11:21 a.m. - 2001-11-04
maybe in a far off universe
And my mirror is the door.
This child wears a green coat of thick material, like the stalks of rice the cloth is. He doesn�t have to carry the burden but his father would have to carry it with he didn�t. So, it lies on his young childish shoulders, this tedious task the old man old and stubborn and the young child too willing to please. �It never quite lasts, should it?� the customer asked shrewdly, while holding the pretty little shoe in her hands and turning and looking at the seams.
�Madame, may I put to you, quite frankly,� the proprietor said as he stood up and gathered the opened boxes of shoes at her feet, �nothing lasts--
and take this you bitch!�
With that he grabbed the stiletto in his powerful right arm and hammered it straight into that beautiful mop of hair.
Screams broke the glass of the shop and a dostoyevskian old man with a great white beard and a stovepipe hat and a fish wrapped in newspaper clasped under his arm, dashed off in a hurried manner, quite like a cowardly artist of bohemian origin. It must be made clear that he was not born in bohemia, definitely not, for if it was, he couldn�t have afforded that beautiful jacket he was wearing and which incidentally appeared in the display windows of Bloomingcows a few weeks ago and abruptly disappeared again a few weeks after. �Yes, it was really laughable the way that scaredy coward ran off,� Jacob Greenpiece said as he paused to draaw on his toffee flavoured cigar, �almost chaplin-like.�
And the others laughed, har, har.
Except for chaplin and his moustache who sat and looked quite morose and would have dug a hole and crawled into the ground of that fast-food restaurant if he had a spade and was not waiting for his Big-Dad to arrive.
The festivals of the week went on quite sensitively, almost like a multi-racial riot, of colours and fists and hushed voices in the void decks whereby the spies for the underground league of rebels, dressed in stolen Bloomingcows� jackets, worked in the civil service, partly to spy but for the better bargain of tax exemption at the same time. �nothing works better than killing two birds with one stone,� the wise old man seeking enlightenment spoke, therewith withdrawing his ticket to paradise in place of heaven. The act of saying was already meant as doing it itself just as the thought was sinful in the past and everything should be forgiven and hence it was so, and the man attained happy nirvana in the heavens later with Bog and all his clowns in the sky.
�Do androids dream of electric sheep?� Philip.k.dick thought as he wrote his year-end manifesto of nonsense.
�rather, the nonsense should not be taken as mere words strung and babbled out of the mouths of stooped idiots, rather, it should be broken down and examined uselessly and the symptoms recorded and then played back in a relatively reverse manner for several months and then let the patient take the same medicine again and to call me when he�s feeling unwell which is about every two hours. In the end when legalised betting of words is okay, the punters and the sick and the poor shall make lots of money, bagfuls of it coming from the bank and the overall economic crisis of the ridiculous market system would be solved once and for all.�
Indeed, philosophers have philosophied much about the essense of being but I would question not the essense but the sense. Lifestyle gurus have in fact gurued much about the purpose of finding at least ten reasons to live our lives more livelier and well, I got to admit to myself (since I�m alone here), the club scene is bursting with excitement like a youthful aphrodisiac on its way down a throat consuming porn. But what�s the sense? Fuck-spider-sense at which the mind alerts itself and thought travels faster than the moving pen and the pen loses sight but of the dust and trails the thought leaves behind, the pen tries to gather clues and move in the general direction.
�let�s just hope that everything would be made right in the later course of our lives.� Now let us hold our hands in a circle and pray, the atheist said to himself.
In the later years, the sun shines brighter than ever before in its eternal lifetime, at last with a Ray of brilliance and a mediocre cry to the dark, the explosion is seen before it is heard, forever ringing in our eyes, the rainbow spots dancing in the viscous membrane. The colours the red to the violet and the spectrum shall tangent away from electricity and science one day would really have to explain everything to the light.
Maybe in a far off universe, there is a doppelganger completely opposite me.
