random short stories
I went fishing
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I went fishing the other day. I don't know anything about fishing. I don't own a fishing rod so i didn't bring any. (The very idea of touching a worm discusts me to my very core. And yes, i know there are other types of baits, but i don't know any.) I can't stand standing or sitting still and not doing anything. I mean, what is that? Doing is much more fun than not doing, that's life 101, that's why spectators envy actors and sportspeople, that's why the common folks feel sorry about the disabled and whatnots, because of their lack of doing-possibilities, and that's why Camus wrote his Sisyphus. And that's why i didn't stay on the canoe for long. I stole the canoe. I know, it's wrong. And i felt bad too. But what was i suppose to do? fish without a rod and without a boat? That wouldn't have made any sense. So yeah, i stole a canoe, but then i sorta brought it back, so it's fine, i think. (It's closer to borrowing than stealing, really.) I say sorta because i couldn't find the exact place i took it from, so i put it somewhere i felt might have been close to the place in question, just based on the shapes of the trees. It's autumn so it's hard to tell, not too many leaves left, although it may have been hard to tell in the spring and summer as well, and i can't imagine it being easy in the cold of winter, with the place being all white and all. I mean, i like snow, i even love it sometimes, but one can't deny it gets quite hard to distinguish anything and especially anything specific in the winter. Here, at least. It was a short experience, this first fishing trip. I say first, i don't know if there's gonna be a second; one can only wonder. I liked it. Well, no, not really, but i like that i did it. I did something, something i've never done before: i went fishing. And it counts, too, even though i didn't catch any fish, and even though i didn't bring a rod, and even though it didn't last for long. It counts. I went fishing. I really don't like the idea of hurting the fish anyway. And yes, i know they say fish don't feel pain, but what is pain, really? it's not exactly an objective measure, so who can tell for sure? I mean i don't exactly care, but still, why hurt them if you can not hurt them? I think it's a fair question. It's like with people: i don't exactly care hurting them – though sometimes i do, it mostly depends on the context and the people – but it certainly isn't a goal. Can you imagine if it was? What kind of sociopath hurts people on purpose? Well, orcas do that. And dolphins also, if i recall correctly. But you don't fish those, at least i don't, and i'm not gonna hurt some random fish because of what orcas or dolphins do. Plus: it's some orcas and, potentially, some dolphins. I'm not gonna hurt a random fish because of what some other fishes (yes, it's the proper spelling when you're talking about different species) that aren't even fishes, they're mammals, but you know, water life and all, do. I wonder if i'm a fisherman, now. Is it all it takes? going once? I suppose not. You're not a guitarist if you play guitar once, you're a guitarist if you play guitar — period. I should fish again. The idea of me being inbetween two fishing trips could make me a fisherman. I like that. I should fish again. Maybe bring a rod, next time. Probably not.
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Wings
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Five more minutes. It's Christmas' day still. And i feel blue. And i don't have any good reasons to feel blue. If you need one, i mean. I have none. I have a solid family, a wonderful mom-roomate-landlady who takes care of my lazy bum, who tries her best not to juge my pathetic situation. I have good friends who listen and share, and who'd even burry the body at three if i asked, some of them. Not that i would. Kill, i mean. I'm not the killer type. I don't think. I do have anger, though, sometimes. Often, nights like this one. And i'm rather impulsive. So who knows? But i don't really carry much hatred, not really. Grudges, absolutely. But not much hate. I'm sad, today. Selfish sad. Not people-suffer-and-it's-stopping-me-from-enjoying-things sad. I just want another life. Less boredom. More daring. More dancing. More experiences, more out-of-the-box living. I barely breathe. Goddamn, i despise the all-moroseness tones and here i am doing just that and more. Fuck. I wish i could fly. Who doesn't? I bet i would actually do things if i was able to fly. I would go places. I'd go and visit the lemurs in Madagascar. Or at least at the zoo. I'd go and visit the oceans. I've only met the Atlantic so far, and she was awfully dry for a tarpless pool. I want to see the Pacific. They say she's half-the-world big. But really those i want to visit are the whales. Peaceful blue giants, queens of the below-clouds. What i would give, oh.
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It's midnight and turtling. A simple, regular day. I'll feel better tomorrow.
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priest and nun
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I've been thinking about priests and nuns, lately. Forbidden. Taboo. Is it really that terrible?
Let us please consider a priest trajectory. One word immediately comes to mind: celibacy. That's what the priest is supposed to do, isn't it? Well, let me tell you something, my friends, for i, better than most, know: celibacy is shit. It's lonely and destructive and just plain fucking stupid, as we are not meant to sleep alone. Not always, anyway. And certainly not forever. The other road often taken by priests, let us not kid ourselves, is altar boys. Which is the absolute worst, any sane person would agree. Plain evil, really. Rather ironic. So if the nun is into it, where exactly is the arm? God doesn't give a rat's ass. God abandoned us all. (He certainly abandoned me.) No, it's not about God. It's about love. The priest will fall in love. People fall in love; they can't help it. But the nun is taken. She will push the priest away, for she already loves someone else: Christ. He died for our sins, the priest simply cannot compete. One cannot compete with fantasy. One will try and fail and a heart will shatter. All that will remain: pain.
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