the perch

There was no great view from the perch – just a view higher than everywhere else. That is, until there was built a higher perch. This higher perch wasn’t much higher, and the view was not much greater. But it was enough to belittle the old perch. And, while the second perch could look out over the old perch, the old perch always had the higher perch as a blip on its otherwise impeccable 360 degree circum spectacular. I managed to get up there one time – just once. I happened to be invited, as most are, simply so that the memory of the view from the higher perch could forever taint the enjoyment of lower perches. I even had to buy a new suit, just for the occasion. Two hundred fifty two dollars and ninety five cents so that nothing would be as sweet, or clear, or as high again as that view from the higher perch. Still, in the sweet moments of self-delusion, I would keep my own perch – that little place that I go to feel that the view is all my own and no one else’s. Never mind the man on the perch just behind who’s blocking whole swaths of the sky.

the creature

The creature lay low for years down in the pit of my belly – just below my rib cage and two inches from the dermal surface. It spent most of its time, if not all of its time, plotting escape. The creature had two main routes to choose from and only one objective to dwell in: freedom from the prison into which it had been born. At times, I was aware of it – thought its thoughts, plotted its plots, even felt as imprisoned as it felt (and as hopeful for the space beyond that prison). On some days, it would be set on crawling up my throat and (after tricking me into screaming at the top of my lungs) out of my gaping mouth. It would have been no great trick. Feeling something crawling out of the stomach would make anyone scream. On other days, the creature would decidedly settle on the southern route. This meant wallowing in some filth, but the route was more promising in other ways – it was Nature’s own and, therefore, less likely to resist the creature’s escape. You may be happy to hear that it did crawl out one day, and I did not resist its going. But, having attained the freedom of an unencumbered space, the creature started shaking violently. The sky was too big, the people too many, the streets too well traveled. I took pity on the poor thing and let it crawl back in the way it had left. But, it was never the same after that. Its bustling and planning and wanting ceased. And then, so did mine.

the profile

I went to a party this weekend where everyone was in profile. There wasn’t any hope of seeing people straight on or looking at anyone in the eye. Each woman knew which of her sides was best, and all the men were debating the weaknesses of the other sides. A few women dared to ask a man which side he preferred. Some said what the woman already thought. Others said both sides had merit. And still others said that the woman was sitting on her best feature. The men wore their profiles in their pockets, and they unpacked them item by item – education, income, status, wit. By the end of the party, everyone knew everyone from the side. As the party was winding down, I walked up to one profile and tried to turn her head to the front, but found her neck quite stiff. She said, ‘Oh, it’s been stuck that way for some years now.’ She tried to brush me away, but I put my hands on either side of her head and gave a swift wrench. With a great cracking sound, the woman’s neck gave way and I was faced with two dazzling eyes, as bare and painfully exposed as a child caught lying – and as relieved to be found out. But, it was short lived. My efforts had snapped the nerve cord and, after a few seconds, her eyes went dry and the shit came pouring out of her suddenly relaxed sphincter.