Monday, May 18, 2009
"I see", said the Blind Man to the Deaf Man who tapped on the shoulder of the Man Who Lost All Feeling. They all looked at each other with fever in their eyes and thought of their friend who was lost somewhere down the way. They buried the Man Who Knew Everything But Could Not Share A Word (For He Was Mute). His hands were no longer used for writing, and his face displayed fear and courage all at the same time. They often wondered what he had seen, heard, and touched that made him so complicated to understand. They saw him through the haze of jungle heat in an aura of mystery. And they knew all their questions would never be answered, and in turn this would form a barrier of silence around him. Each step he took was noted, each object touched was seen as blessed and cursed. Vegetation grew and died as his skin slicked the surface of earth, and he mumbled to himself over and over. He was insane, he must've lost his marbles. And so he died alone, as the four turned to three, and walked on, leaving a kneeling man to find peace and war, the stars and skies, and the last remaining word to choke the throat.
On an island, on a desert plain, in a sequence of events, the three walked on with slumped over backs, resting on their hips as their heads bopped to the rhythm of their pace. The heat would melt the first layer of skin away, peeling it back like rosebuds in bloom. When thirsty they'd drink each other's urine. That was the only thing they learned from a survival guide the Man Who Lost All Feeling had with him. They grew old walking the earth, seeing the sunset and sunrise, the desert transform into rich jungle sweet with moisture and life, and mountains and hills, valleys and rivers, everything and everything as they passed by, like mourners. Together they might have shared the meaning of life if only they weren't heart-broken loners; thieves of other men's wives, and cigar boxes of stories to boot. No, they gave up hope a long time ago, their stories were told over and over in blues melodies accompanied with sad harmonica rhythms. There would be others to join them and then eventually they would part ways, and they too were miserable loners looking for existence sadder than their own. They found home with the three old men walking their eternity away.
Eventually this must all stop, that this world must end as soon as your eyes desire change. They'll close over and over for the briefest moments and the world will still be here when they open again. You will do this billion times before you die. I tried to hold her hand, and tell her everything is going to be ok. And then I continued to walk, I had friends now.