American Fez

Wish You Were Here

I expect too much from the ocean. Its surface, after all, surely implies some sort of stage upon which the moon's theater of waves is performed: a giant squid rises from the deep; the Flying Dutchman's prow emerges from the mist; a mermaid models the latest in scallop shell lingerie. At the very least, standing at the water's edge should provide me with a transcendent experience, inspiration for a poem or the urge to return to my oil paints and easel. But, alas, the sea remains relentlessly aloof and does not speak to me. Its mysterious depths do not flow into an estuary of my soul despite the old mystic's suggestion that they should. Confronted by its tides I am nothing but human driftwood, an object of scorn for the gulls, a companion of beached bivalves, a brief moment of salted supplication quickly lost in trails of indifferent kelp. I think it's time to get an ice cream cone.

The Petty Juvenile Inside

Within the walls of the Citadel of Eternity, beneath the towers of the Palace of Life, at the furthest end of the Hall of Now, there is a small Bathroom of Anxiety where I spend most of time.

"Are you going to be long in there?" demands the Gatekeeper of Experience, persistently knocking on the locked door. 

"Just finishing up," I lie, before returning my attention to the unforgiving Mirror of Uncertainty screwed into the wall.

"Well don't be all day," the Gatekeeper replies. "You've got things to do and places to go."

I instantly respond with a Fake Flush of Apathy then turn the Faucet of Irritation on full blast, wasting as much hot water as possible. Stupid Gatekeeper of Experience, I tell the Mirror of Uncertainly, he's so annoying.

"I'll be waiting for you in the Antechamber of Today," the Gatekeeper tells me. "If you're not there in five minutes I'll leave without you and you might miss some good opportunities to do some really great stuff."

If only he could be less vague and offer up a few concrete examples of 'some really great stuff' once in a while.

As it is, sooner or later I have to leave the Bathroom of Anxiety, head for the Antechamber of Today, and just hope for the best as I wander the winding streets of the Citadel of Eternity with toilet paper stuck to my shoe.