Molecularist

Y’see, the monkeys, while smoking dope, set the stash on fire. They’d have gotten away with it had the crow not squawked.

At first, the cops had accused the octogenarian animal trainer, whose whole life had been spent backstage at the theater, training petulant monkeys, arrogant cats, and clueless dogs.

Only when he was cleared after a negative drug test, blood taken from him, of course, against his screaming, ranting, spittle-flying denials and “it were the chimps” accusations, did the cops consider testing the simian triumvirate, who sat eerily quiet in a corner of their cell, eyes slowly scanning, taking everything in as if plotting an escape or an alibi.

Strangely, possibly because they recognized the weakness of their position (the cops thought the monkeys only smelled of pot because they were in the same room as the burning bush), the monkeys showed no reaction as the crow rap-rapped on the chief detective’s door and whispered, knowing the chimps would trust him nevermore, “The three monkeys did it,” much to the surprise of the detective, who really did not know the poisoned blood between the Mensa-genuis crow and the criminally-genius chief chimp, who always managed to upstage the black bird in humiliating, feather ruffling acts of random violence.

Over and over, the crow, who believed with all his heart in the redemption of curséd souls, had hoped for a different and more trusting relationship with the criminal and his two hench-chimps, like when all four of them set up a plot to get rid of the 80 year-old naked primate, only to be caught red-clawed, the chimps innocently pointing at the crow, beak to the dials of the trailer propane stove.

Now, smug, the stool-crow was released, his deception successful, the chimps mute, not being able to tell the cops that, while, yes, they had indeed enjoyed the happiness induced by the dope, they had been duped by the crow into lighting the stash as part of an alleged plot to discredit the trainer once more. Only this time the crow flew to the fire alarm and then played the innocent.

The old trainer, for his part, was quite pleased to be rid of the three evil primates and, also, of the crow he had dearly bartered for years ago in hopes that the species’ famed intelligence and craftiness would bring down the chimps once and for all.

– 17feb10

The pressure is intense, unbearable, stifling any movement or freedom that might relieve it. And by any other measure – intelligence, perspicacity, skill, love – Life is light, airy, and entertaining.

You lived a normal middle-class childhood, with no wants, summers on the Cape, a shiny red bicycle with a banana seat, parents who loved you and smothered you with stimulating books and a healthy dose of good morals, yet, through the ease with which they did everything, failed to show you that they, too, felt the pressure, the daily concern that at any point it could all unravel like one insane Ponzi scheme, all triggered by something that just stopped being part of the equation.

When you’re expected to stand on your own Two, dumped onto society with bright-eyed and bushy-tailed enthusiasm and a wad of moolah from the ‘rents, Real Life (a misnomer, as if the previous years, filled with scrapes and bruises both internal and external, were no less real) hits you in the face, coldly asphyxiating you like a swan dive into a hole in a lake in Lapland in February, a nausea growing as you realize that, while you survived the entry and not splattered your expensively fed grey matter on the ice, you have no idea if you’ll find the hole when you come up gasping for air.

And, as your Life builds a head of steam – job, girlfriend, wife, job, dog, house, job, kid, dog, kid, job, cat, job, cat – you dig deeper the gravity well of Living and you head into zones of greater pressure, pressure from dependents, from schedules, from aspirations, from payments sustaining the accouterments of the circles you move in, everything a bit beyond you, like that wee wafer, just so rich, boom.

And things get ahead of you, with actions preceding revenue, robbing Peter to pay Paul, who eventually has to pay Simon, and Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John, all the way to the Piper, who stands arms crossed, foot tapping, knowing that he’s really collecting from you. And you keep that going – Peter to Paul et al, Peter to Paul et al – such that it defines the scope of all you do, slowly eroding open paths you could have easily taken were it not for the pressure to pay the Thirteen plus the Piper.

The miracle that needs to happen is no longer a lottery score, long discounted as a final remedy, but to surgically uncouple the financial diarrhea from your happiness, your love, your moral, your attitude, else it crushes all you love and live for in an implosion of despair like a diver down deep in a trench, where a simple window crack spells a watery doom, but who is still able to marvel at the accomplishments and be part of the magic of the surroundings, so, too, must we scramble to deal with the pressure, yet know that our family, our wonder, our self-worth shall be whole and endure.

– 08may10

When Wolf and Rabbit walked the Appalachian Trail, their Love made the sun smile, the wind hum, and the rivers giggle. It was an infectious happiness that infused that long first step onto the path.

You see, Wolf and Rabbit started that first step with their first kiss, and all that followed preceded that first step. Oh, they didn’t know that their first kiss would lead to that first hug and so forth. Yes, love and engagement and marriage came, too. And then came the children, two independent souls who gave more to Wolf and Rabbit than any parent could give back. And nurturing two souls into healthy, happy, hoppy children and then into responsible contributors to the World was gratifyingly taxing, but really a complete first-step decelerator.

There were also many distracting squirrels for Wolf. He followed his snout, uncovering interesting things that the World cached away for his discovery and enjoyment and involvement. Indeed, the World was a fascinating place, a maze full of wonders and threads to follow and magic to do. Just the sort of place for Wolf to explore.

And Rabbit, balancing her nurturing nature with professed potential spun plates as she poured her whole self out like an inky octopus with more than eight things to contend with. Rabbit felt too much of what was around her, so her view and experience of the World was understandably rabbit-ish, full of caution and extreme care.

But her velveteen heart was brimming with optimism and hope. And her love of Wolf and their two cherubs wrapped and protected the family like a palpable force field in a way her family never knew nor thanked her for. Not that she sought any gratitude, just that her selflessness was not squandered.

And it wasn’t.

Giving so much, Rabbit would have faded or frayed, but for Wolf’s adoration and love. He sustained her, reset her frames of reference, zapped her with a bit of uncertainty.

Setting their two offsping free, Wolf and Rabbit were finally able to complete that first step started with this first kiss, that first hug, and all. When Wolf and Rabbit finally set foot on that Trail, the birds zig-zagged madly, the fish did back flips, and the deer tittered gossiply.

And all was good.

– 26apr10

Across the bed I felt – warmth? The cat. Stretching and coming over. Rubbing her whiskers on mine. Yes, come under the covers. Mmm, curled around you, little fuzz of warmth. A small thaw inside me.

Need to get up. It's been too long. Need to get up.

Oops, sorry kitty. I need to stretch, move, get the blood circulating, to my brain, to my eyes. Ungh, stretch, stretch, curve, stretch, curve to other way.

Uhhh.

What time – ?

Up, up. Move, move.

Ok, just sit up, swing legs.

Sit.

Sit.

Sigh – big sigh  – sit.

Hm, dry mouth, pasty.

Ungh, my knees are stiff, legs weak. Careful in the bathroom.

Oh, look at me.

Didn't even notice the glass, this glass, this –

I – I can't look at myself. I –

Oh.

Breathe.

Deep breath.

Deep. Breath.

I – No, I can't. I –

Deep Sigh.

Deep. Shuddering, soul cleansing, shudder and sigh and tears. Crap. Tears again and – I can’t stop shaking, sobbing.

Can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Gasping between shuddering, wracking, sobs.

Better now.

Feels good.

Marching on. On my own. My own life now, the arrow continuing, but new configuration, new parameters, new future.

– 17feb10