Fie-fie, How Frantically I Square My Talk!
The title — those are the words from the great William Shakespeare, which I found in the introduction page from the book Flatland (1884) by Edwin Abbott. I refuse to elaborate the meaning of the particular fragment taken from the whole of William’s story. But still I prematurely say is roundabout on tragedy.
Green Bowl Beach I went to, out of the blue. People call the name by the sight of green colors shade from the surface water by the usual hour of late afternoon. The bowl is coastal shaped rocks going around making similarly to those called “infinity pool”, scattered in some point around the beach. Never I see myself this exquisite representation.
Not exactly that charming for it’s another tale that reminds me, that is I remember the place up top the beach has a gazebo with sockets to jack them laptops at. I need to do some work, editing videos for my English course. Usually I came down with the choice at the coworker’s place, but he’s infected by the Cov, as he addresses it to me, to avoid getting heard the obvious virus name by those people who live around him, for he not wanting more trouble for they already gave him plenty. He also didn’t get the vaccine just yet.
So I went back in confusion, because surely I cannot do my work in anyone’s place, nor I can easily find a coffee shop that would welcome my raggedy ass by their table-chair. It’s because of the PPKM, or Sire, in your language — restriction/insulation seems to fit best. In my house, Sire, I can’t do it, it just doesn’t get along with the nuance. For in a sudden I see my damn bed I would rather sleep my lifeworld away.
Enough thinking, enough insignificant mundane stories of how I go to one place to another. Here we are by the entrance, the bike and her sentient.
Sire, I would like to put my stories like this, short and incoherent. Again — it’s just the effort avoiding the insignificant lame stories of how we humans encountered the subjective experience we want it to be meaningful and poetic enough for people to say it is — thus the dopamine. Tight!
Green Bowl Beach, I arrived and parked my bike, the place is written “Closed” at the entrance, but I cannot read.
There are three shops, two are open, one I saw an old man sitting in front of it looking dense and timid.
By me approaching — he raises his empty left hand with an open palm, within the right a piece of paper.
“O Sire, this is my vaccine certificate!”, said he…
His mouth trembling, but not his eyes — those as striking as a bolt.
“No no no… I’m…”, my head trying to decide what to voice the mouth.
I wanted to say “But Sire, I’m just a civilian”, but that’s confusing even for you and me Sire — in our language.
I wanted to say “Sire, I’m just a student”, but he would find the notion rather peculiar, for what a student does in the Adriatic around daylight, for what it has to do with the place. The undisputed why question.
But I didn’t want to say “I’m no cop/police”, thinking the personification, let alone saying it, promise me a pulsating throat out of mental puking. Whatever that means, the disorderly, ill-defined is intended.
I am tired and let out said, “Sire, I want to sit there, at the gazebo, do some work if that’s fine?”
……
(a long silence, in case you didn’t get the effing dots I put)
…
“Nyess nyess, sure sure”, he put his hand on my shoulder and chuckled.
The freezer looks colorful and tasty. My wallet inside is thin and croaked.
“Sire, I want to buy a drink”
I handled the money, for lemon water in a bottle.
He put his hands meeting with each other, at his chest, with the money still around in it, and said the most sincere, earnest, and remarkable “Thank you” a person would give.
I slowly walked my feet onto the gazebo, O Lord — the sockets are broken. Those fun monkeys who live in a small jungle around up top of the beach probably went invading the tech.
The pandemic swallowed whole the world of usual ease. The economic and medical narration is neat and the PTSD by the mental recurring sight of repression is about the found ubiquitous.
I’ll see you on the beach, when the mad lifeworld is on pending. But Sire, something tells me we won’t see each other ever again.
Fie-fie, how frantically we square our talk…
