11:46 p.m. - 2006-09-25
Picture a guy in a foreign place
To relieve my friends of penis envy:
this is
Picture a guy in a foreign place
Tokyo:
A nice hotel room, but BYO (bring-your-own) definition of nice.
He sits on the edge of his bed looking down at his shoes, wordless.
The room is washed with a soft orange glow, warm and cosy like a cocoon.
The faithful lamp hummed faintly in the quietness.
Outside the window, the constellation of colorful lights from the sleepless city twinkle like laughing stars. Yet, the cloudless sky was a shade of dark purple, spreading through the vast night; an emptiness hung breathless.
A piano note begins.
Followed by two, three, four� each one resonant in its place, slow and contemplative, till they join into a refrain.
We wait to see, but we do not know what he is thinking, and like most people buried in their heavy thoughts, he is alone.
A desert plain in Texas:
A wooden hut with a tin roof, almost a shack, a sign outside that says plainly, �Breakfast and Bed, 2 bucks A Night�. Country music, from a 70s-looking radio set, friendly blares out to the silent desert.
He spreads a nylon poncho on the linoleum floor and lies down, his head propped on his backpack. The bed is probably full of bugs, he figures.
Smoke from a lighted cigarette accompany his thoughts, his eyes stare blankly - carried by the melodious song from the radio; someone twanging a guitar and singing about his old dog, life on the railroad, and the sweetheart that married his best friend.
He is contented.
A European museum:
This is the boy that was born a ruler.
Now lying in that golden sarcophagus,
he wished he was a pencil instead.
Being used by a writer in Russia.
And those Russian dolls that remind him so much of his own sarcophagus,
What are they called?
Matryoska - nesting dolls.
Right.
He�s thinking of girls again.
Poor boy.
But hey,
He will become a ruler someday!
Yea right, he is so dead.
He folds his arms together and comforts himself.
