I have never said a word about any of the secrets people have shared with me over the years. Not one, even when the secrets were out, I never told anyone that I was aware of anything. I’m like a tomb that way. And many other ways too. But to me it is highly ironic; most people seem to relish the fact that they can center their conversations and thoughts, or lack thereof, around my doings. Not that it should bother me as much as that, but the whole thing began to worry me a few weeks ago. Continue reading
Oh boy. You know what? Someone recently came to me and asked, “why in the world are you still doing that?”
Now, I must concur, it is a relatively broad question, and a tough one to answer at that. But it was mostly aiming at the fact that I keep on writing and sending out lines out right into the webspace. Why do I keep doing that? I have absolutely no idea, I just do.
But they also pointed out, and rightfully I think, that having a better (ie more regular) online presence would help. The truth is, I can’t write all day, every day. Even if I wished to, I couldn’t. That’s not the way my brain works. However, it was explained to me that having a social media for people to keep tabs on whatever it is that I’m doing, writing, thinking, could be a good idea. I’m not sure about that, and I’m not sure about how to manage it all. But life’s too short not to have a facebook page, right?
So why don’t you come on out and join me? Let’s be friends, foes, drinking buddies, whatever.
Find me at https://www.facebook.com/jerkwithwifi/
“Did you get anything?”
“Not much. He isn’t much of a talker.”
“What d’you get?”
“He failed the first time he tried the whole thing. Was convinced by other people to try again. It took a toll on him and he went mad. That’s how he puts it.”
“Mad? That’s the understatement of the year. He nearly blew the building up and killed everyone around.”
“The old college try.”
“That’s what he said : he convinced himself to give it the old college try.”
“Yeah well, we’re lucky he didn’t try harder.”
“Kind of ironic, don’t you think?”
“Let’s focus on him, and not on that, shall we?”
“Right.” Continue reading
The hospital was all right. The food they served was good, though it could have used thirty more seconds in the microwave. It was mostly veggies, and lord knows I have had my fair share of those; I mean, I wasn’t expecting a party, with pizzas or pies, but some rice or pastas never killed anyone. Besides, we were there do die anyway, so even if it did kill someone, it would have been fine altogether. I mean, except for the families, of course. But death by pizza; there are worse ways to go, right?
They had this strange habit of wheeling me outside everyday, even when it rained. They attached some sort of umbrella to the chair, got me all tied up in several scarves, and pushed me everywhere outside. “See there, Mr. Logan? That’s where Dr. Hugot will settle his new cabinet”, “see the bright flowers over there, Mr. Logan? Spring is gonna be here anytime now”, “Not cold, are you Mr. Logan?” I used those as my personal rythm. They uttered at least five a day, six tops. So when the first one came out, I knew I was an hour and a half away from returning to my room. I did not pay attention to the landscape anymore; it had been the same every since I first stepped wheel there. Nothing had changed, everything just grew old – or older. Continue reading
The climb was harder than it seemed.
Each movement scared him, drained him. His legs stopped for a moment, he was stuck, his hands gripping the bare rocks as hard as he could. He did not pay attention to the tingle in his fingers, all he could focus on was the landscape. Although they had kept telling him not to, he looked back. He often did on the way up, and it both scared and amazed him. I’ve come this far, he said to himself, that’s unbelievable. In some sense, he felt that even if he came to fall, if something were to happen, he would be fine with it. As fine as the situation would allow him to be. Continue reading