TUDAWR 13

TUDAWR



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Setting: Up on a branch, up in a tree, up on a hilltop

Characters: me, her, the Wind, the universe



"Do you remember the last time we were here?" I asked with my feet dangling precariously over my branch-seat.

The Wind replied "No, no I don' remember. In fact, I don' even know who you are. There are so many of you these days I can barely make any friends anymore. I used to remember better times, but nowadays there are so many of you I can barely make any friends anymore".

"Wind, you're not making any sense" She told the Wind in a calm and understanding voice. "You are so silly sometimes".

"I know" gasped the Wind. " Mmmhh" (inhale), "aaaaahhh" (exhale), "I knowwhhhhh" howled the Wind.

The Sun was beginning to set at our backs. From a distance, the contour of our bodies was indiscernible against the  branches of the Tree. Our feet dangling bare against the Wind. Our eyes still-set into the flaming skies of dancing rouge and burning orange. Our hands gripping the hard coarse surface of our weathered flora-host. My mustache bristling with life. Her long white hair dancing aimlessly.

"Hey Wind let me ask you something, and be honest with me. That time you told me I had a nice whisper, did you mean it, or were you just saying that?'

"Listen son" he wailed back at me. "Listen to me, listen to the Wind".

.....


.....


.....


"That's not an answer!" I said a bit disrespectfully.

"Yes, yes it is. You just don' understand it" the Wind said to me. "Tell him what I meant" he told her. "Go on don't be shy" he jeered noticing her hesitation.

"Hee sehz youh hav ah whonderfhull whhuispehr" She said,  her lips barely moving. She was at least three branches away from me, but I could hear her clear as day.

The Wind had carried her words to me, His words.

"Who are you again?" said the Wind with real doubt in his blow.


The Universe remains

Tudawr 12

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Setting: around me

Characters: me, people around me, the Universe

There is a man wearing a belly shirt showing more fat and hair than should be legally permissible. He is sporting cotton short-shorts with writing in the back that spell out “Baby-Girl”. He is wearing sparkly high heels that are clearly about to crack. “Give us, us free!” they cry under the heavyset pair of kanckles that are crushing them like an elephant wearing sparkly high heels, if the elephant was a whore.

“Hey Mister” I yell at him not really sure he answers to that suffix.

He turns around and his rose wig spins along landing unevenly on his shaven scalp.
“Yeeeees Mr. Bubbles? What can I buy from youuuu todayyyy?” he responds with a terrible English accent. He has clearly never been to Inga-land.

I’m completely confused, and I’m almost ever hardly sometimes confused except on the third of every other Tuesday on a high-solstice evening. This lady-man sees an opening in my blank stare and lunges into me with his scaly lips. I manage to move out of the way just in time to get a kiss on the lower side of my right cheek.
He had fantastically refreshing breath.

There is an old lady yelling in an unintelligible language, probably old-person language from what I can tell.

Telligible.

She is standing in the middle of the street yelling telligibly at the cars that rush past her. She only yells at the ones that honk. The others she just stares at with disdain and revenge in her eyes. When traffic disappears and she finally shuts up, I approach her and ask “What are you and the cars talking about”? She stares at me blankly. Her eyes are there but there is no one home.

“Bbbbhuuuaaaaannk” I yell at her doing my best to say hello in car, I figure maybe she’ll understand me this way.

Slapapap-pap. Triple slap attack.

As I stand there dumbfounded at the speed and agility with which I was just man-handled by an octogenarian, I see her take out a little ringing bell from her purse.  She aims it at parked cars, steadies herself and rings it. There is some lady-man lipstick on her slapping bell-ringing ninja hand.

There is a small child wearing thick bottle-bottomed eyeglasses standing on a bucket near the subway entrance, he is not more than five years old. I notice his shoelaces are untied so I walk up to him and point intently at his feet.

I must’ve scared him.

He froze, took out his inhaler, and proceeded to perform an expertly-delivered judo-chop to my crotch.  He started to run away.  I’m on the floor crouching with pain, one hand on my crotch, the other still pointing at a spot on the floor next to the bucket where his untied shoelaces had been a second ago.

Now they are a couple of feet away. They tripped the little punk. Sweet Lady Justice.  Lady-Man Justice?
Crashing. Couch. Crotch. Crutches and crouching. Triple dare you to make a sentence with all of them.  It’s weird what goes through my mind after I’ve just been punched in the sensibles.

There is a man on the floor thinking senseless anagrams. His ability to procreate in question, his face emasculated by the wisdom of dementia slaps, and his lower right cheek branded by smeared cheap transvestite lipstick.

Whatever happened to natural selection?

The Universe Remains

TUDAWR 11

TUDAWR

TUDAWR 11

Play

Characters: Me, her, the Universe

Setting: Hot summer day

“Uiihuuu, sure is hot today, huh boy?” She asked me with the most refreshing of smiles. I knew what was coming, I could barely contain myself, yet I did nothing.

“Yes ma’am” is all I could say to her. My lips were almost dry-shut and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. There was no sand in my mouth, I checked, but it surely felt like there was.

“Ooo-oh-oh I’ been walkin’,
Down the rivah,
Where the sunshine,
Comes a’callin”

She exploded in song like only she knew how to. Like only she knew how to, on a high-summer day.

Her deep honeydew voice rang true even from outside the house. Even as she walked away I could still hear her voice, her voice of steel, her voice was here, near my ear, even from outside the house, even as she walked away.

“Ooo-oh-oh I’ been struttin’,
Down the rivah,
Where the sunshine,
Comes a’runin”

I love it when she sings. Cannon ball into a lake, autumn leaves and a new rake; a shooting star, the last cookie in the jar; crocodile eating the impala, vacations in Shambala.

Come on, what rhymes with impala!?

With my back sweat-glued to the chair, I began to feel hungry, I felt like a steamed dumpling. Sweaty and delicious.

“…Where the sunshine,
Shines no mooore mooore more”



“Boy! You ready?”

“Where we goin’?

“Shambala of course”


The Universe remains

TUDAWR10

TUDAWR10

Play

Characters: Me. My Shadow, prime pigeons, the Universe

Setting: City Limits

“At least there are shadows”, countered my Shadow, annoyance beginning to show in his ashen voice. “There would be no shadow-lightning hunting without us.”

“Well I still think the world doesn’t need you following us, and creeping up on us, and imitating us, and shadowing us, and disappearing on us,” I said to my Shadow in desperation, knowing I’d lost the argument. “You are undependable and unstable. I need a Shadow that is always there when I need him”.

“Oohh, I see what’s going on! Are you still upset about this morning? I told you it was an accident. I only flinched because that pigeon was flying straight at me,” replied my shadow curtly. “I’m not going anywhere, relax.”

There had been a lightning storm that morning. Like every third Tuesday after a Monday’s date's yearly aggregate adds up to a prime number, there had been a lightning storm that morning. I was of course chasing lightning out on the street, my Shadow walking along behind me as my scouting partner and lightning trap-extraordinaire. Shadow-lightning hunting is not an easy sport. You and your shadow must communicate at all times. Lightning is the enemy, lightning is the prize.

Note to fellow lightning-hunters: lightning knows the difference between you and your Shadow. They like shadows because they’ve never complained about their touch. When lightning reaches out to us, our Shadows reach back to them in return. If this is news to you, if you’ve never heard about this timeless love affair, perhaps you should talk to your own or other Shadows more often.

My Shadow ran away with Lightning once.

Couldn’t find him for 29 days. I spoke to 23 other Shadows before I could find him. I looked behind 19 curtains before I could find him. I walked through 17 storms before I could find him. I spent 13 days burrowing through the underground subway tunnels before I could find him. I ate 11 bags of spicy crickets before I could fin him.

Lightning is not for-e-ver, a body is. Shadows sometime forget this. Treat your shadow kindly.

“Ok, I’m sorry I lost my temper. It’s just that sometimes you make me angry. I’m sorry,” I said to my Shadow regretfully not wanting to lose him again. “But we’ve talked about this before, pigeons are just silly birds, you don’t have to be afraid of them. They won’t hurt you”.

“Listen to me,” said my Shadow pronouncing every word as clearly as he could. I could still hear the ash in his voice, no matter how hard he struggled to get rid of the raspy gurgling noises. “Those pigeons were looking at me, I’m telling you, I could feel their eyes all over my outline, they are after me.”

“Every number greater than 205 is the sum of distinct primes of the form 6n + 1.” I had heard my shadow say earlier that morning right before lightning stroke. You know your Shadow is scared when it starts babbling about prime numbers. I was too slow to react. I turned around just in time to see my shadow flinch and duck for cover. I thought this time I’d lose him for sure, I thought I’d never see my Shadow again, I thought I’d be shadowless for the rest of time. For a split second I panicked and a fear unspeakable ran like burning molten ash through my body. Then I saw a small flock of 2, 3, 5 or 7 pigeons had flown above us.

He wasn’t running away, he was just scared of the pigeons.

I rather have lost my chance to catch a fresh bolt, I rather have a coward shadow, I rather eat 235711 spicy crickets, than to walk this world without my Shadow.

“Hey man, I’m really sorry”, my Shadow told me after a long moment of silence. I could tell he was genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry too”, I told him as lovingly as possible.

As I finished uttering these words I looked straight down to a puddle of water that had recently been borne from the falling rain. “You two are so gay” said my Reflection. “Oh shut up, you know I love you too”.

The Universe remains.