[Cont.]
And the last thing I do is turn the log book into my own personal fantasy journal: I do this by drawing a thick black zigzag line after the last entry written by the previous captain (which reads simply “All is lost”); and I write in large bold letters “This Diary Now Belongs to Bryan Ray the Pirate”. Using my date-stamp to stamp the current date, I then begin to record my imaginings.
Thoth New Moon 22
I drove my ship to an island shop today. Bought an island and met a woman who was wearing a cute green strapless dress. We invented a different type of time (neither the kind that the clock measures nor eternity) and then tossed it away; the thing landed on a rabbit, causing the poor beast to effervesce: now this rabbit is God; or “King of the Ghosts”, as he chooses to style himself. Therefore I delivered an address to the creatures of the forest who were present. Here’s a copy of the speech that I wrote on a napkin at the sandwich shop:
Address to the Forest Creatures
near the dirt mound outside the sandwich shop,
on Thoth New Moon 22:
Dear creatures, you are all children of parents. I know that this might be hard to believe, but it’s true. Your parents were like you, but they were also unlike you, and you are their offspring, and they are dead now, so you have the important job of bringing forth their whatchamacallit into the Age. I cannot overemphasize how important it is for you to learn to honor your predecessors. I guess the situation that seems most worrisome to me, when I think about it, is that you all will forget that you are but links in a chain of being, and you’ll get the idea that you can simply treat each other pleasantly, with respect, very simply and without a whole lot of lawyerly fine-print. OK, that might sound good in practice; but, on paper, let me tell you, it is a nightmare. Because how are we going to get you all to respect us (that is, me and my colleagues among the Superior Beings) if you don’t even respect those now-dead animals that originally humped you into existence?
Alright, so, presuming that you’re still with me, and that you accept my authority to whip you into shape with my oratorical prowess, let me remind you of what you all were born knowing: that I run a tight ship, and that I honor all mariners equally. So I don’t put, for instance, the foxes before the wolves — no, I give each an equal share of the gruel that I serve. If you happen to see any bigshot creatures like tygers or bears stockpiling the lion’s share of your rationed pabulum, just remember what I told you a moment ago about equality and forget your experiential memory of the actual facts.
Now I’m going to ask you to perform a difficult task. I’m going to ask you to die working on behalf of my sailing ship. You see, I found a sailing craft in Holland: its crew was dead, and its captain was tied to the helm; so I commandeered it. (I’m a pirate, by trade.) There were some rats aboard, and I know that rats are rodents, and that rodents are your siblings, but never mind what I did with the rats. All I did was shoo them away with a broom, and they took to shore with relish and haunted other humans’ houses. — All was according to the play that Doom primevally composed for us all to perform.
Now the reason that I’m almost certain you’ll expire while working on my ship is that the thing I want done to it is quite difficult. I’m hoping that you can build an upper deck, where a kitchen can be installed, and that also you can all go out two-by-two and ring everybody’s doorbell, and, when each robotic butler answers, request that they allow you to confiscate any bondman in their employ whose name is Boccaccio. (He’s my old chef — I’ve long been trying to rescue him back.)
So, between building an upper deck to my Ghost Ship, and saving Boccaccio from wherever he ended up serving after we lost contact, I’m sure that you will die of exhaustion; but do not worry about that. Here is my message: Think of the good things that you will have brought into this world: starting with my ship’s kitchen, and continuing through all the high cuisine that shall come from it. Also be mindful of the fact that you will have played a crucial role in reuniting me with my favorite chef.
In short, I’m ordering all of you to work yourselves to death for me freely and willingly. And to those of you who do not technically expire while serving your Founding Father, I ask you to see your continued existence as a blessing: think of yourselves as having served some noble purpose, and not as dupes who simply got swindled by a confidence trickster.
END OF SPEECH.
What happened afterwards is that my audience of forest creatures gave me a lasting round of applause — a standing ovation, in fact — and they agreed to build my kitchen and locate Boccaccio.
Fayo-Fie Cresent 13
(The above phrase in bold is the date stamp, constituting a new diary entry, in case that wasn’t obvious.)
Today I got up early and went to stand at the shoreline and stare at the water. I noticed that there was nothing of interest anywhere — that is, in reality. So I began to think. And it turned out there was plenty of interest in my thinking, so I thought for a great long while. My human friend Pig came and joined me, in my daydream; also Humper Bunny hopped over — he’s a businessman with a briefcase. But then I woke up and noticed that the tide had risen, and that my pants’ hemline was beginning to absorb saltwater, so I took a pace back. Nothing else happened, this day, worthy of noting.
Kayak Going Forth of the Poet 33
Again, the bold stamp is the month and the date. I feel that I must keep repeating this clarification because I’m so far in the future and my readership will probably never exist until everything’s unknown again, including even the names of the months.
What happened today is that I spent a great deal of time in the sun, playing volleyball. Now, in case that is confusing to anyone who remembers that in my previous novel I aimed my shotgun and killed the sun out of the sky, forever and ever, I want you to know that these new rays come from the safe, healthy, artificial fireball installed in the sky by my private team of professional arsonists.
So, anyway, I played volleyball for a while against bathing beauties who happened to be napping nearby. They let me win every game, and I thanked them for this by allowing them to rule a few of my lesser kingdoms for twoscore eons. The blonde one really did a good job keeping her populace occupied with war.
Tubí Bookmaker 2
Today I traveled reverse-wise in time, just for fun, and told Ghandi about the idea of nonviolent weapons before Tolstoy had a chance to do it; so now everyone will credit the nearest Christ with the insight. I also transmogrified into an asexually reproducing mechanism and attempted to beget fourteen children upon myself, again in imitation of Tolstoy (swapping wife for self, it goes without saying), but my plans of seduction failed, due to not being favorably received — I should have serenaded better. So, in the end, I did the next best thing: I legally adopted all of Tolstoy’s natural offspring. And I was an excellent father: very respectful and compassionate. I raised them 100% correctly.
Maker Month: Things Are Getting Bad 17
Fun day today. Bought two pairs of shoes: the first gave out after just one brief walk to the supermarket. Tossed them into the fire when I came home and promptly changed into the second pair. These replacement shoes collapsed even quicker than their forerunners. That was good. I also lobbied (bribed) our lawmakers to make sexiness illegal, and my statute passed; so now everyone can get thrown in jail for simply existing. I repeat: Fun day today.
Baramhat 15
Today I tried out the rockets that I taped to my life-raft, and we traveled to Planet Golf, which is inhabited solely by cephalopods. I got to meet their Chief Executive, who’s surprisingly big.
Barmoda (Pharmouthí) Uncertain Fake Moon 24
Slept all day. Sweet dreams.
Head-covering Due to Danger from Above 23
Still sleeping…
Paüní Worst Until Next 22
Asleep most of the morning. Went out with friends to see a flick in the afternoon — can’t remember its title (slept thru it). Tofu for din-din.
All Fees New Worst 001
Something else is controlling me; I only sleep always, and the programmers move my body. This is the Good Life.
Sorry! Jubilee or Zeroing _____ (blank)
Drats. Born again.
29-11-1935
I know not what tomorrow will bring
No comments:
Post a Comment