the monkey

I write this now. It tickles; an odd way for writer’s block to rear its pretty pixie head. Hip-hop is running in the back-ground. More rap, less hop. I wonder what this will turn out to be in the end. A disjointed conversation with myself? A rambling account of an infinitely small slice of my life? No matter. At least I’m writing. A class looms on the temporal horizon. I stop and ponder over the last sentence. Big words. An argument, once upon a time, with someone over that subject quickly devolved into repeated references to parts of the anatomy which shall remain nameless. I will not go to that class. That is decided. And I feel relieved for having done so. The light f l i c k e r s. I look at it. It reminds me of something that happened once, long ago. The slightest hint of a tremor in my left hand I quickly banish by running my right over it. The song just changed. It is no longer an Afro-American relating his life story, propensity to stand in a somewhat skewered manner and sexual preferences in raw, explicit and savagely stupid (for those who expected poetic – hit yourself on the head – I did ) language. The repetitive beat of trance music is very appealing. Concentrate hard enough while listening and it can give credo to its name. I’m losing the plot. A smile as I remember there never was one. It is closer to my class now. The intervals between which I look at the clock are becoming shorter. I look at it again. Involuntarily. I am not going to that class. The re-affirmation is weak. The maelstrom inside is strong. Very soon it will run rampant. Like a pretty free-spirited, half-insane maiden who runs naked in the moon-light on a hillock just because she can – laughing in crazy abandon. It is a pleasant thought. For some reason, I can almost feel the tufts of grass under my feet. No. I just remember it. “Inject more humour!” something screams within me. Ahh yes. The deep-rooted need to make light of everything. Well I will not satisfy it here; perhaps because I can’t. I can’t write anymore. The pixie has won. It still tickles.
Damn.


-Ganja