Thursday, December 20, 2007

The Turning Point of the Still World

Yesterday afternoon at tea-time I watched Cerberus Weasel dance about the dining room; with bewitching movement, he twined and twirled his way through tapestries and tables like a truncated serpent with the power and versatility of four little legs. In a mild trance, I poured another cup of Darjeeling and offered my cohabitant a square of cheese as recompense to the joy he brought me--but to my amazement, the furry devil ignored my offer and continued whirling his little dervish. And with that simple action, all I held true regarding animal-human relations was shattered. Oh Cerberus, what makes you dance without reward?

Cerberus Weasel, what causes you to dance your dance, for I hear no music? Are you dancing to the eternal rhythm of life, to the ethereal harmony of the spheres? Do you hear frequencies beyond the reach of the human brain or is it just that I have not yet castrated you? Ah Cerberus, is it all one and the same and do you think me a fool for always thinking and never dancing? Perhaps it is all a lesson... Oh, if only I could turn your squeaks to words!

I watched him shoot aimlessly about the room, which at this point is his entire world, and I had an epiphany. Tewksbury, I thought, you must dance about the world like Cerberus dances about this room--pay no mind to reward and punishment--the dancing is the thing. I got up, stripped off my clothes, and spun and neighed like a faun.

Oh how my world crashed when I remembered how dreary the world is this time of year! It is difficult to dance in the cold and the police would likely throw me in the bughouse and whip me. Damn this complicated world... How I long to be a ferret, dancing to nothing but the weird vibrations of my soul.

1 comment:

~RH said...

Edwina, dictate the following to that scoundrel Tewskbury (strike that last line):

Dearest Nigel,

It is Reginald. I've asked that Edwina have one of her uncouth friends post this epistle on this World Wide Web that I've heard has become rather popular. (To those of us in the know, "the Net".) I find electronic correspondence vulgar at best, and perhaps even boorish. I share the same view of pleasantries.

The reason I am "writing" is that I've gotten myself in a spot of hot water (and not the good kind that you would shower in before donning a blue blazer, or steep rooibos leaves in).

For you see I was celebrating Saturnalia in Rome last week. As you know, Rome is unsurpassed in its Caligulan revelry and licentiousness at this time of year. Edwina was with me to assist with all the vulgarities of travel - bookings, transcribing dictation, lugging luggage, etcetera.

Some common rogue remarked: "io, Saturnalia!" to Edwina.

As any fool knows this is the customary Saturnalian greeting being a Latin interjection related to "ho" (as in "Ho, praise to Saturn"). But I had been smoking hasish for days and was far from lucid. I thought the rogue was questioning Edwina's honour.

So I whipped off my belt and lashed the fellow with it. Not only was he cut badly, but in the ensuing shuffle my pantaloons dropped and were dragged away by a dark-skinned reveler. I was quite glad to be free of the encumbrance, but the local authorities did not share my view. I was jostled to a nearby holding cell where I had slept only three nights prior, but that is another story.

During the questioning period I became quite cross and let on to the Polizia di Stato the true reason for my trip: to spread non-native squirrels into their "rustic" countryside to offset the balance of their vulgar country.

Well, to make a long story short, I need you to send one million lira immediately for bail purposes. Please call Edwina for the wire details. I shall no longer require the tranquilized squirrels couriered.


Dictated but not read