, it can.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Sunday, April 10, 2005
Moose-Head Stew
One day Waganuk just went crazy. I don’t really know what happened but it was sometime after 25 minutes past 11 at night, that all the pandemonium began. He put on all the clothes he ever had and declared he was going to Hell. ‘It’s going to be hot in there’ we said, but he just ignored us and went on tinkering with all the paraphernalia he ever owned. He stuffed in the important things like his ‘1001 bed time stories’ book, garden scissors and half-eaten sandwiches in a big yellow portable mini taxi and said ‘So long folks’, and trotted off into the moon.
We sat around in shock and dismay for a while and then remembered that we had to cook moose-head stew for Muchopick, who was suffering from a terrible cold. It wasn’t easy cooking moose-head stew, because catching a moose is always a problem. The moose, you see, is not really that stupid, contrary to popular belief. And they are, indeed, unbelievably strong. It hides for days, as it can survive on very little food and keeps us waiting in the freezing cold. Then, when we are weak from cold and hunger, so weak that we cannot even raise our eyebrows , he waltzes past and flashes us a dirty smile, and we cannot do a thing about it. Maybe it isn’t that the moose is suddenly smart…maybe it’s just us who have become dumber by the day.
‘How will he go?’ asked Snubbabub, after we finished tending Muchopick. ‘Three miles south…seventh door to the right’ said wise old Retipop, who claimed that he had been to Hell once before. Wise as he maybe, we all thought he was senile. But turns out he wasn’t far from the truth. It was five miles south, and indeed, the seventh door to the right’. Waganuk wrote to us in a few days with a return address.
He said he was fine, and we were right about the weather. But if you could sell a couple of souls to the Devil, he gave you a raise, and you could cool off at Siberia. Siberia reminded him of home, and he missed us all very much. That was all.
Biggina, who was his special friend, said that she’d go and meet him just once. After all, five miles couldn’t be that big a deal. But everyone, including Retipop warned her against it. ‘Besides, Biggina, he’d be in Siberia, and that’s further than Hell.’ She blew her nose for ten whole minutes and said ‘okay’ finally. No-one just goes to Hell like that. ‘Waganuk did’, corrected Biggina, but didn’t comment any further.
Life went on where we lived. Since Waganuk, ten more people went to Hell on their own accord. A much recovered Muchopick thought that, Waganuk was probably using his sales tactics on the poor folks living here. He had always been a bit of a charmer. But we never really knew. Those who remained, busied themselves with catching moose, and many died in the process. Retopick said those who died also went to Hell, so a month later, moose-hunting was banned. Everyone died of starvation in the next forty days, and here I am….the only one left to tell you this story. I’ll get back to you if I am alive, or have anything more to say about the nothingness that surrounds me. So long.
We sat around in shock and dismay for a while and then remembered that we had to cook moose-head stew for Muchopick, who was suffering from a terrible cold. It wasn’t easy cooking moose-head stew, because catching a moose is always a problem. The moose, you see, is not really that stupid, contrary to popular belief. And they are, indeed, unbelievably strong. It hides for days, as it can survive on very little food and keeps us waiting in the freezing cold. Then, when we are weak from cold and hunger, so weak that we cannot even raise our eyebrows , he waltzes past and flashes us a dirty smile, and we cannot do a thing about it. Maybe it isn’t that the moose is suddenly smart…maybe it’s just us who have become dumber by the day.
‘How will he go?’ asked Snubbabub, after we finished tending Muchopick. ‘Three miles south…seventh door to the right’ said wise old Retipop, who claimed that he had been to Hell once before. Wise as he maybe, we all thought he was senile. But turns out he wasn’t far from the truth. It was five miles south, and indeed, the seventh door to the right’. Waganuk wrote to us in a few days with a return address.
He said he was fine, and we were right about the weather. But if you could sell a couple of souls to the Devil, he gave you a raise, and you could cool off at Siberia. Siberia reminded him of home, and he missed us all very much. That was all.
Biggina, who was his special friend, said that she’d go and meet him just once. After all, five miles couldn’t be that big a deal. But everyone, including Retipop warned her against it. ‘Besides, Biggina, he’d be in Siberia, and that’s further than Hell.’ She blew her nose for ten whole minutes and said ‘okay’ finally. No-one just goes to Hell like that. ‘Waganuk did’, corrected Biggina, but didn’t comment any further.
Life went on where we lived. Since Waganuk, ten more people went to Hell on their own accord. A much recovered Muchopick thought that, Waganuk was probably using his sales tactics on the poor folks living here. He had always been a bit of a charmer. But we never really knew. Those who remained, busied themselves with catching moose, and many died in the process. Retopick said those who died also went to Hell, so a month later, moose-hunting was banned. Everyone died of starvation in the next forty days, and here I am….the only one left to tell you this story. I’ll get back to you if I am alive, or have anything more to say about the nothingness that surrounds me. So long.
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