Me and Mr. Jones

It isn’t even like reading. More like hunting for treasure, or traveling through the county fair funhouse. Borges collection of short pieces has so enthralled me this afternoon that I can’t even think about much else. A lot has been made of his imaginary lands and allusions to fictitious fictions, but I simply can’t get over his erudite sense of fun. More must be flushed out, but for the moment I’m simply lost among the unremembered memories….

I’ve suffered lately from a revolutionary fervor. I am anxious for big, balls-out, dramatic change. In what I’m not quite sure.

However, I’ve cut my hair, and like Samson in reverse I’m pushing over pillars and toppling my current firmaments.

I am tomorrow, or some future day, what I establish today. I am today what I established yesterday or some previous day.

So, as the month of April draws to a close, George and I have seemingly finalized the list of texts for the new composition. The following 5 voices were the ones that Mr. Lam liked best:

1. Found Objects

2. Prescription

3. Drop Dead

4. Neurotics Anonymous

5. Gone

For awhile he just sat there, smiling. But then felt the need to say something, anything to end this boredom.

The conversation had taken off now, for once, and he quietly excused himself with cup in hand. This was going to be a long night.

I am a force.

I just have to keep moving, turning or bending in order to find a place of power.
If you were to attack, I would adjust myself until I had you on the ground.
It is a matter of balance, and of flexibility. It has improved my ability to function in the world.
I trip but I do not fall. I just right myself. I do not drop things, because now I can catch them.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not peaceful. I feel aggression and I do aggress those around me.
I like to throw people, I love being thrown. And it is good to know how strong I am.

Size doesn’t matter. If you are too big it will actually be a disadvanatge.
Focusing on muscles and strength will cause you to lose.
I can pinch your nerves and disarm your biceps.

I am a force. Watch out.

So, it has been a while since I’ve written anything at all. It all sort of came to a halt after I offered my last little piece of text to Mr. Lam. And then George said, “…okay. voice 5. I think it’s a little bit too close to voice 1…. What do you think? This voice couldn’t be another one-sided (or maybe even a dialogue!) piece of a conversation, could it? Not phone. But maybe another setting?”

So here I am, searching my mind for something to give him. So I must first remind myself of what he had asked me for: “Could another voice be something that’s nostalgic and reminisicent? Of better days? In past tense? Maybe?”

George is sweet because he doesn’t just want to tell me what to write, although I do believe he wants something very specific and won’t be satisfied until he gets it. And I would like to give it to him. (Mostly because I like praise and I want him to give it to me.) So, without further ado…

The sign read “Puppies $5 a piece” and I was told to pick any one I wanted. I had two requirements: he must be a boy and he must be the best puppy in the world. After explaining this to the woman in the white dress, she told me that there was only one male puppy left. She pointed to the bushes that ran along the side of the house. Sure enough, cowering below the branches was a cute little boy who also, it turned out, was the best puppy in the world.

I named him Chip. He had a predominantly black coat of hair on top which was complimented by the white hair on his undersides. His face had little tan spots under his eye and his tail was a gorgeous, shaggy spiral of black with a white stripe down the middle.

That bushy tail was his trademark–his calling card.

Chip pranced like a deer. He played frisbee, tag, and slept in my tent whenever I decided to camp out in the backyard.

But just like me, Chip eventually grew restless on our farm. He began to take weeklong trips, but he would always came back. I would see his beautiful tail moving through the field, and then he’d pounce up into my arms and lick my face for hours.

Then one day he didn’t return. His food bowl left untouched.

Four years later Chip showed up, pouncing and licking. But he had no tail. Just a stub, flapping in excitement. I spent the night sleeping next to him on the grass, searching his face for a clue as to what happened. The only thing he could tell me was that the world was too big to stay in one place. And that it isn’t good to be too attached to anything. In the morning he left, never to return.

Oh, and in the spirit of full-disclosure, this piece was adapted from a previous post which can be read here.

Yup, Tony’s back. We thought we had lost him–but we were wrong.

He appeared this morning, like a vision, complete with a bowtie and cufflinks. He’s been looking over my shoulder ever since.

We haven’t spoken much beyond that thing he whispered in my ear to wake me up. However, truth be told, there is a mild stirring in my loins.

he was an inspiring beauty, my first sunflower.
i met him in high school on the swim team
when he still slept on garfield sheets
and left beautiful,
poetic prose taped inside my locker.

he thought important thoughts and loved
his friends well.

there was that one afternoon,
out in the country, on a playground.
a young girl squeaked on the swing
in the distance while we two laid down in the grass.
he on his back
and me on his chest.
he said, “i feel like i was made to support you.”

every moment together I have relived again and again.
that sun
may never set.

…and then showering and going to the allergist and doing taxes and rushing home to clean up and do some work to allow time to eat and exercise and find a job and settle down and get a 401K plan or Roth IRA or whatever the financial planner thinks you should get so you can make joint decisions and be smart with money and no dairy or carbs or smoking or drinking or anything else that might potentially cause later harm because the future is all you have or most of what you should worry about because who knows where social security might be and the government these days can’t seem to manage anything so look both ways and get saved or donate something to charity and save receipts for tax write-offs and good karma and nuclear families not nuclear bombs ’cause what is war really good for and in the end the love…

“I swear to god she’s going to live forever.”

“The opposite. She actually broke down and began to wail about her poor cat and how could god take him from her. I’ll tell you who god needs to take…”