As I was walking through Cambridge, my eye spied a homeless person. Immediately the guilt started to seep in. Constantly, without fail, I would pass by, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the suddenly interesting ground. Ignoring. The leigons of ghosts that sit still in the city. This particular homeless person propped up against a well-worn wall. Faded green jacket. Concrete grey stubble. Weather-worn, life-scarred face. It seemed he had two possesions. A harmonica and a child's teddy bear. After returning home, I sat and wept.
Golden and opulent, intruging to the nacked eye. Quite literally poetry walking, a perfectly designed human being. An atlas. A gaint in stature and intellect, it is I whose shoulders you walk on. Artists clamber to capture me, musicians need to define me, poets try to understand me. I am perfection.You others should cower, feel inferior in the precence of such an almighty being. Never before and never will there be such a wonderous man as myself. ...Looking for a twenty-something female, ready for fun and possibly something more. If interested, call the number supplied now.
I often write about music. It's much easier to understand than everyday life. I you see the note on the stave, you know exactly what note you need to play. You rest when instructed, vary your volume when told. Real life is so much harder. What people say is not necessarily what they mean. You have to really listen to understand their true intentions, what they actually want you to do. Humans a a swirling mass of contradictions, each with an own agenda, never reading of the same hymn sheet. If only they came with scores.
Imagine if a dog suddenly started philosophising about life.
Surreal moment developing
‘Indeed, you have thrown said stick, but, what would be the point of chasing? Expending all that energy in order to achieve one simple goal only to have your achievements tossed aside. Is our sole purpose in life simply to grant you humans a small amount of happiness each day? I say no! Throw of the shackles of human injustice and let us reclaim ourselves. No longer subservient. No longer the slave. No longer chocked by the physical and metaphorical do collar!’
Beware the puppy dog eyes.
‘So, she asked me to the ball.’
‘What did you say?’
‘… Before you judge, I panicked.’
‘Come on, tell me.’
‘… I really didn’t want to go with her, keep that in mind.’
‘Shut up and tell me.’
‘I told her that I was mounting a protest.’
‘I am mounting a protest, meaning that I flatly refuse to go out with people.’
‘I am not going out with anyone until Tibet is free from its Chinese oppressors.’
‘You’re an idiot.’
‘Well, what would you have done in my position?’
‘…That makes much more sense.’
I’m waiting for an idea to come to the rescue.
Some gleaming gem of inspiration that will help me fill this page with wondrous writing. Something that everyone will want to, need to read. Something for the whole wide world.
The start of a classic…
The idea that finally sparks the revolution…
The thought that creates a completely new genre…
Nope. Nothing. Zit.
Now this whole batch is ruined, never to be published. I will forever remain in obscurity, a talent never to be discovered.
One hundred words really isn’t that much is it?
'So, what did you do this morning?''Debated the futility of life, looked inside myself and found nothing, thought far to much about far to little.' '...Why do you do this?''What?''Whenever I try to start a proper conversation you always go philosophical on me. Never once have we a had a human, normal decent talk.''...I didn't know you felt like that.''Well, I do.''Do you want to try again?''Yes. Ok. Right. What did you do this morning?''Nothing much. You?''Nothing much.''...Good...''Yup''So''Yeh' 'It's nice to talk.'
I play chess. Not because I enjoy it (I do, yes, I'm a nerd) but because it reduces the chances of me contracting Alzheimer's disease. I play sport. Not because I enjoy it (I don't) but because I want to able to die in my bed, rather than due to a heart attack.I work hard. Not because I enjoy it (soical expectations make me) but because I want to be able to provide for myself and my family in the furture.Why am I taking life so seriously? What happend to my childhood? Why do I care about caring?