Quinten Surrepetitive

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The Odd Pair - Chapter 2

Dear reader, I am sorry to have let you hang out to dry. I have a perfectly good reason. I was hungry, did I mention that? Having identified the three dishes on offer in the in-house canteen i quickly made up my mind to wander off-grid. Yes, I did visit that joint, again. No, I will still not tell you where it’s at. That’s for me to know and you to find out. Only, I hope you don’t. Why? Well, once you find it you will understand. The tricky thing is the making of a decision. Choice is overrated, if you ask me. There is so much tastiness in the world (or in this joint anyway) and so little lunch breaks. So, though I am loath to divulge more, I am inclined to share some of my insights. It just feels right, you know? So, anyway, this is how i handle it. I don’t. Makes any sense? It goes like this; the best way to make an important decision…is not to make it. Yes, I know dice is all the rage this season, and sure, if that tickles your fancy, don’t let me stop you. As for me, I do it diffe

The Odd pair

”Violence is never the answer”, the monk says, pumping his shotgun. ”But you don’t always have to be right”. I look at him in disbelief, soon to be growing panic. How did we get from peddling serenity training lockers to…this? True, I had only known Theseus for..let’s see…two weeks, but still. In two weeks you’d think stir crazy would pop out its head and yank at you. At least once? But no. Theseus (Dzisus, is that even his name? Maybe I don’t know anything about him) seemed as regular as Volvo. It was smooth sailing and inward smiles all through camp training. Not one to stand out, I thought myself lucky to be paired with him. I had looked in disbelief at some of the other recruits. Misfits, ex-druggies, clean-cut loonies, and the occasional seeker. No, I could have done much worse, of this I had felt certain. And the first three days of door-knocking here in….Tubersville (population 563) was apple pie and cream cheese. Perhaps we got more door-slammers than lemonade glasses to our

Rotate ruminations

Mean looks mean. Curiosity can be hemmed in, but not drowned. To accomodate it is necessary to allow a free rein, within the boundaries of the concept. This is modern, useful approach. This is pragma, when results and not appearances matter. You can forget the guilt trip, it does not compute in this environment. Just look out for the green, ever moody, likely to shift on a whim. You got to work with me baby. Don’t make the mistake of thinking. This is more about feeling. A touchy subject I know. And Aldred…no let’s not go there. I must obey the rules. I will obey the rules. The rules are mine. I rule. Think for yourself. Feelings are overrated. This feed is monitored.

As a rule

As a rule I will not obey, as a scream I will not obey, but give me the morning, or your time of day, and I shall remain. I shall beat out the rhythm and hear me say. That in this moment here I am yours to stay. As we pass through the hundredth German hamlet it becomes apparent. We are floating through spring. The solidity of ICE is encapsulating us, so far no need for worry. Its smooth as a clean sheet fluttering in the early morning breeze. Up on that hillside to the left. Its an unlikely combo, the green of spriggly leaves reaching out, soaking up the light. The subdued light of the tinted windows, the professional courtesy of DB, the unholy train neighbor with the pointy elbows and the sharp nose, squealing of violence. The chatty man opposite row laying it out, the sharp smell of India in those covers, already colored by water of strawberries never eaten. The carriage full to the brim of stories passing through, we but one momentarily. The incoherence of half sleep, struggling u

Is sharing caring?

Looking out the window. It looks gray. After a lot of hours, the family comes home, one by one. As they left, I lay in bed. When they get home, I'm in bed. They look a little longingly at my pillows, warm quilts, piles of magazines and books. Maybe they're thinking they'd like to swap with me. I'd love to switch. Updating my status on FB, getting some comments pretty quickly. People who feel sorry, and who tell of their own accident stories. I've been through that before. When an acquaintance, friend or relative dies, I often hear my friends talk about their own experiences of death. I used to get a little confused by that. I wondered why it felt so important to compare accidents. Or even compete a little in them. Now, with window views of slowly approaching days, I'm struck by another thought. Maybe it's their way of understanding and dealing with difficult things. To relate it to themselves, and their own lives. Perhaps, therefore, sometimes it is easier

26

It was a year of ripe fruits. With it followed all the usual complaints. Too much work. Too heavy. We will never get it in on time. But of course we did. We always did. The complaints were a river we needed to cross. And cross it we did. With the fruits came a new sensation. We accumulated. First it was small things. a smile here. A new tire there. It was all I could do not to choke. Yes, the days were long, the work heavy. But heavy in an acceptable way, if you know what i mean. Heavy like the body responded, felt used, useful and needed. At the time my days felt fulfilling. Of course the smiles didn’t hurt either. It was a welcome relief after a rough patch. No, I rather not go into that right now.