Most Of The Time

 

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I used to be angry. 

A lot. 

Most of the time.

Then I wasn’t. 

The time gap between these two extremes is vast — most of my life, in fact.

For most of that time, I was unaware of the reasons for my anger.

I was aware of not having all the things I wanted, I frightened people, success seemed to come close only to run away — these things I knew and I assumed that my anger grew out of them. The more I strove to rectify these deficiencies, the worse things got.


The day I worked it out, I got angry. Not the old kind of angry, this was new — righteous, biblical, galactic.

For all these many years, I’d been living someone else’s life. Living their dogma. When I find that person, I’m going to reign down some righteous vengeance and lay waste to their existence — just saying.

I feel a lot better now I know.

Not knowing is the worst.

The Protest of Romance Against the Commonplace of Life

 

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As far back as anyone can remember, there was the three of us.

Of course, there were others — friends, relatives, enemies, confederates, liars and parasites. But through it all, we remained untouched, unsullied and unconcerned.

My main job was to not favour one over the other — a clear course to disaster.

They both wanted me, and the feeling was mutual, but to fall in love with one more than the other would pull our world apart.

I’d loved them both — not at the same time, we were too young to be that creative or that unselfish. Our carnal adventures were played out over the raging fire of adolescence. We could not; would not see any further than our triumvirate.

I’m younger in years but older and wiser. I put a gentle stop to our naked activities, and it has been that way ever since — not an easy feat.

We are closer than family, fiercely loyal and dangerous to cross, as certain people have found out.

There are ‘sticks and stones’ to deal with from time to time, but we’ve heard all the jealous jibes, and they roll off us before they even make contact.

The concept of ‘friends forever’ seems to be a belief of the young. Life pulls friendships apart, but our goal is to be the exception.

Small cracks are beginning to show as our careers begin to accelerate and war looms, but for now, we are here together, and the sun is shining, and the breeze is cool.

If yesterday is a foreign land then tomorrow is a promise never fulfilled — give me today every time. 

First I Was Lost, and Then I Was Found

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If television is to believed, people walking their dog or children chasing a ball into the undergrowth are the main ways that dead bodies are discovered.

That’s not how they found mine.

I’d been dead for a while.

It can’t have been fun to discover what was left of me.

Being dead, I don’t tend to worry much, but if I did, I would feel for the poor soul who looked through my window, and the unfortunates who had to take me away.

I’m considering haunting the real estate agent who is so gleefully trying to sell my former abode. My family needs the money, apparently.

I’ve tried giving her a fright, but she seems to be too self-absorbed to notice me — hanging around, with not much to do.

I not sure why I’m still here, but it’s not at all unpleasant.

I seem to be able to get progressively further from my home each day, so I can walk around a bit and spy on the neighbours, talk to dogs, that sort of thing.

I don’t sleep, obviously — not the human type of sleep, just the eternal type.

I always like the night time. It’s another world, and apart from the ner do wells who use the undercover nature of the dark, most people who are awake when others are asleep are friendly and sad somehow.

I don’t hurt anymore, not physically. It’s a strange sensation, something like in a dream. I’m aware of my body, but it does not seem to have any weight. I should float off the ground, but I don’t. Everything seems the same, but I don’t have any sensation of touch. It doesn’t slow me down, I just do what I always have — I put one foot in front of the other, and away I go.

I can move through solid objects, walls and things. I know this because I accidentally walked through a chair. It freaks me out a bit so move around like I used to, by opening doors and occasionally climbing through windows — I did that a lot, back in the day.

I’m not worried about what comes next. I’m applying the same rules I’ve always lived by, be patient and let life come to me. Though in this case, it’s afterlife.

I have encountered a few others who are in my situation, but they are confused and angry, sometimes frightened. It doesn’t seem to matter what I say to them, it doesn’t help, so I steer clear.

I like my own company and the company of dogs, so I’m okay for now, but there are a few people I would like to catch up with.

Maybe one day, assuming they end up where I end up. 

Coffee

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The doctor died not long after delivering the news.

“Give up coffee, or you will surely suffer a painful death. Maybe not tomorrow, but quite soon and it won’t be pleasant.”

I didn’t gloat, but I did smile when my sister told me the news.

My sister and I set up house together when it became evident that neither of us was going to attract a mate.

“We can save on utilities and keep each other company.”

 “What if I get lucky and attract a short-sighted woman who will love me until she gets her eyeglasses changed?” I asked.

“We’ll cross that chasm when we get to it,” said my sister.

I’m used to her and her to me. We don’t exactly like each other, but neither of us contemplates homicide either.

“Dr Colour died yesterday,” she said while peeling potatoes.

“Did he have a cup of coffee in his hand when they found him,” I said. Unkind, I know, but he really pissed me off with his holier than thou coffee criticism.

“Not that I know of,” said my sister.

She rarely understood my witticisms.

The Queue

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There is something about a trumpet that attracts cats.

I’ve never been able to work it out.

Back in the day I played in big bands and did very nicely thank you.

But that was then.

These days, I have a tidy but tiny room, at least two meals a day and I don’t think much about back then.

I live close to the theatre district and one of my friends from ‘back then’ manages one of the larger venues. He pays me to keep the patrons entertained while they wait for admission. He doesn’t have to, but he does. It’s only a small amount per night, but when you add it to my pension, I get by.

I first noticed the cats when I was playing a Miles Davis tune. Cats like jazz, and so do I.

I worry that they might get run over. Fortunately, they are wiser than I and rarely venture into the traffic.

The people I play for take my presence for granted, but the cats pay attention — never distracted.

They don’t follow me home, and as soon as I’m finished playing for the night, they saunter off to where they came from. I like their style.

I like my life, and I hope it continues for a while longer, but who knows?