I approached a park bench. Its sleeves were empty. I had a newspaper firmly tucked under my arm, big enough to hide my awkward gaze. So like any man would do, I stretched out my arms. I at once gave the newspaper two firm shakes, and held it like an oversized menu.
Generally I don’t like parks. You can never be alone, there is always a young child gawking at you with a broken ice-cream, or rotund mothers gossiping at the sound of shout. Let’s not forget the over-friendly dogs and beggars asking for what I don’t have…sympathy. Whenever I pull my introverted self out of my apartment, it’ll be to buy a burger at a cheap Fast Food outlet, or buy books and film. Anything worth burying yourself into is worth buying.
Today I had a tabloid. Newspapers were bland bits of contemporary misery; it was like too little butter spread on too much overdone toast. In other words, an even spread of monotony I couldn’t stomach. A tabloid was like a chocolate donut. It was clearly a hollow and meaningless surge of energy. It was uneven, and not every story/bun weighed up to be the same. Of course, any idiot could tell there was a hole in it.
Today I had shook out my donut equivalent. Some days you had to have a bit of fun, just because. I needed the humor today. It started off with a butcher putting two of his staff through a meat grinder. It was oddly comforting to know that we were still in touch with our savagery, and medieval roots. I wouldn’t mind it if we started putting heads on pikes again. It was at least evidence. Today people are sent into a coffin into the ground. How did you know that they weren’t just burying air?
There is always that Kill Bill exception that digs herself out of a grave. It would be more accurate to burn people at stakes, or chop them into little bits. The public will be a witness. Funerals are also pretty boring. Everyone seems to keep quiet because of ‘respect for the dead’. Back in the day crowds are cheering because a royal ass had plugged it, or a hero was on to a better life. Is it legitimate to mourn the death of an asshole?
I think we’ve been socialized into this tradition of respecting the dead. A few religions even believe that you are no longer present. Obviously you’re not conscious, but with regards to soul/spirit/being whatever that’s pretty much flown away onto another from of existence. You’re pretty much an organic teddy bear that lands up wherever it is thrown. Some might say that is an awful thought, well…you’ll be dead so don’t go around worrying that someone is gonna stub their toe on your lifeless skull.
Let’s bring back heads on pikes! What’s wrong with returning to your roots?