Part 3: Summer
I think of what to write as I walk amidst winter's swirling winds, the collar of my topcoat upturned, not to be stylish, but to protect me from frostbite. Occasionally the sun emerges and kisses my face, now hidden beneath a raw, animal beard--then it leaves, and once again there is only me and the frozen world.
I do not talk to strangers--we all just want to go indoors--but I feel a strange connection with them, though I know that most are idiots. But everyone likes hot chocolate and marshmallows--we'll always have that, even if most would prefer American Idol to a book while drinking it.
Come here, old man. Let us walk down memory lane backwards. I will pay you a florin and some peanuts.
Here. This is what I wrote.
"At an unsafe speed, I rumble through the trees--through the fall I fly, the stink of sewage in my nose--and I know there is no happiness that I'd call true...."
Yes, old man, it is with great fondness that I remember composing this rather weak Haibun. 2008 was the year I started cycling with vigourous intensity. Fuck old man I loved it! It is here that I learned not to fear death; rather I swallowed it whole--along with several midges--whilst cycling through the forest green and brown.
I certainly covered a lot of ground. It is well-documented.
Once, while riding in high humidity at dusk, I tumbled hard and awoke in The Banana Kingdom. The weird inhabitants fed me an intoxicating soup and told me three things.
1. Practicality is a shrewish bitch, but she cleans your clothes.
2. Faster cadence, lower gear.
3. For 5 days, eat bananas and bananas only.
Banana People, I will obey.
The banana diet made me weak and gassy, but I saw wonderful colours and heard beautiful songs. I slept like an opium eater and had similar dreams. I was happy and clean. At the end of Day 5, I collapsed on the hillside. I blacked out in blissful exhaustion. I wanted to be a Banana Person but we are genetically quite different.
Old man, I've tried the velodrome, but it's bullshit. Do you understand what I am saying? Of course you don't.
Here's your florin, you drunken asshole. Oh and your peanuts too!
Friday, January 2, 2009
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