Swinging Chickens

17-04-2014 Maundy Thursday

Easter is just around the corner and for some strange reason I’ve been seeing chickens everywhere all day. I walk into the living room and Mum’s watching a programme on chickens (please, don’t ask me why). I accidentally turn on the radio when I wanted to listen to a CD and what do I hear (no, not chickens, but close),’Chicken in the bread pan picking out dough’. When I went out to walk Cheddar I bumped into Unice and she was wearing an oversized T-shirt with a picture of a chicken on it that’s putting up a missing poster. The text on the poster said,’ Have you seen these eggs?’ Either Unice has really gone round the bend or she just can’t put on any other clothes because of her burnt hands.
I asked her how she was doing, although I must admit that I tried to get away unnoticed at first and at second I tried to get away noticed but unspoken to … I failed … horribly. Unice didn’t look happy to see me so I tried a joke on her that I picked up from somebody at school. I said,’ Hey, Unice, you dropped your smile.’ Then I reached for the ground and pretended to pick up the ‘smile’ and as I wanted to give it to her, she looked at me and said,’ That’s not mine.’ And she walked away just like that. I guess she was right, it wasn’t hers; hers probably fled the country a long, long time ago.
Talking about fleeing the country, I’d like to get out of here, too. Mum invited Grandma over for Easter. She must be hopping mad. I told her I wasn’t going to dye any eggs again with Grandma, I feel that I’ve outgrown that a little, though some say you’re never too old for these kinds of things. I am sure that one day I’ll have reached a certain age in which things like that will become fun again because they bring back such good memories, but that day has not come yet and probably won’t come for at least another twenty or so years. I’ll settle for some Dairy Eggs this year. Maybe I should call Grandma and tell her to bring some. On the other hand, she messed up my birthday present as well. She’ll probably bring a live chicken.
If she does bring a chicken I am going to perform Kapparot, even though I am not Jewish. For those of you who have never heard of this, it means that I am going to swing this chicken over my head three times. Mind you, don’t swing it once, don’t swing it twice, in order to have them sins transfer to the chicken one has to swing it three times! It has to be a real chicken, though I am not sure whether the chicken has to be a live at the moment of swinging. Afterwards the chicken is slaughtered and donated to the poor. But I think it’s kind of cruel to give poor people my sins for dinner. So I guess we’ll be eating the chicken ourselves.
Anyways, Mum used Grandma as an excuse to decorate the house Easter style, which meant chickens! Chickens everywhere! First thing Dad said when he came home from and saw all those decorations was,’ I can see Darles Chickens has been here. Let me guess, Grandma is coming?’ I told him it wasn’t too late to flee the country. We might even run into Unice’s smile along the way. Dad gave it some serious thought, and he said he would sleep on it. All of this probably means I’m going to be up all night, because Mum and Dad will be having some arguments in the bedroom followed by some loud make up you know what. See me tomorrow (with bags under my eyes, probably). 

When Unice Is Amused

16-04-2014 Wednesda 

Katie (http://katiemorningstar.wordpress.com/) told me that she’s got a new catch phrase ever since I wrote about my BBQ adventure ’ Unice was not amused’. I think I kind of like it. From now on when something happens that I don’t like, I’ll just say,’ Unice is not amused’. I thought of using it as an alternative for ‘When Hell freezes over’; ‘When Unice is amused’. Of course, people who never read my stories and who have never read them will not really understand. On the other hand, we use a lot of Shakespeare’s proverbs and sayings and most people understand them without ever having read Shakespeare or even knowing that they are actually quoting the man. Most of the times I don’t know it and I guess that, well, Shakespeare doesn’t know that he’s being quoted at all. Was Shakespeare himself quoting anybody without knowing it? All these questions and hardly any answers.
If you were wondering what happened to Unice after the BBQ, I can honestly say I haven’t a clue. As far as I know nobody in the street has bothered to go round and check on her and she hasn’t been to see anybody herself either. I wonder who’s doing her household chores for her because you can’t tell me she can actually do something with her hands. Her curtains have been open ever since. I know, as I can see her window from behind my desk. Normally she’d take a peek through the curtains every now and again (by the way … the smiley face is up again), but I reckon that she was having trouble opening them. I did catch a glimpse of her today … she was still not amused and my smiley face isn’t really helping.
I haven’t heard about anybody going to the hospital to get their stomachs pumped either, but I did hear about some people having tummy problems. I am not going to go into too many details, suffice to say that they spent most of their time in the bathroom either in front of the toilet or on the toilet, depending on which exit the decided to choose. Luckily my family and Evelyn and I stuck to salads and animal-friendly meat. Now I’m even happier Evelyn came along to the ‘party’.
Last thing I’m going to write about today is something that’s been bothering me for quite a while now. I don’t know if I’m the only who’s noticed but a lot of my classmates seem to be having problems and schools (including mine) have been making all sorts of special rules for these kids. All of sudden my peers and a lot of other teenagers, seem to suffer from alphabetical disorders of some sort: ADHD, PDD-NOS, ODD, ADD, NLD, and so on (note to self: it’s not called illiteracy – at least not anymore -, it’s called Dyslexia. Calling it illiteracy upsets people). The latest addition to this list of alphabet soup is SWAG. It’s quite new (maybe even old already, because I’m always the last person to hear about these things) and from what I’ve heard these kids are mentally challenged and are most likely to end up working at a McDonald’s. If anybody can tell me more about this, please let me know; I don’t think I have it, but I just want to be sure about it. See me tomorrow. 

The Seven Servants

15-04-2014 Tuesday

Okay, I’ve been losing weigh but that does not mean I am now a top athlete. I am still not good at most sports. I can’t handle a ball, not with my feet, not with my hands, not with my head, and even if I were to use all my limbs I would still not be very good at controlling a ball. I’ve given up trying a long, long time ago (school hasn’t). Making big bucks playing football is only for the happy few anyways. I am getting better at doing press-ups, sit-ups and squats on the other hand and I have been throwing in some other muscle strengthening, belly flattening, fat burning exercises, too. That’s why I was down one size in clothing and I felt pretty good about it.
Mum has been gaining weight on the other hand. Even though I said I was changing to a healthier diet some two months ago, she’s still been secretly buying all kinds of bad stuff ‘just in case’. Just in case she wants some, she meant. Dad is not very pleased about it, though he’s not really doing anything to help Mum. He just says his side of the bed is getting smaller by the month (and ‘no’ Mum is not pregnant … I hope). Dad probably won’t start helping Mum until he has to sleep on the couch. That is why I have decided to give Mum a little help. I am hiding some of the bad food, and hopefully I can manage to do it in such a way she won’t really notice anything’s missing. She’ll probably hate me when she finds out, but she’ll love me later.
The next problem I am faced with is how to get Mum to exercise a little more without her knowing she’s exercising? As I believe that Mum really needs to get out more (she’s a wallflower just like me) I guess it would be a good idea to let her walk Cheddar more often or take her with me when I walk the dog. On the other hand, she’ll probably say something like,’ It’s your dog, and I am busy anyways.’ What is she busy with that is so important that it can’t wait an hour? Most of the times it’s watching her favourite programme on TV. I should say ‘programmes’ as she’s got a couple (EastEnders, Coronation Street, etc. etc. and so on). You’ll understand the importance of this, I’m sure.
Don’t take this the wrong way but Mum looks like an opera singer. Dad always says I have the voice of a thousand monkeys in heat, I think I got it from Mum. Her voice is even worse. She doesn’t need a phone to talk to Grandma, Mum can just open the window and people will probably hear the echo in Cambridge. Her voice is so incredibly loud. Yesterday I talked about reading Grimm’s Fairy tales; Mum could have well been part of the Six Servants, her voice is so loud I’m sure she could break anything if she’d really started yelling. Had the Grimm brother known my Mum I’m sure it would have been Seven Servants. I love her nonetheless.

See me tomorrow. 

The Storyteller

14-04-2014 Monday

So, this morning I woke up, got ready for school, only to find out holiday had started. I guess last night’s events really messed up my brains. When I got downstairs, Mum was sitting there wondering why I was dressed for school. I was wondering why she hadn’t made any breakfast. I quickly changed, Mum made me some breakfast, we walked the dog together and afterwards Mum took me to Oxford Street to buy some new clothes for me as ‘summer is just round the corner’. Maybe she should tell that to mother nature, because obviously she hasn’t got a clue which season it is at this moment.
Today is not about going shopping with Mum. Today is about me and not about my ‘adventures’. Well, maybe it’s not even about me, but more about the people behind me. I’ve been getting some great responses to my writing skills and I feel it’s not really fair to take all the credit. Some of us are really gifted at playing the guitar (I’ve been trying for some time now, but I feel that it’s going to take years before I’ve really mastered this skill), some are good at playing football, and others are really great at painting. I guess I am talented at writing (just don’t expect to see me at Britain’s Got Talent or anything). I’d like to take this opportunity to thank some of my teachers as I feel that they deserve a lot of the credit that has been given to me.
Mind you, I’m not really talking about the teachers at school even though they taught me how to hold a pen and write letters, words and sentences and I am thankful for that, too. We’ve all had teachers at school we liked or disliked. School is not the only place of learning. Actually, I find school the dullest place on earth to learn much of anything, if any real learning takes place there at all. There are some great teachers out there for those who are willing to see, for those who are brave enough to listen and for those who are keen on learning. I talk of great books that deserve reading (and mostly between the lines), films that need to be seen, songs to be heard and great people you should take a liking to.
‘The best place by the fire was kept for the storyteller.’ In this case it was Mum reading me bedtime stories. My first love was for fairy tales, but not the Disney ones, mind you. I read Grimm’s fairy tales for they are truly sublime. Most often they’re not only wonderful tales you’re reading, they’re valuable life lessons. The same goes for stories by Roald Dahl, A.A. Milne, Lewis Caroll, Sue Townsend, Frank Baum, Douglas Adams, and George Orwell. I know that a lot of my fellow pupils at school have read some of their books (just some), but I wonder if they have really read them or read them just for the sake of reading. There’s a difference, you know, and if you don’t, I guess that just proves me right.
The opening of the paragraph above was a quote, but not just any quote. I am a big fan of Jim Henson’s. This quote came from one of his less popular TV-series called ‘The Storyteller’. Jim is also behind some great films, like ‘Labyrinth’ (not to be mistaken for ‘Pan’s Labyrinth’, also a great film, but not quite the same). I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen that one and I still can’t get enough of it. Each time I see something new and I try to memorize more of the lines. Sometimes I quote the film at school just to see who’s also seen it (nobody so far). There’s also something about old black and white films and TV-series like ‘The Addams Family’, ‘Laurel and Hardy’ ‘Charlie Chaplin’ and one of my favourite old films ‘The Odd Couple’.
‘It’s time to play the music’. I don’t know whether I should feel blessed or cursed for having parents who listen to eighties and nineties music. I guess it’s a blessing, at least in those days songs actually had lyrics. I happen to like to sing along to songs (even though I can’t sing). Lyrics (as well as poems) have really shown me the power of words and they have taught me how less can really be more. My love for lyrics grew even more when my Dutch friend let me listen to things like Primus, Tom Waits, Tori Amos and a not very well-known musician called Geoff Berner. If only my classmates would stop listening to all that electronic disco and start listening to songs with great lyrics, their English might just improve a little (I’m not going to go into what I feel rap-music has done to my peers’ language).
So, ‘hats off to all the ones who stood before me and taught a fool to rhyme’ – Les Claypool

See me tomorrow.

Unice Was Not Amused

13-04-2014 Sunday
(written on Monday)

It’s amazing how everybody survived this BBQ. That is … nobody has died so far, but I don’t know how everybody’s feeling at this very moment. Some nearly-guests were lucky because they left before they could be called guests, Unice ended up in hospital, and it’s likely that some of the guests had to go there today, too, to get their stomachs pumped. I’ll be needing therapy soon, because I’ve recently been exposed to so many weird parties that I think I’m losing it. Unice’s goldfish might not have survived his trip down the toilet, though it’s hardly likely the fish was alive before even ending up there in the first place. First rule of goldfish, don’t place them next to a hot barbecue. Other than these things, this barbecue was wicked!
Let’s start with some good news. Mr Bent was there and he had brought a lady friend! She’s called Xemene and she was really pretty and had this lovely dark skin and I really loved her accent. She wasn’t born here, but she came here some 20 odd years ago to study and she just never left, because she liked it here so much. Mr Bent met her at the hospital some time ago when he had had his heart attack. She was one of the nurses there. Mr Bent bumped into her the other day at the grocery store and he’s been ‘accidentally’ bumping into her ever since. Mr Bent got to meet Evelyn and I got to meet Mr Bent’s new lady friend. We were both very pleased with that.
Now for the Barbie-cue. Unice had given everybody a handmade personal invitation to her party, which was really neat. The small prints – that not many of us had seen – read that each person attending had to pay a fiver to cover for the expenses of the food and drinks. We totally understand that food is not free and that you’d like to share the costs, but isn’t there a better way than writing this down on the bottom of the back of the card in such a way that even I would need glasses to be able to read it? Unice opened the door and first thing she said was,’ Did you bring the money?’ Now, I’m socially awkward, but I guess that this is not a great way to make friends either. The lucky ones left after Unice’s welcome at the door. In the end there were about fifteen people present. Which would mean a lot of leftover food. Unice was not amused. 
Before yesterday I had absolutely no knowledge of barbecues whatsoever. Today I know exactly what not to do, which is some sort of improvement, isn’t it? For example, I now know (or know now) that lighting a barbecue using lighter fluid might not be the best of ideas. Unice could have lost her eyebrows and her wig. The only reason she didn’t burn her eyebrows was because she didn’t have any in the first place. Luckily her wig fell off of her head when she jumped back as the lighter fluid caught fire and sent a flame high up in the air. I thought it was a planned action and started clapping. Unice was not amused.
Unice had lots of different kinds of meet, and fish, and she had salads, and – especially for Evelyn – she had arranged animal-friendly meat. When Mum and Dad saw how Unice was handling the BBQ and the meet, first thing she said,’ You’d better have a salad kids, and some of that vegetarian food.’ Turned out the meet was really done on the outside, as in burnt, but nearly raw on the inside (don’t ask me how Unice did this, I think she used to be a magician). Some of the guests ate it nonetheless, because they didn’t want to offend Unice and they had paid good money for it. I guess they’re getting their stomachs pumped today. They will not be amused.
All the guests seemed to be enjoying themselves talking to each other, drinking beer and wine, while Unice was sweating like a dancing mule over the BBQ. She wouldn’t allow for anyone to help her. Every time someone offered to help Mr Bent said,’ Help her? It’s no use, love, she’s beyond repair.’ Which made everybody laugh. Unice was not amused.
At the end of the BBQ Unice wanted to get rid of the charcoal. Mr Bent told her to either wait till the morning or grab some oven mitts, but would Unice listen? (This is a rhetorical question; yesterday I learnt that you are not supposed to answer these). She grabbed both the handles of the barbecue and two minutes later we were on our way to the hospital to get Unice’s hands looked at. Unice left the hospital with bandages around both hands. She’ll probably be able to use them (the hands, not the bandages) in two weeks or so. I think you’ll understand why I was deadbeat when I got home after the hospital. I asked Unice if this was going to be an annual event. Unice was not amused.

See me tomorrow. 

Big Phish

I’m sorry you haven’t heard anything yet about last yesterday and the day before. I was deadbeat after the BBQ so I went straight to bed. As soon as I get back from school, I’ll tell you all about it. In the meantime here are some lyrics I wrote during Unice’s party. I was very inspired by the way the Goldfish looked at the salmon on the BBQ.


Big Phish

Calling calling calling
But your calling is in vain
You’re too big for your bowl
And it’s driving you insane
Water’s getting thicker
There’s no one to hear you cry
Cause little fish are forgotten
When there’s bigger fish to fry

There’s bigger fish to fry tonight

Pouring pouring pouring
How you’d love to see the rain
Wishing you were out there
Having nothing to complain
Staring at your castle
Silly thoughts just pass you by
If you were a salmon
You’d be the bigger fish to fry

There’s bigger fish to fry tonight

Crying crying crying
How you’re dying for some love
Prayers to the Lord
The Big Phish up above
Flushing of the toilet
You didn’t know that fish could fly
The bowl you left is empty
Now you’ve bigger fish to fry

There’s bigger fish to fry tonight


See me this afternoon.


Sometimes I have no idea where my head it. I had set my alarm clock this morning and got ready to go to school, posted the above went downstairs and that’s when Mum looked at me and said,’ Why are dressed for school?’ It’s HOLIDAY!  On the upside, as I was up and ready she took me shopping. A couple of new shirts, some new shoes and the best bit … I’m down one size! I only I would grow in length a little.


Hopping Mad

11-04-2014 Friday

This morning, holiday started for me. Easter holiday, that is. Most of us pupils don’t even know what we’re celebrating at Easter. We don’t even care, just as long as we’re freed from school. This probably means that in a decade or something we’ll not have Easter holiday anymore. Nobody my age then will remember and nobody will be celebrating much of anything (except for the OAPs). It will be a thing of the past and we’ll be 35 years old and go like,’ Say, do you remember that some 20 odd years ago, when we were in secondary school, we’d have two weeks off?’ and there’d be a big silence and somebody’d be like,’ Yeah, you’re right. What was that all about, then?’
What is it all about? Most of us actually believe it has something to do with the Easter Bunny. Are they serious! We get two weeks off of school, because of a hopping mad bunny hopping around gaily with a basket full of eggs!? Where did he get those eggs in the first place!? That’s what I would like to know. Santa’s got his elves; does the Easter Bunny have his own chicken coops, where rainbow coloured chickens eat rainbow coloured seeds to produce rainbow coloured eggs? They just let that big bad Bunny take away their possible offspring and hide it from them?
Come to think of it. Maybe we have misinterpreted the whole thing. Maybe the Easter Bunny is not hiding eggs for us to find. Maybe he’s hiding the eggs so that the chickens will never find them. It’s just a big bad bully Bunny coming back each and every year to steal those eggs. And we go out and find those eggs, but instead of returning them to their rightful owners – the chickens that lay the rainbow coloured eggs – we eat them! I’d like this theory to be investigated. If anything turns out to be true, I would like to have full credit and I’d like this dreadful feast to be abolished right away.
Anyways, today was Dad’s birthday, but he was not celebrating. He was thinking about inviting the family over to Unice’s barbecue tomorrow evening, but Mum talked him out of it. I bought him a book about getting older and dealing with it (the title has slipped my memory and Dad has hidden the book in a good place – he’s got issues) and I bought him a pair of reading glasses (which he has probably hidden in the same place as the book). Dad is still denying the fact that he is getting older and that his eyes are getting worse. He can’t read the small prints anymore, but refuses to admit it. Each time he has to read small prints he asks Mum to read it to him as he’s got something stuck in his eye. How often can a man get something stuck in his eye? And is it always the same thing that gets stuck there? I guess I will find out when I’m his age. See me tomorrow. 

I Wish I Knew A Good Title For This

10-04-2014  Thursday wishing it was Friday

Today was parents’ evening at school; guess who wasn’t invited to come. That’s why it’s called parent’s evening. They tell you that it’s not nice to gossip and talk behind people’s backs and what do they do!? Inderdeedy, they talk about you behind your back. My parents are quite lucky to have a kid like me. I hardly ever get into trouble, my marks are good (though I must admit that I am not a straight A student), and teachers hardly even notice I’m there. That is why normally my parents come home after a parents’ night, pad me on the back and say something like,’ Carry on, son.’ Sometimes my Dad gives me one of his quotes,’ Live long and prosper.’ And he makes this weird sign with his hands.
Things didn’t go like that today. When they came home Mum was holding a piece of paper in her hand. It looked rather familiar and I think I even recognized said piece of paper. There would be no pad on the back this time and no Star Wars quotes, well, maybe a stern,’ I am your father’, but that would be it. That piece of paper was my writing to the headmaster. You know, the letter on chewing gum and chewing gum trees. To my opinion it was a true work of art; I had spent over an hour writing that letter and I am sure that there weren’t many mistakes in there. Many a pupil would have been jealous of this and if it had been a test I would have surely gotten full points on this one. I guess our headmaster thought differently. Haters gonna hate.

Most of the time it’s Mum who does the talking, this time Dad addressed me (unfortunately without ‘sir’). Dad said,’ Son, do you recognize this?’ and I hate these questions. They know perfectly well that it was my work of art and that I would be a complete retard if I didn’t recognize it; it’s got my handwriting, my signature and my name on it! So, what else could I say then,’ Nope, never seen it before in my life.’

Dad,    ‘ Are you sure? Take a good look at it.’

Me,      ‘ Lemme see, well, now that you mention it, this signature here at the bottom  does look a little familiar. I guess, yeah, yep. You know what, Dad, I have definitely seen it before.’

Dad,    ‘ Could you explain this?’

Me,      ‘ Well, you see, Dad, no.’

Dad,    ‘ Son, the headmaster was not very happy about it.’

This is where I started to look a little sad.

Dad,    ‘ We had a long talk and I think in the end it was perfectly clear that we totally support your action and that we would like the school to seriously consider this idea and see what they could do to realize it.’

Okay, so I didn’t really see that one coming.

Dad,    ‘ Keep calm and carry on. You’re making Mum and Dad proud.’

Another one I didn’t see coming, especially from Dad. Naturally I went to my room immediately to start thinking about my next letter, see if I could make them even prouder. By the way, I was also quite proud of my parents the way they stood up for me and all.
Last thing I’m going to say and then I’m off to bed. I’m really looking forward to the barbecue and I do so hope more people are coming. I’ll ask Mr Bent if he’s coming, too. Though I really kind of doubt it. He is not really fond of Unice (biggest understatement ever). Nobody is, but we’re going to have fun in spite of Unice. We’ve got lots of friendly neighbours who have already had it with her but can’t say ‘no’ to a good old-fashioned barbecue. Especially when it’s free. She’d better have some animal friendly meat, too, because I’m bringing Evelyn and she only eats non-animal meat. Dad said we could always have a ‘unicecorn on the cob’, but nobody laughed. This is when I thought of Ron Lewis who once said,’ Notice nobody else is laughing, dad?’

That’s it, see me tomorrow.

Drunk But Not Driving

09-04-2014 Wednesday

Boy oh boy, are we in for a treat this weekend. Not only is it Dad’s birthday this Friday, but there’s another great event waiting. Actually it’s an accident waiting to happen, but let’s call it an event. By the by, Dad’s not celebrating. He says he’s seen enough of the family for now and he does not want the agony again. The agony might well be even greater this time as Mum’s brother is in a divorce and they’re fighting over everything. Grandma is drunk most of the time because she can’t really deal with it when she’s sober. If you’d ask me, she’s not handling it pretty well either when she’s drunk.
The other night Grandma called us up at 2 in the morning. I had some troubles sleeping so I rushed to the phone trying to make as little sound as possible hoping to wake up nobody. I nearly broke my neck coming down the stairs in the dark  and stepping into one of Cheddar’s bones. It’s like stepping on a Lego. Man, how I tried my best not to scream. Dad had to work in the morning and he really needs his sleep. When I got to the phone, Mum had beaten me to it. Turned out she was having some troubles sleeping, too. 

Grandma,        ’ Hello, lovely daughter of mine. How is little poopsywoopsy doing?’

Mum,              ’ Mum, you’re drunk. Why are you calling us at this time?’

Grandma,        ’ Can’t a mother call her daughter anymore?’

Mum,              ’ Not at a time like this, mother.’

Grandma,        ‘ So, I guess you’ll not be coming over for tea, then, are you?’

Mum,              ’ It’s two o’clock in the morning! The world’s asleep. Go to bed!’

Grandma,        ’ Ah, that’s why the sun was turned off. I already thought it was strange. Quite strange, don’t you think? The sun not being there. At first I thought it was just another one of them eclipses of some sort. Then after a couple of hours I started to worry, didn’t you start to worry?’

Mum,              ’ Mother, it’s the middle of the night. Some of us have to get up early in the morning. Good night, mother.’

That’s when Mum hung up and said,’ That’s it! If she does this one more time, we’re changing our number and not telling her.’

So, Dad’s not celebrating his birthday this Friday (mind you, he is expecting a present), but we are in for some other sort of treat. Maybe even better than a birthday. This evening Cheddar started barking out of the blue. Then the doorbell rang and guess who was at the door … Unice! (See, dogs do sense evil.) Much like a Jehova’s witness she put her foot ‘tween the door and the post before Dad was able to close it. She’s quite strong for a woman her age. Dad said she’s that strong because she’s had years of practise pushing her way into great many homes without an invitation.
Unice had made personalised invitations to a barbecue party she’s having this Sunday. She invited everybody down the street and only two have cancelled so far. She said it would be the best party this street has ever known and she went on and on about who was coming and how great it was going to be. Mum and Dad were trying their best to keep a straight face. Dad’s really good at this (or I’m just bad at seeing his signs), but Mum can never keep her lips under control. First they start twitching, then it turns into some sort of electric boogie and in the end they’ll be doing the Charleston. Unice didn’t pay attention to it, she just assumed she was being really funny, I guess. She left with a big smile on her face saying,’ So, I’ll see you Sunday, then.’ And no, it wasn’t even a question. I guess if we’re going to go, I’ve got something to look forward to. See me tomorrow.

A Man Of No Importance

08-04-2014 Tuesday (but it feels like Monday)

Last night I had a dream and you were in it and I was in it, too. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people were in it. All of us had gathered by a well by a castle by a village on a plain just to listen to one man speak. He was no God, he was no messiah, neither was he Jesus nor Mohammed, he was not even of great importance, he could have been anybody. He was anybody. At least from where we were standing.
You and I were at the back. We could hardly see him. We could barely hear him speak. His voice coming from afar, his words just a shadow. Standing on a scaffold, but far away. Though his words were inaudible we knew that what he was saying was of great importance. We could feel it; everybody could. This man of no importance.
In great awe everyone was staring into the distance where he stood. Addressing the masses in his everyday clothes with his everyday voice and his everyday words. His message was simply put, yet all knew that he was talking about complicated matters. Repeating the same massage over and over again in each and every language in more than one way and even if you did not speak the language, you’d still want to listen to him, his voice, his words, his message.
I grabbed you by the hand: tight, tighter, tightest. I pulled you through the masses to see if we could make it to the front. Making our way through. Hundreds of people we passed, but the more we walked the further away the speaker appeared to be. His voice started to fade yet I could have sworn we were closing in. And as we walked on his voice had totally disappeared. The silence was deafening.
Soon people started talking. Their voices grew louder, but they weren’t talking to each other. Maybe they were, but they just weren’t really saying anything and they weren’t listening, either. It would have been impossible for them to hear each other or understand each other, as it appeared they were talking in different languages, about different subjects. One subject more boring than another. We could hear it all, but understand nothing. There was no turning back now; we had no idea where back was.
Tired, exhausted, sad, lonely amongst all those people we sat down in the grass. Thinking where we went wrong. What had we done wrong? All we wanted to do is to get nearer, to hear every word, to grasp the meaning, to see, to feel. Yet the further we travelled the darker it grew. In the cold grass we sat in silence, going over our situation. Time passed, people started to fade away. Their talking stopped. We pondered all the possibilities and though we did not understand what we had done wrong, we came to terms with our being there. We accepted where we were and that we were. We accepted that what was, what had been and what was going to be. We accepted. That, we did.
There we were by a well by a castle by a village on a plain because we wanted to listen to one man speak. Nobody was there, nobody but us. Not a breeze, not a cloud, not a soul, not a sound. Yet, his words ever so clear to us now. ‘This,’ his voice echoed,’ this is what life is all about.’ Last night, I had this dream. And you were in it. And I was in it, too. See me tomorrow.