marți, 29 mai 2012

Not right


- Something just doesn't feel right. I have the constant feeling that this is not how it's supposed to be. George?! Are you lis'ening?
George takes some time to answer, as if he was reading something interesting, which he wasn't.
- Yeah, I'm listening... What did you said?
George answered as if it was a duty, but now that the duty is done, he can go back to whatever he was doing. Well, not quite whatever, 'cause this whatever is very important to George. He is sitting in his oak stool  and watches how the fishes play in the tank. It is actually an aquarium with glass and pipes and all the stuff, but George prefers it to be called a tank 'cause calling it an aquarium would make it an in-the-house thing. And the tank is outside, not in the house, it's right on the verandah. George made the tank himself, it took him some brain cells, some time and just a nail, but he was proud as hell when it was done. Then he went to town to buy some fishes, but only bought three. That's 'cause only three he liked. And now he likes to stay and watch them play. Well, it is not sure if they are playing, but it surely looks so. The golden fish always seems to guard something and when the other two come to capture the flag, the golden would come aggressively to stop them thieves. And they always stop, until the next time. It's a bit sad this golden, from the outside it seems to be really lonely, but he doesn't seem to mind so I guess it's alright. But the other two are really good friends, they do everything together. The silver seems to be the one with ideas, doing the leading, but this doesn't mind the Japanese. Yeah, George calls him Japanese 'cause he's white and has a big red spot on his belly. A truly special fish. George bets that he could make a fortune selling it to a yellow fellow, only if he'd want to. But he doesn't, it's his dear fish.
- I mean I work the same stuff every Monday to Friday, then I come home to you and eat with you, and hear your stupid stories 'bout your stupid job which I actually do not consider a job. Then I go to sleep. And in the morning it starts all over. Oh! And the weekends, they're really special, ain't they? I'm doing your clothes, clean the house which you ravaged during the week and cook week-long meals. And maybe if I'm lucky I see a good movie at night, but not the whole movie. No, no! 'Cause I have to do room-service for you, George! You, George! You! It's all because of you! You took me from town and brought me to this dull life. We have no friends, George! None, it's just us and these three fishes. What do you see so interesting 'bout them?
The golden one has hidden himself behind the rock and waits for those two lame ducks to make another try. But they know this trick, they've seen it so many times before. They make a double attack. It's like silver told Japanese:
- You take the right flank and I go on the right! We move on three! One, two, three!
The two beat their tails as best as they can and head straight to golden's place. You'd say they've done it this time, but golden cuts their path right when it was almost too late.
- Where y'a heading, boys?
So seems golden to say with a grumpy face. And the boys go back to where they belong and would even put their tails between their legs if they would have any. Legs, that is.
It's sunset over George's farm and the lady just won't shut up. A quarter of a disk of light still beams to their right, but the bats are already out. And the mosquitoes more. They surely come from the small pond behind the farm. There's a good place for them to be there, under the shadow of those willows and with that cool coming from the forest.
- Ugly, scary creatures. Don't you think, my flower? But not as scary as spiders. Could you imagine a mosquito the size of a tarantula? Only the thought of such a thing gives me the shiver.
- Oh, God! It's like you don't hear what I'm saying to you. Do you do it on purpose? 'Cause it certainly seems so. I swear, George! I swear I'm gonna quit pretending to be your flower and become a bird. And fly away, away from this place. I cannot take it anymore. This not at all what I had in mind when you proposed.
I cannot take it anymore... You have to do something!
She takes his arm from the handle and almost begs him with tears:
- You have to do something about our life, George!

marți, 22 mai 2012

What I think it is

'Welcome to my labyrinth' he says,
While showing the baldness from under his hat.
'Your wish to reach the other end
Shall surely not be my concern.'

'Welcome to my ocean trench', he laughs,
While showing you the minuscule dictionary.
'The rage for not having enough words
Is what for you I propose.'

'Welcome to my high desert', he spits,
Trembling his upper lip.
'Your wish for actions not in vain
Shall be my most delightful gain.'

'Welcome to this boggy jungle', he'll shout
From up the tallest tree.
'Your suffering of caring and not being cared about
Will not meet she.

'Welcome to my Orwellian dream', he'll say
With spiders in your cell.
'You'll see how an incurable disease it is
But yet you'll curse for it not being so.'

'Bienvenue to my time lab', he'll show
While not quite so.
'You'll wish to throw the sand
But your mistakes will be long done.'

'Welcome to my circus', he'll trumpet
Til your ears will fade.
'You'll wish to explain and understand yourself
But it'll just be laughed at.'

The one that plans so future plans can again be,
The wish that your actions will not be in vain,
The 'what if'
This is what this natural gentleman will come about to be.