Walk
The Absurd in construction...
If the boy had closed his eyes, even for a mere second, he would have fallen asleep and perhaps also, flat on the unforgiving stone pavement as well. The bruises, the pain, the blood of the hypothesized fall would perhaps serve better memory of the current day. He was walking alone.一人で歩けない。Despite the lack of companions or the faithful mongrel which should have been there like in the movies, he was still walking. He was not an actor, and neither was she a bitch. Walk.
Rashness of angry thoughts was lost and tactlessness of sinful decisions was suppressed. The boy was left in a hallucinating daze as vehicles flashed past. Just blurry images of the movement of automobiles. His judgement of speed was stationary. Just a few more steps home now. A horn blared in total disgust at his mazy jay walking. He did not pause to re-access the imminent road hazards there were and those which he might be causing. Home had appeared just before the horizons of his vanishing point. He simply continued walking.
The prospect of a mellow glass of Johnnie Walker on the rocks was an incentive to every step he now took. Keep walking. If he could keep his mind on one thing now, it was home. Home was the promise of Black Label. Whiskey was a promise in itself. A melody hummed in his mind subconsciously, and his heart filled in the lyrics. How many roads must a man walk down, before they called him a man? So he trudged on, now on the opposite side of the road, safe from harm from the dangers of the Tigress’ mouth. 马路如虎口. He was a man.
Funny how things which appear so near can be so far actually, he wondered. His footsteps had been incessant, but the distance to home still seemed to be unwavering. Probably his conceptions of Space and Time were equally warped as his judgement of speed. How long had he been walking now? How long more would he have to walk?
His vision was further impaired when the first drops of drizzle softly landed on his lashes. Why, and for whom was heavens weeping for this time? Whose sorrowful plight has made her cry? His tears were intermingled with hers, but he was walking, not crying. He desired the strength of Hercules and Samson combined, but did not wish to give it away to women. He coveted Ahasuerus’ wealth, but did not wish to promise Esther half his kingdOm. Un vrai menteur. A real liar. The echoes of his footsteps reminded him that he was still walking.
The rain fell with greater intensity now, and where he formerly thought was home had been reduced to but a hazy building against the raindrops pelting upon his cheeks. He felt somewhat cold although the walking had started to become quite an exhausting affair. But heat travels from one body to another. In this case, it was from him to his general surroundings. He was cold and shrouded by coldness. He was cold because coldness shrouded him. He had to get home before the coldness got him ill. So he hastened his steps, almost to the extent of running. The boy would have fancied running to escape the rain and cold, but he was already feeling short of breadth.
Home was the final destination of his walking, where he could get the malted Scotch he couldn’t get out of his mind since he started walking. If an emotional heaven could cry, perhaps an infernal hell could get drunk. It meant comfort of sorts to him, much more in this seemingly endless rain. Her tears would not seem to run dry, at least not until he could reach home. His walking had become a process of motion not governed by any other notion but his aging will to arrive home. It shouldn’t be long now. Walked.
終わりましょ。 Lets finish with this, the boy resolved as he fumbled in his trousers’ pockets for his keys to the gate where two ornamental clay cherubs smiled teasingly at him. They almost looked devilish to him. Home was just a few yards ahead. But alas! They were nowhere to be found. He then checked his left breast pocket, where he suspected it laid hidden deeply, but his hand came out empty. He must have dropped it in his frenzied haste home. A home. A home. A home sweet home.
But he was just not destined to enter it yet. The innermost depths of his heart told him he did not wish to die. Although the whiskey was really very alluring…
So he took one last look at the unrelenting gate, cursed himself for misplacing his keys, bade a sad farewell to the unseen bottle of Johnnie Walker and left. As suddenly as the passing shower had come, it had now stopped. She was happy again, and he had sacrificed neither his strength nor wealth to her, the boy noted to himself. Perhaps, he did not really care how she felt anymore. The rain has ceased, and visibility resumed.
はじめましょ。Lets begin. Begin walking anew and again. The boy pondered for a second and headed straight for the traffic lights with confident strides. Yes, he understood. Life is precious.
The amber lights appear briefly before changing to red. He waits patiently for the green man to appear and observes that all the cars have completely halted before he moves on. Happily, he walks. Walks.
If the boy had closed his eyes, even for a mere second, he would have fallen asleep and perhaps also, flat on the unforgiving stone pavement as well. The bruises, the pain, the blood of the hypothesized fall would perhaps serve better memory of the current day. He was walking alone.一人で歩けない。Despite the lack of companions or the faithful mongrel which should have been there like in the movies, he was still walking. He was not an actor, and neither was she a bitch. Walk.
Rashness of angry thoughts was lost and tactlessness of sinful decisions was suppressed. The boy was left in a hallucinating daze as vehicles flashed past. Just blurry images of the movement of automobiles. His judgement of speed was stationary. Just a few more steps home now. A horn blared in total disgust at his mazy jay walking. He did not pause to re-access the imminent road hazards there were and those which he might be causing. Home had appeared just before the horizons of his vanishing point. He simply continued walking.
The prospect of a mellow glass of Johnnie Walker on the rocks was an incentive to every step he now took. Keep walking. If he could keep his mind on one thing now, it was home. Home was the promise of Black Label. Whiskey was a promise in itself. A melody hummed in his mind subconsciously, and his heart filled in the lyrics. How many roads must a man walk down, before they called him a man? So he trudged on, now on the opposite side of the road, safe from harm from the dangers of the Tigress’ mouth. 马路如虎口. He was a man.
Funny how things which appear so near can be so far actually, he wondered. His footsteps had been incessant, but the distance to home still seemed to be unwavering. Probably his conceptions of Space and Time were equally warped as his judgement of speed. How long had he been walking now? How long more would he have to walk?
His vision was further impaired when the first drops of drizzle softly landed on his lashes. Why, and for whom was heavens weeping for this time? Whose sorrowful plight has made her cry? His tears were intermingled with hers, but he was walking, not crying. He desired the strength of Hercules and Samson combined, but did not wish to give it away to women. He coveted Ahasuerus’ wealth, but did not wish to promise Esther half his kingdOm. Un vrai menteur. A real liar. The echoes of his footsteps reminded him that he was still walking.
The rain fell with greater intensity now, and where he formerly thought was home had been reduced to but a hazy building against the raindrops pelting upon his cheeks. He felt somewhat cold although the walking had started to become quite an exhausting affair. But heat travels from one body to another. In this case, it was from him to his general surroundings. He was cold and shrouded by coldness. He was cold because coldness shrouded him. He had to get home before the coldness got him ill. So he hastened his steps, almost to the extent of running. The boy would have fancied running to escape the rain and cold, but he was already feeling short of breadth.
Home was the final destination of his walking, where he could get the malted Scotch he couldn’t get out of his mind since he started walking. If an emotional heaven could cry, perhaps an infernal hell could get drunk. It meant comfort of sorts to him, much more in this seemingly endless rain. Her tears would not seem to run dry, at least not until he could reach home. His walking had become a process of motion not governed by any other notion but his aging will to arrive home. It shouldn’t be long now. Walked.
終わりましょ。 Lets finish with this, the boy resolved as he fumbled in his trousers’ pockets for his keys to the gate where two ornamental clay cherubs smiled teasingly at him. They almost looked devilish to him. Home was just a few yards ahead. But alas! They were nowhere to be found. He then checked his left breast pocket, where he suspected it laid hidden deeply, but his hand came out empty. He must have dropped it in his frenzied haste home. A home. A home. A home sweet home.
But he was just not destined to enter it yet. The innermost depths of his heart told him he did not wish to die. Although the whiskey was really very alluring…
So he took one last look at the unrelenting gate, cursed himself for misplacing his keys, bade a sad farewell to the unseen bottle of Johnnie Walker and left. As suddenly as the passing shower had come, it had now stopped. She was happy again, and he had sacrificed neither his strength nor wealth to her, the boy noted to himself. Perhaps, he did not really care how she felt anymore. The rain has ceased, and visibility resumed.
はじめましょ。Lets begin. Begin walking anew and again. The boy pondered for a second and headed straight for the traffic lights with confident strides. Yes, he understood. Life is precious.
The amber lights appear briefly before changing to red. He waits patiently for the green man to appear and observes that all the cars have completely halted before he moves on. Happily, he walks. Walks.
posted by sUmmEr heAt at 9:06 AM
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