jayhat

Archive for November, 2010|Monthly archive page

Arf-Narf

In Complaining, novelish on November 29, 2010 at 10:03 pm

The man squirmed, nonplussed by Rudd’s demeanor, a lackadaisical, confident air that carried a calm waive of air into what had been—insofar as Rudd could tell—utter chaos.

His eyes were frenetic, like a trapped hamster or a hummingbird looking for its next drink. His arms went to twitch, but his body restrained—they spasmed like a bubbling wave. He choked a word, and it came out like a cough. He swallowed, choked out another word, and grunted a nod.

Rudd approached, arms softly at his side.

A belch and another grunt, a cough followed by another word that sounded a bit like “Arf.” His face softened, his eyes watered, his brow furrowed.

Rudd shook his head. “Can’t help you there, chief. I have no idea what the fuck you just said.”

“Arf,” the man said, his voice a cacophony of throat and whisper. “Rik-toff-roff-arf-narf?”

“Nope,” Rudd said. “Still nothing.”

The man grunted, coughed, cleared his throat. “Barf,” the man said, clearing his throat again. “I think I need to barf.”

Why you should always wear a watch when traveling through a desert of some sort.

In Complaining, novelish on November 19, 2010 at 10:46 pm

Rudd glanced down at his wrist where a watch would have been. He later remarked that this was an odd impulse, considering the fact that he, never in his life, made habit of wearing a watch.

“Shit,” he said. “What time is it?”

“Dunno,” she said. “I don’t wear a watch.”

“Shit,” Rudd said. “I need to know the time.”

“Well,” she said. “Shoulda worn a watch then.”

“I never wear a watch,” Rudd said.

“Well, they’re useful when you need to know the time,” she said.

“I know,” Rudd said. “Shut up.”

“Fuck you,” she said. “Fuck off.”

“I need to know the time,” Rudd said. “I didn’t think it would be an issue.”

“You drive a piece of shit—time’s always an issue,” she said. “We’re in the middle of the goddamn desert. Plenty of sun. You can make a sun dial.”

“Shut it,” Rudd said. “It’s not my car.” He paused and looked back in the direction from which they’d come. “How long have we been walking for?”

“Half-hour maybe,” she said.

“Shit,” Rudd said. “I really need to know the time.”

Rudd remembers what it was like to remember

In Memory, novelish on November 11, 2010 at 7:18 pm

It was fairly common for Rudd to walk into a room, unaware of why he was, in fact, entering into that particular room.

Yes, there were times when the conditions called for such a happening, as clients were often secretive in their motives, secretive in their assignments, even. Yes there were times when Rudd simply wandered, without motivation, into areas, ostensibly out of curiosity, possibly out of boredom, who knows.

Often, though, Rudd would walk into a room with purpose and posture, for a reason he couldn’t remember. It had been something important, he thought, or maybe not important, but interesting or useful. It had been something he’d wanted to see or try or do or take or have. It had been, he thought, something that must have meant something.

He thought.

But then he’d never remember why he was there, like someone had pulled his chair just as he sat or a popped balloon filled with fog.

It had been important, he thought, but he couldn’t remember why. Or what.

Or who.

****

This time, though, was a bit different.

As Rudd entered the dark, stuffy, damp room, his mind went completely blank. Beyond losing his purpose, he lost his identity, he lost his history and his story. He lost the capacity to narrate his being, to think about his circumstance, to appreciate his surroundings and gauge. It was, quite so, as if someone had taken a rubber eraser to his mind’s eye, vigorously rubbing away any distinction, leaving behind only the faintest trace of what had previously been. He still had awareness, yes, but only of the fact that there was elsewhere, that the dark, stuffy, damp room wasn’t everything and all, that there was more, but in what form, or what form even was, who knows.

And just as he was catching his breath, it all came back, and there was an emaciated little man rocking slowly in his chair, his plastic, worn face, rubber and pebbles, leather and dust.

The joy of Faith

In Dreams, novelish on November 10, 2010 at 8:12 pm

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad that she rolled into a ball, then between her fingers, into a thin rope, like an angel’s hair. She blocked one nostril with her thumb, lifted the rope to her other and snorted, it shot into her body like case through a pneumatic tube. She twitched, then her eyes glazed over, then closed, and her breath slowed to that of a dream. Her head bobbed, as if floating on calm waters, and her body took on a faint, heavenly glow.

She leaned back into the couch’s cushion, her head lolled backwards, to the side, and down, and she slumped over, a faint, boyish smile creased across the corners of her lips, and a tiny bead of drool coalesced and slowly dribbled down her chin.

She dreamed of pale clouds flying past azure skies, yellow hummingbirds gathering on the black shingles of red barns with white shutters. The green grass danced in the light breeze, a cool, clear river gurgled a sweet song of lethargy, tranquility.

She swam laps through time, and—before she awoke—she found pure, unadulterated ecstasy waiting by the door, keys in hand, ready to take her for a ride.

Apparently, the sorts of things kids learn about in the future occassionally leave something to be desired.

In English, novelish on November 4, 2010 at 9:48 pm

The dull light shown through the ruffled curtain, lazy as it washed across her face, her pale features only slightly more defined than they otherwise would have been if silhouetted.

And far less mysterious.

She had a book in her hand that should have been The Bible. Instead, it was a worn classic, its bound edges since unglued, pages loose-leafed and brown with age and wear and stain. The Peculiar Writings of Gus the cover proclaimed, an irony since there was notoriously little Peculiar or Written about Gus. But year after year, class after class, people continued to read about Gus, for whatever reason who knows.

Other things that are like Faith.

In novelish on November 2, 2010 at 7:27 pm

Very few inventions altered the course of human history like Faith.

Which, I suppose is a bit of an irony, when you consider the implications of the name.

The printing press birthed literacy and communication. Antibiotics birthed health and life expectancy. Cyberspace birthed interconnectivity and assimilation.

Faith birthed peace and effectively ended vice.

At least, that was the case after the Brief Period of Adjustment.

Kurt Vonnegut tends to be right about a lot of stuff.

In Complaining, physics-nature-etc., Vonnegut, What people are on November 1, 2010 at 9:37 pm

I once got into a heated argument with a gentleman about the way the world is. A man of faith, he believed in evil and that man was capable of malice. I regarded this belief to be a product of close-mindedness, that he could not sympathize with unthinkable actions simply because he wouldn’t allow himself to recognize those acts for what I perceived them to be—unthinkable only in the worlds in which he and I exist. I argued that, less it crumble beneath its collective apathy, it is necessary for society to judge actions and punish those who waiver from established law, but I—who at that point could not envision killing a man under any circumstances—would not believe that someone who did so, did so for any other reason than it was his or her best interest.

In other words, a man does what he does because he thinks it’s the right thing to do, based—of course—on the given circumstances. And doing what you think is right is the opposite of evil.

In even other words, my argument was that if a man does something unthinkable, it is because we haven’t imagined the world in which he lives.

Anyways,

Part of the real truth is that he was being close-minded for steadfastly refusing to allow this as a possibility. And part of the truth is that I was being close-minded for steadfastly refusing to believe there’s evil in the world.

I now know the full truth: A person is never evil, people are always evil. Like Kurt Vonnegut said.

Remember:

Self-destruction is the antagonist of selfishness, and selfishness is the purest form of good.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.