Friday, July 13, 2007

cow dung, human feces, dog shit

I sink deep into the couch, its faux leather notwithstanding. I instantly become drowsy. I only slept two hours this morning, half of which was spent chasing hopping clocks on stilts in a surreal dream. I’m not sure if I still have the strength to masticate the ham sandwich I have just ordered. I don’t eat pork and they don’t have salad. A ham sandwich with bits of wilting lettuce is the best compromise, which, by the way, is something that I seem to be doing more often as I grow old—compromising, not eating ham sandwiches. It’s a siphon that sucks out one’s essence until one becomes ordinarily bland and inane like a soap opera.


I bury my body deeper into the comforts of the black, cheap leather, which faintly smells of dried sweat and fossilized conversations over coffee. You suggest I formally take piano lessons. I’ve long been thinking of that. My brother issued post dated checks for that when I was a kid. I rejected them all, partly because of my arrogance (I studied solfège on my own at the age of 13 and played the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata at 15), partly because the damn checks couldn’t even cover half of the tuition. You suggest I contact your friend who is taking her master’s degree in Piano. I might just give it a try, like all the other things I have tried without actually knowing the grimy consequences. I need more of that, stuff that don’t give me a clear vision of what lies ahead. Risks can submerge my head into a well full of liquefied cow dung, human feces, and dog shit. Alluring. Sensuous. Nauseating. And in the process, I come out refreshed. The mind discards rust when challenged with something hideous and banal.


My teeth, braces and all, hurt at every bite of the sandwich. I should’ve settled for just a glass of iced tea, but even that cannot irrigate my arid throat. How come we’ve never visited this coffee shop before, I ask. You mention that you have just found out about it. This place is so shabby yet comfy, I comment. The paint peels off from the walls lined with tacky mirrors like it were some disproportionate motel room. The overhead speakers blare cheap music from a popular FM station with a crass DJ. The ordinariness of it all magnetizes me. I know I have hated the ordinary all my life, because I thought I wasn’t ordinary until I saw that I had the same appendages as everyone else and my spinal column does not support wings. Everyone is entitled to delusions of grandeur at least once in their lives. And vegetarians should also eat ham sandwiches when coffeeshops have run out of salads. I like this place, you say. You say something else but my mind drifts slowly into a filmy world of floating carcasses. I hear nothing but the last few discordant chords of the piped-in music.

Labels:

15 Comments:

At 11:37 PM, Blogger rmacapobre said...

> Everyone is entitled to delusions of grandeur at least once in their lives

i have delusions of grandeur all the time .. ^_^

 
At 8:59 AM, Anonymous fruityoaty said...

Wow, I wish I'd known about your blog sooner. You are an unbelievably good writer.

 
At 8:27 AM, Blogger aryo said...

Agree, agree. Superb writing indeed!

 
At 1:09 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I've known him since high school and yes, he's really a good writer.

 
At 1:12 PM, Blogger pat said...

this is indeed a very ordinary happening made extraordinary by your impressive narrative style. and like the others who didn't really get what this is really about, i'll say, what good writing!

 
At 6:43 PM, Blogger slim whale said...

rmacapobre -- moi aussi, j'en ai beaucoup

fruityoaty -- thanks so much. you've got an engaging blog too. thanks for dropping by

aryo -- thanks aryo!

anonymous -- thanks but who exactly are you?

pat -- coming from you, that's really something. thanks. oh, and i don't shave my pubes. the virgin nuns do.

 
At 7:14 AM, Anonymous bingskee said...

you are almost extraordinary to me :-D

 
At 7:38 PM, Blogger slim whale said...

bingskee -- oh yes, sometimes, i even think i could fly...or are these my drunken moments only? rats, not sure anymore.

 
At 12:55 AM, Blogger Jap said...

I love reading this....and in between lines, all I cannot say is *wink* ;-)

 
At 6:15 PM, Blogger slim whale said...

jap -- yes, most of what i wrote here are buried in between the words

 
At 1:00 AM, Blogger rebel_heart said...

did you disappear for awhile ?. coz it felt like you did . at any rate , reading you again is a good enough welcome back . wonderful post , as always . i'll comment again when i'm not so much at a loss for words . [=

halfway between the gutter and the stars

 
At 9:39 PM, Blogger Jigs said...

Hello! First time here, and I have to agree everyone, you tell a story with the flair of excellent writing skills and symbolism. Are you a writer by profession or a graduate of

And just for that, I will definitely be back for seconds! Hehe!

 
At 10:28 PM, Blogger slim whale said...

rebel heart -- hey, you're back too! was starting to wonder what happened to you. yeah, i just hibernated for a while. glad to see you here again

jigs -- thanks for dropping by, jigs! no, i'm not a writer and i don't have a degree in creative writing either. i can't wait to read the new movie review blog you will put up. i hope you will review art films, too.

 
At 12:55 AM, Blogger rebel_heart said...

heyy [= thank you so SO much for the comment . i don't really blog on blogspot anymore . i've moved ! [= if you would click on 'halfway across the gutter and the stars' under my previous comment , it'd teleport you to my new virtual residence for thoughts/emotions . lol .

WELCOME BACK, you [=

 
At 5:30 AM, Blogger slim whale said...

rebel heart -- yeah, i know. i visited that. but i just couldn't comment because it wants me to sign up first. damn xanga. or maybe i'm just stupid enough not to know how to comment there. left something in your chatbox

 

Post a Comment

<< Home