In an attempt to spark something in this void I call my headspace, I think I will be posting some old time things that I'm not necessarily embarrassed to have claimed to have written.
Here is something a dear friend of mine, who at the time was more like a professor, or something, asked me to write so he could dutifully judge me in a purely academic manner. Basically, this is the response to one of our final exam questions for the German Romanticism class I took in the fall of 2006 (it was quite a fun experience, given the midterm. God, that fucking midterm).
Anyway, for the back story, please read, if you haven't already Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra and Diane Williams's Romancer Erector (the novella). I've included the question for clarity...
Imagine the tightrope walker from Zarathustra, the narrator of "Romancer Erector" and Don Musgrave from Romancer Erector are getting drunk together. What do they say to one another?
Tightrope Walker: I failed somewhere along the way.
Don Musgrave: Oh, come on, honey!
Narrator: Let him vent, it promotes proper airflow. Adequate anyway.
Tightrope Walker: I felt like he wanted to make me a good person.
Don Musgrave: Well, did he at least make lemonade?
Narrator: Or something.
All three characters pause to take swigs of their respective drinks: some microbrew, scotch on the rocks, and a vodka tonic - no lime, though.
Tightrope Walker: What is happiness? I want you to tell me.
Don Musgrave: (doesn't speak, just grunts and pulls down his pants.)
Narrator: But it couldn't be perfect. That definition has to stand on its own.
Tightrope Walker: It's as good as any, I guess.
Narrator: Would you look at that little bird?
Don pulls his pants back up, and another round is ordered. The room is hazy with smoke.
Narrator: I've seen you smile through chipped glasses.
Don Musgrave: And your laugh lines are forgivable.
Narrator: It's easier to imagine too many toasts.
The Tightrope Walker, on a shot of liquid courage, laughs obligingly. The other two wince in a friendly manner at his social ineptitude. The Tightrope Walker leaves to break the seal.
Narrator: I once thought that this River of Urine was turning into a Sea of Shit real quick-like.
Don Musgrave: That's what you told me.
Narrator: Just in respect to our double lives, today it's not so bad. Okay?
Don Musgrave: Cora is boring, you aren't. She does the right thing, you don't. She is ugly, you aren't.
Narrator: You are drunk. The child isn't. I feel rather refreshed.
The Tightrope Walker returns, ounces lighter, but still heavy.
Tightrope Walker: I didn't even see him coming, and I fell.
Narrator: Regret will do that to you.
Don Musgrave: That's what they all say, but can you do it now?
Tightrope Walker: I don't think so, that's what killed me the first time.
Don Musgrave: But did Zarathustra mean anything by it?
Narrator: Did the Devil?
At this, three drinks into a binge, the three people mused momentarily on the effects of good and evil. And some other bullshit.
Narrator: I am perfect because I say so. I practiced yesterday.
Don Musgrave: That's the last time I let that child out un-chaperoned!
Narrator: But you get boring and censored.
Don Musgrave: Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay, okay.
Narrator: Way to be original.
Throughout this, the Tightrope Walker began to giggle. Here is what he proposed.
Tightrope Walker: How does one get out from under this umbrella?
Don Musgrave: What umbrella?
Tightrope Walker: This one!
Don Musgrave: Oh, you mean figuratively.
Tightrope Walker: Yes! You wait for it to stop raining!
Narrator: Or you stop being afraid of getting wet.
Don Musgrave gets up and orders some chips. The Tightrope Walker contemplates what was just said. The Narrator forgets it promptly.
Upon returning to the table with some nosh, Don also brings back three roses from the lady wo walks around bar to bar selling an idea she stopped buying into along time ago. You can see it on her face. Unimpressed with himself, Don hands two of the flowers to his two friends.
Tightrope Walker: Oh I love it! I just love it! Here's to you! Thank you!
The glasses clink as the Narrator grins tightly and Don pulls down his pants.
Don Musgrave: Don't thank me. Thank America.
No comments:
Post a Comment