one mind, two men
Well he guessed he wasn’t going to gain anything by sitting here. In a burst of activity he jumps to his feet. Decision made. He will go! He grabbed his gear and, before his second guessing nature took over, he left the warmth and security of the house. He walked down the street. He was going to skate. Skater dude! Skate it up yo. He ignored the voice.
He knew he would get tired halfway there, and then end up walking, carrying the skateboard-pointlessly. He had many rivers to cross-well really parks and grasses but still you couldn’t skate on grass. He investigated his options. Proactive activity, actively.
It felt better. Good, then. He stood at the bus stop. It was strange being back at a learning institution. A little like being at a library, but it was, instead, an open air campus. Still the people he observed looked like they had a bit of a glint in their eyes. Knowledge gathering a priority. It had been a long time since he had been here. It was his old place of learning. He couldn’t remember what he had learned here specifically, but he had a piece of paper to tell him it was so. He had finished up and walked to the stop for the bus.
An egg thrown out of a slow moving vehicle narrowly missed the gathered commuters.
It infuriated him. He heard laughter. He almost chased the car down. He was so on edge. He didn’t realise until he fell over it. He thought he was calm ‘til a little thing happened, and then he was all raging demon. It came from being bored. Contentment was a fickle beast, and he didn’t hold the reins. He knew there was nothing to be gained from taking it so seriously, or personally-but it pissed him off, no end that someone in a warm, comfortable car, with nothing better to do decided some poor students needed a yolky covering. Maybe it was the lack of planning or inventiveness of the attack. He could still clearly see the car it was stuck behind a bus. Not very stealthy on their part.
He noted the license plate. It wasn’t worth doing anything about because no one was hurt, but he still gave them the finger. Did he lack a sense of humour? He didn’t think so.
Yeah. Sometimes he did. He was so many different people. Some of them he didn’t know. They just used his body as a vehicle and then parked it up on the lawn when they were done. He thought the egg attack was bully-ish behaviour. He’d certainly done his share of stupid and pointless stunts as a younger man, but he liked to think they’d been a little more creative, and less damaging to peoples welfare or self confidence.
They had been-but only marginally. He was no saint. He never pulled wings off flies though. He bet those kids did. You couldn’t teach Cunts to be anything but. Some people were just hard-wired that way. They needed to be short circuited.
He boarded the mass transit. Always an interesting experience in this town, and that wasn’t a euphemism. He disembarked and went about his mall business. This of course involved running in and out as fast as possible. Anything else was dangerous-to his wallet and peace of mind, as the subtle design of the mass consumption conglomeration could infiltrate even the most carefully protected fortress of the psyche. He boarded another bus. This one to take him home. To a home. The place he was currently residing, and he thought all of his living out of a suitcase/backpack was having its effect. He hadn’t had a chest of drawers in years. Didn’t even bother now because he always moved on so quickly. Still he thought it would be nice if he could put a painting up without checking with a landlord-or even better paint a whole wall. A mural or a colour that suited him. The human animal craves its own cave. It only realises this if it has been sharing caves or sleeping on the floor of someone elses-who go about their business as they please.
He wanted to do the same. It was as always a matter of priorities. He had the important ones-on a soul level sorted. So he boarded the bus. The mobile germ factory.
People coughed into the moist air. The perfect incubator. Spreading their infections like love-a germy orgy- amongst all who rode. He escaped in to the cool night air. Much better, and plodded off to the warmth of inside land. He sat talking. He itched. He needed to write now. He had seen things that got his brain soup bubbling. He was also exceedingly hungry, but the kitchen smelt of flesh being heated, and so he would have to wait for some sustenance. His phone rang. An angelic voice. Swedish? He thought so.
He had many Swedish friends, and it sounded like that lilt. Of that ilk. She asked him if he wanted to participate in a lottery. He had been online investigating it. It was important he got in now, she told him. If he didn’t he would miss a whole year of being eligible.
Our lives are defined by the opportunities available to us. Whether we take them or not.
The thought drifted in, swept low and delivered its payload like a lumbering B-52
on a crucial mission. It wasn’t the ‘usual’ sort of lottery. It was for a lifetime visa to a country that was not of the one of his origin. He was fascinated by this country.
Had spent time there. Wanted to return, this was not something he could do right now.
He had been listening to the universes sing song. He had been watching the signs.
Just the other day while trying to download some movies-from nowhere the page had popped up. A sign! He had thought. So he started the process. A process he had begun ten years ago. He had filled in the boxes. He had changed his mind halfway through when the subject of payment came up. He had maxed his cards, the choice made for him. He closed the window. Don’t leave now, a box said. An agent is waiting to talk to you. Strange. They must make money selling this opportunity to people like himself. Selling them a chance to be part of the broken dreams, a resident in the land of false promises. He closed it anyway. So later-but not much later his phone had rung. His personal phone. The put it in your pocket type of phone, that people ten years ago would never imagine could become so indispensable. The phone rang. He looked at it. He answered hesitantly. A womans voice asked him how he was. He was fine thanks. How was she? She was also fine. The Swedish woman asked him again about the lottery. Was he sure he didn’t have the money to sign up? He was. He was confused about how they reached him though. The woman on the phone told him he had left his details there-when he had asked how she had got his number. Of course. How else would they have got hold of him? It all made perfect sense, except his personal phone number is not something he would leave willingly on a web site. How else indeed?
Big brother is watching you, and he doesn’t like what he sees.
Back to the voice. He was listening and imagining what she looked like. He had no idea but he knew it was good. He wanted to ask her some questions himself.
He refrained, knowing she would probably be being recorded ‘for training purposes or quality control.’ He declined her offer. There was always something that held him back with this one. Also he was just too flat broke to take advantage. It could’ve been a life changing outcome either way. But he would never know. He didn’t have a magic window, or looking glass that would show him the future, and he didn’t want one. Now a Teleporter....... that was an entirely different kettle of hand cooked Potato Chips.
The phone rings. He looks at it. Is it those fuckin people again? He doesn’t recognise the number. He lets it ring out. He looks at the number again. He picks up the phone.
He returns the call. It’s a family friend asking if he wants to come on a road trip.
Paid work to do something stimulating, interesting and fun. What he’s been looking for. Without success. Lucky Dragon! A nice piece of timing, a nice reminder. A reward for keeping his ‘chin up,’ when things were getting him down? For taking the proverbial Bull by its time worn horns-instead of becoming a bear and hibernating inside himself, and his frustrations? How many times must he go through this? As many as he needed too, he supposed. He would try and keep positive. Everything would work out. It always did.
Why, then did he have so much trouble remembering that?
