Sunday, September 11, 2016

Is there life on Mars ?



I wake up to Starman by David Bowie, it was playing in my sleep, and as one will probably do, opening my eyes I try to locate the source; maybe it was coming from outside the living room door (it wasn't) or perhaps the phone was ringing and my brain had translated the ringtone into something more preferable (not the case either, because I soon remember that my phone has been on mute for quite some time now).

         I switch on the Wi-Fi and give it a go, it's nice to get up to ol' Ziggy, let him sing the song from the start. I lit a jack and stare at the ceiling for a couple of minutes. 

I am neither here nor there. Half here, half somewhere else. 

Damn, I haven't got around to get the walls painted, and the rain season is officially in. 

Lying on the couch (it's 8 a.m already) I feel my stomach turning to the idea of having breakfast. Proud nutritionist indicated I've lost 14 pounds, and despite the fact -as well as the aparent, newly reinstated kalophony of my spinning-class worked-out legs, I've got a long way to go in terms of stamina. 

First day I took it I had the constant feeling I was about to cough blood, or the Milupa milk my mother bottle-fed me as an infant. As it turns out, spinning is    n o t   like cycling. 
But I'll get there eventually. What's to stop me from coughing up both my intestines struggling to maintain pace, speed and  a huge smile at the same time? Nada. Not even the deprecatory look on Larry's face as we wave goodbye and he watches me bottom-lip a Davidoff a la truck driver right outside his tempered glass door (the audacity!). 

You are dead to me, he gestures in a wannasay-something-serious-in-a-wannasound-funny-way, which definitely falls to the ground, because, hey Lars I won't give up smoking so say goodbye to Rosie the queen of Corona. 

Breakfast minutes later; an omelette the size of Brazil, and coffee, tons of the browniest, nastiest, shittiest kind of frappe; the last and lousiest brick of the perk pyramid, but fucking amazing. 

Then this song comes up on the flow playlist suggested by YouTube. It's a tune I've only heard once before ... eyes something, chanelled to me in late July. The addresser had come across it some time before we met, but I guess it must have seemed fit enough for the addressee. 

Fork down. A wan smile, as if I' m remembering an old and feeble joke. It wasn't a joke, though. My hands are cool, I'm turning myself this way and that. The blinds are up and the air is close. 

I don't know why such instances occur when they're the last thing one needs, only that this one had me reduced to something I wish the addresser hadn't seen, and if seen not noticed, and if noticed not cared enough to take it all back.  History shows that addressers of songs (and of, eventually, further fruitful insights on the splendor of your starry addressee-eyes eating shit) may    n o t   actually indulge in starry eyes, and nope, what comes out of it is definitely  n o t  like cycling  _  

Cancel song _ Nothing should jostle my complacency, at least not in such a skulking manner. Bleh ! 



- So you really believe it can be undone? The "spell reversed" and all? 
Aspa's words have their way of ringing in my head like lozenges of spice to an otherwise dull tasting bowl of soup. 

I replay the scene.

- Nice one !  I clap like a seal to her metaphor (she's not what you call a metaphor person), and to answer your question, yes it can. Everything can. It's all a matter of perspective, isn't that what they say? You build it in your head, you make it happen, and as Hervé Vilard would put it  Capri c' est fini, nous n' irons plus jamais*. Everyone can do it. 

- Not I, but seriously you think .. everyone.. did? 

- Ever so efficiently, yes. You disagree? 

- Things aren't always as they seem. 

- Yeah, yeah, appearances and stuff.. I snort, really I'm not going that way. 

- I don't know how you 're able to switch on and off like that. You've always done that. 

- I know. It's a survival skill. 

- Perhaps you're right, but ..

- Here comes the sugarcoating "but"... 

- If it helps to be as firm on things, then go ahead , knock yourself out, but once the little "spike" is in, and no one comes to pull it out immediately, it progressively makes its way deeper, kinda stays there, lingers. 
No matter what you say. My guess is, not you, not this asshole ever removed the 'spike', so you are both stuck with it. 
And it's funny, because you finally met your match. You see, you have always been an asshole like that too ! He just happened to be faster in the 'removal' process than you are- or that's what he wants you to believe- and... 

- Shit, this is a great metaphor day for you, isn't it ? I interrupted, I might as well ask you to chip in a little wisdom should I run out of 'unintended puns'. I didn't want her to go on talking about him. We're always analyzing things to let go of our pains, to try and double-guess the truths behind the questions we don't get answers to. But it's totally futile. It's like praying to a Totem that will never -ever- reply. Plus, without her realizing, she dug up another battered reflection of a strectched leg, of a tender rosy foot that had just stepped on an urchin, asking to be looked after. 

- Are you certain? 
- Yeah, do it, use a knife, take it out. 
Spike was out. Foot was able to walk straight again. 

That's the way to do it. Act fast, cut , take it out. It seems, that on a happy day I forgot who I really am. Maybe it was the sun, and the moon, and the summer mood, and that semi-drunk air holidays carry, but I hadn't been paying enough attention to real life metaphors and what they may end up signifying, or on how many levels. 

Quick and efficient spike removal. Otherwise ensuing pain having been dulled with serious doses of alcohol, endorphins, phenylethamine or whatever, gets topped with the inexhaustible will -on the part of the nursing hand- to alleviate. The little school of life tests that -should you observe real close - allude to who's doing what to whom, and how stories can turn. Hah ! The irony! 

Are you sure ? Yeah, do it, use a knife, take it out...as if the spike was never there. Brand new foot, easy, breezy, like tossing a hair off a dollop of dough. 


- Entertain my thought, said Aspa, but I'm guessing that one of these days you'll be very surprised.

- I'll be very surprised if I get to entertain your thought, I retorted and that was that.

In the harsh morning light of the kitchen, the dishes are washed and neatly put on the dishrack. The counter gets cleaned and the trash thrown away. Lars is waiting behind his tempered-glass door to stretch the limits of my spine and pelvis. Boxes await in the living room to be picked up by the moving truck. The faces and the necks of strangers in the streets glow. The hurt blue of bare September skies gives way to the news casts on TV screens behind the windows of a megastore, and my new language teacher got me a skype date at the library. 


There's a starman waiting in the sky
He'd like to come and meet us
But he thinks he'd blow our minds


I may still have had the same question to ask astroboy ... But will, like lyrics ultimately fades.

Light's off _ 




_______________________________

* Capri, it is finished, we will not go anymore. 

No comments: