Monster

As a child, my favourite book was The Monster at the End of This Book. It starred Golgo, a puppet monster from a popular children's television series.

The book starts off with Golgo reading the title. Golgo, he says to the reader that he doesn't want to reach the end of the book. He says he doesn't want to confront the monster. As the reader turns the pages, Golgo begs the reader to put the book down. When that fails he begins to put up obstacles to prevent the reader from turning the pages. He ties pages down. Erects brick walls. Of course none of it works and the pages keep turning, and the puppet monster, he gets more and more desperate. When the final page is turned, Golgo is confronted by no one. He is the only character at the end of the book.

Bobble head toys

Sitting on a stained couch, beer in hand, he's watching the game on the telly. In the closet at his mum's place, you can find a box with his football uniform folded up inside. And somewhere there's a photograph of him in the back of the school bus, his hand up the front of some girl's shirt.

The man in the bar with the ring on his finger, he's telling a joke to the woman sitting next to him. When he reaches over to lightly pat her arm, that's when she goes for her drink.

There was a patient I had once who's head wobbled like one of those bobble head toys. Admitted for a broken hip. In the patient's file there was a report by the social worker saying his place had been investigated and the following were observed: the patient had a pet cat, clothes and dishes cluttering the floor, and there were rooms with burnt light bulbs.

Caged

In Switzerland, a friend brought me to see a football match. Sitting down, she told me that no matter what I saw from the opposing team, a good goal, a great save, that under no circumstances should I cheer.

In the corner of the stadium, there was a cage around a section of seats. Everyone in the stadium was wearing blue and red, except for the people in those seats, they were wearing black and green. When the opposing team scored a goal, the caged fans performed a series of actions with their hands and arms. Their mouths were moving as well, but I couldn't hear them over the yelling and screaming.

The only person

Last night, I saw a series of student plays. One of them was two acts about a male and a female trapped in a play. They don't know it's a play, but they can't see beyond the stage nor leave it, and the crowd is a blackness where they can see shapes moving, like people. The first act deals with their fear. Being watched. Possibly being judged. Their confusion.

The second act takes place in a bedroom. They try to escape but find that all windows and doors lead to blackness. Confined to this room they come to understand that the other is all that they have, the only person who understands what they're going through. Confused, afraid, they cling to each other, kiss, and fall onto the bed. The lights fade out. The curtain falls.

The woman, she comes out from behind the curtain, and to applause, she bows. When the applause is done, you can hear whimpering from behind the curtain. And then a scream. And then a male's voice yelling out, hello? Where are you? Where did you go? Silence, and then whimpered out, hello? The female, her shoes clicking, she walks off stage. After the clicking subsides, all you can hear is whimpering.

River dogs

Nose to the pavement, sniffing up and down streets, into alleyways, door stoops, heads down as they and their wet fur make their way around town. People who live near rivers with a strong current, they call them river dogs. Roaming aimlessly, trying to recover their scent, but unable to. This sniffing blindly, this act, is the beginning. Whether it leads to pound, new family, or the streets, this is their beginning.

Their end took place over the river. Only one of two ways. On a bridge where a car stopped abruptly, a man and a dog got out, and a dog howled as it fell towards the river. The other way, the other way was a dog who jumped of it's own volition.

Pick up

Most people I know, I've been unemployed the entire time they've known me. When I was in school, unemployed. Out of school, unemployed. And yet, my own flat. Food every day. Alcohol when we get together. Clothes on my back. They'll ask me, they'll ask how I have money. Odd jobs here and there, I'll say, like condom swallowing.

In my hallway there's a pile of envelopes. Visa. Visa. Mastercard. The bank. Mastercard. Hydro. Gas. A note from my janitor telling me my rent is due. A bill for two years back rent from my former webhosts. Every once in a while I have to restack them after they tumble down into a variation on fifty-two pick up.