As a child we used to play Batman. But there was only one Batman. His name was Jessie. The rest of us were interchangable. We would be The Green Lantern one day and maybe Superman on another day. But Jessie was always Batman.
One day the game was getting out of hand. Kids were smashing the boundaries all over the place. Superman was refusing to weaken in the presence of kryptonite and The Flash was flying. That day, Jessie fired the lot of us. We had a batcave in the cellar of a burned out house and Jessie threw us all out for insubordination. For my part, I was Superman that day and even in the presence of kryptonite, I could see clear across the Atlantic Ocean. I used my power to forge a lead shield and I would wrap the kryptonite in lead to render it's lethal rays harmless. This was the last straw for Jessie. He not only called me stupid but said that none of us were fit for the Justice League of America. He demanded that we all leave the Batcave. He even threw Robin out.
The next day we were rolling panrollers down from the pit to make carts. We were rolling them past Jessie's place. He seemed to still be mad because he didn't come out to help us make our way with the stolen goods. Instead, he ran by us with his bratice cape, waving a stick in his hand and making the Batman music sound. He was still playing Batman. We noticed and so did the adults, that it took quite some time for Jessie to grow past the Batman game. I suspected that even when he did, he just learned not to make such an outlandish display of it.
Years later my brother and I happened by a policeman as he pulled over a motorist. My brother sized the policeman up as he sprang into action. My brother said to me, "See that guy, he thinks he's a cop".
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Saturday, December 17, 2005
A Little Bit Funny
My friend Jimmy loves to study psychology and he asked me whether I had any dreams. He would like to analyse my dream to see what darkness he may find in my subconscious.
I told Jimmy that I dreamt that I had sex with his wife. I explained that in my dream, Jimmy had been killed in an accident and I took his head with me to a clinic that specializes in face transplants. I had Jimmy's face placed on the bones where my own face was and went to his home, as a practical joke, to have sex with his wife. The whole time I was feeling anxiety about her catching on that it was not really Jimmy, but simply his face. But by being very careful, I managed to pull it off. The energy required to prevent myself from going into hysterics was monumental. I did pull it off however and when I had sex with his wife, I then burst out laughing and spilled the beans. You should have seen the shocked look on her face when I told her that her Jimmy was indeed as dead as a doornail and that it was me that she was having sex with all along. I guess in retrospect, I can see why the humourous side of the situation was lost on her. She competely overrected and the dream became a little nasty.
"Do you think your wife would love me if I had your face" I asked.
Jimmy studied my face a while as I watched him process the dream. Then he said, "You know Sam, this is why you don't have any friends".
"No", I replied, "that isn't why I don't have any friends. I don't have any friends because faces mean nothing to me".
I told Jimmy that I dreamt that I had sex with his wife. I explained that in my dream, Jimmy had been killed in an accident and I took his head with me to a clinic that specializes in face transplants. I had Jimmy's face placed on the bones where my own face was and went to his home, as a practical joke, to have sex with his wife. The whole time I was feeling anxiety about her catching on that it was not really Jimmy, but simply his face. But by being very careful, I managed to pull it off. The energy required to prevent myself from going into hysterics was monumental. I did pull it off however and when I had sex with his wife, I then burst out laughing and spilled the beans. You should have seen the shocked look on her face when I told her that her Jimmy was indeed as dead as a doornail and that it was me that she was having sex with all along. I guess in retrospect, I can see why the humourous side of the situation was lost on her. She competely overrected and the dream became a little nasty.
"Do you think your wife would love me if I had your face" I asked.
Jimmy studied my face a while as I watched him process the dream. Then he said, "You know Sam, this is why you don't have any friends".
"No", I replied, "that isn't why I don't have any friends. I don't have any friends because faces mean nothing to me".
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Chief Joseph
Following an urge I traveled back to where I was was a boy to visit a rock in the forest where my father and my brother would go and smoke tobacco. I found the place and sat there and my mind went back in time.
I watched as my brother shaped an arrow with a knife. He carefully shaved the bark off as my father guided him. As my brother shaped the wood, my father shaped his mind and I went back to carefully packing tobacco into a cigarette paper. With our arrows and makins done, we sat on the Smoking Rock, the very same rock where Chief Joseph was buried, and we passed tobacco smoke as our father told of the heroic deeds of Chief Joseph and Chaulkin Gaun.
We needed arrows and bows. There was a phantom at Witches Hallow and on Halloween night, we would go there with our weapons to do battle with whatever might emerge. And each time we plunged into that blackness, we would shoot into the direction of wherever we heard its movement. Each time we went to battle, we faced the same enemy as our heros did long ago. It was a shape shifter and it would haunt us as it haunts each and every human being. As we went to war, we learned that our willow arrows could not defeat it.
The spirits of Chief Joseph and Chaulkin Gaun were true warriors and the enemy that they defated would challenge and stalk me and my brother for years to come. Our father introduced us to the enemy and introduced us to the weapons to fight it. The weapon was contained in the stories themselves. The weapon was inside the blackness of the hallow. The weapon was inside us.
I got up from the rock and I made an arrow. I rolled some Indian heads into a paper and smoked it. I buried the arrow and the ashes at the base of the rock in an offering to Chief Joseph and walked away.
And as I walked away, it occured to me that our father wasn't talking about the past. He was talking about the future.
I watched as my brother shaped an arrow with a knife. He carefully shaved the bark off as my father guided him. As my brother shaped the wood, my father shaped his mind and I went back to carefully packing tobacco into a cigarette paper. With our arrows and makins done, we sat on the Smoking Rock, the very same rock where Chief Joseph was buried, and we passed tobacco smoke as our father told of the heroic deeds of Chief Joseph and Chaulkin Gaun.
We needed arrows and bows. There was a phantom at Witches Hallow and on Halloween night, we would go there with our weapons to do battle with whatever might emerge. And each time we plunged into that blackness, we would shoot into the direction of wherever we heard its movement. Each time we went to battle, we faced the same enemy as our heros did long ago. It was a shape shifter and it would haunt us as it haunts each and every human being. As we went to war, we learned that our willow arrows could not defeat it.
The spirits of Chief Joseph and Chaulkin Gaun were true warriors and the enemy that they defated would challenge and stalk me and my brother for years to come. Our father introduced us to the enemy and introduced us to the weapons to fight it. The weapon was contained in the stories themselves. The weapon was inside the blackness of the hallow. The weapon was inside us.
I got up from the rock and I made an arrow. I rolled some Indian heads into a paper and smoked it. I buried the arrow and the ashes at the base of the rock in an offering to Chief Joseph and walked away.
And as I walked away, it occured to me that our father wasn't talking about the past. He was talking about the future.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
So the Story Goes
It occured to me that I had only one possession that I considered truly valuable. It was an ancient knife that had been passed on to me from my grandfather. It had heroic stories attached to it and was used in an act to defend a family of my ancestors from enemies that had attacked them. I kept in in its original leather sheath that was also possessed with magical qualities; so the stories go.
I took the knife from its hiding place in my closet. I looked at it, admiring its quality and dreaming of the ancient dramas that it would have been witness to. I thought of how valuable it had been to males in my family for many generations; how they would pass the stories along in their ancient language with the knife. I thought of the stories themselves and how those stories must have forified the identity of those men. I couldn't help but feel connected to those men who were grandfathers and great grandfathers and their grandfathers. I felt the pride of my warrior family and resilience they must have had to endure what they did.
In some strange way, I knew that the knife held magical properties as the stories suggested.
I took the knife with me to a neighbourhood where the buildings were mostly abandoned and the people on the street were mostly young men and desperate men. As I approached a small flock of them, they walked directly toward me in an attempt to intimidate me; the stranger. I pulled the long knife and its sheath out from my jacket. They immediately stopped and looked at me and the knife, not knowing how to proceed from this unexpected turn of events. I looked at the young men. I could see them moving their minds betwen the real situation with the threat that was imposed on them and how best to act, or perform, in the eyes of their brothers. The smallest of the trio was focused only on me and the knife. I said to him, "this knife is yours" and passed it to him.
As they began to question me, I turned and walked back to my car. So the story goes.
I took the knife from its hiding place in my closet. I looked at it, admiring its quality and dreaming of the ancient dramas that it would have been witness to. I thought of how valuable it had been to males in my family for many generations; how they would pass the stories along in their ancient language with the knife. I thought of the stories themselves and how those stories must have forified the identity of those men. I couldn't help but feel connected to those men who were grandfathers and great grandfathers and their grandfathers. I felt the pride of my warrior family and resilience they must have had to endure what they did.
In some strange way, I knew that the knife held magical properties as the stories suggested.
I took the knife with me to a neighbourhood where the buildings were mostly abandoned and the people on the street were mostly young men and desperate men. As I approached a small flock of them, they walked directly toward me in an attempt to intimidate me; the stranger. I pulled the long knife and its sheath out from my jacket. They immediately stopped and looked at me and the knife, not knowing how to proceed from this unexpected turn of events. I looked at the young men. I could see them moving their minds betwen the real situation with the threat that was imposed on them and how best to act, or perform, in the eyes of their brothers. The smallest of the trio was focused only on me and the knife. I said to him, "this knife is yours" and passed it to him.
As they began to question me, I turned and walked back to my car. So the story goes.
A Visit with Fritz
I was sitting down in a state of mental peace when suddenly my phone rang. It was my friend Fritz. He asked me whether or not I'd be interested in coming over to his place and chew gum for some time. I said "sure" and hung up the phone.
Several hours later I arrived and Fritz opened the door.
I detested Fritz for many reasons, not least of which was his dour disposition. He was perhaps the most valuable member of my own tribe however. He had provided me with many gifts. I learned from Fritz how to act outside of history.
He said, "choose one" as if he were a commander of some kind. He presented me with a plate filled with assorted kinds of gum. I picked a huge pink square one. They all had their wrappers removed.
I followed Fritz into his living room. Fritz sat on a rough wooden bench that he must have found in a scrap heap. Strangely enough, it not only suited his room, but helped make it seem as if we were sitting in a work of fine art. I sat on an antique chair that looked as of it had come from a museum.
Fritz had taken what looked to be a stick of Juicy Fruit gum and he put it in his mouth. I then began to chew my gum. Fritz and I chewed gum for several hours and then he said, "It's time for you to go now".
As I walked home I noticed the sun was low and there was a border lining each horizon whereever I looked. It looked as if some child outlined them with pastel colours.
I wondered whether this was one of his acts outside of history or whether it was one of his meaningless acts. It didn't matter. I continued to walk on the ground.
Several hours later I arrived and Fritz opened the door.
I detested Fritz for many reasons, not least of which was his dour disposition. He was perhaps the most valuable member of my own tribe however. He had provided me with many gifts. I learned from Fritz how to act outside of history.
He said, "choose one" as if he were a commander of some kind. He presented me with a plate filled with assorted kinds of gum. I picked a huge pink square one. They all had their wrappers removed.
I followed Fritz into his living room. Fritz sat on a rough wooden bench that he must have found in a scrap heap. Strangely enough, it not only suited his room, but helped make it seem as if we were sitting in a work of fine art. I sat on an antique chair that looked as of it had come from a museum.
Fritz had taken what looked to be a stick of Juicy Fruit gum and he put it in his mouth. I then began to chew my gum. Fritz and I chewed gum for several hours and then he said, "It's time for you to go now".
As I walked home I noticed the sun was low and there was a border lining each horizon whereever I looked. It looked as if some child outlined them with pastel colours.
I wondered whether this was one of his acts outside of history or whether it was one of his meaningless acts. It didn't matter. I continued to walk on the ground.
Friday, November 04, 2005
The Madman
I was sitting on a park bench with my aging mother who was also accompanied by her arthritis plagued friend from the home. They often spoke to each other in short converstions, each one followed by a long stretch of complete silence.
A homeless man walked by and was talking to himself. My mother's friend said that the man is in touch with the spirit world. I offered the opinion that there was a malfunction in his brain causing his waking life to be overlapped by dreams. I further suggested that neuronal paths were displacing chemicals that triggered chain reactions rather arbitrarily which compromised his volitional control. My mother said that my opinion smacks of rational idiocy and that I too, lived in a dream world of conceptualization. She said that the difference between me and the homeles man, at this moment, was a matter of degree, not of kind. Perhaps to mitigate the wallop of her opinion, she suggested that my rational placement was better than being a complete moron.
After some moments of silence, I told my mother that I felt beat up by her and that I felt cornered. She responded by patting my forearm several times and said that I am a good son.
The homeless man came directly to our bench after another moments silence. He looked dirctly at my mother and asked her if she was afraid to die. My mother said, "The woman that you asked the question to is already dead".
A homeless man walked by and was talking to himself. My mother's friend said that the man is in touch with the spirit world. I offered the opinion that there was a malfunction in his brain causing his waking life to be overlapped by dreams. I further suggested that neuronal paths were displacing chemicals that triggered chain reactions rather arbitrarily which compromised his volitional control. My mother said that my opinion smacks of rational idiocy and that I too, lived in a dream world of conceptualization. She said that the difference between me and the homeles man, at this moment, was a matter of degree, not of kind. Perhaps to mitigate the wallop of her opinion, she suggested that my rational placement was better than being a complete moron.
After some moments of silence, I told my mother that I felt beat up by her and that I felt cornered. She responded by patting my forearm several times and said that I am a good son.
The homeless man came directly to our bench after another moments silence. He looked dirctly at my mother and asked her if she was afraid to die. My mother said, "The woman that you asked the question to is already dead".
Three Fine Mice
I noticed that mice had been eating various stores of food in my flat. To remedy the situation, I got into my car and purchased several traps that were designed to capture them unharmed. I also bought a cage to control their ramblings through my food where they could possibly defecate.
After several days, I caught three and that seemed to be the total population.
I placed the cage next to my ant farm in my bedroom. I provided them a healthy diet of protein and carbohydrates through the winter months. In May, when it would be easier for them to forage for themselves, I released them some distance from human habitation which could prove dangerous if they sought food in the homes of barbarians.
I bid my friends good bye one sunny spring morning and my tenious attachment to them drew and deep and profound sadness from the depths of the universe.
When I returned, I stored their cage in a storage closet in anticipation of the next visit from their untamed cousins.
After several days, I caught three and that seemed to be the total population.
I placed the cage next to my ant farm in my bedroom. I provided them a healthy diet of protein and carbohydrates through the winter months. In May, when it would be easier for them to forage for themselves, I released them some distance from human habitation which could prove dangerous if they sought food in the homes of barbarians.
I bid my friends good bye one sunny spring morning and my tenious attachment to them drew and deep and profound sadness from the depths of the universe.
When I returned, I stored their cage in a storage closet in anticipation of the next visit from their untamed cousins.
Untied
As I ws making my way toward the library, I decided to detour through the park and slowly saunter around. I noticed that my showlace had come undone. Fortnately, there was bench nearby and I sat down before I done more damage to the ends by stepping on them.
As I examined the end, which had been damaged, a woman walked up to me and said, "hello Sam". I had gone to high school with her but I couldn't remember her name. She began asking me questions about my own personal details. Through the course of our chit chat, I noticed that she was flaring a performance my way. Her eyes were shining and she smiled in the most beautiful and beckoning way. I had the feeling that my personal space was enveloped within her personal space and we merged into a single unit. The feeling of inexplicable excitement transformed our merged cacoon into an expecting pregnancy of drama and hope. She asked me whether I would meet her for a drink that same evening. Although I was caught up in the sudden euphoria of expecting sexual intercourse with this beautiful woman, I thanked her and declined her invitation.
She smiled and stood up and said that it was nice to bump into me. But her demeanour changed now and she seemed to act through the pang of my unintended insult. We beckoned good-bye and I tied my shoelace. The end had been damaged to the point that I would have to replace my laces.
I continued to meander through the park and as I did, I remembered her name. And as I did, a feeling of gentle sadness blushed through my awareness.
As I examined the end, which had been damaged, a woman walked up to me and said, "hello Sam". I had gone to high school with her but I couldn't remember her name. She began asking me questions about my own personal details. Through the course of our chit chat, I noticed that she was flaring a performance my way. Her eyes were shining and she smiled in the most beautiful and beckoning way. I had the feeling that my personal space was enveloped within her personal space and we merged into a single unit. The feeling of inexplicable excitement transformed our merged cacoon into an expecting pregnancy of drama and hope. She asked me whether I would meet her for a drink that same evening. Although I was caught up in the sudden euphoria of expecting sexual intercourse with this beautiful woman, I thanked her and declined her invitation.
She smiled and stood up and said that it was nice to bump into me. But her demeanour changed now and she seemed to act through the pang of my unintended insult. We beckoned good-bye and I tied my shoelace. The end had been damaged to the point that I would have to replace my laces.
I continued to meander through the park and as I did, I remembered her name. And as I did, a feeling of gentle sadness blushed through my awareness.
The Rock Incident
While reading a critics views about a play I had recently attended, a rock came crashing through my window. It dropped to the floor without inflicting further apparent damage. Looking through the broken window, I could not see the perpetrator. I picked the rock from the floor and noticed it had left a small mark on the hardwood.
I placed the rock in the small garden that brightened up the front of the building with the thought that it would look nice there. But I would not rest with a final opinion until I could see it in full daylight.
I returned to my living room to attend to the broken shards of glass laying about. I retrieved my broom and dustpan and thoroughly swept the small pieces fom the cracks in the seperated lathes of wood. I cleaned the mark where the rock landed with a damp cloth and noticed that it did leave a scratch in the wood. After throwing the cloth in the laundry, I affixed a measured square of plastic over the broken section of the window.
Then I felt satisfied to resume the interrupted column I had been reading in the newspaper.
I placed the rock in the small garden that brightened up the front of the building with the thought that it would look nice there. But I would not rest with a final opinion until I could see it in full daylight.
I returned to my living room to attend to the broken shards of glass laying about. I retrieved my broom and dustpan and thoroughly swept the small pieces fom the cracks in the seperated lathes of wood. I cleaned the mark where the rock landed with a damp cloth and noticed that it did leave a scratch in the wood. After throwing the cloth in the laundry, I affixed a measured square of plastic over the broken section of the window.
Then I felt satisfied to resume the interrupted column I had been reading in the newspaper.
Thank You Julie, But No
On Saturday morning I was dragged out of my slumber by the sound of the doorbell. It was Julie from work who was in the process of handing out her own wedding invitations personally. She was very excited and happy about the whole affair. She spoke somewhat nervously about various details of the anticipated wedding day. I said to Julie that I would not attend and that she should never forget, especially in these happiest of times, that the grim reaper is an unseen force pushing her into various dramas such as this one. At any given moment, the grim reaper will destroy all that she builds. I also mentioned that there is another force, far more sinister than the grim reaper, that defines the drama. The force that turns each and every one of us into self absorbed morons.
Julie appeared to be taken back by my declining of her generous invitation and walked out without saying another word. I was sorry she did because I wanted to thank her for waking me up to a beautiful morning.
I then proceeded to prepare a lazy Saturday brunch to enjoy with freshly perked coffee and my morning paper.
Julie appeared to be taken back by my declining of her generous invitation and walked out without saying another word. I was sorry she did because I wanted to thank her for waking me up to a beautiful morning.
I then proceeded to prepare a lazy Saturday brunch to enjoy with freshly perked coffee and my morning paper.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)